A Second Chance

By Dawn Natelle

Another one for you. Enjoy: Dawn

FRIDAY, May 20, 2016

When Carly and Becca got on the bus that morning Layla was with them, cheerfully interacting with her former best friends. But as the other girls went to the back of the bus, Layla veered off and sat down next to Rachael.

“I hope Mikki won’t mind me sitting here just this once,” Layla said. “I want to thank you for yesterday. I felt so terrible, all alone and sad. And it was the one person who I thought I hated who came to me, who reached out and made everything good again.”

“That’s all right,” Rachael said, deflecting compliments as she was prone to do. “I’m just glad you are still with us.”

Layla stared at her. “You mean … you knew? That I was thinking of doing something terrible?”

“But you didn’t. That is the important thing.”

Layla stared again, and then flung her arms around Rachael. “I love you. I thought I hated you, but I really love you. Please, please be my friend.”

“I already am. And please let me go. People will start to talk.”

Layla laughed, and it warmed Rachael to hear it. “No. And Neal is my guy now. Thanks to you for that, too. He is so special. I’ve had other boyfriends before, but none of them made me feel like Neal does. I don’t know why I thought he was a nerd. He is so cool. He knows so much. During the movie he explained things to me, and I understand so much better now. I used to hate history. I thought it was boring. But that movie, and Neal’s explanations, made it all so interesting.”

“Well, you should tell that to Mr. Churchill. He will be happy to have another new recruit to his army of History Zombies.”

Layla laughed again. “You are so much fun Rachael. Thank you again.”

In the gym that morning for P.E. Layla and Becca again worked with Rachael on skills during the first part of the period while Ms. Smith worked with the other students. Layla was surprised at how much Becca had improved in the last class, while she was having her snit. So she doubled her efforts, soon was making progress.

In the game part of the class, the girl who was captain tried to keep only the best players on the court, and of course that included Rachael. But Rachael protested, and made sure that Becca and Layla got court time, often when she was with them. The team fell back each time, but by smaller and smaller amounts as the girls got the hang of playing defense.

And for the last two minutes of the game the top players were all fresh, while their opponents were lagging and tired. The result was a 10-0 run to end the game, and Becca and Layla were right in the middle of the victory celebrations. They had finally been on a winning side, and felt that they had contributed. Rachael praising their efforts through the game had helped immensely, and after the girls showered and walked to lunch, Layla walked with Rachael and the other girls.

“That was fun,” she said. “I used to hate P.E. I used to hate all the subjects at school. My best subject was lunch. Now I like History, and I like P.E. What’s next?”

“How about French?” Rachael suggested. “I saw you struggling a bit this morning. You should try to sit next to Larissa. She can really help you.”

“Do you think she would? I mean, when I was … down … last week, I said some pretty terrible things about her. About her height, and her being foreign.”

“Well, you could apologize. And there is nothing wrong with people from other countries coming to Canada. All of us were immigrants once, even the First Nation’s people: although they didn’t chase anyone else off the land. Immigrants are what make Canada great. In the United States they have what they call the ‘Melting Pot’ where everyone has to become an ‘American.’ In Canada we have ‘Multiculturalism’ where each group can maintain their history and culture while adding to the Canadian mosaic.”

“That is cool. My last name is Patrelle. That must be French too. I really should learn the language.”

“Yeah. When you finish high school you might want to go to France to visit. If you can speak the language you will fit in better there. You might even meet some Patrelle’s … distant relatives.”

“Oh, that would be so cool. I have to talk to Larissa. I don’t like apologizing, but I think I need to.”

“She is cool. I’m sure she will accept your apology gracefully. And if you become better friends, then she might invite you to her house. Everyone there speaks French.”

“Oh, is that why she is so good at it, then?”

“No silly. French is her first language. She had to learn English the way we are learning French,” Rachael said.

“But her English is so good. I mean you can tell she has an accent, but we can understand everything she says. I bet if we had to talk French for real, French people would laugh at us.”

“Maybe. But a second language is important. Tony DaSilva also has an accent, but his language was Italian.”

“And his English is good too,” Layla noted. “I used to think foreigners were dumb, but I guess really they must be smart, to be able to speak in two languages.”

Rachael smiled. “I think you are getting it. Now I have to go around and see what movie people want next Thursday. Are Neal and you coming?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What are the choices?”

“Sound of Music, or West Side Story. Music is a lighter, fun piece, and Story is darker, about gangs in New York.”

“Oh, I vote for Sound of Music.”

So did the majority of the other students that Rachael polled. She would reserve that DVD at the library on the way home.

After lunch was the three-hour project block, but as it was Friday, they would be playing the Math movie game. For the next three hours, in the three different classrooms the entire class had more fun doing math than they had in their lives. Rachael looked over at Layla in her group at one point, and saw her animatedly working out a budget with her partners. Make that three subjects she now likes, Rachael thought.

On the way home, they picked up Gary, and he accompanied them to Grandpa’s. Gary wanted to speak to Grandpa, and went in to thank him for his service. Gary’s grandfather had served for the last two years of WWII.

While they were chatting, Rachael used Grandpa’s telephone in the kitchen. She realized that soon this would be her home phone number. She marveled at the old-fashioned phone, with its dial. Then she did a double-take. Ron had first used a telephone with no dial, in the 1950s. You picked up the phone and when an operator answered you said something like 9-ring-3 and were connected. Now his new Rachael persona was so strong that she found the dial phone, a Princess model from the 1970s, strange-looking.

She dialed a number from a slip of paper in her purse.

“Steve Winslow here. How can I help you?”

“Oh, Steve. I’m glad you are in. This is Rachael Cartright. You know. Maria’s daughter.”

“Oh Rachael,” there was a smile in the formerly formal voice. “You aren’t by any chance calling to tell me your mother wants another date, are you?”

“Sorry Steve. But I wonder if you could help me. Remember that yard sale you had a couple weeks ago. You had some men’s clothes for sell. Did you sell them?”

“A few. Not many men shop at yard sales. Most of them are still in my garage. Why?”

“Would you like to donate some of them? I know someone who is applying for a job, and he really doesn’t have any good clothes.”

“They aren’t really good clothes,” Steve said. “Goodwill didn’t even want them.”

“Believe me Steve,” Rachael said. “They will be better than what he has on now. Will you be there for a while? We can be there in 10 minutes.”

Nearly 10 minutes later the gang were outside Steve’s house. Mikki and Larissa went on, taking the boys with them. Marc and Bobby were going to play at Larissa’s home. Rachael and Gary walked up to the door and rang the bell.

Gary flinched when he first saw Steve, who was in uniform. “Policeman,” he whispered.

“It’s all right,” Rachael said. “Steve is cool.”

Steve looked at Gary for a moment, trying to recognize him. Soon his police training broke through, and he said: “Gary Sovey. You’ve cleaned up your act a bit.”

“You know each other,” Rachael noted. “Gary is going to apply for a job today, and these are his only clothes. I know your stuff will be too big for him, but they will be better than this. And better smelling. I want to pick out a few things for him, and then I’ll take him home so he can shower before he puts them on.”

“No!” Steve said abruptly. “You will not take this man into your house. He … he can shower here. And I will drive you to wherever this interview is.”

“It’s only over at the church.” Rachael said. “We can walk.”

“Then I will walk with you,” Steve said in his authoritative police voice.

For the next 15 minutes Steve took Gary into his house and showed him the shower. He came back to find Rachael going through the clothes. Steve and Gary were about the same height, with Steve perhaps an inch or two taller. But Gary was at least 50 pounds lighter.

“Can he take two sets?” Rachael asked. “I’d really like to see him ditch those old rags.”

“I already have,” Steve said, holding up a black trash bag. “Take as many as you like. I just want to get rid of them.”

Most of the shirts were pale blue, and you could see the odd hole or stitching where police badges had been removed. There were also dress trousers with a red and yellow stripe down the seam. But Rachael was more interested in the three pairs of jeans. She took those, and the best five of the shirts.

“What about a belt?” she wondered. There was one on the pile of clothes, but it would be way too big for Gary. Steve wrinkled his nose as he opened the trash bag, and fished out Gary’s old belt. When he laid it down next to the good belt, you could see that the latter was a half-foot too long. Steve took out a knife and cut four or five inches off the good belt, and then used the point to carve out three or four additional belt holes. The two belts were now similar in size.

“Let me take these up to Gary,” Steve said. “He should be clean now. I kinda want to wash my hands too, after handling those rags.” He carried the belt, one pair of jeans, and a shirt into the house.

It was only a minute or two later that the men returned. Gary didn’t look too bad. His clothes were ill-fitting, but they were clean and for the first time since she met him Gary smelled normal. The three walked over to the church, where they found the deacon, vainly trying to start the old church lawnmower.

“This piece of … scrap … won’t start,” he said.

“Can I try?” Gary asked.

“Go for it,” the deacon said. “I’m going home to get my lawnmower. I know it works.” With that he walked away.

Gary looked over the lawnmower. Tools had been his trade, and he could make almost anything work. He flipped the machine on its side, checking to make sure that no gas was leaking. As he thought, the blade needed sharpening, and it looked like no one had ever cleaned the machine. It was clogged with grass. The blade would have to wait, but he could clear the old grass away.

Gary had been a stickler for safety when he had his own shop, and he wasn’t about to clear the dried grass with a live lawnmower. He reached to loosen the spark plug and immediately knew what the problem was. The spark plug was loose, so of course the mower wouldn’t turn over. He took a stick to scrape off most of the dried grass.

“I’m going to leave you two here, and go see the new pastor,” Rachael announced, turning and walking towards the church.

Steve was torn. He didn’t trust Gary, but felt a responsibility to the girl. “Wait, I will come with you,” he said. There wasn’t anything but junk in the shed, and it wasn’t like Gary would try to steal anything.

Rachael and Steve entered the church together, and while still in the lobby they could hear a strong, feminine voice from the pulpit. Rev. McFarland was practicing her Sunday sermon. The pair stopped at the entrance from the lobby into the church and listened. Rachael noticed that the sun was having its affect, creating a halo around the minister’s head. She heard a whisper from the policeman: “She’s beautiful.”

Finally she noticed she had an audience, and stopped. “Hello there. Rachael and … I don’t believe we have met, officer.”

“This is Constable Steve Winslow, Helen,” Rachael did the introductions. “Reverend Helen McFarland, Steve. He is not here on official business. He just accompanied me with a man I think could become church caretaker.” Just then there was the roar of a lawnmower starting, sputtering once or twice, and then starting full power. “And I think that is him.”

“Well we certainly need a caretaker,” Helen said. “The church is a mess. I’ve had to sweep the floors myself this morning, and I’m not good at sweeping.”

“Well, Gary is,” Rachael said. “And it sounds like he is good with lawnmowers, too.”

Rachael looked at Steve, and saw that he was staring at the young minister, who was getting nervous at his attention.

“Steve,” Rachael said. No reaction. “Steve,” she repeated louder and he finally looked away from Helen. “Why don’t you go out and check on Gary. Helen and I would like to pray.”

He mumbled in agreement, and shuffled away. Once he was out of hearing range, Helen said: “Thanks. That was bothering me. I know I’m not the prettiest woman in the world, but staring is quite rude, you know.”

“I think he likes you,” Rachael said.

Helen laughed. “Not likely. I’ve only been asked out once in my life. It was in college, and he was a good-looking member of the swim team. When he took me to the party I found out that it had been a bet, and the other members of the team laughed at me as they paid up. It nearly broke my heart. That’s when I switched majors from Psychology to Seminary. At least the men there don’t stare so rudely.”

“No, I think he was taken by you,” Rachael said. “When we came in, the sun was just so, and it made a halo around you.”

“I noticed that,” she said. “Once we get a caretaker I want to get that covered up. It is pretty annoying to have the sun in your eyes when speaking.”

“You could do that,” Rachael said. “Or you could make use of it. Now that you know what it does, you could just move to another position for most of the sermon. But when there is a point you really want to emphasize, you could move into the sun. The halo would amplify your point. Then move away when you go on to something else.”

“That might work,” the Reverend mused. “I’ll try it Sunday. Although I guess it only works if the sun is shining. But back to … that man. Even if he thought I was pretty with the sun in my hair, he certainly stared at me long enough to see what I really look like.”

“And I still think he liked what he saw,” Rachael said. “Maybe he sees what is inside, and not just the outside. Trust me, he will ask you out. I hope you will go out with him. He dated my Mom, but they didn’t hit it off.”

“Your Mom?” Helen said. “She’s gorgeous. If he can get a girl like her, why would he want a plain-Jane like me?”

“He’s a good guy,” Rachael said. “If he asks you out, it will be because he likes you.”

Helen wanted to change the topic. “You said you wanted to pray.”

“Yes I did,” she moved to a front pew, looking up at the cross on the wall. Helen sat beside her. After a second, the young pastor took her hand.

Helen felt completely different from any other time she had prayed. It seemed she was being carried up into the sky, and was soon on a cloud looking at a marble-walled castle with a golden gate and fence. Is this … she wondered?

Then she saw her late mother, on the other side of the fence: the one person in her life who had unconditionally loved her. “My darling girl,” she said. Helen noticed that her mother seemed young-looking, younger than she was.

“Momma,” she said. “I have missed you so much.”

“And I have missed you too, but it is too soon for you to be here. You have a life to live, a man who loves you to find, and children to raise,” she glimpsed upwards. “He wants you to have children.”

“Oh my.” Helen gulped. “The policeman? Is he the one?”

“He could be. He is a good man, and would be a good father. But the decision is yours. If not him, then another.”

“Yeah, like another one will come around. I haven’t exactly been asked out much lately,” Helen said. “Rachael said he thinks I am pretty.”

“You are pretty,” he mother said. “It’s just that not everyone can see deeply enough to see the real you. He can. We may have helped a little up here, but he really does think you are something special. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I will take all the help I can get. I …” Helen felt herself being pulled back. “Momma. I have to go. I love you. I always loved you.”

Helen could no longer see the castle, or the gates, but she could hear her mother’s voice. “And I always will love you, my sweet.”

Rachael had just let go of the reverend’s hand, after a long mid-day prayer. She turned and looked at Helen, who blinked and coughed. “I … I have a lot to think about. I think I was … up there.” She got up and left the church for her office at the back.

Rachael went outside. The mowing had stopped, and Steve was watching Gary run an old trimmer that he had found in the garage. “That man is amazing,” Steve said. “He took that old trimmer out of the mess in the shed and in two minutes he had it running, using a cord from another trimmer.”

Just then Deacon Maclean returned, with a newer lawnmower in his trunk. He looked amazed as he saw the immaculate looking lawn as Gary continued trimming.

“He finished it?” the deacon said.

“Almost. Just that one more pass by the flower beds,” Steve said.

“Well he certainly did a fine job. Where did he find the trimmer?”

“He pulled it out of the shed. A couple minutes and some parts from another trimmer, and he had it running. The man is a wonder with tools,” Steve said.

“Well, I hope he will take the job. It is only minimum wage and we can only afford eight hours a week. That turns most people off.”

“What is the shed?” Rachael asked. “It seems to be crammed with stuff.”

“Yes, that building was used until the 1930s for parishioners who brought buggies to church. The horses and buggies were tended to in there during the service. It was especially well-used in winter or when it rained. The building sat idle until the 70s, when one of my predecessors decided to allow church members to bring in their surplus tools. More than a few widows had their husband’s collection brought in. Until the 90s our caretaker would clean and fix up the old tools, and they would be sold when the church ladies had a bake sale. But my last caretaker wasn’t so handy and he was only given 24 hours a week. So the shed just filled up.”

“You could let Gary clean up the tools and sell them, splitting the money with the church,” Rachael suggested. “That way both he and the church would make a little money.”

“That’s a good idea,” Deacon Maclean said. “I need all the money I can get to fix that roof. It has to be done this fall or next year. If it is next year we will all have to pray for a mild winter.”

Gary came back, carrying the trimmer. “There is more I need to do,” he announced. “I want to get around the sidewalks, and then I will have to sweep the sidewalks. Is there a lot to do inside?”

“Neverending, neverending,” the deacon said. “The job is minimum wage for eight hours a week. Rachael here suggested that you might want to fix up some of the tools in the shed. If you do, and sell them, the church will split the money with you.”

“No, no, no,” Gary said. “I don’t want money. I just want to make God’s house look good. No matter how many hours a week it will take.”

“No Gary,” Rachael said. “You have to take the salary at least. You will need to buy food at least. If you have a job, you can’t take charity.”

“I would be able to buy bread and fruit from my stores,” Gary suggested. That idea pleased him.

Rachael had an idea. “Would there be any space in the shed for a bed? Gary is kinda homeless right now, and if things could be moved around to make room for a bed, and maybe a fridge.”

“I don’t know,” the deacon hesitated. “Liability issues. I guess I could look into it.”

“You know,” Steve suggested. “Why don’t you increase his hours to 12 a week, and then rent him space in the shed at a rent to match the extra four hours of pay. It would come out even in the end.”

“And I am worried that eight hours is not enough for all that needs to be done,” the deacon said. “He could go into the church for a washroom. One of the pastors in the 80s had a shower put in so he could be clean before preaching. It doesn’t work right now, but …”

“I will fix it,” Gary said.

“Welcome to our church,” the deacon said. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll show you around, and what duties you have. You will have to work out a schedule which things to do on which week, because even with 12 hours you won’t be able to do everything.”

“I will do what is needed,” Gary said as he and the deacon headed into the church.

“Mission accomplished,” Steve said, as he and Rachael walked back towards their homes.

“Maybe. We got Gary a job. You still don’t trust him, do you?”

“You know, I think I do. He told me he has stopped drinking, and that he is trying to turn his life around. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I think he will be a good worker for the deacon.

“What about the reverend?” Rachael said. “You seemed to be quite taken by her.”

“Oh, she probably has a boyfriend, or is at least dating,” Steve said morosely. “She wouldn’t be interested in me. Would she?”

“I think she would,” Rachael said. “She isn’t seeing anyone at the moment. I happen to know that. You should ask her out.”

“I think I will,” Steve said as they neared his house. “I think I will come to her service on Sunday too. I am on nights now.”

“Come with us,” Rachael said. “We pass here about 7:50. If you are ready, we will stop in.”

“Great. See you on Sunday.”

Rachael made it home before Maria, but just barely. She called Larissa and had Bobby sent home, and he was walking down the street when he saw his mother walking in from the other direction. They entered the house at the same time.

“Nothing special for dinner, I’m afraid,” Rachael said. “I’ve got some hamburger going for Sloppy Joe’s. We can use the rest of the spaghetti sauce from last night, and there are buns in the fridge to use up.”

“Sloppy Joe’s,” Bobby said, doing a little dance that made both Maria and Rachael smile.

“Yes, and if you want some you have to go change out of your school clothes,” Rachael said. “Put the shirt you had on yesterday back on. It already has spaghetti stains. And put the other one up nicely, not on the floor. You can wear it to the farm tomorrow, with a pair of jeans.”

“The farm, the farm,” the boy chanted as he skipped up the stairs.

“Oh no,” Maria said, reading a letter she had brought into the house when she entered. “It’s the landlord.”

“What’s he want?” Rachael said.

“Oh. It is actually good news. He has agreed to pay us the security deposit. We have already paid this months rent, so he says we don’t have to pay next month’s. And he says that if we decide to move out at the end of the month he will pay us another half-month rent. Plus get the last month paid for in cash. Oh honey, we will be rich.”

“Well, not rich, but at least you can put some money away for emergencies,” Rachael said. “Can we get out by the end of the month? Bobby and I will be away tomorrow, and Sunday we have Grandpa coming over. You know, that could be his last visit here. We could start doing Sunday dinner at his house, sort of to get used to it.”

“I think it is doable. Most of the furniture came with the house. So it is only our clothes and the kitchen stuff that we will take: a couple lamps, and Bobby’s bed. We bought that new after he stopped wetting.”

“Do you think that the church is renting it for Helen? When she was looking at it, she said she wanted to make Bobby’s room her office, so she won’t mind no bed.”

“I do think it is the church,” Maria said. “Landlords hate to pay rent back, and a bonus almost never happens. I bet he has an offer from the church conditional on it being ready at the end of the month.”

After a meal and a good long Harry Potter reading with Bobby (who was so excited about the farm that he had trouble settling down) Rachael went to the washroom to clean up for bed. She discovered a few dots of red in her panties, and suddenly realized that she was nearly a month from when she had taken over this body from old Rachael.

She thought back into the old Rachael memories. She had her first period about a year and a half earlier, and more than two thirds of them had been severe, with heavy cramping. It was no accident that she had planned her suicide right after a period. Perfect timing, Rachael thought. An important, possibly, trip to the farm tomorrow and she would be experiencing this part of womanhood for the first time.

Eventually she was at the edge of her own bed.

Dear Lord

Thanks for another perfect day. Please let Steve and Helen become a couple. I think they would be so cute together. Let Gary do well at his new job. He could be an asset to the church, if they let him. I don’t know what the shops on his block will do now, without him cleaning up for them. The schoolyards have never looked so tidy since he started to pick up the litter. And bless you for saving Layla. She is one of the gang again, and she seems so happy now.

Amen