Second Chance Romance. Jill Weatherholt
for you. He’ll carry you through this, but you must have faith. And in the end, you’ll find peace.”
Melanie yanked her hand from Aunt Phoebe’s grasp. She stood and paced the kitchen floor. “Why would God steal my family? They were my world, Aunt Phoebe.” She turned toward the kitchen window. A chipmunk hopped along the split-rail fence. “Where was He when my children were trapped inside a burning car, while their father did everything in his power to save them but died trying?”
“Oh child, God will bring you through this difficulty if you’ll open your heart to Him.”
Melanie shook her head. “I’m not sure I can believe in Him again. I did once. I really did...but not anymore.” She turned from the window and walked toward the table. Her throat parched, she reached for her glass of water and took three large gulps before placing it back on the table. “I didn’t come here to upset you—please believe me. It’s just—” she picked up the glass and drained it “—I can’t seem to get my life back on track. I don’t know how to live without my family.” Chill bumps peppered her skin as her aunt took her hand.
“Put your trust in God, and in time, peace will flourish.”
Melanie gave Aunt Phoebe’s hand a quick squeeze. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go lie down for a little while—” her footsteps tapped across the hardwood floors before she turned back around and faced her aunt “—unless you need my help.”
“No, of course not. I’ve got everything under control.” She walked toward the sink.
Inside the guest room, Melanie gazed up at the cedar ceiling. Her hand gripped the cold doorknob as she slowly pushed the door shut.
Peace. She hadn’t felt it since the last time she kissed her girls and husband goodbye.
A cold chill ran through her blood when, across the room, she spied the gift she’d mailed to Aunt Phoebe on her last birthday. Sluggishly she walked toward the dresser and picked up the present.
She studied the photo inside the frame, and her eyes erupted with tears. It was from the last trip they’d taken to the beach as a family. Her husband, Jeff, had asked a stranger passing by to take their picture. Tan and smiling, they had an amazing life. Her hands trembled as she placed the frame on the dresser. She wanted to crawl inside the photo and be with her family one more time. Her body quivered, and instead she crawled into the bed and sobbed.
After what felt like hours, but had probably just been one, Melanie entered the kitchen to the sound of chicken sizzling in the skillet. “I’m sorry, Aunt Phoebe. I should be helping you.”
Her aunt flung the dish towel over her shoulder and brushed her hand across her forehead, leaving behind a trail of flour. “You need your rest.” She patted Melanie’s arm. “Besides, I’ve been cooking like this for over forty years. Making dinner for four is easy peasy.”
Melanie yanked a paper towel from the roll, turned on the faucet and swiped the towel under the water. “Here, let me at least do this.” She smiled. “You’ve got a little flour on your forehead,” she said, wiping away the powdery substance. She took in her aunt’s features. Despite a few wrinkles and hair as white as snow, her aunt still looked youthful.
“Thanks, dear. Oh, I think I hear a car.”
Melanie’s pulse rose. She listened to the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway. “I’ll go get the door,” she told her aunt. A chill traveled through her body as she walked toward the entrance. She wrapped her arms around herself. This wouldn’t be easy, but her aunt seemed happy, so she pasted a smile on her face and flung open the door. A flash of blond hair tore past Melanie.
The sound of prancing feet scurrying along the hardwood floor filled the room. “Phoebe, Phoebe...we’re here!”
She tried to catch her breath, her legs weak. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t ready to be around children. Not yet. The child’s blond ringlets sprouting from her head bounced like rubber balls when she turned and headed back toward the door. Melanie glanced down when the girl stopped in front of her. She wore a yellow dress covered in red polka dots. Her shoes were patent leather, and exactly like the ones Melanie had purchased over a year ago. Her stomach wrenched.
“Hello, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Rebecca.” The child looked up, extended her tiny hand and grinned. The smile lit up her entire face. Wide-eyed, she turned toward the door. “And that’s my daddy.” She giggled. “Oh yeah, you already know him. Remember, he’s the one who rescued you yesterday. He’s right. You’re pretty.” She released her hand and raced toward Aunt Phoebe as she exited the kitchen.
Melanie’s stomach churned. Did he really think she was pretty? She might have misunderstood. He was probably talking about the nurse. What was her name again? Yes, Sara. She appeared to have a crush on Jackson. They were probably dating. Not that Melanie cared either way. She didn’t want anyone to think she was pretty. She didn’t want people to think anything of her—she wished she were invisible. It would have been much easier.
“Hello, Rebecca. You look lovely today.” Aunt Phoebe took the child into her arms and gave her a kiss on her cheek.
Rebecca pulled back, her arms still around Aunt Phoebe’s neck. Their noses nearly touched. “Guess what? I’m getting a puppy.”
In a daze, Melanie watched Rebecca. It seemed like an eternity since she’d felt a child’s arms around her neck. Would she ever feel the softness of children’s smooth and flawless skin? Would she ever smell the sweetness when they were fresh out of the bathtub? She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder, erasing her negative thoughts, at least for now.
She turned and found herself face-to-face with Jackson.
A slow smile moved across his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He held two bunches of pink roses. “These are for you.” He handed her one bunch. How did he know they were her favorite? Her father had given her pink roses when she’d graduated from law school. It was the last gift she’d received from him. A single rose, now brown and crinkled, remained in her memory book, along with photographs from her life before it’d ended.
“You didn’t scare me.” She accepted the roses and swiped the bouquet under her nose. It seemed forever since she’d smelled the sweet scent of fresh-cut roses. “They’re beautiful.” She took another sniff. “It was thoughtful of you to bring them. Thank you.”
His focus remained on her. “Your color is better today. How are you feeling?”
His scrutiny made her face burn, but somehow, in the last couple of minutes, she’d forgotten about the pain in her neck and the rest of her body aches. “I’m feeling okay. Thanks for asking.” She played with a strand of her hair.
“Hello, Jackson. What do you have there?” Aunt Phoebe wiped her hands down her Kiss the Chef apron.
He smiled and handed the other bouquet to Aunt Phoebe. “These are for you, a thank-you for having me and Rebecca over.”
“Dear, put these in some water. We’ll use them as the centerpiece.” She handed Melanie the roses. Melanie headed toward the kitchen, inhaling the fragrance once more. The clicking of tiny feet came from behind and she turned.
“I know where the vases are, Miss Melanie. Can I help?”
Startled by Rebecca’s enthusiasm, Melanie nodded. Without warning, Rebecca grabbed hold of her free hand and led her into the kitchen. Melanie’s heart melted. She wanted to cry, but instead, she forced a smile, allowing the hand to remain as they entered the kitchen.
Melanie watched Rebecca take command. She certainly knew her way around Aunt Phoebe’s kitchen, finding the exact cupboard where vases of all sizes and colors were stored.
“Do you like this one, Miss Melanie?” She turned holding a white vase with tiny yellow daisies covering the sides, and large enough for both bouquets. “I love daisies, don’t you?”
“Yes,