Page 47 of Second Chances

“Have you recovered from our trip yet?” Amy asked over FaceTime, accompanying Charlotte as she ambled to the library. The two friends had just returned from a ten-day trip to Vermont, a state that had always fascinated her since the movie Baby Boom, a few days ago. After weeks of tormenting herself about her date with Henry, the getaway had come at a much-needed time.

“Almost. Or, at least, I was…until I saw Henry yesterday at the grocery store. He didn’t see me.”

“How long has it been?”

“Fifty-five days,” Charlotte responded. After checking her watch, she confirmed, “Fifty-five days, five hours and…twenty-two minutes.” Since her date with Henry. A date where she had connected with him, learned about him, and become more attracted to him. A date that had been the most romantic thing she’d ever experienced. A date when she’d been more aroused than any other time in her life. But a date that she then ended by propositioning him. And a date that she ruined by rejecting him. Really, it shouldn’t surprise her that she hadn’t heard from him, because how had she expected him to react? Even as the logical part of her brain explained it, the emotional part was disappointed when another day passed without a word from him. A million times she’d considered reaching out to him, to apologize, but nothing came close to conveying her regret at her behavior that night.

“But who’s counting, right?” Amy asked, staring pointedly into her phone. “You know, one of you has to take a step if you want to get beyond this, Lottie. What happened isn’t the end of the world, but the fact that you didn’t move past it could be.”

“I doubt Henry wants anything to do with me.” Charlotte waved to Ellen Lefferts, Ruth’s mom, who was walking out of her apartment building. When Ruth found out that her parents only lived a couple of blocks from Charlotte, she introduced them. The Lefferts, both retired, were about a decade older than Charlotte, and she frequently ran into them on her walks through town.

Amy continued, “Not from my perspective. When I came for opening night of the musical last month, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you at the end when you came out with the cast. The tension was palpable, my friend.”

Charlotte exhaled, crossing the street from the diner to the hospital, where she waved to Josh, who was coming from the parking lot. “So why hasn’t he called? Oh, because he probably thinks I’m flaky. Sounds like his ex-wife, from what I’ve heard,” Charlotte said sullenly.

“That’s such BS. I’m sure he has the same concerns as you. Your date sounded H-O-T. I mean, he kissed you with snow falling all around you, standing outside his car before dinner. It’s so romantic that it sounds like something out of a movie. I would’ve dragged him into the car and straddled his fine ass then and there. And then when you fed each other? Good lord, even now it has my blood boiling. Like, ‘is it hot in here, or is it me?’ kind of thing.” Amy’s voice dropped an octave. “And then in the bedroom after the date? Damn, girl, ripping his shirt open? I’m getting turned on just imagining it, and I’ve had sex recently. How long has it been for you?”

“I don’t know…”

“So years then,” Amy finished. “I can’t imagine what you were going through. All the emotions, the out-of-this-world level of attraction. Keep in mind that you don’t owe him an apology. A man is not guaranteed a happy ending at the end of every date, so you have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m sure that Henry will understand that you got nervous. I could almost guarantee he was, too.”

“It’s just…how can I compete with someone like DD? The woman is stunning, Ames. So is his ex-wife, by the way.”

“And how would you know?”

“I may have looked up their wedding photo in the newspaper archives at the library,” she confessed sheepishly. The last time she was at the library, after asking for a copy of The Thorn Birds, she’d been unable to stop herself from searching through historical copies of the newspaper from Henry’s hometown, the Clover Lake Gazette. A woman named Audrey Johnson had referred to Henry and his new bride as “the golden couple” underneath a photo of them on the steps of the courthouse. Melanie, at eighteen, had been a blonde bombshell, undeniably ravishing. And Henry, hopeful in a way that stole her breath, in a suit too large on him, had gazed adoringly at his new wife.

“Oh, Lottie,” Amy sighed.

“No, stop, don’t be all ‘Oh, you’re beautiful in your own way’,” Charlotte said. “I know my strengths, and measuring up to either woman is impossible.”

“Okay, it doesn’t really matter what his ex looked like then, or what she could look like now, even, since her personality sounds atrocious. And as far as DD goes? You’re the one Henry was devouring with his eyes last month. You two need to uncross your lines of communication. Do you want another chance?”

Charlotte drew a deep breath. “You know I do. I have no interest in playing the field, or whatever kids say these days. Henry is the only man who has caught my interest.”

“Well, then I think you have your answer. Reach out to him, Lottie. And yes, it has to be you. You are the one who told him to leave, and I’m sure once you explain everything, he’ll fall into your arms. Just try not to rip his clothes off immediately.”

Charlotte blushed, laughing. “You’re right. I will, as soon as I get home from the library.”

“Let me guess: you’re checking out The Thorn Birds?” Amy chuckled. Effie had called her this morning, informing her that her copy of The Torn Birds was in, which she had requested before going away. Despite the town buzzing about the street dance tonight, Charlotte’s plans for the evening were to sit outside in her deck chair, read her book, and maybe get takeout from Betsy’s Diner. The music from the street dance could serenade her from a mile away.

Passing Bits and Bobs Hardware store, she waved to Bob, who was sweeping the sidewalk. “Nice day for a walk, eh, Charlotte?”

“Absolutely. Say hi to Beth for me, okay?” His wife, Beth, the “Bits” of Bits and Bobs, was an active sponsor of the drama department at the high school. To Amy, she said, “How’d you guess about my book?”

“Well, you’ve only read it, what, twenty times? Do you remember that I had to stay over at your house every night to watch the miniseries?”

“Of course. We were eleven, and-”

“And my mom wouldn’t let me watch it at home. She thought it was blasphemous. I still have a thing for Richard Chamberlain in a priest collar.”

“For better or worse, my parents didn’t censor anything for me. We had Mom on one side of us, a bowl of popcorn between us, and Dad in his recliner,” Charlotte laughed.

“Don’t forget all the Squirt we could drink!” Amy added, chuckling. “I still don’t get why you don’t just buy the book?”

“Nostalgia, I suppose. Takes me back to us going to the library to read it, hunched over in a cubicle.”

“Because we were too embarrassed to borrow it!”