Second Chapter

By Bill Schneider

Ben Hoffman has everything going for him. A great career, a house on the beach, and he's engaged to be married. Then his life changes.

While honeymooning in Japan, his world is turned upside down when Janet is killed. Haunted by the thought of spending his life alone, Ben starts over along the California coast in Mendocino...only to discover he can't escape his painful past.

Returning to Los Angeles, Ben's plane crashes. Narrowly escaping his own death, he begins the second chapter of his life.

Is it merely a coincidence he meets Gretchen, whose life experiences parallel his own? As they fall in love, Ben realizes their chance meeting was more than destiny. It was a twist of fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 8, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462065356

Bill Schneider

Bill Schneider, a leading US political analyst, is a professor at the Schar School of Policy and Government at George Mason University. He has been a visiting professor at UCLA, Brandeis University, and Boston College. He is the author of Standoff and coauthor, with Seymour Martin Lipset, of The Confidence Gap. He has written for the Los Angeles Times, The New Republic, The Atlantic Monthly, The Washington Post, Politico, Reuters, and National Journal. He was CNN’s senior political analyst from 1990 to 2009.

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SECOND CHAPTER

Bill Schneider

ASJA Press

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Second Chapter

Copyright © 2005 by Bill Schneider

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ASJA Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

iUniverse

2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

This is a work offiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-34936-4 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-79696-0 (cloth)

ISBN-10: 0-595-34936-6 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-79696-6 (cloth)

ISBN-10: 1-4620-6535-6 (ebk)

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

EPILOGUE

Acknowledgements

For Carl and Barbara, who taught me to live life to its fullest... and savor every moment.

CHAPTER 1

Ben awoke as the sun rose above the Mendocino coast. Glancing at the clock, his eyes slowly focused on the time. 7:25. He kicked away the bed sheets covering his muscular body and reached for a sweatshirt before sliding into a pair of boxers. Yawning, he made his way up a circular stairway to the kitchen.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Ben stretched and gazed out at the ocean. As the pounding of the surf greeted him, he smiled. There was something about watching the beginning of a new day that brought him pleasure.

As he poured water into the coffeemaker, Ben watched several deer grazing in the meadow behind the house. While the coffeemaker gurgled, Ben remained entranced by the deer. He lazily rubbed his head, massaging the wrinkles on his forehead where dark hair met his tanned hands. The deer looked back at Ben and slowly disappeared beyond the meadow.

He walked into the living room overlooking the Pacific. As far as he could see, nothing appeared on the horizon—not even a distant tanker making its way towards San Francisco. The solitude was interrupted by a ringing telephone. Returning to the kitchen, Ben picked up the receiver.

Hello? his voice cracked into the receiver.

Is your bony ass up? asked Jeff.

Yeah.

We’ll be there around 8. The weather report looks good.

Okay, replied Ben. Filling his coffee mug, he returned to the living room to savor a few more minutes of the view.

The week away from Santa Monica, where Ben worked as a freelance entertainment writer, allowed him to finish his current project without the distraction or interruption he found living in southern California.

Comfort came to Ben in the quiet of Mendocino. Seven years ago, following the untimely death of his wife, he built his home on a five-acre parcel a few miles south of the village of Mendocino. Soon after the architect’s plans were approved, Ben built an inviting three-story Cape Cod home that blended unobtrusively into the bluff above Abalone Cove. While he envisioned this would become the place where he might someday retire, Ben found himself spending more and more time in Mendocino as he approached his 42nd birthday.

The rustling of the wind through the cypress and fir trees, the pounding of the surf 200 feet below his home, or the occasional cries of an owl or hawk looking for a quick meal, were the only sounds Ben heard. The scent from eucalyptus trees filled the air. As he sipped his coffee, he savored the view, the sound and the smell of Mendocino that surrounded him.

Throughout the year, Ben’s home was a gathering place for his friends. But this was a work-related visit as he was on deadline to complete a story for Rolling Stone about a controversial recording artist whose public image was quite different from the person Ben interviewed in Los Angeles the week before. The singer told him this was unlike any other interview. It was relaxed and unhurried. Ben didn’t have an agenda. He never did.

What Ben had was a bright smile and a twinkle in his eyes, which provided comfort during a troubled time for the singer. He also possessed a dry sense of humor and knew just when it was appropriate to share what he referred to as his sixth sense. Ben had this effect on everyone. It wasn’t so much his charm as it was his technique. People were drawn to him. Ben took it in stride. He considered himself average. However, given the amount of publishers, editors, talent and entertainment publicists who went out of their way to work with Ben, it was obvious there was nothing average about him.

How would you describe yourself using only five adjectives, was his signature question. A recording diva, recently interviewed by Ben, sent him a note following their meeting. I thought you should know my impression of you, she wrote, in five adjectives. Charismatic, sexy, boyish, sensitive, intelligent.

Hypnotized by the ocean, Ben remembered the day he discovered his Mendo-cino property. It was on a morning much like this one. He awoke in a nearby house he had rented to work on an assignment. Ben took the pages written the previous evening to read in the morning sun with his coffee. He spied several deer grazing in the meadow in front of the house. Leaving behind his coffee mug and recently written pages, Ben set out on foot, following the deer along a path that revealed a clover field shaded by a group of sycamore trees.

He continued until he reached a meadow fragrant from a trampled strawberry patch. The view was breathtaking. The tree-lined Navarro ridge, which separated the Mendocino coast from the vineyards throughout the Anderson Valley, continued east as far as he could see and the expanse of the Pacific dominated the west.

He smiled while he reminisced. Often people asked him how he discovered the property where he built his home. Have you ever followed a deer? was his reply. One led me to this place.

Ben refilled his coffee mug and headed downstairs to his bathroom where he shaved the dark two-day old stubble from his tanned face before showering and dressing for his return trip to Los Angeles.

Wearing a pair of jeans, T-shirt and sweater, Ben looked more like a screenwriter than a guy living in rural Mendocino. Grabbing his wallet, watch and cell phone, he returned to the kitchen and turned off the coffeemaker. Walking into the living room, he closed the windows. Then he climbed another staircase to his study. Unplugging his laptop, he tossed it into a leather shoulder bag. Then he reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

Standing at his desk and facing the ocean, Ben wondered when he would return to enjoy this special place. As much as he loved living in southern California, where the beat of the music industry continued to change, he enjoyed the contrast of tranquility while living in Mendocino, where life was unhurried. But what he really missed was the company of his wife.

A soft chime sounded near his desk. Ben pushed the intercom button above his desk. Hey he said into the intercom.

Your car is here, announced Bette. Ben pushed another button and the gate along the highway slowly opened. Bette drove the SUV up the road leading to the house, hidden behind fir trees that marked the property line leading towards the ocean.

Ben grabbed his bag and leaped down the staircase, taking two steps at a time. Before heading out of the house, he took one last look at the view from his living room and waved goodbye.

CHAPTER 2

He was waiting outside when the SUV approached from the winding driveway behind Ben’s house. Jeff was in the passenger seat behind Bette. Ben opened the door and climbed in next to Bette. Guess I’m riding shotgun, he said as he leaned over to kiss her before reaching behind him to grab Jeff’s arm. Neither of them said a word. Little River Airport was only eight miles away, but the drive seemed like an eternity in the silence. As Bette turned south onto Highway 1, Ben looked back towards his house. He wondered if he should stay and fly back later, taking a shuttle flight from San Francisco. Pondering this possibility, a nearly three-hour flight from Little River to Santa Monica with his friends would be far less painful, even if they were fighting again.

You guys awake? asked Ben, and neither of them responded. The couple’s silence was more frequent since the New Year’s party at their bluff top home overlooking the Mendocino headlands. Ben always looked forward to the Erick-son’s holiday gathering. They invited an eclectic mix of people from Mendocino and its neighboring communities as well as friends and clients of Bette and Jeff s from all over the state.

Owning a large commercial construction company based in Orange County, Jeff invited an assortment of clientele to this holiday fete, and many of these guests spent an extended holiday enjoying the northern California coast, either in Mendocino or nearby Napa Valley.

Bette managed a large employment agency based in Newport Beach with offices up and down the California coast. She, too, invited many clients to their annual bash as well as local Mendocino residents and winery owners from the Anderson Valley.

At their Millennium New Year’s party, Bette and Jeff decided to forgo the traditional themed event. Instead, they unveiled a new tradition: a masquerade party. The anticipation of their event generated creativity throughout Mendo-cino and made the New Year’s soiree memorable for everyone who attended. It was also an enormous boost for the village mercantile store, which sold out of every vintage item in stock.

Developing an attitude to accompany the character he had chosen proved to be quite a challenge for Ben. He had always been fascinated by the look of a croupier, so he decided to celebrate the turn of the century dressed as one. Looking quite debonair in an Armani tux with satin cummerbund and ivory cuff links, he could have dealt anyone a quick hand with his closely cropped black hair, bright smile and hazel eyes.

Sarah Scott was near the entrance to the Erickson’s home as Ben arrived. Dressed in an elegant red evening gown, dripping in jewels (exposing her two most prized possessions), Sarah greeted Ben with a theatrical hug and passionate kiss. Ben accepted Sarah’s flirtations as part of the territory that accompanied Mendocino’s only interior decorator. Although they had spent a lot of time together when Ben was building his home, Sarah was then faithfully married to her first husband, so romance never developed with Ben—even though she found him quite attractive. Now that Sarah was divorced from her second husband, she was hunting for a new man to accompany her into the next century. Ben was potential prey.

Following their embrace, Sarah made Ben her millennium lifeline. She took delight in remaining attached to him as he greeted people throughout the house, many of whom he knew from attending previous New Year parties at the Erickson’s. Some of the guests were clients of Scott’s Design Gallery, and Sarah introduced Ben to each of them as her find of the century. Humored by her flirtation, Ben played along until Jeff came to his rescue.

Relieving Ben of Sarah, Jeff introduced him to a producer from Los Angeles Bette invited, who had arrived with mutual friends of Ben’s. As Ben and the producer began a discussion of their favorite movies of the year, Sarah turned her attention to Jeff, accompanying him from room to room.

It was Sarah who spoke first when she and Jeff were discovered intertwined in the wine cellar. Forgive me, darling, she said, startled by Bette’s arrival, I was just borrowing your husband under the mistletoe. As Jeff pushed himself away from Sarah, Bette stormed out of the wine cellar. Standing at the top of the stairs, Ben looked as if he had confronted two burglars.

Jeff raised his hands in resignation, and left Sarah reclined against a case of champagne as he quickly ascended the steps of the cellar leading to the kitchen. Watch out for the mistletoe, he said as he shot Ben a friendly punch.

It’s alright, man, said Ben, catching the punch in his hands. He patted Jeff on his back as he left the cellar.

Ben? Sarah said.

Come on, let’s get back to the party, replied Ben as he followed Jeff back to the kitchen, leaving Sarah, alone in the cavernous room. She felt abandoned once again and returned to the party continuing her search for an eligible man.

While the party continued to be Mendocino’s most festive event of the year, Bette confronted Jeff in angry silence with daggers in her eyes. Both Bette and Jeff excelled in business by managing a slate of people ranging from senior executives to administrative support staff. However, when it came to their personal lives, their communication skills were somewhat askew. And the price they paid was, from time to time, total silence. When angry, Jeff and Bette simply ceased communication with one another. So the Millennium arrived as the Ericksons slept in separate rooms of their Mendocino home.

* * * *

As Bette drove the SUV past the village of Mendocino, Ben noticed a couple of tour buses parked near the headlands. Looks like spring is coming, he said. Neither Bette nor Jeff responded. Approaching the junction where Little River met the Pacific, Ben looked back at Jeff, who was staring out of the back seat window. Ben then looked at Bette, whose eyes were covered by her sunglasses, even though the sky was dark with a low cloud cover.

As they turned onto Little River Road, overcast skies barely revealed the tree-tops of the Navarro Ridge, with streaks of sun breaking through by the time they reached the entrance to the airport. Ben’s patience was thin and his trademark sense of humor had not yet awakened. Struggling to bring forth a peace accord, Ben let out a heavy sigh and asked, Am I gonna be the only one talking today? Neither Jeff nor Bette answered. Dysfunctional misfits, he said, under his breath.

CHAPTER 3

At Little River Airport, Bette drove to where their single engine Cessna was secured on the tarmac. Ben and Jeff got out and began to prepare for the trip home. Jeff removed the lanyards that secured the aircraft to the tarmac and unblocked the tires. Ben opened the wing locker to stow the wheel blocks.

Bette went into the flight operations office to file their flight plan. Once she was out of earshot range, Ben turned to Jeff and asked, "So why are you guys not speaking this time?"

Jeff looked at Ben with a furrowed brow and let out a deep sigh. It’s the same old thing, he said. I think we’ve been married too long. Everything I do is wrong, and everything Bette does is starting to aggravate the hell out of me. She’s really pissing me off.

Ben listened, keeping an eye on the figure in the flight operations office. Is this about what happened with Sarah at the party? he asked.

I don’t have a clue, replied Jeff. "Bette refuses to do couples counseling. She says it’s a waste of her time and our money. We just can’t continue living like this any longer. The thing is, I still love her...I’m just not sure I’m in love with her."

The door to the flight operations office opened and Bette walked back towards the airplane. As Jeff began his visual pre-flight check of the exterior of the aircraft, Ben leaned against the airplane, his arms folded, as he watched Bette approach him. She was pretty with the sun cascading around her, and he smiled as she made her way towards the airplane. He raised his eyebrows, hoping she would say something, but she walked right past him.

Bette opened the cockpit door and climbed into the Cessna. Ben turned to her and asked if he should cover the car. Yeah, thanks, she replied, smiling at Ben for the first time.

Jeff came over to help. Ben asked him how they were going to get through the flight without communicating with one another.

You don’t think we’re communicating? asked Jeff. Look at her body language. It says a thousand words. The funny thing, he continued, is when it comes to flying, we’re still very much a team. It’s totally about doing the job.

Well, if you can talk about the flight, maybe you can talk about your life, said Ben.

Jeff shook his head. You don’t understand, man. It’s not that easy.

As Ben and Jeff walked towards the plane, Bette had begun her pre-flight duties. Ben gave her a thumb’s up signal that all was secure on the ground. She acknowledged him with another thumb’s up.

Jeff opened the co-pilot door of the aircraft and tossed his backpack below the co-pilot’s seat.

Ben glanced back towards the flight operations office. The lone figure inside the office waved at Ben, and he waved back.

Jeff gave way for Ben to climb in to the tiny airplane. Hoisting himself into the cramped passenger compartment, Jeff gave Ben a pat on his back. After making his way to the passenger seat behind the co-pilot, Ben placed his bag on the seat behind Bette and opened the air vents above him. He opened his bottle of water and took a gulp before he fastened his seat belt.

Jeff climbed into the co-pilot’s seat, fastening his seat belt and shoulder harness before closing the aircraft door. Once his earphones were in place, he reached for the laminated pre-flight checklist in the side pocket and began to call out the commands to Bette. Ben was comforted when the stormy silence dissolved to accomplish the business at hand. Since Jeff had piloted the plane on the way up to Mendocino, Bette was taking the controls on the way home.

Ben reached into his bag for his earphones and disc player. Selecting a compilation of jazz, he popped the CD into the player, put the headphones on and closed his eyes. Bette and Jeff completed their pre-flight checklist. Listening to his CD, Ben began to nod off. He remembered the first time he flew in a private plane. He was only 21, and Jeff had just gotten his private pilot’s license and wanted Ben and his girlfriend to go with him to Las Vegas to celebrate. It seemed like a great idea, even if Ben didn’t gamble. Having been good friends since high school, Ben and Jeff first met in a geometry class and soon found themselves cutting the late afternoon class to head to the beach for a couple of hours of surfing.

They enjoyed these afternoons since neither of them liked math yet they both loved the ocean. The time they spent surfing seemed far more educational than memorizing formulas they could not even begin to understand.

When they both failed their mid-term exams, Ben’s parents intervened. He was told if he didn’t get at least a C by the end of the term, he would be spending his summer taking the course over again to improve his grade. The fear of not being able to spend his entire summer surfing every day was all the incentive Ben needed to turn things around. Following his lead, Jeff worked tirelessly with Ben and his tutor. By the end of the term, each of them was thrilled to discover they finished the year with a B-in geometry.

* * * *

Jeff returned the pre-flight checklist to the side pocket as Bette looked for traffic and radioed, Little River Traffic, Cessna November two-eight Papa Golf is on runway two-niner for immediate departure southeast-bound.

Bette pushed the throttle forward and the engine’s power quickly moved the Cessna, building speed as they headed down the runway. The sky was filled with broken clouds, revealing rays of sun in between with bright streaks that were nearly blinding at certain angles. As the Cessna gained speed, ready to leave the runway, the engine sputtered and discharged a black cloud of smoke.

Instinctively, Bette pulled the throttle back towards her, reducing power. Using the rudders to maneuver the airplane as it began to skid, Jeff tried to help control the plane’s spin, but they were heading straight for the trees beyond the runway.

Turn left! Bette screamed, and simultaneously they both stepped hard on the rudder, forcing the plane to bank sharply to the left, skidding off the runway and into the field. A cloud of dust and smoke surrounded them.

Bette made a split second decision, steering the plane towards an adjacent field. It was the kind of decision aviators are trained to make in such situations. The alternative was smashing into a group of fir trees beyond the runway that guaranteed destruction of the airplane and a probable explosion. Taking a calculated risk that the plane may flip upside down seemed better than crashing into the trees, and her quick action saved their lives.

Awakened by