Page 87 of Second Chance

“Mama?” I’m appalled until I see her face. As a woman who has buried both her parents as well as our Grandpa Harrington, she recognizes the look of death as she calls it.

“She held on longer than I thought she would.” Mama smooths down her skirt, flicking at lint that doesn’t exist. I’d heard from Dolores when they expected her to only last two weeks. It’s been a bit longer than that. “Denton’s return was all she ever wanted. Maybe grandchildren would also be on her list, but that clearly isn’t happening. Poor Caroline.”

My mother isn’t being sarcastic or cruel. She’s well aware of the pain Caroline suffered over the years, but she also knows Caroline burned her own bridges with her son and eventually her daughter. When Dolores inherited her grandmother’s diner, she had everything Caroline didn’t—freedom to be the woman she wanted to be. Independent. Self-sufficient. Respected. The town worshipped Caroline, but much of the honor came from empathy about her husband.

“How is Dolores?” I haven’t seen her in the last week. She hasn’t left her mother’s bedside, and the wait for the inevitable must be draining. I scan over my own mother’s physical form with a little more appreciation. She’s a vision of health and propriety, with her ankles crossed, and her back ramrod straight as she sits on the rickety old stool. Elaina Harrington hardly looks her age, which is her purpose in life, second to hounding me about acting more feminine and Billy about his sex life. She’s much more forgiving of the waywardness of my brothers. Then again, I haven’t had cause to be wayward until the last few weeks.

“She’s tired, and the worthless man she dates has come around once in a while which only upsets her more.”

“Crusty Rusty?” I blurt, recalling the sight of him in the diner on occasion with James. My mother’s eyes meet mine. She’s having the same thoughts as me about my absentee brother. Mama misses him the most.

“He’s not providing her any comfort in her time of need,” Mama adds about Rusty, disapproval clear in her tone.

I can’t argue there. I’ve wondered what Rusty’s role would be in supporting Dolores—if he were even supporting her—but as I feared, it remains nonexistent.

“Dolores is a strong woman,” I say in her defense, channeling some of Cora’s self-empowerment speeches. I nod to further emphasize my words.

“Even the strongest of women need pillars of support sometimes.” My mother’s glare speaks volumes. She refers to me and the strength she offered when Chris passed. Women might be strong as columns, but no pillar stands alone. Then it’s a pedestal, Mama would say, and she is adamant no person belongs on a pedestal, except maybe her. Saint Elaina.

“Mati?” The surprised groggy voice of Denton sends a jolt through my body. He looks exhausted, although the way his hair sticks up and his face has a crease on the side, it appears as if he just woke from a nap.

“Denton,” I say, a little too breathless at his sexy, sleepy appearance and the way he returns my stare with a longing in his eyes. If my mother weren’t present, I might run to him, despite our argument a few nights ago. I’ve missed him, and I hate how much it hurts to see him, want him, wish to hold him. Then again, he looks like he wants me to hold him. He steps forward as my mother turns on the stool, and then he stops in his tracks.

“Miss Elaina.” He shifts toward my mother and envelopes her in a hug. A second mother to him, my mama holds him tightly in her smaller arms. My mother disapproved of my friendship with two boys, not because of who they were as people, but because they were male. She wanted me to be all girlie as a child. Denton holds a special place in Mama’s heart, but she worried the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree and she didn’t want me to end up with Denton, even if he was the mayor’s son. She trusted him because she trusted Chris who trusted Denton. She eventually saw the man Chris would be, and despite my out-of-wedlock pregnancy, Chris fulfilled everything Mama wanted for me.

“My goodness, how you’ve grown,” she says, all Southern sap and totally ridiculous as it’s been twenty-five plus years. Of course, he’s changed.

Denton pulls back and stares down at her. “I hope that’s not an implication I’m getting fat.” He rubs his belly while an award-winning smile beams at my mother. Good Lord, I think Mama’s turning pink. “I have a photoshoot soon, and all these generous casseroles are doing me no good.” A touch of Southern wavers into his statement, bringing back the boy who knew how to speak to adults with manners.

I blink as I process his words. He has a photoshoot soon. Where?

As if he’s read my mind, his eyes jump to mine. “It’s good to see such beautiful women on a sad occasion.” The charm runs deep, and Mama blushes again, swatting at him like they’re flirting with each other.

“Now, you,” she teases, before pushing at her hair to fluff it, like I never do, and can’t do presently with all my hair tugged up in a messy bun on top of my head. Mama’s perfect coif hasn’t even moved.

Denton returns to my mother. “It was nice of you to come to sit with Mother. I know she always valued your friendship.”

Mama’s mouth opens, and I pray for her to shut it. My mother never considered Caroline a friend but more a woman in need. Mama used to say she was doing her Christian duty by offering her shelter from the storm, but eventually, Mama prayed for an intervention like Caroline leaving Kip’s ass. Again, she wouldn’t have cursed; I just added that part.

“You know your family was special to me.” My mother’s response is said through gritted teeth, and I think Denton’s been gone long enough to not realize mother’s mockery. Mama wasn’t ever in favor of Denton being one of my best friends, again not because of him per se. She was less in favor of finding Dolores in James’s bed one night around the time they were eighteen. Mama would say God entrusts us to guide others for whatever His reason, and she felt the Chance children were her special divination.

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Denton says, making eye contact with me once again. There’s a strange tension brewing between Denton and me as we focus on one another. Without breaking eye contact, I sense Mama’s head moving back and forth, assessing us. Eventually, Denton stifles a yawn. “Is there any coffee?”

“Coming up,” I say too cheerfully, but Mama’s already out of her seat.

“Just let me get a fresh pot going, and then I’ll be out of here. George is waiting for me.” My parents love to brag that they’ve never spent a night apart from one another, but to clarify, Daddy has spent plenty of late nights at the pub before returning to Mama. She doesn’t need to rush, but idle hands or something like that, she’d say, so she busies herself filling the coffee maker with water and measuring out fresh grounds before dramatically pressing the on switch.

“There.” She turns a beaming smile at Denton although her eyes shift to mine. “Matilda, do you need a ride home?”

Suddenly, I feel like a child again, as if it might not be proper to remain in the house without her supervision.

“I’m with Cora,” I offer.

“I thought Cora left,” Denton says.

“She what?” I reply a little too strongly as Denton’s mouth clamps shut.

“I can give you a ride home, dear,” Mama offers, all sugar sweet and forceful. Her eyes do the shifty thing again as if she needs to get me out of the kitchen.

“If it’s okay with Mati, I’d like her to stay. I can drive her home later.”

“Now, Denton, honey, you need to stay with your mama. Matilda can ride with me.” Mama’s eyes focus on mine like I’m sixteen and can’t make up my own mind.

“I’d like to stay,” I say to Denton, ignoring the glare I feel burning the side of my head from my mother. Denton’s lips quirk into a smile he’s fighting, sensing the power play with my mother.

“Matilda?”

“I’ll stop by soon, Mama.” I step toward her and kiss her cheek, but she’s quick. Her hands grip my upper arms, and she holds me near her.

“Pillars, Matilda. Not pedestals.”

“Yes, Mama,” I say, tugging myself free although I have no idea what she means.