Second Chance

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

June 6, Morning

He awoke slowly, not wanting reality to enter into his mind, not just yet. Last night had to be a dream, because that will explain what had happened. In real life, Micah Vaughn would not tell Antoinette De Fiore that he loved her, and that she would tell him the same thing. Those things only happen in three places: romance novels, movies, and dreams. He wasn’t a fictional character, so that eliminated the first two. Therefore, it had to be a dream.

He stared up at the ceiling and thought back about the previous night. He remembered how his stomach felt when he blurted out those three special words to her. It felt like it did when he was a kid, back at Christmas on the stairs with her three sisters waiting for their parents to come down and ‘make sure’ Santa wasn’t still there before they attacked the presents. He sighed: he didn’t want that feeling to end.

Micah recollected on how quickly Antoinette answered him, with her own statement of love for him. The sentence sent shockwaves through his body. He didn’t understand how he was able to function after hearing it. She loves him, too. Now, hours afterwards, those words still make his heart beat faster and bring a broad smile to his face.

He thought of rolling over and going back to sleep, but the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying would make that impossible. He reached down on the floor and grabbed the pair of socks he removed before crawling into bed just before 3 AM. He removed his glasses from the nightstand and looked at the clock: it was a little more than five hours later. He stretched and took a step towards the door. He jumped slightly when someone knocked on the door.

“Good morning sleepy head,” Antoinette said in hushed tones. She opened the door slightly and was startled herself when she saw Micah already out of bed. She rushed to him and hugged him tightly.

“Last night wasn’t a dream, was it?” she asked, not releasing him.

“Oh thank God,” he began, relieved. “It wasn’t, though I was thinking it was just a dream.”

She held him tighter. “I didn’t want last night to end. I don’t want this to end at all.”

“I don’t either.” He took her by the arms and extended his. He looked into her almond-shaped eyes, the eyes that when he first saw made him relatively speechless, and told her, “What we have is love. There’s no way in Hell am I ever going to allow it to end, not the distance between us this fall, not our parents, nothing.”

Her bottom lip quiver, her eyes watered. She looked at him, appearing to want to say something, but the words never left her throat. She lunged forward and held him tightly.

He kissed the top of her head and returned the embrace. For moments, they were silent in each other’s arms, both wanting to stay there.

“What does he want for breakfast?” her mother interrupted. The two broke out in laughter.

“I didn’t get that far, mom.” Antoinette backed away from him and asked, “What do you want for breakfast?”

“What are the options? Well, other than coffee and bacon.”

She looked at him and laughed. Antoinette took his hand in hers and escorted him out and to the kitchen, telling him what she could make for him.

Gregory Phillips awoke in the motel; the bright morning light that shone through the open curtains caused him pain. He tried to sit but the pounding in his head slammed him back. He was unsure of how he got there, got into the room. The last thing he remembers doing was at a bar, across the street from the restaurant where Timmons and his group had offered him a job.

He remembered that he drank too much the previous night, remembering it was to celebrate, so to speak, the sparing of his life. He tried to sit again. This time, the headache had lessened. He rubbed his eyes and searched for a clock, as that was important.

Phillips looked around the small room and saw there was a television, in front of which a couch and two soft chairs were. He saw a small table with two chairs. On top of the table, he saw three piles of folders, neatly placed. He tried to stand, to see if the men and Timmons hadn’t lied. He put his feet down on the old rug and pushed himself up. He wobbled but after catching his balance, he made his way to the table.

“How the in the Hell did they do this?” He sat and saw that his entire research about the painting, the suspects and their families were there. He didn’t think long, fearing that such an action might bring on the hangover’s worse.

Phillips eyes adjusted to the light, allowing him to look out the window and see his surroundings better. He was the restaurant where he dined across Route 9 less than a hundred yards away. He surmised that the bar was close by. He remembered there was a coffee shop close by, and a sudden craving for java filled his body.

He rushed and gathered up his clothing. He put them on and tied his shoes. He opened the door and inhaled deeply. Though this part of Queensbury had motels and eateries, it still was close to the evergreens of the Adirondacks, so his inhale smelled of pines. Surprising to him, the private investigator didn’t cough up last night’s drinking.

“Good morning Mr. Phillips,” a male voice said. It was pleasant and the volume was perfect. “Did you sleep well?”

Phillips turned and smiled at the man, someone he recognized as an associate of Timmons. “Do you know where to get a decent cup of coffee?”

The man, dressed in a light blue golf shirt, khaki slacks, and dark sunglasses nodded and pointed, “Down the stairs and to the right, there’s a coffee shop, excellent pastries, too.”

The investigator thanked the man and headed down. He looked around and saw a few more suspicious characters; men dressed alike with Polos and khakis. If they were trying to look inconspicuous, they failed miserably. He arrived at the café, saw the name and had to chuckle: Investigative Coffee.



Micah sat at the dining room table, left alone with Mr. De Fiore when Antoinette and her mother removed the dishes to the kitchen. He was scared, not sure of what to do, what to say. The older man sat straight looking at him, drinking his coffee. Micah had a bottle of Dr. Pepper, having finished glasses of orange juice and chocolate milk. Antoinette’s father took a sip from his cup, placed it on the sauce, and folded his hands. He looked directly at the teenager and spoke.

“Antoinette’s not told us of your plans for college. Do you have any?”

Micah exhaled, relieved that he wasn’t asked about his intensions. “Because I started late, didn’t look at colleges seriously until last summer, I had limited options. I’m going to attend Schenectady County Community in the fall.”

“What are you going to study?”

“My dad’s people at the bank told me I should study Computer Science, but that’s not offered there, not until next fall. What I’m going to do is take classes to get me up to speed, Pre-Calculus, English, some electives. I’ll apply to become a Computer Science major at the start of next semester.”

He looked at Micah, and Mr. De Fiore nodded approvingly. “It sounds like you did some good planning.” He took another sip before continuing. “But won’t this put you a year behind everyone else?”

Micah understood what that meant, and spoke to reassure him. “My plans are to finish the two year degree in Computer Science, more than likely have a second Associates degree as well after three years, and then find a job.”

“At the bank where your father works is a good place to start.”

The teenager shook his head. “The computer people I’ve talked with at the bank told me that, though they’d hire me when I graduate, I’d more than likely make more money to start if I apply to insurance companies or work for the state.”

“You do know I work at the Department of Taxation, Micah?”

“Yes I do.”

“Are you asking me to help you find a job in three years?” He smiled, stifling a chuckle.

“No sir,” Micah quickly answered. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

Mr. De Fiore raised a hand and allowed himself to laugh. “I was just teasing. I didn’t expect you to work with me. Where I am is quite boring.”

“What are you two doing in here?” Mrs. De Fiore asked as she and her daughter returned, joining the men at the table. Antoinette sat next to Micah, not before hugging him.

“We’re just discussing young Mr. Vaughn’s plans for his education.”

“Dad, did he tell you that he might be taking some writing courses in addition to math classes?” Antoinette asked.

Her father looked at her and shook his head. “He told me that he would be taking some electives.” He turned his attention to Micah and asked, “Would the electives be writing classes?”

Micah looked at Antoinette and shrugged his shoulders. Without looking at him, answered Mr. De Fiore, “Yes, I’m going to take some creative writing classes. I had a dream of being a writer when I was younger, and came close to being an English or Literature major, but my dad’s co-workers talked me out of it.”

“It’s good to have a dream, but you should have a profession in mind in case that it doesn’t work. Do you really want to study computer science or are you taking it because of the possibility of having a high paying job?”

The teen laughed. “That thought has crossed my mind, but I really do want to learn more programming. I had a semester of programming last spring. I loved it and wanted to learn more, but Linton didn’t have anything else for me to take.”

“That’s good, that you wanted to do more. It shows that you are truly interested in computers, not just for the money.”

“The money doesn’t hurt.”

Everyone laughed. Antoinette hugged him again. “I’ve asked him to write me a story a week while we’re apart,” she told her parents.

“Have you read anything of his?” Mrs. De Fiore asked.

“Yes, his sisters sent me five of his old stories.”

“They did?”

“Don’t worry, Sweetie, the stories were great. I loved them. Why else would I have asked you to write me some?”

He blushed. “I guess so.”

“You could write some for magazines,” Mr. De Fiore said. “That way, you could have spending money.”

“And not have to work at McDonalds,” Micah added.

“Well then,” the older man said as he stood. “If there’s nothing else, I think I need to get ready to take Antoinette to work.”

“I’ll take her, if you don’t mind,” Micah said. “It will give us more time to talk.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

“That will be fine with me. I could go back to sleep.” He took a few steps to the kitchen.

“It will give us more time to talk about our love for each other.” The house quieted quickly. Antoinette looked at her parents before speaking. “He and I told each other last night that we loved each other.”