The Certainty of Second Chances

Chapter One

At half past six, I was running fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

As I began to cross the room to the closet, a small paw reached out from behind, snagging the back of my nightshirt. I turned around, swatting at the cat. The frisky calico stared up at me with large green eyes, whining for attention.

"You little shit," I murmured, smirking as she yawned. "Just go back to sleep."

She didn't listen, though, the independent terror she is. Rocking on all fours, the cat Noah picked from an abandoned box of kittens last year stood and stretched on my bed, her back curving into a perfect hill, before she jumped onto the floor with a plump. Expectantly, she began pacing back and forth in front of the bedroom door.

Much to her disappointment, I ignored her, continuing toward the closet. I threw on a clean pair of jeans and a faded grey Lincoln sweatshirt over a black camisole. I picked my dirty clothes off of the floor on my way out the door and threw them in the laundry basket beside my dresser. One last look out the window before I headed out. A thick blanket of snow covered the yard, glistening like a bed of diamonds on the ground. I had hoped it'd been a fluke, but the weatherman predicted snow all day.

Ugh. I hated driving in this crap.

Amidst the haze, I caught a glimpse of the neighbors' house across the street. A mansion of Columbian descent, it stood facing me, a picturesque home torn from the pages of a Better Homes and Garden magazine. It was the complete opposite of the small duplex I rented through my neighbor-landlord, Nora Henley. Don't get me wrong. There was nothing wrong with Nora or the duplex we were staying in now; in fact, they were both pretty great. Nora, who was older and therefore had no children of her own, volunteered her time to help me with Noah whenever she could. Even so, it was a far cry from our former home and the treasured memories that lingered in its walls. 

What's that saying about only missing something once it's gone? Oh, man. I believed it. We used to own a house in town that was nearly identical to theirs, if not better. It was a gorgeous estate, a two-story structure with a waterfront view and lovely landscaping. Naturally, we each had our own bedroom, as well as a spare room in case we had guests staying with us. It just so happened that mine had been the only room with a balcony overlooking the water.

Those few moments on the balcony had been a beautiful escape. The waves crashing against the shore were a welcome sight on nights when I couldn't sleep, nights I had too much to think about. I would quietly stroll out there in my pajamas and watch the tides roll in. The moonlight reflected off the ocean floor, and it was just as satisfying to hear the lapping of the waves as it was to listen to the song of seagulls in the middle of the night. 

Everything was so simple back then.

Shortly after our parents' deaths four years ago, our grandmother came to live with us. But when she unexpectedly died last year without revising her will, their assets were divided between me and my younger brother. The court had also appointed me as Noah's guardian since I was officially an adult and his closest living relative. He would remain in my care and supervision until the age of eighteen as long as his needs were met and our relationship was considered healthy.  When it came right down to it, I couldn't afford both him and the outstanding debt on the mortgage, so we moved into the condos a few weeks after the house was sold.

As far as our new roles were concerned, I tried to stay positive. Clearly, things weren't all that bad. We had a lot in common and got along well, better than most siblings. My brother was a handful at times, for sure, but he was only a child. He was a good kid most of the time, and he had a hold on my heart from the moment they brought him home.