Page 87 of A Thousand Second Chances

At last, she asks quietly, “Is this about your mother, Percy?”

My breath catches in my throat, my heartbeat coming too fast. That’s not what I’d expected at all. I’m about to deny it, but then I hesitate. The last few weeks here with Chris had dulled some of the lingering ache, making it easier to think of my mom without shutting down. And I’m shocked to discover that Iwantto talk about her with Carol.

So, I swallow and croak, “I miss her.”

Her lips quirk in a sad smile. “Me too, honey. Your mom was my best friend for many years, though you already knew that. Those summers with her, your dad, and you are some of my happiest memories.”

“Do you think she was happy here, too?”

A look of disbelief flashes across her face, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Of course! Then again, I reckon she was happyanytime she spent with you. But all those days you went out kayaking, the nights we spent playing Euchre, that fudge eating contest we had one year, which I warned your mom was a terrible idea…there was something magical about it all, wasn’t there?”

“Yeah,” I agree, thinking of the time loop ensnaring Chris and me. “There’s definitely something magical about this place.” I hesitate, searching for the right words to ask what I want. When they don’t come, I just spit it out. “Do you think she’d be proud of me? Even if…”

Even if she never knew the real me?

“Oh, honey,” Carol says. Her hand reaches across the table, squeezing mine where it rests on the tabletop. I squeeze back. “Ofcourse,she would. No matter what. Your mom loved you more than anything.” She eyes me as if daring me to argue. “And I’d know, seeing as I was her best friend.”

I give a wet chuckle, and she grips my hand again before sitting back and smiling at me. “All she’d want is for you to be happy.” Something flits across her face, and her smile dims. “That’s allanymother wants.”

My thoughts return to Owen and the sullen teenager he’s become since I last knew him. Guilt churns my gut. I’d promised Carol in a previous cycle I’d look after him, and all it had taken was one rude comment to make me give it up as a lost cause. I could do better. If nothing else, I can keep lending a comforting ear.

“I’m sure he’ll be all right,” I offer. “He’s a good kid.” Orwas, at least. But I can’t imagine the excitable boy I’d known has faded away completely, even if he’s currently buried under layers of teenage angst.

Carol sighs and scrubs a hand over her face. “I know he is. But I can also see he’s hurting. There have been some bullying incidents at school, and he doesn’t have many friends.”

Her eyes flick to me, and the guilt in my stomach turns to sludge when I recall how Owen had accused me of abandoning him. “I’mstill his friend,” I say firmly.

“Glad to hear it.” Her pleased grin quickly fades. “But he’s made it clear he can’t wait to get away from this place. I’d always hoped he might stay—take over the Royal Lilac when I retire. Not that he has to, of course. He’s free to chart his own path if that’s what he wants. I just wish he’d talk to me so that I knew how to help my little boy.”

She looks so lost in that moment that, without even thinking, I move around the table and hug her.

She chuckles, patting my back. “You’re a good kid, Percy.” Her voice softens, taut with emotion. “And I’m certain that, wherever she is, your mama knows that.”

The conversation lingers in my thoughts long after I’ve excused myself and returned to my room, staring unseeingly atRuneWorld Online’s log-in screen. Carol’s right—my mom had never done anything to suggest she wouldn’t have loved me exactly the way I am. And even if she had, I can’t live my entire life based on her hypothetical disappointment. I don’t have anything to prove to her, my dad, or anyone else.

So then, why does it feel like I still have so much to prove to myself?

thirty-five

Chris

I have no ideawhere I’m going when I start my run. After seeing Percy, I had to get away as quickly as I could. I start on the road running along the shore, following it downtown. I skirt around Main Street and Market Street—even this early in the morning, those are too crowded with tourists and horse-drawn carriages to maintain so much as a light jogging pace. Instead, I keep to the back streets, weaving mostly at random.

With how much time Percy and I have spent exploring, I know this city like the back of my hand. We’ve visited every shop. Dined in every restaurant—or at least, all the ones worth visiting. Hell, I even recognize many of the people I pass. Strange to think they have no recollection of me when these endless Saturdays remain so real and vivid in my head.

There’s Eddie, who works the counter at a local fudge shop. And Mrs. Cavishaw, who runs one of Quinn’s favorite art galleries. I even spy Frank, the carriage driver who’d managed to salvage my date with Percy.

I grit my teeth, pushing my legs to carry me faster until I’ve left the man in my wake. Unfortunately, it’s not so easy to outrun the memories he’d conjured.

A part of me wishes that night had never happened. That we’d called it a bust after dinner and carried on as friends. At least then, I wouldn’t have gotten a taste of something more. I wouldn’t have this ache inside me, this festering sense of loss for something I should’ve known was doomed from the beginning.

But then I also wouldn’t have experienced the best weeks of my life. No matter how much it hurts now, if I could go back and wipe away my memories as completely as the others trapped in this time loop, I know I wouldn’t. Not for anything.

My feet carry me out of the city, and I consider where to go next. I could follow the same bike trail Oshkoff and the others are probably on by now, but I don’t want to risk running into them. Plus, mapping the island’s perimeter yet again and dealing with the plethora of tourists there doesn’t sound even remotely appealing.

Instead, I make a left up a hill and follow a narrow dirt path beneath the trees deeper into Mackinac Island’s interior. It’s quieter here—more isolated. I pass a handful of dedicated bikers, along with a couple of runners craving either the lack of people or the challenge of a tougher trail. But for the most part, it’s just me, my feet, and my churning thoughts.

I wind through the park, breathing in the crisp air and listening to the rustling leaves and chirping birds as I try to lose myself in nature. The trail eventually circles back on itself, and I continue running loops until I can’t take another step. I half-collapse by the side of the path, wheezing in breaths. Once I’m recovered enough to hobble down the trail, I start back toward town at a slow walk. My thighs and calves burn from overexertion, but I relish the sensation. I’ll take this kind of physical pain any day over the dull sorrow that’s plagued me.