Second Time's the Charm

* * *

THE WILLOW FAMILY wasn’t there yet. Waiting in her car for them to arrive so she could walk into the funeral home with six-year-old Chloe Willow, Lillie listened to her voice mail.

Jon had left two messages. And deserved a callback.

He didn’t pick up. Relieved, she waited for his voice mail to be activated.

“Jon? It’s Lillie. Yes, I’m free tonight. I can swing by around seven, if that works for you.”

Abe would sleep better having seen her. He’d be more relaxed at the day care, too, if she didn’t go so many days between visits with him.

She and Jon had to talk about a schedule that would meet Abe’s needs and their own, too. Maybe she just had to come up with more jobs for him to do at her house. Keep it about work.

With the appointment with Jon scheduled, her meeting with Kirk would have to be brief.

And if Jon wanted more from her? Wanted to discuss their sex life? Or know where they went from here?

She didn’t have any answers.

* * *

UNWILLING TO SIT home and let that evening’s appointment with Lillie gain momentum in his mind, Jon splurged and took Abe for hamburgers and French fries for dinner Wednesday night.

He stopped in at the big-box store out by the freeway because it was in the same parking lot as the fast-food restaurant. He wasn’t going to get all sappy and try to woo Lillie with r

omance, but neither could he just let their conversation that evening pass without some kind of preparation.

It would be a conversation they’d remember for the rest of their lives.

If he did it right—and was reading her right.

“What should we get her, Abie baby?” After a long day at Little Spirits and with his belly full, Abraham was ready for a bath and bed, not using his words. Two of his fingers hung out of his mouth as he pointed to the bags of candy that were left over from Halloween.

“Candy’s bad for your teeth,” he reminded his son, purposely not putting his face in Abe’s as he spoke. The boy seemed satisfied with his answer, anyway.

Brownies were bad for your teeth, too, but Lillie had mentioned once that they were her vice. She loved them. Plain fudge. Without nuts.

He picked up what he needed to make a batch.

And bought a bottle of sparkling wine, along with two cheap champagne flutes, satisfying himself with the fact that they were at least glass and not plastic.

He didn’t think beyond plastic and glass and the fact that he had a nine-by-twelve-inch pan at home for baking. He couldn’t dwell on the might-be’s. On the possible outcomes of the night ahead. Or run speeches through his mind. He knew what he had to say. The words would come.

What came out of them, he couldn’t know.

Whatever happened, he’d deal with it.

* * *

KIRK’S SILVER BMW convertible was under a streetlight in the big-box store parking lot outside town when she pulled in on Wednesday precisely at six. The temperature had dropped down to sixty as the sun went down, and he had the top down.

It was so Kirk.

She drove up beside him, rolling down her window.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the passenger seat.

The car was newer than the one he’d had when they were married. And almost identical to it. She shook her head.