The Chance

“We’re bracing for a nor’easter. Looking at two feet tonight. Roads and airport will probably shut down and everyone will stay home and watch old movies until the electricity goes out.”

“Except you.”

“I’m on call tomorrow night. Tonight I’m watching snow fall and listening to the wind howl.”

“How are Missy and Sissy and Miss Perfect?” she asked.

He let go with a bark of laughter and said, “One of these days I’m going to slip up and call my wife Miss Perfect and when that happens, I’m selling you out. I swear it. Everyone here is fine. Missy is having her first school concert in six weeks and is practicing the cello day and night—it’s almost as big as she is and sounds like mating season at an elk ranch around here. And Sissy is gearing up for a spring dance recital, which for six-year-old girls should be enchanting. Thank God she didn’t choose a musical instrument or I’d start sleeping at the hospital.”

His eight-year-old daughter was Melissa, who they called Missy. His six-year-old daughter was Catherine, who they called Sissy for “sister.” And his wife, Genevieve, she had secretly named Miss Perfect because she was the ultimate wife and mother. She never complained at all. It was unnatural. Here she was, stuck with a couple of kids, tons of responsibility, a mostly absent husband, and yet she took it on with a contented smile. What the hell was that? Laine wondered. Had she no limits?

But Genevieve had two sisters and they were all thicker than thieves. She was a dear and good mother, a faithful wife, a dedicated friend, a beloved daughter and a little too domestic and nurturing for Laine’s blood. And she had taken away Laine’s best friend, her twin brother. She was perfectly wonderful to Laine, but Laine had never warmed to her. They weren’t girlfriends. But then not only did Laine have very few girlfriends, but it was also impossible for anyone to be closer to her than Pax.

“And Senior?”

“The same. You haven’t heard from him, huh?”

“No. Frankly I’m not surprised. I told him not to call me until he’s ready to apologize for being such an ass and has something positive to say to me, so I imagine hell will freeze over before I see his name on the caller ID.”

“You take him too seriously,” Pax said. “Learn to not hear him. Nod, say nothing, do as you please.”

“I can’t,” she said. “You get away with that. He’s not as critical of your choices....”

“Yes, he is. But I don’t care. He’s not driving my bus. And if you’re honest, you have to admit, no one but you has been driving your bus for a long, long time. Like since you were seven.”

“He aggravates me so,” she said. “He thinks if he opens his mouth it must be gospel and we should all thank him for taking the time and trouble to move his tongue against his teeth.”

“Don’t get worked up all over again,” Pax counseled. “It’s over. You moved. I just wish you weren’t so damn far away. Get your computer set up and use Skype with the girls—they miss you.”

“He doesn’t treat you like he does me,” Laine said, unable to let it go yet. “He’s very proud of you!”

“He thinks I took his advice and became a doctor. I didn’t. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. And he’s still telling me how to work even though he doesn’t know shit about pediatric surgery. I try to tell him as little as possible, but I also never take him seriously. Now tell me what’s new and exciting in your little town.”

“I painted a wall,” she said with a weary sigh. “Mostly with my left arm. And I’m going to paint another wall, but I think that’s it. I had to have a friend hang the pictures—this arm isn’t strong yet, especially when reaching over my head. I’ve read three books since I talked to you last Tuesday, today was the first day it was decent enough for a good run, but I swear to God the cold makes the screws in my shoulder throb....”

“You know it’s not the screws....”

“Feels like it.”

Laine’s parents were both doctors. Her grandfathers on both sides were doctors. She had two cousins who were doctors. Successful men and women, all. Laine wasn’t the first Carrington or Wescott to choose another profession, but Dr. Paxton Carrington Sr. was appalled when she changed her major from premed to criminal justice. “Believe me, you don’t want to live in a blue-collar world,” he had said. Blue-collar world? It was almost impossible to get into the FBI without an advanced degree.

Laine’s mother had said, “You must find work you feel passionate about. The most important thing in life is finding what gets you up in the morning, what you would do for free, the thing that makes your heart beat. I’m not a doctor because my father was a doctor. And I’m damn sure not a doctor because my husband is one. And I could care less what my children choose to do. Well, if you choose to be homeless drug addicts, I might have an issue....”

“But aren’t you more proud of Pax? A premed honor student?” Laine had asked.

“I look at what’s ahead for you, Laine, and I find it all so exciting, I wish I could live in your skin for just one day!”

“But Dad hates what I’m doing!”

“Does he? He probably thinks he knows what’s best for you, but I’m here to tell you—you’re the only person who can make this choice. And it doesn’t matter what anyone else wants.”

“But admit it, Dad is more proud of Pax!” she had insisted.

“I’m not sure about that. What I know for a fact is that Pax is acting on script. He’s doing exactly what your father expected him to do and it’s easier, more comfortable. You, my darling Laine, are a challenge for him.”

All through college, all through her postgrad program, all through her early years at the FBI, her mother couldn’t wait for her to call, fill her in on all the edgy, interesting stuff she’d worked on or even just knew about.

Senior had said, “What’s that girl thinking? She’s wasting her life on the underworld! The dregs of society!”

When Laine told her father, over Christmas, that she’d been recommended for a commendation from the FBI for saving lives in the line of duty he had said, “As if a medal is going to validate you. Doctors save lives every day.”

And she’d left Boston in an angry huff, vowing she was through with him.

Laine missed her mother so....

* * *

Eric was grateful every day that he had asked Gina McCain if she’d be comfortable with him living in the small town of Thunder Point because he was in the diner where she worked almost daily. Half the time her husband was also there. Eric and Gina went way back. High school for her, though he had been a dropout. Their relationship had been brief but to both of them, very memorable.

Eric bought the local service station in October, had spent two months expanding and updating, and for all that time right up to the present he’d been living in the local motel—the Coastline Inn. It wasn’t much, but it was clean and cheap. There was free coffee in the early morning but no restaurant. Only the diner and McDonald’s served breakfast, unless he felt like going all the way across the beach to Cooper’s place. Since he had no time to look for a house or the energy to fix up both a business and a residence, he bought himself a small dormitory-sized refrigerator and a toaster and settled into the motel. He’d walk down to the motel office early in the morning, grab a large coffee and a newspaper, then head to the station. At lunchtime he’d head to the deli or diner for more satisfying food. He wasn’t much for fast food, something he was stuck with more than he liked. Many busy nights he and his employees made do on burgers or pizza.

He walked into the diner and saw the new girl in town sitting at the counter in front of Gina. She appeared to be finished with breakfast; she looked at him and smiled.

“Hey, Mr. Scratch-and-Dent, just the man I wanted to see!” she said.

“Well now, I don’t get that kind of welcome everywhere I go,” he said.

“I heard you have a great reputation for cosmetic work but I was wondering, how are you under the hood?”

He raised his eyebrows. It was a great double entendre. He sat down and a cup of coffee instantly appeared. “I was a mechanic before I was a body man,” he said, smiling a small smile.

Laine laughed at his wordplay. “I have a little work that needs to be done,” she said. “Can I make an appointment?”

“You don’t need an appointment. Is the car drivable?”

“Yep. But I just drove it across the country from Virginia and it needs an oil change and everything checked.” She shrugged. “I’m sure she’s very tired. Maybe sore.”

He grinned at that. Only a collector of classics could appreciate an owner who had given her car a gender and possibly a name. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

She laughed. “Look around, Eric. Everyone lives in the neighborhood.”

So, she remembered his name. Or, maybe Gina had told her. “Right. Then just bring it by when you won’t need it for a few hours and I’ll get right to it.” To Gina he said, “Can you ask Stu to mess up three eggs with some green chilies and cheddar?”

“You got it. Side of beans?”

“Pass. Toast, please. And are there any home fries back there that Stu hasn’t burned yet?”

“Tell you what, because it’s you, I’ll flip ’em over on the grill a couple of times. God knows if he gets his hands on ’em, they’ll be charred.”