Darlene Gardner - Twice the Chance

Jazz didn’t need a psychologist to tell her that was why she’d taken up jogging. She often hit the trails even after standing on her feet all day. It struck her that Bill Smith’s list of high school activities had included track. Could a love of running be hereditary? She shoved the question out of her mind, determined to deal with one problem at a time.

“Thank you,” she said, her chance to ask about the twins’ birthday gone.

They ran side by side in silence with Jazz watching Matt in her peripheral vision. His skin had a healthy glow, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors. His nose went a little wayward in profile and she guessed it had been broken. The imperfection somehow made him more attractive.

She needed to get a grip. It made not one whit of difference if she found him appealing. She needed to operate on the assumption that the twins were the children she’d given up. She’d be a lot less likely to run into them if she didn’t hang around their uncle.

“I need to walk awhile.” The perfect excuse to cut their conversation short.

He stopped running, too.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?” He sounded concerned, the way he had at the restaurant. She couldn’t say for sure why that touched her.

“My shoulder’s fine, thanks.” She’d religiously done the exercises he’d given her, a much cheaper alternative than seeking medical attention. She had health care but could barely afford the co-payment for a doctor’s visit. “I’m just a little winded.”

“Mind if I walk with you?” he asked.

She shrugged instead of stating she’d rather he go ahead without her. What was the matter with her?

“I’ve got a family picnic later,” he said, and she instantly pictured Brooke and Robbie. “How about you? Got any plans?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the ache of loneliness in her throat, wondering where it had come from. Her plans involved finding a quiet spot on nearby Folly Beach where she could gaze at the ocean and read a book. “It’s nice to have an evening off.”

“Don’t you work the day shift?”

“I have a second job.” Now, why had she told him something even her restaurant coworkers didn’t know?

“Does it involve cooking, too?” he asked.

“Telemarketing. I’d love to work for a caterer, but those jobs are hard to come by.” She couldn’t seem to stop confiding in him. At least she hadn’t told him why a caterer would be reluctant to hire her. Or that without two jobs she wouldn’t be able to afford her apartment.

He didn’t say anything for long moments. “What if I offered you a catering job?”

“What?”

“A friend of mine is moving out of state. I’m inviting people to drop by my house Saturday afternoon to say goodbye. I don’t know what to feed them.”

“How about burgers and hot dogs?”

“The party’s in the afternoon and they won’t all be coming at the same time. Some of them will be hungry, some won’t.”

“You could go with finger foods.” As the idea took hold, she elaborated. “Mini quiches, stuffed mushrooms, cocktail meatballs. That kind of thing.”

“Sounds great,” he said. “Then you’ll do it?”

She hesitated, and he named a figure double what she earned on any given night at her telemarketing job. “I’ll pay for the groceries, of course.”

The offer was tantamount to dangling a Godiva in front of a chocoholic. Just the thought of having the freedom to cook something not on the Pancake Palace menu sent her heart beating faster.

Because she wanted to immediately accept, she didn’t. She’d learned in prison that opportunities like this one were seldom as good as they seemed. “I hardly know anything about you.”

“My players will vouch for me.” He slid her a grin. “I don’t only coach youth soccer, I coach the Faircrest High boys’ team, too.”

She hadn’t pegged him for a full-time coach. She would have guessed doctor, lawyer or any of the other professions associated with ambition.

“Is that where Brooke and Robbie will go to high school?” She couldn’t seem to stop digging for more information about them.

“Terry—that’s my sister—sends them to private school. They don’t live in my district, anyway. My brother-in-law inherited a place south of Broad.” He named the most prestigious part of peninsular Charleston, an area so rich in history and beauty that it resembled a living museum.

“Is that where you live, too?” Jazz asked.

“My town house is near Magnolia Plantation,” he said, referring to a popular tourist attraction nestled along the western banks of the Ashley River. “I bought it because it backs up to green space.”

Jazz also lived west of the river but on the less desirable side of Ashley Greens Park, where multi-family housing and strip shopping centers were more common than trendy neighborhoods. Her apartment abutted another apartment.

“Any more questions?” he asked.

Are your niece and nephew my children?

“No,” she said.

“You sure? I want you to feel comfortable when you come over,” he said. “I swear you can trust me.”

She didn’t trust anyone.

“Then give me the run of the kitchen and treat me like an employee.” She hadn’t consciously decided to accept the job until that second.

He saluted her. “Aye aye, captain.”

She felt a grin teasing the corners of her mouth. “How do I get in touch with you?”

“Give me your cell number and I’ll call you,” he said.

“But you don’t have your phone with you, do you?”

“Believe me, I’ll remember the number.” His inflection was jaunty enough that she wouldn’t have been surprised had he winked.

She recited her phone number, and he repeated it just as they reached the offshoot of the path that led to her apartment. She pointed. “Home is that way.”

“I’ll call you,” he said before he resumed his run.

She headed home, sure she was making a mistake but equally certain she’d follow through with the job.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE Matt’s having a goodbye party for Carter? What, if anything, is he thinking?”

Matt paused at the entrance to the teachers’ lounge at Faircrest High School a few days later. The door was ajar, something that volleyball coach and psychology teacher Donna Lee must not have realized, considering the volume of her voice.

Donna sat at the only occupied table, her back to the door. She was flanked by school librarian Fran Van Houten and Tom Dougherty, who’d taught PE and coached football at Faircrest for almost twenty-five years. Fran’s body was angled forward, her mouth slightly agape as she focused on Donna. Tom leaned back in his chair, cradling a cup of coffee in his large hands. He met Matt’s eyes and rolled his.

“If Carter hadn’t given notice,” Donna continued, “the school board would be investigating him as we speak.”

Carter Prioleau was leaving Faircrest after eleven successful years as the athletic director. He’d been instrumental in improving the school’s athletic facilities and helping to build a stable of winning coaches.

Tom cleared his throat and nodded to where Matt stood. Donna kept talking.

“It makes you wonder if Matt’s qualified to run the athletic department,” Donna said. “He should be distancing himself from the whole mess.”

Tom drew a circle in the air with his finger and pointed at Matt. Donna finally turned, her sleek dark hair swinging with the movement. Her face lost color until it was nearly the shade of the white Formica on the tabletop.

“Good morning, Donna.” Matt advanced so he was standing just steps from her. “Am I interrupting?”

She shook her head mutely.

“I thought I heard my name,” Matt said.