Page 7 of Second Chance Valentine

“Who’s this?” I say, bending to scratch the brown and white beagle behind the ears.

“That’s Betty,” she says, frowning as the dog rolls over on her back, letting me rub her belly. “Disloyal Betty, I like to call her.” She rolls her blue eyes and plops down on a barstool, having pulled out all the items I need to make dinner.

“The bakery is amazing. You must be so proud. You’ve got your own business like you always wanted.”

“Yeah. It took me a while, but I finally got enough money together to get started.”

“Is it as fun as you thought it would be?”

“Most days, yes. I love being right in the middle of town and it allows me the flexibility to get involved in community activities.”

“Like what?”

“Well, right now I’m planning a Valentine’s Dance for the Senior Citizens. We’re trying to recreate the dances they had back in their teenage years.” She flips her hair out of her eyes and I can see her relaxing as she talks about something she’s passionate about.

“That’s nice of you. I bet they’ll love that. Where’s it going to be held?”

“We haven’t decided yet. I have a picture on the wall of my shop that’s going to be our inspiration. It’s a black and white cut out from a magazine and it looks like it was in an old high school gymnasium. But the Evergreen High gym is booked, so we won’t be able to have it there. We may just have to have it in the Senior Center.”

“I remember my grandpa talking about the old high school out on Farrow Road. They closed it down in the seventies when they built the new high school. I bet that’s where that photo was taken.”

“You’re probably right.” The small talk and repetitive motion of stirring the sauce gives me a sense of comfort. We’ll take it slow and work our way back to where we left off.

“So what about you?”

“What about me?” I say, smiling.

“Well, for starters, where’ve you been for the last ten years?” she says, smacking the air with her hand and bringing me back to reality.

“Oh. Good question.” I run my hand through my hair, as all thoughts of how to start this conversation have completely flown out of my head. “Are you sure you don’t want to open this bottle of wine first?”

She pulls a bottle of whiskey and two mason jars out of a cabinet and plunks them down on the counter.

“This is the best I can do,” she says through gritted teeth, dropping a few cubes of ice in before filling the glasses.

“That works.”

I take a few big sips from the glass and exhale, willing my nerves to fade away. This is the chance I asked for. Do I have the guts to follow through?

“First, the magazine sent me to Asia. You know that part. Then in 2014, they sent me to Afghanistan to document the transfer of power from the United States to the new Afghan government.” I drain the pasta and put it back into the pot, thankful to have something to do with my hands. “And I stayed there until August of 2021. I left with the last troops.”

“What was it like, documenting all of that?”

“It was…” I stare out the window, searching for the right word. “All-encompassing. Completely immersive, like the rest of the world couldn’t still exist. I took pictures for seven years, watching the process deteriorate… So many lives lost, so much money spent. And for what? To just walk away and leave thosepeople in the hands of the enemy,” I say, the familiar sense of heaviness washing over me.

She nods, sorrow in her eyes. “That sucks.”

I pile our plates with pasta and sauce and set them on the kitchen island where Ginger is already sitting.

“Thank you,” she says, the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. I know it’s probably just Southern girl hospitality, but it gives me hope.

“After that, I ended my contract with Global Geo. Did some freelancing in exotic locales, places I had always wanted to go. I guess I was trying to find some new images to replace the ones cycling through my head. I was on my way to Bali when my plane crashed.”

“Were you injured?” she asks, twirling pasta on her fork.

“I had a concussion and a broken leg. Some pieces of the wreckage had me pinned in for a few hours before the rescue crews showed up.”

She looks at me, her eyes wide.

---