Page 13 of A Second Chance

“Well,that’sa fancy word.”

Autumn sighed and flopped down on his bed, sprawling across the comfortable sheets he wanted to be back underneath them. “Look, I just want my brother back to the way you were before Afghanistan and Iraq happened.”

Jason sat on the bed next to Autumn. “The one thing I’ve learned, is I can never be that guy again. Everything I’ve been through has changed me… and it’s not a bad thing. I’m out the other side now. You’ve changed too, and it looks good on you.”

“I’m happy. Are you?”

“I’m content.”

“Stop apologizing to me. You don’t have to keep on apologizing.”

“Deal.”

“What do you think about Gwen?” Autumn smiled.

Jason shrugged, “Nice enough lady, I guess.”

“She’s cute, right?”

Cute? Gwen was smoking hot. But odd and aloof, and he couldn’t get a read on her. Might have been the headache? He’d like to talk to her again. In front of Autumn, he shrugged.

Autumn stretched across his bed and yawned. “You two would be perfect together.”

“That’s a bit far-fetched.”

“I was right about Rebecca and Weasel, and I’m right about this.”

“That doesn’t make you right about this.”

Autumn didn’t respond because she’d passed out.Shit.Jason retrieved the cell phone from her back pocket, making a mental note to go buy one, he dialed. Daniel answered with a crude remark of what he’d love to do for Autumn. Jason gagged, “Damn man, no. Come get your wife out of my bed.”

Six

The little silver clunker did its job and got her around town. Although everything in the car rattled at thirty miles an hour, it was a slow-go. She feared that, one of these days, she’d be sitting at a red light and the vehicle would fall apart around her. Gwen pulled into a spot behind the gallery and killed the engine. Today would be busy, she had plenty to do – there were three orders on commission to work on, and fall always brought more orders for customers looking for holiday presents.

Llewellyn’s Gallery sat in a brick building built at the turn of the century in the town square. The corner location with bay doors down the side gave them the ability to install a hot shop where tourists watched Tristan work or give demonstrations. Then a door funneled them into the shop to open their wallets. The minimalist storefront where large glass windows let in plenty of natural light and the original hardwood flooring shined. Hidden in between the gallery and the hot shop was the workroom for everyone else. Divided into sections, Gwen had her area workbench setup. The new painter, Megan, had a private space for working and an art room used for classes, and Jack Wilson had the back corner for his wood carving.

Gwen entered through open bay doors of the hot shop; it was quiet. Most of the time Tristan and an assistant spent mornings firing a new piece. She stepped over the chain, warning people to stay out, and walked between the benches used for public demonstrations. His gorgeous pieces sold for an insane amount of money.

Inside the workroom, stale air greeted her. The air conditioning was out, and this time of year they needed air conditioning during the day and a touch of heat at night. None of the lights worked. She found Lu Park, the manager, pacing the gallery floor, gripping her cell phone while Tristan stood, hands on hips. Megan, the new painter in residence, perched on a stool behind the front desk, leaning against the brick wall; she appeared to be asleep.

“What’s going on?”

“I came in to no electricity. No one else in the building has this issue and the electric company says it’s my problem,” she huffed. Lu was a tiny, elegant woman of Korean descent, but she was a third-generation American with a southern accent. It had caused numerous double-takes from unsuspecting new customers.

“What are you going to do?”

“Luckily, I got an electrician out here.”

“This fast?”

“I ran into Detective Anderson, the guy they call Weasel, and he knew someone who could come right out. Such a blessing.”

All the hairs on her neck stood. “Who did he send?”

“Ms. Park,” Jason McMillan rounded the corner into the storefront wearing several days’ worth of dark stubble, black t-shirt, jeans, and a tool belt. Gwen’s mouth went dry. “It’s the old wiring in this place.” He stopped when he spotted her and smiled. “Hey, Gwen, are you feeling better?”

“Were you sick?” Lu asked.

---