Second Chances

By Deborah Lynne

Ten years ago Nate stole her heart…then crushed it. Now she's gazing into his blue eyes again. Dare Lila hope that things could turn out differently this time?

The day Malila Vasquez, curator of the San Francisco Institution of Art, has dreamed of has finally arrived. She's worked hard to see the new Native American art exhibit that she created which showcases her own Navajo lineage, come to fruition. To add to her joy, she'll display three of her own paintings. This is the big break she has waited for since college.

Then Lila receives a phone call that will change her world forever. Victoria, her old college roommate and a very wealthy woman, is dying. She begs Lila to fly across country, to speak to her in person. Vicky pleads for Lila's help.

What about the big plans she has for her career? Can Lila leave at this moment in time? Even more, choosing to help her friend means facing the only man she's ever loved—Joseph Neal Rodman III, Vicky's brother. Can Lila's heart survive seeing him again? And can she live with herself if she doesn't at least try to help her friend?

For her friends sake if for no other reason, she must!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sand & Sea Publishing
• Release date: Jan 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386098027

Book preview

Chapter 1

Malila Vasquez, curator of The San Francisco Institution of Art, walked through the display of the new Native American Navajo art exhibit. The presentation she’d worked long and hard to see come to fruition was now ready for public viewing. Pride swept over her. She felt as though this exhibition was her own child. She had pitched the idea to the director, searched and gathered the items now set for display, and arranged them pleasingly to the eye for the spectator.

Native American basketries, pottery, jewelry, paintings, photographs, prints, sculptures, and charcoal drawings were displayed in the south wing of the museum—the museum for which she had worked the last five years. For six months she had been gathering these pieces, and now she showcased them for the exhibition. Her chest swelled with pride as she admired each piece. This symbolized her father’s heritage...hers, too, for that matter.

This was her job as curator, but it went beyond that. Her father, Mantunaaga Vasquez, Matt to friends and family, a full-blood Native American Navajo Indian, had taught her the history of her culture from the day she could crawl. She did this for him...to show her pride in their culture.

For the past five years, Malila had struggled to help grow this small museum in the San Francisco bay area. With so many great museums featuring world-class art, she’d grappled to find something that would make their museum stand out from the crowd, or at least to draw the masses inside their establishment. This waterfront area of San Francisco charmed thousands of vacationers every year as she has tried to encourage the foot traffic of the holiday makers to take a peek inside their doors.

She did her part in promoting the museum locally, as well-giving talks to various groups, sharing all there was to see at the gallery. Malila wrote reviews of the museum’s pieces for the art section of the newspaper as well as catalogued and authenticated the works she brought into the museum. In fact, at her suggestion to the director, the institution extensively renovated the Art History section, making it grander and allowing for stronger, more massive exhibits of California and local history in the making. This drew in a larger number of the foot crowd that visited the wharf.

In the past couple of years, the museum carried exhibitions from the gold mines to the present-day artists in the San Francisco area. This latest exhibit of the Native American Navajo Indian’s World of Art made her heart pound with expectation. The turnout should be good, given the public’s Indian history. Even more, she thrilled at the possibility of one day being included herself in this circle of artists. 

Malila, I must congratulate you on the exhibit. You’ve done it again, a deep baritone voice said from behind.

Taking a quick breath, she cleared the thoughts and dreams that vigorously swirled through her mind. Laying her hand lightly on her chest, she turned on her heel. Director Nicholson, I didn’t hear you come into the room. In fact, I didn’t even know you were here today.

I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear. The balding man in the three-piece suit graced her with a smile. I have news that I think you’ll be happy to hear, and I wanted to share it with you personally. The tips of his thick fingers on his right hand smoothed the edge of his skillfully trimmed mustache.

A tingle of excitement stirred within. She expected Peter Nicholson, the director of the museum and her boss, to check out the massive display before the exhibit opened to the public this weekend, but he rarely dropped by unexpectedly in the middle of the day. So what was his news?

Really, sir? I’m listening. You’ve got my undivided attention.

I met with the board this morning, our regular Monday morning meeting, giving them more information on your display. In the course of our discussion, I mentioned your Indian artwork and how beautifully you depict your heritage in your paintings. I’ve seen the ones you have hanging in your office.

Well thank you, sir. I’m flattered you noticed and that you mentioned my artwork to the board. 

He touched her shoulder lightly. Malila, you are a wonderful artist—a special gift has been give to you. I’m proud of your work as an artist and as our curator. Shaking his thick index fingers in the air, he went on. Anyway, the board decided to allow you to display a couple of your paintings within the exhibit. Who knows what this could do for your career as an artist? It could be your big break, dear, something I know you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Touching his mustache again, he tilted his chin into the air. And I’m excited to be a stepping-stone for you, my dear.

Heat rose up her neck to her face as the excitement flourished. This was a dream come true! She knew her artistic flair was a gift from God, and she was thankful. She’d dreamed that one day someone would take notice, never in a million years thinking it would be her own boss. She’d attained a Bachelor of Arts degree in college so she could stay close to what she loved. Art.

It was all she could do to contain her excitement. Malila wanted to throw her arms around his neck and dance a jig, but restrained herself.

Before she could thank him profusely, a soft voice called over the speakers in the museum, Malila, line two.

She peered at the speaker in the corner of the ceiling. I better get that. Covering his hands with hers, she squeezed. Director Nicholson, thank you so much for this opportunity. You don’t know how much it means to me to know you believe in me, in my paintings. I won’t let you down. A grin split her face. My work is going to be in the show!

Spinning on her heel, she scurried away. Her feet barely touched the ground.

My dreams are coming true! Thank you, Lord!

These words played over and over in her mind as she ran through the museum, barely holding back her cries of jubilation. Malila wanted to sing and shout the joy from within. She wanted to jump into the air and click her heels together as she hurried through the hallways, but she kept herself in check. Unfortunately, she couldn’t shut down her mind. Elation bounced off the walls of her brain as she glided through the halls. 

Rounding the corner, she slipped down the hallway to the receptionist’s office. Slowing her steps, she sashayed into the room. "Which line was it?’ she asked as she saw three lines blinking.

Line two, Catherine said.

Lila slipped past her assistant’s desk and through the door that led into her office. The light on line two blinked rapidly. Pushing the button, she raised the receiver to her ear. Malila Vasquez. May I help you?

Lil, is that you? a soft voice sounded in her ear. It’s me, Vicky.

Stunned to hear a familiar voice from so long ago, Malila gripped the phone. Victoria Rodman? Is that you?

Laughter trickled in Malila’s ear. Did you forget I married three years ago? Victoria Elizabeth Rodman Hughes at your service.

Victoria...Vicky. It’s so nice to hear your voice. We haven’t spoken in what, ten years? Other than e-mail updates, birthday cards, and Christmas cards, that is. And that’s been every year since college. The two of them hadn’t even connected verbally or face-to-face after the death of Vicky’s husband or after the birth of her daughter. Only through e-mails and cards did they communicate. They didn’t even text one another.

Vicky and Lila were friends, but never close. The long-distance friendship stemmed from being roommates in college, but the two were not actual friends during their school years. They simply stayed in touch after finishing their education, and a deeper pen-pal type friendship grew through time.

In Lila’s mind, ten years melted away. A picture of the last day in their dorm on Harvard’s campus as they said their goodbyes, appeared in her head instantly. For five years the two of them shared a dorm room, and it took every one of those years to become friends.

In the beginning, a large chasm manifested between the two personalities. Through it all, Malila stayed true to her belief in God and tried to be a Christian influence on Victoria, pouring out His love to her overly spoiled rich roommate who had no idea who her heavenly Father was, nor did she care to know.

If we didn’t live...across the continent from one another, you on the west coast...and me on the east, I do believe...we could have become best friends, Vicky said. I know the words...you’ve shared through the cards and notes you sent me over the years...have spoken volumes...to my heart. And because of this, I’m calling to ask...a big favor of you now. Her words were softly spoken with a breath being taken after every fourth or fifth word.

Instinct grabbed Malila’s spirit. Vicky needed help. Not that she had ever asked for help of any kind before, but that she would ask now meant something serious was going on.

Of course, anything! You know my heart.

Vicky drew in another raspy breath before responding, still taking a short one between small groups of words. Yes, I do, Lil. That’s why I’m calling. I really need your help.

Silence on the line for a second or two, and it was deafening. Finally, she whispered, I’m dying.

Chapter 2

Icy fingers gripped the phone. You’re what? Malila had heard her friend correctly, but she couldn’t believe her ears. I mean, I’m sorry. I heard you but don’t understand. How do you know you’re dying? What’s happened? A million other questions pulsated through her brain, but she couldn’t ask them all at once.

Slow down, girl. Give Vicky a chance to answer. The pounding of Malila’s heart practically deafened her. With trembling fingers, she grabbed the curled phone cord and started playing with it. Her fingers twirled around the line, wrapping the cord around her slender fingers, tethering them together. Her stomach twisted into knots as she tried to stay focused on Vicky’s voice.

Lil. Lila, I know you’re wondering why I would call you. We’re friends, but not close friends, right? Vicky talked slowly, still with short breaths drawn between small groups of words. It seemed the longer she spoke, the more difficult it became for her.

Lila’s responses came in short bursts too. Yes. I mean no, Vicky. Well yes, I guess. Sorry. I’m at a loss for words. She sighed. Let me try this again. Yes, we are friends. For a brief second, I wondered why you had called me, sure, but I’m glad you did. I can pray for your healing. What did the doctors tell you? What do they say is wrong with you? She swallowed the lump caught in her throat as she waited for the answer...her friend’s death sentence. 

A small chuckle carried across the line. Lila, Lila, Lila. You haven’t changed a bit. I was counting on that, sweet Lil. Victoria took a long deep breath and then released it gradually.

It sounded very painful. Lila could almost hear the agony twisting with every ounce of air she exhaled.

The doctor said I have lung cancer. Stage three. There’s not much hope for me. He said I probably waited too long but he said there were medicines they could try. I’m seeing an oncologist and the doctor who heads the radiology department at the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. They’ve come together and lined up massive chemo and radiation treatments for me. It’s one of the best cancer centers in the nation. Although they assure me this will help, they also believe these treatments may only prolong my life for a little while. With her breathing problems, this took a long time for Vicky to say.

With wobbly knees, Lila made her way around her desk and sank into her chair, listening quietly. I’m so sorry to hear this, but I do know God has the final say. I know you don’t want to hear me—

Oh, but I do, Vicky interrupted softly. That’s why I called you. I remembered your strong faith, your belief in God. I want to know more for me and even more for my baby, Kaitlin.

Lila’s heart lifted hearing the thread of hoped in her friend’s voice. Words flew from her mouth. That’s so good, Vicky. I’m glad you’re not giving up. I’m here for you. I’ll start praying right away. There is no time to waste. Vicky, do you have a Bible? 

Suddenly, a crash banged in Lila’s ear. It sounded like the phone dropped to the floor. A shuffling noise followed the clatter. Lila, are you there? I hope I didn’t burst your eardrum. I dropped the phone. Sorry. Her breathing sounded more labored than before. I can’t talk long, but what I was hoping for was to get you to come to me. I’ll pay all of your expenses, of course. I need you desperately—more than you’ll ever know. Silence reigned for a second before she finished saying, Time is short.

With one elbow on the desk, Lila closed her eyes and leaned into her hand, trying to think as she rubbed her fingers in a circular motion on her forehead. I don’t know. I want to help you, Vicky. Truly, I do. But I have an exhibit about to open here at the end of the week. And they offered—never mind. Vicky didn’t need to hear Lila’s woes, or her future possibilities. Her friend had more than enough trouble of her own, and her problem was much more pressing...a matter of life and death, eternally. Let me get back to you. Will tomorrow be soon enough?

Of course. I know I’m asking a lot of you, and you don’t even know all of my requests. I’ll be waiting for your call. Thanks, Lil. She pulled in another long haggard breath. I knew I could count on you. Still the same woman with the big heart I remember from college days.

As they said their good-byes, Lila’s heart shattered for her friend. Staring intently at the receiver in her hand, reality soaked into her understanding.

Vicky was dying, and she reached out to Lila. Of course she needed to go to Vicky. She had to share the good news with her one more time before it was too late for the young woman’s soul. Eternity was forever. And she had other requests. What could they possibly be? That didn’t matter. 

But could Lila leave her chance of a lifetime? Would she have a second chance at her own dream coming true? Wasn’t this—her art—what God called her to do? The timing stunk. And would she have to face—never mind that. It was ancient history. She shouldn’t even think about him in this scenario. Vicky was her only concern here...Vicky and Lila’s future in the art world.

God, this isn’t fair. What am I supposed to do? I want to help her, but my art is the passion You gave me. How can I walk away at this very moment? Are you asking me to sacrifice my dream? And how can You make me face Neal again, after all that pain and suffering I went through?

Untangling her fingers from the cord, she hung up the phone and gazed into nothingness as she searched for the right answer.

Suddenly, it hit her. Momma, I need to talk to Momma. She’ll know what I should do.

Swiftly, she rose and dashed out of her office. As she scurried past Catherine’s desk, she said, Something has come up. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to tell you about it, but then I’ll be leaving for the rest of the day.

Catherine nodded as her boss ran past her desk.

Before Lila could leave for the day, she needed to check the exhibition one more time, make sure it was complete and arranged as she had intended. She also needed to decide where her paintings should be displayed within the exhibit—if it were still possible once she told her boss she had to leave. Well, if she left. Her head fought that decision, but in her heart Lila knew the right thing to do.

Returning to the exhibit, she found the director gone. Lila needed to discuss this with Mr. Nicholson too, but before she could say anything to him, she had to decide what her next move was going to be.

Strolling once more around the south wing, she surveyed the exhibit with critical eyes. Everything was in place. She decided on three locations where her paintings would fit right in, and she knew which one she would hang in each spot. Lila closed off that section of the museum, locking it behind her, hiding the exhibit from early view to the public.

Quickly, before making her way back to her office, she stopped briefly at Catherine’s desk. Her assistant worked part-time, but Catherine’s dream was to one day become a curator as well. This position, working as an assistant, was a stepping-stone toward curator. Jobs as curators were hard to come by. A person usually started as a volunteer or as an assistant and then worked their way up the chain. Lila did her time for two long years.

Hey, Catherine, something’s come up.

The mid-twenties woman glanced up from her computer. Her golden-brown eyes grew big as she stared at her boss. Pushing