Page 7 of A Thousand Second Chances

I wait until Chris and Quinn leave before I trail after them down the metal stairwell. The least I can do is give Chris the space he asked for. However, there’s no avoiding the group waiting on the dock. Over a dozen students cluster around Professor Oshkoff as a handful of other passengers file past. I must be the last to arrive again because as soon as Oshkoff spies me, she makes a final mark on her clipboard and beckons for us to gather in.

“All right, students. You should all have your itineraries for the weekend. If you lose your paper copy, you can access a digital one via your email. Tonight, we’ll be checking into our accommodations. Make sure you have everything from the ferry, then follow me.”

Out of nervous habit, I verify my gaming laptop is still safe in its pocket and that I didn’t leave anything else behind. Once the rest of the students have done the same, we follow Oshkoff as she leads us off the dock and into a blast from my past.

Mackinac Island’s Main Street resembles an idealized vision of a quaint town. Pots of flowers hang from old-timey lamp posts along sidewalks that run past tightly clustered storefronts, their white clapboard gleaming. Even at night, with most of the tourists gone, a small crowd of people peruse the few stores still open or hunt for places to eat.

It’s all so painfully familiar that my throat constricts. Even the smell is the same—the tantalizing sweetness of fudge mixed with a hint of manure from the island’s horses. Not the best scent in the world, but unforgettable in its own way. If I close my eyes, I can practically feel my mom standing beside me, her fingers intertwined with mine as she laughs and points out a sight, pausing to snap a picture with that fancy camera she always used to lug around.

Blinking back tears, I spy Chris and Quinn staring at a horse-drawn carriage parked nearby. An older couple laughs as theyclimb inside with the coachman’s help. Chris rolls his eyes, appearing unimpressed. He says something to Quinn, then yelps when she punches his arm.

The two grin at each other, and I fight down a sudden flash of jealousy.Iused to be the one that made Chris laugh. Back in high school, we did everything together. Now, I hardly know the first thing about him. And, short of stalking him after we return to school, I probably never will.

I tear my gaze away, half-tempted to lose myself in the sparse crowd around us, or maybe turn around and buy a ticket straight back to the mainland. But that would mean letting my dad down, not to mention the university and Professor Oshkoff. Besides, this trip isn’t only about meormy dad. It’s about honoring my mom the best I can in the place she loved most.

Which is why I smother my panic and follow Oshkoff down Main Street, keeping my distance from Chris. The last thing I want is to antagonize him further.

The walk isn’t bad, especially in the crisp autumn air. We follow the road—easy to do when there aren’t any cars eager to run you over—past downtown until it opens into a more natural landscape. The road runs almost parallel to the coast, and on our left, waves lap against the nearby rocky shore. Scattered houses and inns appear to our right, mixed in with trees painted vibrant shades of red and orange.

Professor Oshkoff halts before one such building, and I suck in a breath as I study where we’ll be staying for the next two nights. The Royal Lilac Inn’s three-story clapboard exterior is painted a faded shade of violet. Massive bay windows offer a fantastic view of Lake Huron, and the lilac bushes that lend the place its namesake fill the garden in front. While the lilacs aren’t in bloom this late in the year, scattered perennials add splashes of white and purple.

Other than some fresh signs of wear and tear, it’s pretty much exactly as I remember. I spent countless long days out here, chasing Owen around the garden or exploring the beach across the street. My gaze settles on a worn stone bench set beneath a maple tree. Mom and I used to sit there sometimes to read, each of us lost in our own worlds but together nonetheless.

The memory aches like an open wound, and I turn away, realizing the rest of the group continued without me. I hurry to catch up, tightening my grip on my bag. We ascend the broad front porch, and Oshkoff gives a door engraved with the outline of a lilac a firm knock.

The door jerks open a couple of seconds later, revealing a beaming woman with a presence far larger than her diminutive stature would suggest. Frizzy red hair hangs loose and wild around a sun-kissed face that breaks out into a wide grin the instant she spots us. Seeing her again settles something in my chest. It feels like coming home.

“Well,thereyou are!” Carol Lindman exclaims. “I’d started to worry you’d gotten lost, and I’d have to wait for you to loop around the whole dang island!” She shoves a hand forward. “I’m Carol, and you must be Jacqueline. Good to meet ya! Come in and make yourselves at home!”

Looking a little shell-shocked, Oshkoff shakes the offered hand. “Indeed. Thank you for the,ahem, warm welcome.”

Oshkoff beckons us forward, and we file into a cozy entryway. I look around, taking in the familiar space. The entire ground floor serves as shared facilities for the guests. Several sitting rooms offer a modicum of privacy while a larger formal dining room caters to bigger parties. Glass doors lead to a back patio and a private garden that mirrors the one out front. Off to the right, a section of rooms has been converted into a little cafe that offers breakfast and lunch to guests and tourists alike. This lateat night, the cafe is dark and closed off, but the rest of the floor glows with welcoming light.

Carol opens her arms wide to indicate the space. “Everything down here except the cafe is available to you any time. There’re some board games on the shelves, along with a few puzzles and decks of cards.” She hooks a finger toward the cafe. “The cafe is open from eight AM until three PM every day. Feel free to order whatever you’d like—it’s all included with your stay. Speaking of…”

She gestures past us to a wide staircase leading to the second floor. “Guest rooms are up there. Your group booked us out for the whole weekend, so grab whichever rooms you’d like—we’ve got more than enough space. This place used to be a Victorian mansion before we converted it. If you need anything, my son Owen and I are on the third floor. Oh, one more thing…”

She leads us into the dining room, where the mouthwatering smell of cheese and tomato sauce assaults us. “I took the liberty of ordering some of the best pizza on our little island. Figured you might be hungry after your boat ride.”

Cheers erupt from the other students. Carol certainly knows how to win over a bunch of college kids. As everyone scatters to grab plates and serve themselves, I find my eyes drawn to Chris. Watching as he absently swipes his too-long bangs out of his eyes, I fight down the sudden urge to do it myself. God, what is wrong with me? I have enough to worry about on this trip without pining after someone who wants literally nothing to do with me.

Oshkoff raises her voice to be heard over the din. “Once you’ve eaten, see me so I can help Ms. Lindman distribute your keys on a first-come, first-serve basis. After that, you’re on your own for the night. But remember to make good choices. I expect you all to be up and ready by nine AM sharp tomorrow for our bicycle tour of the island.”

There are a few moans at the early start time, but most of the students are already lost to their mission to devour as much free pizza as they can before it’s gone. I move to grab a paper plate and stake a claim on my own slices, but before I can, I notice someone looming beside me.

My heartbeat quickens, but it’s not a repentant Chris I see when I look over. Instead, I find Carol Lindman smiling at me with misty eyes. She tugs me into a tight hug, her face barely reaching my chest.

“Oh, Percy! It’s so good to see ya! It’s been far too long!”

I swallow and return the hug. “Hi, Ms. Lindman.”

She scoffs as she pulls away. “Please, you’ve known me your whole life. You’re old enough by now to call me Carol.” She sizes me up. “God almighty, you’ve gotten tall! Just like your daddy. You could be a professional basketball player if you had a mind to.”

I chuckle self-consciously, embarrassed by the attention. “That would require a modicum of athletic talent. Height only gets you so far without basic hand-eye coordination.”

She barks a laugh. “You might be onto something there. Still, I can’t believe how grown up you look.” She cups my cheek, and I fight down a blush. “I swear you resemble your mom more and more every time I see ya. You may have your daddy’s height, but you’ve gothereyes.”

Unable to speak, I nod tightly.