Page 2 of A Second Chance

“Were they not supportive?”

Jason shook his head. “They were great, even when I didn’t deserve it…not after what I did.” With his head injury, he’d lost chunks of memory from around that time. But from the sporadic flashes of memory that happened, it did not bring him any comfort. The more he pieced together, the worse it became.

The fire danced and crackled in the pit in front of them. They gazed at the fire in silence.

“Do you still think you don’t deserve their support?”

He shrugged, “I know I do, in my head. But emotionally…”

“Might be hard for you to believe, but all of us deserve support. And if you’re lucky enough to get that from your family, then you’re more blessed than many. Call them at the next town and let them know what you’re doing.”

They worried about him, and he appreciated Bobby for not attempting to guilt him with that. Maybe he’d fly home after this and not have them travel all the way to Maine just to yell at him. He faced the fact it was time to stop running from home and the people who knew what happened to him. “What about you?”

“Yeah, my parents said they’d be there.”

“You married?”

“Divorced,” he said, stretching out on the blanket. “She decided I was too hard to live with after I came back.”

“That sucks. If I’d been married, she’d have left my ass too.” Jason stood, nodded to Bobby, and climbed into his tent. He sat on the sleeping bag and pulled his shoes off, his feet screaming as he wiggled his toes and stretched out his body. He should climb on into the bag, laying across the top of it and getting comfortable would come back to bite him.

Jason sat up and pulled the journal out of his pack instead. It wasn’t until he prepared to go on the hike of the AT that he started journaling. His therapist back in Nashville suggested it when he told her his plans. At first, he’d only kept notes on the hike itself, the things he’d seen, and the experience of a long-distance trek. His daily entries still contained that, but they’d grown more personal. The things he remembered, he’d write as soon as he could, just in case he forgot a second time. Jason paged to the prior entry and read:Become a good enough man to have a relationship.Still not there. On the next page, he made notes about the journalist, and his talk with Bobby. At the bottom he wrote:Call mom and Autumn no matter how much it sucks. Grow up.With heavy eyelids, he packed up his journal then slid into the sleeping bag. The pure physical exhaustion of the hike helped break down those emotional walls.

He’d been working on putting himself back together, and reconnecting with his family was the final piece.

Two

Gwen Brookmyer had plenty of bad ideas in her life. But her decision to learn to create lamp work glass beads in her jewelry making might be the worst one yet. Tristan Davies, the glassblower at Llewellyn’s Gallery, had shown her the technique a handful of times. But as she turned another bead into a blob, she was ready to give up.

“Come on,” he said, “try again. You got this.”

“No, I don’t,” she replied, dropping the glob into the vermiculite.

“Just keep it turning and place it at the high end of the flame, you got too low that time.” He handed over another mandrel. “You do wire wrapping. This isn’t much different.”

“Iattemptto not melt the wire.” Gwen picked up another glass rod, they slid on the filter eyewear, and she lit the hot head torch to try again. Sweat dripped down her back, even the small torch gave off tremendous heat.

“Then try not to over melt the glass, same concept,” Tristan retorted, a smile in his voice. She heated the glass cylinder and began the painstaking task of working the melting glass around the mandrel.

“That’s it,” Tristan said. “Move it up a little… like that… keep the mandrel turning at all times.”

As the molten glass formed around the mandrel and she kept twisting, a circle appeared. She followed Tristan’s lead and when it looked like a decent size, she switched off the flame.

“Tris, I made a circle,” she marveled.

“What did I tell you? You got it. Now, wait ‘til it stops glowing.”

Gwen took in the glass bead she’d created and observed the glow inside fade. A simple, one-colored bead that wasn’t the most impressive, but it was beautiful. As a jewelry maker who won a coveted spot at The Llewellyn Gallery at a young age, she needed to continue coming up with fresh and exciting pieces to sell, otherwise, she might lose her position. And as an artist, she enjoyed experimenting in new mediums, but glass intimidated her. Most of it was too hot, and the material temperamental. But she believed she could handle the small glass rods and torch required for beads.

Tristan smiled as she buried the bead in the vermiculite. “Again?”

“I don’t want to keep you from your projects. I’ll practice on my own. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime,” he beamed. “Once you have the basic bead down, I’ll teach you more intricate stuff. Holler if you need any help.” Tristan grabbed a bottle of water and returned to the hot shop, where he created magnificent works of glass art. It held his workbench, the furnace, and where he kept all the other odds and ends he used. She couldn’t imagine the thrill it must be to make the large pieces, after her excitement of turning out one tiny little bead.

That night, she arrived home to discover Nick’s unmarked SUV in her driveway. Her sister’s boyfriend worked as a detective with the White Oak Police Department. Nick treated Avery like a queen and made her happy, so Gwen tolerated his existence. But she hoped they had locked themselves away in Avery’s room so she didn’t have to witness their happiness. Their heated sexual chemistry reminded her that her bits were dormant.

Luck was not in her favor. She pushed through the front door to them curled up on the sofa. The television tuned to a show, but with their faces stuck together she doubted either of them could identify what was playing. It’d been two years, for heaven’s sake – she needed them to not jump each other on the couch.

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