Page 78 of A Thousand Second Chances

I frown. Now that he mentions it, I recall running into her after our date and a few other times in previous iterations as well. But with everything else on my mind, I’d never stopped to consider what it meant. “She never used to stay up this late. Think something’s wrong?”

Chris shrugs, eyes flitting to the stairs. He tugs at my hand. “Dunno. Come on. I want you writhing beneath me.”

A fresh wave of heat sears through me at the image, but as much as I want to give in and let him pull me upstairs, something holds me back. Sensing my hesitation, Chris studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I half-expect him to yank his hand away and storm up the steps with a biting comment. But he doesn’t. Instead, he starts back the other way, tugging me downstairs.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You want to check on her, right?”

“But, what about…” My face heats. “You know.”

“The aforementioned writhing?” A small grin plays over his lips as he shrugs. “It can wait.”

In that instant, I love him a little bit more.

Carol Lindman sits on a couch covered with stitched flowers, a lit Kindle in her lap. A fireplace crackles across from her, though the wood has run low, leaving the room mostly dark. That explains how I’d missed her when we first came in. She must’ve caught at least some of our heated discussion with Oshkoff, but she still seems surprised when we enter.

“Percy! And…I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”

“Chris,” he supplies. He slides into a nearby seat, leaving me to take the other end of the couch next to Carol.

Carol smiles, though there’s something off about it. “Well, good to meet you, Chris. Any friend of Percy’s is a friend of mine. Now, what can I do for ya? I’m afraid the cafe’s closed, but I’msure I can wrangle you up a snack if you like.” She winks at me. “Percy always was partial to my Michigan cherry cookies.”

God, just the thought of those cookies has my mouth watering. The secret is the dried sour cherries she uses, acquired from some local vendor here on the island. I’ve tried finding their equivalent elsewhere, but they’re never as perfectly tart.

I blink and realize they’re both watching me, Chris with one eyebrow raised. I can practically see his thoughts printed across his face.This was your idea. Now what?

I clear my throat. “Thanks, but we’re good. We’ve been snacking on bar food all night.” Carol nods, but her expectant look makes it clear she’s waiting for more. I hesitate, then opt for the truth. “We saw you sitting here all alone and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her too-big smile falters, replaced with something smaller and more genuine. She reaches out to pat my leg. “That’s sweet of you boys. But I’m fine. Just an old woman’s troubles. Nothing for you to worry about.”

The way she says it immediately brings me back to my mom’s cancer, and the blood drains from my face. I might not have spoken to Carol much since the funeral, but I’ve known her practically my whole life. If I lose her, too…

“Are you sick?” My voice trembles, and Chris gives me a sharp look from across the room. “Is…is it…”

Is it cancer? Is it terminal? Is it like my mom?

Before I can find the courage to ask, Carol’s hugging me. “Oh, sweetie, no, nothing like that. I’m sorry. I shoulda thought before I shoved my foot in my mouth. Notthosekinds of troubles.”

Relief floods me, along with a sense of apprehension. If her health’s not keeping her up late at night, then what is?

“Does it have something to do with Owen?” Chris asks abruptly.

Carol’s eyes widen a fraction. “How did you know that?” Her gaze flicks between us, suddenly intent. “Have you spoken to him today?”

“No, not really,” Chris replies. “But he seemed upset this morning.”

He glances at me as if for confirmation, and even though I’m not sure where he’s going with this, I nod. “Yeah. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me.”

Carol sighs and shakes her head but doesn’t look surprised. She turns off her Kindle and sets it on the table in front of her. “School hasn’t been easy for him these past couple years. His grades have been slipping, and he’s started getting into fights. I’ve tried talking to him, but, well…you were both teenage boys once, so you know how it is.”

Her smile is frail, like it might shatter at any moment. My heart goes out to her, my anger at Owen rising. Bad enough he’s rude to me (and to Chris by extension) most mornings, but he’d always been close to his mom. With no other siblings and his dad out of the picture, it had been the two of them—and, well, me and my family, I guess—against the world.

My insides tie themselves in knots. Is he acting out because I’d abandoned him? Like so many other things that had gone wrong, is this my fault?

“I can try talking to him again,” I volunteer. Not that it’s done any good in previous time loops, but I’m willing to endure another of his tirades for Carol’s peace of mind.

She gives me a grateful look. “I’d appreciate that. Maybe you’ll have better luck getting him to open up.” She sinks into the couch and stares at the fading fire. “Every time I try these days, it only seems to push him further away. That’s actually why I’m down here. We got into another argument earlier, and he stormed off.”