Second Chances

Second Chances

By Leigh Brown & Victoria Corliss

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Leigh Brown & Victoria Corliss

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

*   *   *

For our mothers, Kash and Nancy.

*   *   *

A man is like a novel: until the very last page you don’t know how it will end. Otherwise it wouldn’t be worth reading.

-Yevgeny Zamyatin, We

PREFACE

The young woman gazed out the airplane window at the clouds floating carelessly below and wondered what the future held for her and her unborn child. Rubbing her temples with her index fingers she tried to command a “happily ever after” ending for them both. Easier said than done when you’re on your own; only her best friend knew the real reason she’d come to the U.S., she’d managed to fool everyone else.

As the plane taxied to the gate, she rose from the cramped seat pulling her bulky sweater tightly around her. Her stomach was small but getting bigger by the day it seemed. The elderly woman sitting next to her smiled and gestured for her to go ahead down the aisle as the baby inside her kicked vigorously.

She sighed. The baby hadn’t stopped moving since the plane had taken off. She imagined it knew something important was about to happen.

“Oh Baby’” she said quietly, “I hope you know I love you.”

For a split second the baby’s movements stopped as though it was listening to its mother. She rubbed her stomach gently and left the plane. Outside the airport she reached into her coat pocket and with shaking fingers pulled out the small worry-worn card imprinted with her final destination: Horizon House of Hope for Mothers and Their Babies.

Signaling a taxi, she put her hand on her stomach one more time as she whispered, “That’s what we need baby. We need hope.” Handing her suitcase to the driver she stepped into the cab.

*   *   *

The lights above her head were hot and bright making sweat bead on her forehead as a nurse fiddled with the long electrical tentacles of a monitoring machine suctioned to her stomach and chest. Hearing the continual stream of beeps signaling her baby’s strong heartbeat, she relaxed slightly.

“You’re progressing nicely.” The nurse smiled briefly at her. “Dr. Colford thinks another hour and you should be ready to push.”

“Another hour?” she thought in a panic. Her contractions were coming every few minutes, each one sending an unbearable rush of pain over her abdomen. She didn’t know how she was going to last another ten minutes, never mind an hour. “Oh God,” she pleaded, “Please make this baby hurry. It hurts so much.”

As if the baby heard her, a new wave of pain pushed at her lower stomach and she grabbed the metal sidebars of her bed. Groaning loudly, her knuckles turned white from their grip.

“Never mind about that hour, I guess there’s no time like the present,” said the nurse and went in search of the doctor who entered the room in business-like fashion. “Let’s have this baby shall we?” he said kindly.

A short time later, the fierce cries of her newborn child filled the room as the doctor handed the baby to her, “This little one refuses to be ignored.” Extending her arms she welcomed the new life into her embrace. Ten fingers, ten toes, a shock of thick hair and almond-shaped eyes like her own. The baby was perfect; her heart broke.

“I’m sorry dear, but it’s time to say good-bye.”

She looked at the nurse with tear-filled eyes, her arms trembling as she gave the child to her like a precious gift. “Wait,” she called before the woman could leave the room. “I almost forgot.” Reaching around her neck, she unclasped the only thing of value she had left. Her own mother had given it to her, the gold medallion of St. Barbara, the patron saint of protection. Still warm with the heat of her body, she placed it carefully over the baby’s head. “Be safe Little One, be strong,” she whispered as a fresh wave of tears overtook her. If she was doing the right thing, why did it feel so horribly wrong? “Please go,” she begged the nurse, “before I change my mind.”

Nodding sympathetically, the nurse left the room without another word.

*   *   *

CHAPTER ONE

Amelia stood at the cross-walk waiting patiently for the signal to turn from red to green and wished that life were always this easy. Imagine if every time you were about to make a wrong decision a little red hand flew up and slapped common sense in your face, and when you chose wisely, a green light of approval waved you on. “That would be lovely,” she sighed.

“What would?” asked Rose grabbing a Boston Crier from a nearby newsstand. Amelia watched in amusement as her friend flipped furiously through the pages, bypassing the day’s headlines for the hardcore gossip of the Star Track column. Rose sighed happily drinking in her daily dose of celebrity happenings as Amelia casually sipped her first Diet Coke of the day.

“I bet you just wow clients with your vast knowledge of Beantown’s movers and shakers,” she teased. Glancing at the tall, elegant red head beside her, she was struck as always by the confident poise and chic style that enveloped the brainiac investment analyst. Rose was smart, sophisticated, and fun. She was the consummate professional, popular with her clients, but most importantly, she was the best friend a girl could ask for. Brutally honest, she’d tell you if it was the outfit that made you look fat or if it was time to hit the gym, and fiercely loyal, “the man doesn’t exist who’s good enough for you.” Rose was also an unabashed gossip whore.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied casually, “but don’t underestimate what you can learn from the “Star Track”. For instance, did you know that the Grande Dame of authors Pashmina Papadakis is preparing to release a new novel that critics are already calling her next bestseller, or that two of Boston’s most eligible bachelors were spotted ‘hanging’ in the dugout at last night’s Red Sox game?”

“I must have missed that news alert.” Amelia laughed as she tried to read over Rose’s shoulder, “So who are these studs anyway?”

Handing her the paper Rose waited patiently, unfazed by Amelia’s sudden shriek or the undisguised curiosity of their sidewalk neighbors. “I’m going to call and demand a retraction. Tim’s not an eligible bachelor he’s my boyfriend. Just because he’s with playboy Ben doesn’t mean he’s one too.”

“You know he’s not,” soothed Rose delicately picking her words. “If anything, he’s a lone wolf, not a social butterfly like you.” Amelia nodded and Rose sighed. Clearly the girl was missing the point she was trying to make.

“And he hates baseball,” Amelia continued making her own case against the gossip. “And basketball, and football for that matter. Any team sport really. He’s more of a one-on-one kind of guy.”

“I bet,” Rose snickered stepping lightly beyond Amelia’s swiping reach. “Oh puhleeze, don’t even try to act offended. The horse hair plaster we call walls is anything but sound proof and the bedroom games you two play are anything but quiet!”

Blushing furiously Amelia was inclined to agree. Sex was definitely not an issue for her and Tim in fact it was pretty damn hot. He wanted her, all the time it seemed. Not that she was complaining, she wanted him too, but sometimes she wished that they would talk a little more. Man, was that a girl thing to say or what?

Forcing her focus back to Rose she said, “I’m sure Ben dragged him to the game. I think he’s his only real friend besides me. Anyway, switching topics, I was going to tell you about Pashmina last night but I fell asleep before you got home. I guess the excitement of the day wore me out.”

“So listen to this,” she said continuing her story, “Stuart called me into his office yesterday.” Rose’s full attention was on her with whiplash speed. “I know,” she agreed. “It scared me shitless. What could the big boss possibly have to say to me? I mean I’ve been doing alright. A few small editorial projects that were solid but nothing --good or bad-- that would have brought the attention of the company president on me.”

“So what did he want?”

“Well apparently all of our senior editors are on assignment and they need someone to take on a special project. With my modest but respectable track record, Stuart thinks I can be trusted to manage Pashmina Papadakis’ upcoming novel.”

“Whoa, this is HUGE!” Rose cheered giving her a quick hug. “I mean you’ve never worked with an author of Pashmina’s stature before. Even I know she’s one of the most critically acclaimed mystery writers of the century.” She eyed her friend critically, “You know, word on the street is she’s pretty tough but you can probably take her.”

Though shorter than the statuesque Rose by a few inches, Amelia was a natural beauty, petite and thin with a heavy curtain of white blonde hair and blue eyes that shifted hue with her changing emotions like a mood ring. She was steadfast and unflappable and over the years, her quick thinking and fast talking had saved them both from more sticky situations than Rose wanted to think about. Yep, Amelia could handle just about anything you threw at her.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said dryly, “but Stuart says Pashmina’s novels are so good they practically edit themselves. Translation, it’s almost impossible for me to screw this up. All I have to do is support her and give her whatever she asks for. Stuart’s not stupid. Why else would he entrust a superstar like Pashmina to a rookie like me?”

“Don’t sell yourself short Ms. Rookie,” said Rose. “I’m sure there are plenty of unseasoned editors filling the ranks at Dewes but Stuart chose you and probably with good reason. Maybe it’s a test. Take good care of the Queen Bee and a sweet promotion could be in your future.”

“Well I’m going to need all the help I can get starting today. I’m having lunch with Pashmina and I don’t mind telling you, I’m more than just a little nervous about it.” Rose looked at her puzzled and she tried to explain. “It’s like you said, Pashmina is considered a diva among authors and it’s a really big deal to be her editor. I haven’t even met the woman yet and my arm pits are already sweating.”

Rose pondered the situation, a small frown crinkling her usually smooth brow and suggested, “Maybe you need to go see Minji before you meet Pashmina.”

Amelia laughed. Minji was a Korean manicurist whose weekly ministration of her nails almost always included an unsolicited palm reading as well. Equally off the mark as on, Minji’s prophecies, if not always accurate at very least were entertaining and distracting. “That’s not a bad idea,” Amelia agreed as the light turned green and she and Rose moved forward across the street.

*   *   *

Glancing anxiously at her watch, Amelia power-walked the short distance from the Park Street T station to the restaurant where she was meeting Pashmina. Ten minutes early, perfect. She thought of her mother Francesca, South Carolina’s own Emily Post, who’d expounded upon the virtues of punctuality for most of Amelia’s twenty-six years of life until it became ingrained in her DNA. “If you take the time to make an appointment, make it a point to show up on time,” she’d affirm daily. “It shows respect and commitment.” Well here she was and with time to spare, Mom would be proud. Pulling open the glass doors, she entered the restaurant.

“Hi,” she greeted the hostess standing behind an elegant mahogany podium. “I have a 1:00 reservation for two under Blush.”

“Yes, of course Ms. Blush, your luncheon guest is already here. I’ll show you to your table.” A symphony of clinking glasses and quiet chatter muffled the sound of her heels on the gleaming hardwood floor as Amelia followed the young woman through a maze of linen-covered tables framed by rich, wood-paneled walls and sparkling crystal windows draped with red velvet and snowy white sheers. She smiled approvingly.

She’d thought long and hard before choosing this location for the big meeting. First impressions spoke volumes and she wanted an environment that would not only convey her admiration for the author but also express a bit of her own professional character. The Sommerset, a Brahmin institution frequented by the city’s most influential power brokers was just the place.

“Here we go,” the hostess smiled stepping aside for Amelia to take her seat. “Your waiter will be right with you.”

“Thank you,” Amelia replied.

“Thank you,” echoed Pashmina. The two women looked at each other and smiled.

The hostess nodded, pleasantly surprised by the attention. From behind lowered lashes, she studied the women more closely, pondering their relationship. They were a striking pair, one the picture of cool sophistication in a plum silk sheath that molded to her supple form like a glove to a hand, her dark hair twisted in a sleek chignon exposing the gently maturing features of her face and smooth olive skin; the other fair and bright like a summer’s day, in a tailored white linen pant suit and lavender blouse. Different yet similar, their stylish appearance created a look of balanced harmony.