Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Praise for A Season for Second Chances
- Also by Jenny Bayliss
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Guide
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Another idea had been to bury the folder in the bottom of her wardrobe and forget about it. And then maybe in twenty years time she would send it on, and everything between them would be water under the bridge and they might even renew their friendship. The flaws with this idea were, firstly, that he might be married with children by then; secondly, she didn’t want that folder beating its presence in her wardrobe like the Jumanji game until she was fifty; and thirdly, twenty years was far too long to be living on tenterhooks.
“Oh, Mugwort! What shall I do?”
Mugwort pricked up one ear and gave her a disdainful side-eye before tucking his head under his paws.
“Unfortunately, not all of us have the luxury of burying our heads in our paws.”
Mugwort would not be drawn into an argument and began to snore.
Nory nudged the folder with her foot as though the answer might float out from between the pages. She thought about Tristan and the decision he had made that could never be undone. When held up against that, whichever choice she made would be less final; there was a way back from anything but death. Perhaps it was a macabre way to think, but for Nory, it was a way to not forget, a way to put things into perspective. Because however desperate she might feel at times in her life, she would—God willing—never feel as desperate as her dear friend must have felt.
She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. She knew what she would do. Deep down she had known all along. She would post the folder to Isaac and let him have the choice. It was, after all, his family legacy and therefore rightfully his decision. Of course, it would likely be the final death knell of their short-lived relationship. But if Isaac decided to go ahead and let Guy publish, and Heba got her name rightfully restored to her work, then maybe she could live with the mess she’d made of everything. One good thing would have come of it. Maybe justice for Heba would be enough to sustain her through the heartbreak of losing Isaac.
Nory got up early the next morning to get to the post office before work. She handed the parcel, wrapped in thick brown paper, over the counter and paid extra for express delivery. The clerk took the package and tossed it casually into a sack behind the counter, as though her whole heart wasn’t held within. Nory sent out a silent prayer to the universe that Isaac would see that her motives were pure, even if her execution had been clumsy.