Page 16 of Second Chances

Hamilton kissed her goodbye, assuring her that should anything happen, he would summon her back to the hospital. After grabbing her purse from the windowsill and her coat from the chair, she sunk her fingers into the fur lining the hood and collar. One benefit of marrying Burnside had been his bank account, a fact she’d never denied. She’d grown up wealthy, and moving to the reservation after she and Nathaniel graduated from college had been a shock to her system. At first, the poverty-steeped parts of the reservation disconcerted Diadema. But then she began to appreciate the stunning beauty of the land. Determined to build a life with her husband there, she’d not only gotten used to it, she had appreciated everything she had more. Cut off from her parents, the newlyweds lived solely off their incomes: she taught third grade, and Nathaniel worked for the tribal police. Back then, she imagined she would live there happily ever after. Until her husband’s accident upended her world. Her in-laws had blamed her, and she’d denied it, but deep down she had always believed that she was the reason Nathaniel died. He and a few friends had just arrived at a bar to celebrate his acceptance into the criminal law program at the University of South Dakota when he got a call that Diadema, six months pregnant, was having a miscarriage. In his haste to get to the hospital, he had misjudged a hairpin curve on a dirt road, one he’d driven a thousand times, and crashed his car into a tree. Nothing in her life had prepared her for how to live with the guilt. So she had stopped trying.

Sidestepping snowdrifts on her way to the diner, guilt ate at her again, this time about what more she could have done to ensure the health of her second husband. Shivering against the cold and her invasive thoughts, walked into the diner and requested a table by the window facing the hospital. The hostess led her to a small booth, and after perusing the menu, Diadema decided on a turkey club sandwich and a side of cheese curds. What the hell? she thought. Why not have some breaded and deep-fried balls of cheddar? She wasn’t the one with angina, after all. When the waitress took her order, she added a Bloody Mary as well, hoping the hit of alcohol braced her for the remaining afternoon.

“Bloody Mary? DD, it’s barely noon.” Instantly recognizing the gentle voice, she flushed as she looked up. Henry Livingston. Another regret in her life, but not for the reason most people probably speculated. They likely imagined she regretted using him to make her senior year boyfriend, Dirk, jealous after he dumped her right before prom, but that wasn’t the case, although she wasn’t proud of it. Henry asking her to the prom hadn’t been her diabolical plan. In fact, he’d dumbfounded her by suggesting they go to prom together. As teenagers, she’d been cognizant of his eyes following her, blatant longing so easily read in their blue depths whenever she allowed herself to exchange a glance with him. Had she played games with him on prom night? Maybe, like riding with Nora and George, inferring to them that she’d prearranged everything with Henry, but she hadn’t done that out of cruelty. If anything, she had been generous—she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about them. Ironically, she’d been the one getting ideas during their slow dances together, allowing Henry to hold her closer and closer each time. Toward the end of the evening, it had been Diadema closing the gap between them, even wrapping her arms around his neck for their final dance, resting her head on his strong and sympathetic shoulders. After he dropped her off at home, as the sun was almost rising, she noticed the Eiffel Tower he had carved. Holding it made it impossible to deny the breadth of his emotion…and hers. Afraid of the vulnerability he exposed in her, and unable to face the fact that she would never live up to whatever it was he saw in her, she called Dirk that following afternoon. Her biggest regret was not believing that the DD in Henry’s eyes was the true Diadema.

To Henry now, she responded dryly, “You know what they say…it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

With his generous blue eyes oozing sympathy, he slid into the booth across from her. Of course, Josh would have filled him in about Burnside. Or her daughter had, considering how fond she was of Josh’s dad, almost clinging to him as the father figure she’s been missing in her life. As a child, Euphemie hadn’t bonded with her stepdad the way Diadema had hoped, only growing closer this past year.

“I’m so sorry about Burnside, DD.” Henry’s blue eyes exuded sympathy. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. We’re family now.”

With her Bloody Mary in hand, the waitress reappeared, and Diadema gratefully accepted it. A large gulp helped keep her tears at bay. Momentarily, anyway, until she looked into the summery eyes of the kindest man she had ever known. Too good for her even now as only a friend, just as her mother had warned her the afternoon of prom, when she had advised her against waiting for Henry to pick her up: “He’ll get the wrong idea, Diadema. That boy is too smart, too driven. Too good for you, even if he doesn’t have money like us.” If she’d been ready for him as a teenager, her life would have gone differently, but it was his goodness that had made her ready to love Nathaniel; if not for Nathaniel, she would not have Euphemie.

Under his empathetic gaze, her floodgates opened. “Henry, I don’t know how to do any of it—not our life, not his business. What if something else happens to him? I’m not even sixty. I can’t be a widow again.” She collapsed into her hands, pressing them to her face to staunch the tears.

He rose from his seat and crossed to her, balancing himself on the edge of her booth seat before wrapping his arms around her. “I’m here, DD…whatever you need, I’m here.” Leaning into him, she allowed herself to be comforted by the first man who truly loved her.

Chilly evenings, abundant snowfall, and the holidays marked the passing of time for Charlotte. She had stayed in Beverley for Thanksgiving, hosting Isobel and Amy, but for Christmas, she traveled to Sioux City. Originally intending to stay for a few days to see other friends, a winter storm moving in from the west made Charlotte cut her time in Iowa short, and she’d gotten back to Beverley early the night before. Still in the holiday spirit, and invigorated by the weather, she treated herself to brunch at Betsy’s and had just ordered when Diadema walked in. Hope swelled upon Henry’s entrance, until he stopped at Diadem’s table.

From the far corner, Charlotte sank low into her booth, shutting her eyes against the sight of Henry next to Diadema. Unbelievably, she hadn’t seen him since the evening in his shop when Isobel had found her. She had anticipated another encounter with him when she picked up her car the following day, but when she and Isobel arrived that afternoon, just five minutes after two, he wasn’t there, a discovery that disappointed her. Although she longed to ask where he was, she felt awkward and restrained herself from doing so. If he had wanted to see her, wouldn’t he have been there? Charlotte wasn’t the only one discouraged with the outcome of events; Trixie had called her later that week asking how everything had gone with Henry.

Thoughts of him consumed her, alone at night, underneath a blanket knitted by her grandmother: soft blue eyes searing into hers, calloused fingertips coursing fire on her skin, solid body emanating heat she longed to possess. She assumed he’d been as interested in her as she was in him, but if that were the case, he would certainly have reached out. Wouldn’t he? After convincing herself that perhaps it was for the best, she stayed busy with the drama department and her students. Wasn’t this what she had longed for: life as an unencumbered woman? Charlotte had amassed a wonderful collection of friends, enabling her personal life to be as active as she wished. When her mind flashed to Henry and her body’s awareness of him, the still winter nights made dreaming of him inevitable, and she woke up sweaty, blankets tangled around her thighs and hips far too often to deny her longing.

Her stomach clenched as the scene unfolded between Henry and Diadema. What was between them? Across the expanse of the diner, Charlotte easily read the care on his face as he held her, and despite Trixie’s insistence that her brother wasn’t interested in Diadema, they seemed quite close. Could their past be more complicated than Trixie thought? Could Diadema be the reason Henry hadn’t been there the day she picked up her car? Just her luck that the only man to make her body sing in response to a simple touch could be off-limits. Fighting unwelcome tears of frustration, Charlotte wanted nothing more than to go home, and wondered how to so as unobtrusively as possible, when Sissy appeared with her breakfast—blueberry pancakes, sausage links, and two over medium eggs, all arranged as if her food were smiling at her; however, she was in no mood to return the smile. Pushing her plate aside, she took her phone out of her pocket to text Amy.

Charlotte

At the diner.

Henry is here.

Amy

Make your move, Lottie!

A fine man like that won’t be available too long.

Charlotte

Well, I’m not sure he’s available at all.

He’s with that woman, DD.

Amy

Ooh, nasty Charlotte…

I thought she told you, under no circumstances, were you to call her DD.

She is Diadema only!

Am I spelling that right?

Charlotte

Well, she annoys me.

I figure I can annoy her back, even if she is unaware!