A Second Chance by Calen Degnan

 A Second Chance

“Honey, have you unpacked any of the china yet?” I turned from the window and ran my hand along the edge of the writing desk. “No. I mean I don’t think so, see if they’re under the stairs”. I looked back out into the yard.
At one edge of the lawn a tall oak crowded into the street menacingly. On the left side a bungalow was barely visible through a row of hedges. We hadn’t met our neighbours yet, but they could be heard shouting in the small hours of last night, our first in new lodgings. The door to the study opened and I heard my wife pause. “I found the box, it’s just, some are missing. I thought maybe you put them somewhere”. I detected a note of worry in her voice and spoke gently, she was apt to fly into fits of anxiety. “No, I haven’t put anything away yet, I’m sure they’ll turn up somewhere”. She bit her lip and turned to head downstairs “I’ll call you when dinners ready”. I sat at the desk and started the article I’d been commissioned on urban violence “...A clash of homemade arms awoke residents of 41st and Oak” I began, and lost myself.

It must have been close to 6 o clock when I looked up again, the sun was just beginning to set behind the oak tree, and the shadows cast by its branches looked like the crooked fingers of some giant hand. I stood to stretch my legs when a wet rasping sound caught my ear. Walking over to the window I could just see the source of the noise. On the right side of the house, where a vacant lot ran into the forest, a small child was digging intently into the loam. He was dressed in pair of greyish overalls and had a mop of dirty blonde hair. From the angle of the window I could only see his back, and I would have turned to sit down again but there was something arresting in his movements. The tiny body worked without pausing, scooping rocks and dirt off to the side with a black shovel. From the corner of my eye I saw a mangy retriever lope over to investigate. The child stopped as the dog started sniffing at the hole, then moved to push it away. I was worried the dog would attack, but it seemed intent only on the hole, ignoring the child entirely. The child then lifted the shovel high above his head, I shifted uneasily, unsure of what I was witnessing. With a swift hacking motion the shovel was split into the dog’s muzzle, blood spurted upwards. I started, a wave of nausea moving through my body. The dog shook, and then began to slowly worm its way backwards across the lot. The child wiped the shovel off on the grass and then slowly turned. I felt naked outlined in the window, and a sheer animal terror paralysed me. The mop of hair now faced into our yard, and I watched as the head rose, first over the doorway, then the eaves, then up the window. Those eyes, I tried to move but they found me anyways, locking in. I screwed mine shut, feeling sweat trickle down the nape of my neck.

“Tom? What’s the matter? What happened to your hand?” I opened my eyes, the lot was empty. My wife approached, looking puzzled and worried. “Your hand! Are you alright?” I looked down. My fingers were clenched around pieces of a ballpoint pen, ink running down my fist and onto the floor. “I, I don’t know, I thought I saw something, someone, in the lot over there, a child and a dog” I felt dizzy “Well, I’m sure there’s plenty of children in the neighbourhood, no need to get excited” She walked over to the window and looked out “You should get that cleaned off, ink will stain for weeks”. I felt her arms wrap around my waist and she spoke into my ear “Hey, take it easy” I heard her voice tremble “This is a second chance for us, you know, not everybody gets one. Let’s make it count”. She stopped and I moved to face her, placing my hand on her swollen belly. “Shhhh, your right, I’m just anxious probably, it’s this time of day”. She pulled away, “I found the rest of the china, wash up and let’s eat”.

I stood by the window a moment after she had gone, the sun had set and the lot was shrouded in darkness. I felt disoriented and couldn’t shake the sight of the child’s eyes. I hadn’t been this unsure of myself in a long time. “A second chance” I whispered to myself, and went downstairs.

“More coffee?” I was sitting in the living room reading the newspaper when my wife called from the kitchen. She seemed especially cheerful during supper, as if trying to make up for my own morbid demeanour. “No thanks, I’m gonna go for a walk, you need anything?” Dishes clattered. “Hmmm, pick up some Ben and Jerry’s. You know, the cherry garcia.” I decided to walk the 10 or so blocks to the main part of the town. It was a beautiful evening, and the streets were well maintained and carried all the charm of a small town suburb. The grocery store was situated between a gardening warehouse and a dilapidated post office. The elderly man behind the counter was engaged in a heated debate with a tall young man dressed in a well cut grey suit so they didn’t notice my entrance. I watched from the back of the store as the younger man curled his lip “Whatever you say old man, just remember, she won’t thank you for it anymore than I will”. He turned and rushed out so quickly I had to get out of the way. The elderly man then noticed my arrival and hastened to put on a welcoming air. Nearing my driveway I noticed my wife talking to several visitors on the doorstep. The young man in the grey suit stood beside a lady with dark, carefully coiffed hair. “Tom, these are our neighbours, they’ve invited us over for dinner tomorrow night”. The man in the suit smiled broadly and shook my hand, showing no sign of the earlier encounter. “Tom, Tom. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Mark, this is my wife Susan, Allison was telling us about your latest work, it’s good to hear some journalists still have a little integrity”.

I smiled and shook his wife’s hand, noticing nails bitten to the quick and a strange circular scar on the left wrist. “Only as much as I can afford I’m afraid. Talk is cheap, but the written word isn’t worth much more” The couple turned to leave, then Mark snapped his fingers

“Oh by the way, have you seen any dogs wandering about? We’ve lost our retriever, he’s been missing for hours”.

“Voila” Allison stepped off the ladder and placed her hands on her hips, “I always liked this painting, I’m glad we have enough room to hang it here”. It was a somewhat ambiguous representation of a London side street, painted by my grandfather when he was recovering from the war. I was in Maine when he died, writing a piece on the historic shipyards dotting the coast for a maritime museum. My greedy cousins had swooped in immediately, taking anything of value. By the time I had shown up to pay my respects, only a few items of his were left. I took the painting and a bible he had carted through Europe. Although neither I nor Allison were religious, I figured any document that had lived through the western front deserved better than to be dumped off at the local Salvation Army. “Don’t get carried away with the reno’s, you shouldn’t be overexerting yourself” She laughed, the same chiming sound that had initially attracted me to her “Ah, you’re right, but I get bored sitting around the house all day. A girl’s gotta move”

A spider tumbled dexterously in the window above the sink, I watched as it fastened one end of the web to the sill, wicking its feet together like a nervous athlete. I turned the hot water on and ran my fingers under the stream. It was wonderful to have a kitchen with a rinsing sink as well. I had no idea what a difference a little extra room made.

“Tom, do you need any help in there?” Allison’s voice drifted over from the doorway. “I’ll take care of the dishes, have a lie down” She smiled sleepily “I think I will, it sure is warm tonight” I turned back to the sink then a movement caught my eye. An alder sapling on the edge of the lot was bent unnaturally forwards, I watched as it straightened, then quivered. I felt dizziness and a throbbing in my head. I put my shoes on and left the house. The light from the streetlamp cast an orange glow across the lawn, lending an eerie quality to the shadows of the tree branches. I stopped halfway to the vacant lot and peered into the darkness. The trees rustled quietly in the night air. Then the sound of a twig snapping broke the silence. I moved closer to the lot. The alders directly in front of me began to push apart slowly, quietly. “Tom! What’s going on out there?” I turned towards the house. Allison was silhouetted in the doorway. I started to walk towards her, careful not to look back. “You left the tap on, is everything all right?” I kicked my shoes off and closed the door. “I thought I saw that dog out there, it was nothing though, go back to bed. I’m gonna stay up a while and do some work”

I tried to concentrate on the article but found myself unable to focus. My mind kept drifting off to that day, several years ago now. I was in Thailand at the time, cutting my teeth as a war correspondent for the Washington Post. The phone call from the hospital had come after a violent coup de tat, and I was resting in a slimy hostel outside of the red light district. My wife was distraught and just out of labour. We talked for almost an hour as the sirens wailed outside my window. With barely enough money to feed the two of us, and lacking the stability of a nine to five occupation, we had decided to give the baby up. It was a decision that threatened to tear a chasm between us in the ensuing years. Indeed, I doubt the marriage would have survived for much longer if she hadn’t gotten pregnant again.

I had trouble sleeping that night and got up several times to peer out the window, but the lot next door remained empty. As soon as the first touch of grey crept across the room I could stand it no longer. I slipped out of bed and opened the door quietly. The grass was cold and wet on my bare feet as I crossed the lawn, stopping at the edge of the lot. That same rasping shovelling sound could be heard in the distance, and as I approached it seemed to increase in volume. I could see a patch of raised earth. Bending down on my knees, I began to dig, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. Rocks tore at my fingers but I continued shovelling as the sun rose. After 15 or so minutes my hands felt something cold and hard, I moved the earth out of the way to pry it loose and my heart shivered. Two pictures lay in the hole, in the first one my wife and I were standing on the balcony at our old apartment. She had a smile on her face and I had my hands on her pregnant stomach. I brushed the dirt of the second, smaller photo in a sort of trance, the picture was of my wife in the hospital. I hadn’t looked at it in years, wrapped in her arms was our first child, mouth open in a cry. But what chilled were the eyes, those eyes.