Second Chances

John found himself at Eamon's door. Bowler hat and cane in one hand, his other closed tightly in a fist, midway to knocking and making his presence known. He took a deep breath first, repeating in his mind what he wanted to say, 'Why did you come back now after all these years? Why did you leave and why did you keep writing to -' when all of a sudden the door opened...

'Oh!' Eamon's surprised exclamation shook his thoughts and words away. John had nothing now. All he could do was stare at this man before him, the door frame separating them.

'Come in,' the old man offered, after a few seconds, his eyes avoiding John's as they usually did. He gestured for his son to sit in one of the two chairs near a small table. 'I was sure you'd never show up but your wife insisted...and she was right.'

'My wife's always right,' John replied almost bitterly, but with a small hint of pride in his voice too. 'And I don't want to sit down.'

'All right...don't mind if I do.' The man sat. There was a steamy pot and a mug on the table. 'Tea? I'll get another cup.'

'No...thank you.'

Eamon nodded. 'I'm sure you read the letter I gave your wife. That's why you are here?'

'I did. And I must say, I'm rather impressed at how well you both lied to me my entire life,' John said with a sarcastic smile. His eyes wandered around the room. He was trying to put his thoughts in order again.

'Two letters a year, you know, sometimes three…' the older man continued, now pouring some tea into the mug. 'When I left I didn't write for almost two years...wanted to settled things first, to be sure, then I told her why and how.'

'You surprise me.' John looked down at his hand resting on the tabletop. This new information meant more questions but he didn't really know where to begin.

'Do I?' questioned the Captain.

'That you can speak about it so easily.' He looked up at his father then, his eyes sure and defiant.

'Life's hard enough as it is, why make it more complicated?' The old seaman took a long sip on his tea. 'It will just add to your burden, there's no need for that.'

'Why did you show up after all these years? I had accepted that you were dead.' John managed to ask, trying as best as he could to keep his voice as sure and steady as possible. 'You should have come before...when she was still alive and waiting for you.'

'She made me promise I would come to see you again, and I see you happy. That's all that she wanted.'

'But why not before?' he insisted.

'I couldn't face her again, not like this. Not like this old man that I've become. She thought of me as her strapping young love and that's how it should have been until the end, and it was…' Eamon looked down at his gnarled, age-spotted hands wrapped around the mug.

'You're selfish.' John scoffed angrily.

'Aye, I am...but that's no news. I'm different than you are,' the older man sighed. 'I wasn't born to live a tamed life with a wife and children, and I realised that too late. That was my mistake, but I'm sure you understand.' He lifted his eyes and stared directly into John's for the first time. 'When it comes to mistakes we've both had our share.'

John looked back at him but chose to remain silent, digesting his father's words. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew ...mistakes are easily made, especially when one is young and inexperienced with life.

'You know…' Eamon stood up and walked to a case that lay opened on his bed. 'As your sainted mother said, these are the proof of what happened.' He held out a thick packet of letters, some very old, others not so much, proving that they had been written over time. 'I don't care what they say but if you need to read them -'

'So you abandoned us but kept sending us money?' his son interrupted him. 'Do you think that makes it better? We needed you there, so many times -'

'I didn't say it made it better, but it didn't make it as bad as it could have been. You and your mother always lived well. There was always food and clothes and you didn't have to quit school to help with the expenses. Maybe it would have been better if I had been there, maybe not. We'll never know. Your mother would be proud of the man, of the father you've become...as am I. But I was not born for that life, John.'

'But you talk to my son. You played with him, so much the lad actually likes you and he's sad that you aren't around anymore. You couldn't be a father, but now you want to be a granddad? What makes you think I will allow that to happen?' John's voice rose as his anger came rushing to the surface.

'Because I see yourself in that boy of yours.' Eamon said calmly and slow. 'His eager curiosity and smarts. He has his mother's eyes, yes, but he has your temperament, your spirit. He speaks and acts as you did…'

Eamon's eyes locked on John's again, overwhelming him, and for a moment he recognised that man he used to call Father and love so dearly. He felt as if he was looking back at himself...his own deep hazel eyes, filled with a lifetime of experience. How had he not recognised him right away?

Eamon began, 'I came here thinking I would see you working at the big house. I knew about Anna Smith but I didn't know if anything had happened between the two of you and then I see you...walking in the village...two babies in a pram and that little boy holding your hand. I see him asking you to buy him a penny lick, and I see your wife smiling at the two little ones… I saw a second chance somehow, a chance of doing for your children what I didn't do for you. Because, even though I was never a family man, I always missed you and your mother, and many a night I regretted what I did... I just didn't have the courage to come back and stay.'

'And you think that's enough reason? That you can now be with my children and I will forget about the rest? I was a boy when you left and too many times I needed you to talk to, to advice me...I don't think you realise how often...'

Eamon snorted. 'Well...you did well in the end, didn't you? I was not one to be giving advice. Not by a long shot. Look at you, son. You couldn't have turned out any better than you are. You didn't need me to show you how to become the doting husband and father that I am so proud of. Everything that I always wanted to be, you are.'

John took a deep breath. 'My wife said it wouldn't do me any harm coming here to talk to you...it didn't do any harm but, I'm not sure it did me any good either.'

'She also said you needed time...if she's always right then, should I hang around? Or you want me to go?' Eamon asked him.

'What does it matter what I want? Since when do you care about that?'

'I care now, and I will do as you tell me to.'

John thought for a second, his reason telling him to send this old man away. Go and never come back. I don't care if you regret what you did, that you want to make things right...it's too late. But instead he followed his heart. The same heart that beat in his chest when he was just a boy who woke up to find his father gone, never come back. The same heart that cried when he thought for sure his father was dead or missing...the same heart that cursed his father for not sending word about his state and where he was. The heart that, now still, thought of his father in every moment he shared with his children.

'Stay…' he said slowly, almost afraid of his own feelings. 'If only to prove my wife wrong for the first time.'

'After meeting her and seeing you here now...I don't think you'll ever achieve that. Mrs Bates is a fierce woman, as your dear mother once told me,' Eamon said,smiling.

'As your Mrs Bates was…' John replied. 'Just know this, I won't let you in my children's life so you can do the same thing you did with me,' he warned before turning to leave.

The older man nodded, hope in his eyes as he rose from his chair.

'No need for that, I know the way,' John said.

With that, he left, his mood not the best, his heart racing and a bitter taste in his mouth. He should have said so much more. Should have been smarter when talking to him but...he sighed. Back on the lane now, feeling rather downcast, he placed his hat atop his head and turned toward home.

All he wanted now was his Anna's arms around him and the smell of their sheets, knowing that no matter what happened in this world she would always be there for him. Her love would always mend him, even if at this moment he felt absolutely as lost as that child sitting on the front stoop of his house, waiting for his father to come back from the sea, only to understand that would never happen...for the next forty years.

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The Journal entries are written by Handy For the Bus & Terriejane.

We'd like to thank the lovely annamays (aka/fuzzydream) for being our beta.

Thank you for reading. Your reviews are very much appreciated. :)