The Sheriff's Second Chance

“Nothing.” Kelsey tried to grab it, but Marta was too quick for her. With a deft move likely learned from a hockey son, she ducked and spun on worn Nike running shoes. Caught on spike-heeled pumps, Kelsey was no match.

“Reunion,” Marta said, skimming the sheet with interest. “Class of ninety-seven. This is about your tenth high-school reunion in Maple Junction!”

“Yes, but—”

“Empty months ahead and you never said a word about this opportunity.”

Kelsey flapped her hands. “Stop! I’m not interested.”

Marta ignored her. “Two weeks away. You’ve got plenty of time to get some new outfits, a haircut.”

“Dammit, Marta, I am not going,” Kelsey insisted. “I’ve closed the door on that part of my life.”

“But you’ve got some nice childhood memories.”

She folded her arms defensively. “I know.”

“It’ll be a good change for you, especially after dumping Tanner.”

“I have my summer all mapped out,” Kelsey protested. “Days of reading books on the beach, jogging, whacking golf balls at the driving range. Nights downtown seeing plays, eating formal dinners served by polite waiters and drinking cocktails mixed by cocky bartenders.”

“By yourself!”

“Probably. Mostly. I’m fine with it, so let’s drop the whole issue.”

“Whatever.” Marta went over to retrieve her ladder, tipping it against the strip of cork over the blackboard where the paper train was.

“I can climb that thing,” Kelsey said.

“Not in those heels, you can’t. It would be as dangerous as putting pins in your mouth.” Taking the rungs with ease, Marta looked down on her distracted friend, now engrossed in the flyer. “Opportunity is knockin’…”

“Marta, please!”

“Just seems high time to take another look at that hometown situation.”

“Three of my good friends died, along with all their big dreams for the future. That’s more than a situation, it’s nothing short of a tragedy.”

“It’s more of a tragedy if your dreams died, too.”

Kelsey hung her head. “Well, maybe I deserve it.”

“You’ve been punishing yourself for ten years,” Marta said gently. “That seems a stiff penalty for an unintentional spinout on a dark rainy road. Besides, you aren’t absolutely sure you were even driving.”

The awful accident had indeed resulted in a head injury that robbed Kelsey of any memory of that night’s prom festivities, including details of the crash itself. However, since she was found near the driver’s door of the Jetta, and had later admitted her inexperience in handling a stick shift, the police had deduced that she’d likely been the fumbler behind the wheel.

Kelsey had been far too spunky back then to accept full responsibility for an event she couldn’t even remember, especially as it could have resulted in a manslaughter charge. Just the same, her heart remained broken, regret and remorse gnawing at the wound.

In a way, she understood the public’s initial mistrustful outcry. She had had a reputation for daring deeds—daring for Maple Junction anyway—like scaling high fences, skiing down perilous roads closed during the winter’s iciest weeks, somersaulting off the high board at the community swimming pool. And there was never any question that she would top Whittier High’s cheerleader pyramid during any given routine.

While scarcely a pattern of seriously reckless behavior, it hadn’t helped her case. For most people, it proved to be a small leap in judgment to assume she had climbed behind the wheel of her boyfriend Brad’s car and driven under those dangerous conditions.

The controversy remained unresolved to this day. Without solid proof of her guilt, the cops were stalled and she in turn could raise no tangible defense.

“If you’d seemed content here all these years, I wouldn’t be pressing the issue,” Marta broke in gently. “But it’s plain to see you’ve been settling for a fairly narrow life with just a handful of relationships. Forgive me if I’m being too pushy, but for the first time since we’ve met, you seem primed to move forward. You dumped the Boy Wonder and hung on to that flyer for a reason! Maybe you want to go home more than you realize.”

“People wanted me gone quite badly back then. In fact they shunned me. I wouldn’t know where to begin with them.”

“Simply be yourself, who’s a wonderful person, I might add. You’re as sorry as anybody about what happened,” Marta speculated. “That should count for something.”

“Brad’s folks, Lewis and Bailey Cutler, are bound to be sorrier for a start. Their life revolved around their only son.”

“They are likely still feeling the pain more than most, but I’m confident you can win them over. You did the first time around.”

An image of Brad popped into her head. His striking white-blond hair, clear blue eyes, well-proportioned features and the brilliant smile that had made him all the more handsome. He’d been smiling big the day he’d first taken Kelsey home to the Cutler estate to meet his parents. The son of the richest, most powerful man in town, determined to date the middle-class café owner’s daughter. She smiled faintly. They’d taken the trouble to get to know her because they’d respected Brad’s opinion and he’d so badly wanted them to approve of her.

“It all fell into place like a dream,” she admitted. “We got on great and they began to look forward to me being part of the family one day. It was going to be fantastic, Marta.” Her smile faded. “But it’s all gone. The magic died with Brad.”

“That old magic, yes. But the world hums with a new magic each and every day, even back in Maple Junction. It’s high time you checked it out and decided once and for all where you belong.”

“What if going back makes me feel even worse?”

“At least you’ll know you tried. In any case, it’s bound to help you move on.” Marta descended the ladder to stand at her elbow, her excitement growing. “So have you bounced the idea off your mother yet?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, you should. She for one will be thrilled to see you.”

This wasn’t necessarily true. Marta had met Clare Graham several times when she’d visited Philadelphia. But Marta didn’t understand that the cordial vacationer was vastly different from the sober café owner. Like Kelsey, Clare was burdened with a heavy guilt over the car crash. No wonder, as folks simmering with grief and rage had suddenly branded her a bad parent for raising such a reckless daughter, and initially had punished her by avoiding the café. Clare had long insisted business was fine again, and Kelsey had taken her at her word.

Just the same, Clare had never once coaxed her to come back and had never offered a mother’s absolution for what had happened. This hurt Kelsey but she struggled to be realistic. How could she expect her mother to be stronger than herself? Kelsey never broached the idea of returning either. And when they did on rare occasions speak of the accident, they still fed off each other’s guilt. Having lost Kelsey’s father, Paul, to a brain aneurism when Kelsey was nearly ten, they both fully understood the gaping hole that death left in a family.

On the other hand, they’d always been a team because of his death, keeping the café up and running together. Kelsey missed the close bond they’d once shared and wanted it back.

Later that evening, back at her dinky downtown condo on Monroe Avenue, Kelsey sat at the table in her nook with her new set of colored pens and an assortment of stationery. Also in front of her was the acceptance form from the reunion flyer, filled out and clipped along the dotted line.

With a flourish she stuffed the form, a cheery note and a check for the fifty-dollar fee into an envelope addressed to the reunion coordinator, her closest childhood friend, Sarah Yates. Done! No turning back now. She was homeward bound.

Marta’s efforts had given her the final nudge she’d needed. The past decade in Philadelphia had indeed been a disappointment, nothing like her original dreams of teaching alongside Sarah at the local elementary school, then marriage and kids. Her inability to rise above those old hometown hurts had kept her emotionally frozen.

Perhaps the only way to move forward was to first take the trip back.

On many levels the very idea was scary, preposterous. Would anyone welcome her? To make this work, she had to believe they would. That even if they couldn’t forget what had happened, they’d be willing to forgive.

Then with any luck, maybe she could finally forgive herself.

She needed to let her mother know. Although it seemed most reasonable just to call, Kelsey knew that if she detected the tiniest bit of hesitation in Clare’s tone, she’d chicken out.

Picking up a pen with cheery orange ink, she held it over some bright floral-bordered paper, rehearsing aloud what she’d write.