Second Chances Read Free

silent toast.
    A companionable silence settled over them as they perused the menu, selecting salads nicoise and a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc before continuing their conversation. “I don’t know if I’m hungrier for lunch or to sink my teeth into your manuscript,” Amelia confessed as a plate of colorful greens and fresh foods was placed before her. “I’ve only heard enough about it to whet my appetite. Please tell me more.”
    “Well,” Pashmina began, “I don’t want to say too much or it might color your opinion of it.I’d rather you read it first and then we can discuss it ad nauseum.”
    “Spoken like a true woman of mystery.”
    “I don’t mean to be. Ok, maybe a little,” she laughed as Amelia rolled her eyes. “Honestly, this book is,” she paused searching for the right word, “unlike my previous babies.” She leaned towards Amelia and whispered conspiratorially, “Can I tell you a secret?”
    Amelia nodded, uncertain where this was going.
    “I’m so nervous it’s like I’ve never written before. I’m excited but at the same time, I’m terrified too.” Resting her chin on tented fingers, Pashmina studied Amelia closely. “Above all else, I need to know that my book and I are safe in your hands.”
    Amelia focused on piercing a minute caper with her polished fork. Fair enough. Pashmina deserved the best and she was going to get it.
    Switching tactics she said, “I like how you call your books your babies.”
    “Mm-hmm,” she replied sipping her wine. “That’s what they are to me.”
    “How so?”
    “Well for one thing, they’ve given me a lot of gray hairs over the years!” She laughed, relaxing into her chair. “They also consume my every waking moment, and sometimes my dreams too. Each one is a part of me they’re my own special creations.” Emotions flitted across her face. Pride. Joy. Regret. Determination.
    “I guess I never thought of it like that before. I mean I get the love part, that’s pretty obvious, but the rest sounds more like a control thing to me.” Amelia chose her words carefully feeling like she was walking in a mine field. “I mean what parent has complete authority over their kids; the kind of people they are, the kind of lives they live? But an author just has to write it for it to happen.”
    “Guilty.” Her mouth dry, Pashmina took a quenching sip of water from her glass. “You’re very intuitive for such a young person.”
    “My mother always says that I’m an old soul that the first-time she looked into my eyes she knew she’d have her hands full raising me.”
    Amused, Pashmina asked, “And did she?”
    “I was pretty tame early on but my teen years nearly killed us both,” Amelia said dryly and Pashmina raised a brow. “That’s when I figured out that I already knew everything and I didn’t need anyone telling me what to do. But trust me,” she said smiling, “my mother can give as good as she gets. As soon as she started losing control over me, she became downright militant and my worst nightmare. Suddenly I was taking swim lessons, dance lessons, piano lessons, even charm school,” she shuddered remembering. “Who has time to think with that kind of schedule? That’s why I came to college in Boston. I had to get away from my mother so I could figure out who I am.”
    As Amelia animatedly recounted her story, a captivated Pashmina listened, drawn to the vibrant young woman with a flush of emotion lightly coloring her cheeks and a pensive gleam warming her eyes deep blue. She was a vision of youthful vulnerability and quiet determination, and Pashmina had no doubt, she was the right woman for the job.
    A while later, arms linked companionably, they exited the restaurant to a sidewalk dusted with after-work commuters scurrying to the trains and subway. “Wow. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Sorry I took so much of your time,” Amelia apologized.
    “Don’t be silly. I had fun too and more importantly, I