A Second Chance

This is a work of fiction. Resemblance of a character in this story to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All persons engaging in sexual activity in the story are over the age of 18.

As always, constructive comments and criticisms are welcomed. Thanks for reading.

A SECOND CHANCE

PROLOGUE

I'm sitting in the hospice hospital room watching the last few grains of sand in my wife's hourglass of life run out. Amy, my brilliant, sexy, beautiful wife. Mother of our daughter, Eowyn, now three months old. The doctor has told us that it's a matter at most of hours now, not days. I listen to the beeping of the monitors, knowing that when that beeping stops and that long tone sounds, her life will be over. There is already a do not resuscitate order in place. Our three-month-old daughter will never know her mother.

This can't be happening. We had plans. We had a plan. We are part of the Washington, D.C. elite. On the fast track to status as a power couple. Amy's the product of a Chinese tiger mom, who is now sitting in the room with me on the other side of Amy's bed. Her father died shortly before she entered college. High school graduate at 14. Top of her class at Harvard by 17. Number two in her class at Harvard Law at 20. Clerk for a judge on the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. Clerk for an originalist justice on the U.S. Supreme Court. On track to become the youngest partner ever at D.C.'s premier federal appellate law firm. Already on the radar of the Federalist Society as a future potential appellate court judge nominee with the possibility of a Supreme Court seat someday. Maybe the first Asian-American to sit on the Court. Not yet 32 years old.

I'm Tommy Jackson, the son of a sitting U.S. Senator. Heir apparent to my mother, the CEO of the largest privately held oil and gas exploration company in the U.S. My maternal grandfather is chairman of the board of that company, which he owns with his brother, my great uncle Billy. When the brothers die, the plan is to take the company public. The family is worth over a billion dollars now and will be worth multiples of that when the stock begins publicly trading. There's nothing in this world I've ever wanted that I couldn't have.

I've spent my entire life moving back and forth between the business and political worlds in preparation for someday succeeding my mother. A congressional page at 15. Alternating summers between corporate intern and congressional staff once I graduated high school. Wharton undergraduate degree. Harvard Business School. Five years as a congressional staffer. K Street lobbyist. Every ticket punched and credential obtained. A-list even in a town where such credentials aren't unusual.

But it is all for naught. There's nothing that all my family's money, power, influence, or connections can do. My wife is going to die tonight. Pancreatic cancer is no respecter of persons.

The doctors discovered the cancer when Amy was five months pregnant. Five percent chance of survival if they began treatment immediately. They'll have to abort the baby of course, because of the damage likely to result from the chemo and the radiation.

Amy says "No." No amount of begging, pleading, cajoling, crying, or yelling can change her mind. She's going to have this baby if it costs her life. The doctors tell her in no uncertain terms that it will. "So be it. This child will be born, regardless of what happens to me."

Amy's breathing grows weaker. The beeping becomes irregular. Then the long tone begins to sound. Doctors and nurses crowd the room. My wife is dead. Her mother and I hug, weeping together.

The funeral is huge. Too many politicians and their staff. Lobbyists and senior bureaucrats. College and grad school acquaintances. Friends. Condolences. Thoughts and prayers. The justice for whom Amy clerked is the one person other than her mother who seems to be as broken as I am at her death. "She was so beautiful inside, that it shone through like a beacon in the night."

When it's over, I'm alone with Eowyn and her nanny, Mia, in the Georgetown townhouse that was our home. It seems so empty now. Amy is gone. I am devastated. My heart is broken.

CHAPTER ONE

My grandfather and his brother were wildcatters in Texas. They struck it big, finding a huge oil field in an area where no one had expected them to find anything. Building on that, they got into real estate, banking, ranching and technology. Grandfather and grandmother had one child, my mother. My grandmother died when my mother was 8. There were a series of step-grandmothers, each of whom was pensioned off after ten years or so. The last one finally took, and she's been around for most of my life.

Uncle Billy and Aunt Sally decided that they had enough to last them the rest of their days about the time I was born. Tired of the corporate world, they bought a ranch in Wyoming and Uncle Billy became a real cowboy. He still monitors the family business, but he's up every day with the sun and does a full days' work alongside his hands.

My mother was groomed to succeed my grandfather from the time my grandmother died. She lives and breathes the business. My grandfather picked my father for her husband. He wanted a son-in-law who could provide political protection for the business. My father was a young up and coming state legislator. Grandfather essentially bought him a congressional seat in a safe district, then funded his senatorial run. Father is now well into his third Senate term and chairs the Senate committee which overseas oil and gas matters.

My parents had two children. I'm the heir. My brother Mike was the spare. Mike was different. He was rebellious from early childhood. No interest in politics or the business. He wanted to be a soldier. My parents did all they could to discourage his dreams, but he outfoxed them. He went to one of my father's biggest opponents in Congress, the then chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, and asked for an appointment to West Point. The congressman laughed until Mike told him that if he made the appointment, he'd be sticking his finger in my father's eye. By the time my parents discovered what had happened, Mike had signed all the paperwork and was on his way to his plebe summer. He graduated with honors, choosing the infantry as his branch assignment. My father tried to prevent Mike from going to Iraq, but Mike went back to his congressman buddy and, with his help, was assigned as an infantry platoon leader. Six months later, he was dead, victim of an IED.

My parents lead separate lives. My father's chief of staff is also his mistress. My mother has enjoyed a series of discreet relationships in Houston. They live much the way the British aristocracy of the late 19th and early 20th centuries lived, joined for political and economic purposes but married in name only once the heir was provided, except during election campaign seasons. They've remained friends, but it is a business partnership, not a marriage.

My parents were always too busy to provide parenting. We had a series of nannies and maids who were our primary caretakers. Until I started as a page, my summers were spent with Uncle Billy and Aunt Sally on the ranch. Mike never cared for ranch life and so rarely went there. They had no children of their own, so they treated me as the son they'd never had. I spent summers on horseback, learned to rope, brand cattle, castrate a calf, hunt and fish, all courtesy of Uncle Billy. Aunt Sally taught me to cook. If I were forced to be truthful, they were the closest thing to parents I had.

My grandfather had numerous business and social acquaintances, but only a handful of real friends. One of those friends was a brilliant conservative federal appellate court judge. With my grandfather's support, my father engineered the judge's appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court. It was through the justice that I met Amy.

CHAPTER TWO

Grandfather's friend was an avid baseball fan. The family company had VIP suites for both the Redskins and the Nationals, which were used to entertain politicians, bureaucrats, and legislative staff. It was grandfather's custom to invite the justice, his wife, his staff and their spouses or significant others to a game each year. Grandfather would host. Out of ethical concerns, the justice always paid for his own and his wife's tickets, a payment which grandfather always donated to an urban children's education program supported by the justice's wife.

I was still a congressional staffer when my grandfather called me and asked me to act as the host for the justice and his staff because grandfather had the flu. I would have expected my father or my mother to have been assigned that task, but the justice and they did not particularly get along and grandfather wanted his friend to enjoy his evening. So that evening I found myself sitting in our corporate VIP suite watching the game and ensuring our guests enjoyed themselves.

The game was in the fourth inning when I walked back to the bar for a beer and saw an absolutely gorgeous young Asian woman sitting in the last row of seats with a tablet in her lap. "Not a baseball fan?" I asked.

"Not really. But the justice made a point of saying we all should come, so I'm here. I don't really like sports. I prefer music and books. Plus, I have a memo due tomorrow on a case before the justices meet to discuss it."

The woman couldn't have been more than 22 or 23 years old. "Are you one of his clerks?"

"Yes. I'm Amy Wong."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Tommy Jackson. My grandfather asked me to sub for him tonight because he's sick. If you promise not to tell anybody, I'll let you in on a secret. I have no interest whatsoever in baseball, either. What kind of books do you read?"

We spent the rest of the game talking. I discovered that she was an only child and something of a prodigy. In addition to racing through school, she'd studied piano and violin and had considered pursuing a career as a concert pianist before being accepted to law school. Her reading tastes were eclectic, but when she mentioned how much she enjoyed Tolkien, who was my favorite author on earth, we were off to the races. We talked about him the rest of the game.

As the game ended, I asked her for her number. She looked a me a bit quizzically before giving it to me. I told her I'd enjoyed our discussions and hoped we could continue at some point. Then we exchanged contact information and went our separate ways.

As you probably might guess, I'd not lacked for feminine companionship during my years in D.C. I was in great physical shape, a legacy of the summers at the ranch supplemented by at running at least 5 miles four times a week along with two weightlifting sessions. With my family's money, connections, and a reputation for treating my dates well and making sure they enjoyed all aspects of their evening, it was a rare occasion when I couldn't find a willing woman to share my bed. It helped that I was discreet and generous. There had been a couple of relationships, but most of my dates were matters of convenience rather than the heart.

Amy was different. She was beautiful, clearly brilliant and stimulating to talk with. But there was also an innocence, almost a naiveite about her that intrigued me. I wanted to see her again.

It took me three days to call her. When I asked her to go out to dinner with me, she hesitated, then asked if I would give her some time to think about it before she answered me. That was a first. I'd never had anyone respond like that before. Being asked by Tommy Jackson was generally considered a highly desirable offer. I was unaccustomed to hesitancy in my social arrangements.

Amy called me back the following day and agreed to meet me at the restaurant. She refused my offer to pick her up at her apartment. We agreed on a time and I described the appropriate dress for the place. It was quite exclusive, private, a place where the movers and shakers in the city met to dine and transact business. We would probably be the youngest two people in the restaurant by at least a decade. I chose it solely to impress her. To be honest, absent my father's connections, I couldn't have gotten a reservation in a year, but Amy didn't need to know that.

The evening was delightful. The meal was superb. The conversation flowed like good wine. When dinner was finished, we walked down to the mall, sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, and talked for two more hours. I offered her a ride home, but she preferred to take a cab. As I was putting her into the cab, I told her I'd like to do this again. She blushed, then kissed me gently on the cheek, thanked me for the evening, climbed into the cab, and waved goodbye.

We met again the following week. The evening was similar. Different restaurant, great meal, delightful conversation, goodnight kiss on the cheek, departure by cab. This continued for more than two months. By now I was a frustrated lad. I was spending all my time and effort courting a woman who seemed to enjoy my company but gave me no more than a hand on my arm when we walked and a chaste kiss goodnight. This was not how Tommy's dates were supposed to end. But I was now well and truly hooked.

Finally, on what had to have been our tenth or eleventh date, Amy agreed to allow me to take her home. She lived in a small third-floor two-bedroom apartment in an older section of the district. She invited me in for a nightcap and then excused herself. When she came back, she'd changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants. She poured me a glass of wine, then sat on the opposite end of the sofa from me.

We sat in companionable silence for a while before I finally looked at her and asked the question I'd had for some weeks. "Amy, is this going anywhere? I really like you, but I'm having a hard time understanding what we're doing here. Are we just friends or are we a couple?"

Amy hesitated for a moment, then began. "Tommy, you're the first boyfriend I've ever had. My mother filled every moment of my day with studies and lessons from the time I was old enough to learn. She moved with me to college and law school. She lives here with me now. She wouldn't approve of you because you aren't Chinese. The only reason you're here is because she's out in San Francisco caring for my grandfather. I'd never have brought you home otherwise."

"Does she know you're dating?"

"She knows I go out. She thinks it's with other clerks from the court. She'd have a cow if she knew I was seeing a man and a whole herd of cattle if she knew the man was Caucasian."

"For crying out loud, Amy. It's the twenty-first century. People date across racial and ethnic lines all the time."

"Not in my family."

"Are you telling me you want to break this off?"

"No. I really like you. But I want you to understand that it's going to be very hard for us if we continue. Respect and obedience to elders is ingrained in my culture. My parents and grandparents raised me in a very traditional Chinese household. If you want us to have a relationship, you're going to have to allow it time to mature and be prepared to meet considerable resistance."

"Would it help if she met my father? After all, he is a U.S. Senator. Would that impress her enough to lift her objections?"

"Let me think about it. Now, can you do something for me?"

"What would you like me to do?"

"Take me to bed."

I hadn't seen that coming. We'd never even kissed. But when she stood and reached out her hand, I followed her into the bedroom. The covers had already been turned down.

I discovered a great deal more about Amy that night. She knew nothing about making love. She'd told me I was her first boyfriend. I was also the first boy to hug her, kiss her or touch her sexually. To my astonishment, she was a virgin. She had to have been the last 23-year-old virgin in the city. I took things very slowly, gently touching, kissing, using my tongue and fingers to bring her to climax repeatedly, leaving a puddle in the sheets. She had no clue how to stimulate me in return, so I talked her through the process of using her hands to bring me to orgasm. She rolled over on top of me and began kissing me, working her way down my body to my groin and taking little Tommy into her mouth. She didn't have a clue about giving oral sex, but I talked her through the process until I was hard again. Then I asked her, "Are you ready for this? It will hurt for a bit at first. And it's something that can't be undone once we do it. You only get to give your virginity to one person. Are you sure you want it to be me?"

Amy assured me that she was ready and that I was the person she wanted to be her first. With that, I eased into her, sliding in slowly until reaching her hymen, then pausing to allow her to adjust to me before pushing through. I heard her gasp, then felt her pull down on my hips, forcing me all the way in. We lay there for a moment, then I began to gently rock in and out of her, using one hand to stimulate her nub as I did so. I could tell from her breathing that she was getting close to climaxing again and I adjusted my pace to ensure that she did so before I did. With no condom, I pulled out just before I came, spilling my seed on her stomach. I then kissed her again, got up and retrieved a damp washcloth from the bathroom and cleaned us both. We pulled up the covers, spooned and went to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Amy and I continued to date surreptitiously for about six months before I finally forced the issue. By this time, I was in love with her, and I'd told her so repeatedly. She had admitted to feeling the same way. Knowing that both my parents would be in town for a small dinner at my father's D.C. home in honor of the president of an important Taiwanese chipmaker in whom my parents' company had an investment, I told her that I wanted her to be my "plus one" for the evening. I arranged for her to acquire an appropriate gown and picked her up from work, taking her back to my apartment to shower and change. Then we drove over to my father's house in Bethesda where the dinner was being held.

My parents were accustomed to my turning up with an attractive woman on my arm when required, so Amy didn't generate any particular interest. When I introduced them, they acknowledged her, engaged in the moment of small talk required, and moved onto their next guest. The Taiwanese executive did not speak a great deal of English, but he had an interpreter at his elbow for communication. To his and my surprise, when Amy and I were introduced to him she addressed him in perfect Mandarin. Their conversation went on for some time, the interpreter translating for my parents and me. My parents looked on with some amazement. My dates were generally attractive, but rarely capable of this kind of interaction. They were impressed.

As the evening ended, my parents asked us to remain behind after the guests departed. Both seemed intrigued by Amy, a level of interest they had never heretofore shown in my companions. They spent an hour interviewing her. I got the distinct impression that they were assessing her as a permanent addition to the family. I found out later that I was correct. When the evening ended, my mother took Amy to get her coat and my father pulled me aside. "This one is a keeper, son. Try not to screw it up."

Amy's mother was more difficult to persuade. Since the evening with my parents had gone so well, Amy finally conceded that it was time for us to disclose our relationship to her mother. Amy made reservations for three at a local bistro in her neighborhood and told her mother that there was someone she wanted mom to meet.

When they walked into the bistro, I was already seated at the table. I rose, kissed Amy on the cheek and introduced myself. You could hear the ice crackle around Amy's mother as she glared first at me and then at Amy before launching into a burst of Mandarin. Amy responded in kind and the two of them went back and forth for several minutes before they both sat at the table. Somewhere near the end of the exchange, I'd heard the words "Senator" and "Jackson" in English, which led me to believe that Amy had told her mother who my father was as part of her effort to get her to stay.