Charlie
There was a loud bang from upstairs when I walked through our front door Friday afternoon.
“Cameron?” I called out, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door before stripping out of my coat and scarf. I hung them on the rack just as another bang came, this time followed closely by a loud curse.
“Don’t come upstairs!”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine! Just…” There was a muffled groan, and then the sound of a door shutting. Cameron appeared at the top of our stairs in the next instant, his dark hair damp and falling over his forehead a bit, bare chest slick with a sheen of sweat. “You’re home early.”
My stomach dropped.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I just, please just stay down there for a second.”
My hand was already on the railing, feet carrying me toward him while my stomach twisted into the most tangled knots of my life. I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t listen to any of the words coming out of his mouth.
“Please, Charlie.” He tried to grab for my arm as I passed him, but I slipped by, heading for our bedroom. The door was open, so I swung inside it, eyes ready to shoot laser beams at whoever was in there.
But it was empty.
“Charlie, what are you doing?”
“Where is she?”
Jane and Edward cooed their warm hellos to me, but I zoomed past them, flicking on the light in the bathroom and checking behind the door. I crossed the room to our closet next, and briefly glanced at Cameron’s confused expression.
“She? What are you talking about?”
“WHERE IS SHE, CAMERON?”
I ripped open the door to our closet, but there was no one inside. When I whipped around to face him again, Cameron was saying something, but I couldn’t hear it — because I noticed the door to my library was closed.
And there was a shadow inside it — a shadow where there shouldn’t have been anything but light coming from the bay window.
I stomped past Cameron, my entire body trembling as I reached for the door knob.
“Wait, Charlie, please just listen to me a second!”
I shoved it open, chest heaving as I prepared my heart for the worst. I would murder her. I would murder both of them. This was it, the moment when I snapped — the moment when I went to jail for the rest of my life.
But when the door swung open, I didn’t find a woman I recognized inside it.
In fact, I didn’t find anything I recognized, at all.
Everything was gone.
My bookshelves, half of my books, the bed by the bay window. All the pictures on the walls. They’d all been removed.
And replaced.
Instead of the bed, there was a reading hammock. The netting was a soft yellow that reminded me of Jane’s feathers, and it was covered with a plush gray and white chevron cushion. At least a half-dozen little pillows sat in the middle of it, and there was a hand-built table that swung out from the wall to rest next to the hammock, though it could be tucked back into the wall to be out of the way, too.
My old shelves, ones that were simple white wood, were completely gone. Instead, three new ones were built, two more still in boxes, and they were modern glass with stainless steel legs that gave off the appearance that the shelves curved up the wall and hung slightly over at the top. Some of my books had been replaced on the new shelves, the rest of them laid carefully in the corner of the room in boxes.
There was a step ladder and Cameron’s tool box, our little portable speaker playing Angus and Julia Stone, and a large gallon of water that was half empty. The photos that had once hung on the walls were laying in the corner, and my eyes scanned the beautiful paintings leaning against them — the ones I assumed were new.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, tears flooding my eyes. “Oh, my God.”
There was a loud sigh behind me, but Cameron’s arms wrapped around me, anyway. His hands pulled me into him, his chin resting on my shoulder, body bending low to meet mine. “I was trying to surprise you.”
“I’m such a dirtbag.”
Cameron chuckled, pressing a kiss into my neck. His body was still slick, but I didn’t mind. “You are not. I was trying to finish before you got home, but it was more work putting these shelves together than I expected.”
“You didn’t go to work today.”
I spun in his arms, looking up at him just as one tear leaked out of my left eye. Cameron thumbed it away, bending to kiss my lips softly, his smile genuine and true. “I didn’t. It’s why I’ve been working so hard lately, and such long days. I knew I would need to take an entire day off to get this built.”
“And you did all of this,” I said, sweeping my arm over the room. “For me?”
Cameron’s caramel eyes softened then, his hands folding together at the small of my back. “I know it hurts to come in here now, Charlie. You haven’t read a book in here in… years. But you used to love it in here, before…”
“You can say it,” I whispered. Part of me needed to hear him say it.
“Before we lost the boys.” His own eyes flooded then, and that only made me cry harder. “I wanted to make it a place you loved again, a place you could go to find happiness.”
I swallowed past the knot in my throat, and my eyes flicked to the closet — the one that hid thousands of dollars of baby gear.
“It’s gone,” Cameron said. “Not gone gone, but put away. This room is yours again, Charlie. Truly yours. I just… I hope you like it.” He chuckled then. “When it’s all done, of course.”
I laughed a little, too, leaning into his chest to let him hold me.
I didn’t know how to feel in that moment.
Happiness and thankfulness were the first two emotions I grasped. It was just like Cameron to do something so thoughtful, something so selfless, just to see me smile. He never missed work, and he’d planned a day off just so he could redo my library and make it a place I would love again.
I squeezed him harder.
There was another part of me, perhaps the largest part, that felt relieved. I hadn’t found another woman in our bed or in our shower. It wasn’t that I expected to, not before I walked in to the scene I had, but I realized in that moment that those scars still existed, too. The bruises were still tender.
Then, there was love and adoration. This was Cameron’s MO, it was how he always showed his love. He didn’t sit me down and tell me I was beautiful, or reminisce on times past. He used his hands to show me, he used his actions. It was so thoughtful, bringing my library back to life, so much so that I nearly collapsed in his arms at the emotions surging through me.
But underneath that happiness, underneath that appreciation, I was angry.
I would never tell him that, would never reveal that little part of me that flared red, and I hated that it was true. I wished I didn’t feel it, that stab of betrayal and disappointment, but it was just as real as the love and thankfulness.
The truth was that I wished he would have asked me, first.
I didn’t want to hide our son’s furniture and clothes away. I didn’t want to pretend like it never happened, like they never happened. And though the furniture had changed and the books sat on different shelves, it was still a room meant to be a nursery.
It was still a reminder of what we’d lost, what we’d never spoken of again.
I stamped that anger and sadness down with a firm foot, reminding myself that this was Cameron showing me his love. It was him coming back to me, slowly but surely. That was what mattered. I would sit right on top of that anger and sadness as I read my books in that hammock every weekend, just to show Cameron how much I appreciated the gesture — how much I appreciated him.
“Thank you,” I whispered finally as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. I looked up at him then, my husband, the man I would spend forever with. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
He paused, his eyes searching mine. And I knew he wanted to ask me if I was okay, that he wanted to know why my brain went where it did when I opened our front door just minutes before. Why had I assumed there was someone here who shouldn’t be? But we both knew the answer.
I saw apologies right beside those questions in his eyes, and I only smiled to answer them, leaning my head against his chest again.
Cameron held me for a moment as my eyes took in the new shelves and surroundings. Then, he patted my butt playfully, finally letting me go.
“I’m going to hop in the shower, if you want to get ready, too. Then I’ll drop you off at your mom’s on my way to the game?”
My eyes were stuck on the book that stood out among the classics Cameron had arranged for me. Anna Karenina. She was too worn next to my other classics, those spines so gently handled and perfectly kept. I’d have to move her again.
I blinked.
“Yes, I’d love that.”
“Be right out.”
Cameron kissed my hair once more before he disappeared, and a few seconds later, I heard the shower running in the other room. But I just stood and stared at the half-finished library, at all my familiar books shelved in a completely unfamiliar room.
I finally stepped inside, fingers reaching for Tolstoy first. I ran them over the spine, taking in the feel of the brown cloth before I pulled it from its place. I sat it on the table next to the hammock, deciding I would read it over the weekend. It would be my first read — an old book in a new library.
I was careful not to step on any tools or bolts as I made my way out of the room. Before I shut the door, I cast one last glance over my shoulder at the closet — the one that was empty now.
It would never be empty to me.
Later that night, I found myself surrounded by red and pink everything.
Each year, my parents hosted a Valentine’s Day fundraiser. It was a formal dinner with dancing and a silent auction held at the country club in their development. Mom had been the host of it since before I was born, and every year she somehow seemed to outdo herself.
Really, it was Mom who took on most of it. Dad would just show up the night of the event, run the microphone for the welcome and the farewell, and cruise the room talking to all of the guests. But Mom was in charge of getting everything in order for the event — from the invitations to the auction items.
I still remembered when she used to plan the menu and cook with the other chefs for the event. Somewhere down the line, the fundraiser became too large, and she eventually had to start delegating.
Delegating, I had found over the years, was very difficult for my mother to do.
“Make sure the ribbon ties around this way,” she said to me, demonstrating as she spoke. “And tucks in here, and then you’ll want the flowers to sit exactly like this, okay? And for any of them that need cellophane, make sure it’s not bunched up in a way that the guests won’t be able to see what’s inside.”
“Mom.”
“And if you have any questions, just flag me down. I’m serious. I have to make some phone calls but I’m around.” She chewed her lip. “Oh gosh, should I just stay and help with this?”
“Mom,” I said again, grabbing her upper arms with a smile. It was like grabbing a slightly older version of myself. She was practically a mirror. “I’ve got this, okay? I think I can handle wrapping up the donated items for the auction.”
Her brows bent together before she finally released her lip with a sigh. “Oh, I know you’re right. You’ve been my best little helper all your life.”
“And I’ve been a part of this auction since I could walk,” I reminded her. “I’ve got this. Go do whatever it is you need to do.”
“Okay. But if you need me—“
“I won’t. Go. And Mom?”
She was chewing her lip again.
“The fundraiser will be wonderful, just like it always is. Stop worrying. You’re an amazing hostess.”
At that, she smiled, rubbing my hand over her arm just as her cell phone rang. She answered it with a wink in my direction before flurrying off down the hall.
I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest as I took in the two long tables piled high with donations that I needed to sort into baskets to be bid on.
“This thing just gets bigger every year, doesn’t it?”
I wished there was a warning signal for when Reese was around me, wished my brain could somehow alert me before my body had the chance to react. But as it was, he’d just slid up right beside me, silently and without warning, and now all the hairs on my arms were standing tall. A chill swept through me, so quickly I wondered if I even really felt it.
That used to happen when we were younger, that buzz of electricity, especially when I’d hear the door open from his parents’ kitchen late at night. I’d sit there, pretending that I was still reading my book, that I hadn’t heard him come in. But then he’d be there, in the kitchen with me, messing up my braids with a rub of his hand and cracking open one of his dad’s beers.
And then, just like I’d secretly hoped all night, we’d end up at his piano.
“It is my mother,” I reminded him. “Can’t imagine her ever not wanting to outdo herself.”
“I remember when it was just ten items to bid on,” Reese said, his eyes surveying the tables. I took a moment to look at him then, to take in his long hair, his tired eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Me, too.”
Reese shook his head with a lazy smile, tucking his hands in his pockets. Then, he looked at me.
I never knew so much could be said with a look.
Sure, I was in tune with Cameron, or at least, I had been. We could share a look and communicate a hundred different things. But with Reese, there were no words behind the gaze. There were feelings. There was heat, and concern — want and denial. And I was like a moth drawn to that flame, wanting so badly to see inside it, to figure out how it burns, to live within its warmth.
But I knew to touch it was to die.
I’d been avoiding him since the night we’d gone up Mt. Washington on the Incline, barely saying more than a few words to him each day. And earlier that afternoon, he’d burst into my room like he was angry, like he was about to demand I speak to him — but then he just left.
I’d nearly forgotten about that, especially after going home to everything Cameron had surprised me with. That had been the thought taking up the most space in my head. But now that Reese stood before me again, his face tired and worn, I wondered how he’d been. I wondered how he felt, what he’d been thinking.
But I couldn’t ask.
The distance I’d placed between us was a safety net, and it was one I intended to keep in place.
“Thanks for helping out, by the way,” I said, breaking the spell and putting space between us. “What does she have you working on?”
“I’m writing out the tags for the bidding items,” he answered with a grin. “I knew that whole calligraphy hobby I’d gotten into would be good for something someday.”
I swallowed. “Oh, so you’ll be here with me?”
“All night.”
Forcing a smile, I pulled out the first basket, eyeing the items on the table to figure out which I would pair together first. “Awesome. Guess we should get to work.”
And that’s exactly what we did.
Other than the music Reese had put on for us, we worked in silence. I would pile the baskets high and neat, wrapping them with cellophane and ribbon and flowers in a way I knew Mom would approve of. Then, Reese would take his time writing out a description card and a bidding starting amount. We worked in tandem, in perfect rhythm and timing. As soon as I could finish bundling up a new basket, Reese would put the final touches on the card he’d been writing, and then I’d pass the new basket over.
Reese tried to start conversation a few times, and I’d answer his questions or listen to his stories, but then the words would die down and only the music existed again. I assumed it was the music on his phone, played on shuffle, because none of it tied together. One minute we would be listening to a classical symphony, and the next, a metal band.
The minutes turned to an hour easily, and I found myself lost in the methodical task of it all. This was easy for me — using my mind and my hands to accomplish a goal. It was what I lived for, like ticking items off a to-do list or flipping through the pages of a book until the very end.
Mom loved the people part of hosting, I loved the event planning.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Reese mused after a while, his eyes glancing up at me briefly from where he was writing out a new card.
I untied the bow I’d just fastened, wrapping it again until the loops were perfectly symmetrical. “Just working.”
“Can’t talk while you work?”
“The music is good,” I said, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s nice to just work and zone in.”
“You always have loved projects.”
Reese watched me then, his hand hovering above the ink like there was more to that sentence than just what I’d heard.
“Where’s Cameron tonight?”
I paused, thanking the timing of that question. It looked like I was just inspecting the ribbon again, not like I was wishing I wasn’t alone in a room with Reese Walker.
I tugged at the end of the ribbon, loosening it again.
“Penguins game.”
“Ah, that’s right,” he said. “Hockey.”
“Yep.”
I retied the ribbon for a third time, finally satisfied, and slid the basket toward Reese. His fingers overlapped mine for just a second before I pulled them away, reaching for a few of the gift cards we had left to pair with a swag bag from the local golf shop.
“How are you guys?” Reese asked after a moment.
His question shocked me, so much so that I stopped to look at him, but he only continued his careful script on the new card.
“What do you mean? We’re fine, of course.”
“Fine?” He paused, meeting my eyes with a cocked brow.
I lowered mine.
“Yes, we’re fine. We’re wonderful. Today, he surprised me by redoing my library for me for Valentine’s Day,” I added, smiling as I wrapped the basket with cellophane. “It’s beautiful. And our anniversary is coming up soon, which is always exciting. I’m sure he has something planned. He always does.”
“That’s pretty amazing, that he redid your library for you. Was it in need of an update?”
“Not exactly, but he wanted to do something special for me. He wanted to make it a place I loved again.”
“Why did you stop loving it?”
I scratched my neck, not happy with the bow I’d just tied. I ripped the ribbon loose again. “I don’t know, I just did. Why are you asking so many questions?”
Reese looked at me then, stopping his script mid-word. “Just making conversation.”
“Well, we have a lot of work to do. Maybe we should just focus on that.”
I wouldn’t look at him again, not with his eyes searching me for something. I didn’t even know what he was looking for, but something told me that I needed to hide it. Something told me that if I even so much as met his gaze, he’d find what he was looking for.
This was why I’d been put on alert by him saying he’d be here, why my nerves had kicked in on the car ride over to the club. It was why I’d avoided time alone with Reese since the night we went up the Incline. Last time we’d spoken — truly spoken — I’d reminded him I was married. I’d put distance between us, whether he wanted me to or not.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, or that I didn’t want to be friends with him.
It was that I was too confused, too lost to be around someone who brought back so many emotions for me — emotions I’d long forgotten, and ones I never expected to feel again. I was trying to gain my balance with my husband, to find what we’d lost, to bring our love back to life.
That was my main priority.
I could still feel Reese’s eyes hot on my neck as the song changed, and when it did, he finally looked away. I took a breath at the relief of not being under his stare, but when he reached forward for the portable speaker we had, I followed his hand.
And that’s when I heard the song.
“Reese,” I warned. “Don’t you dare.”
He wore a crooked grin as his index finger tapped the plus volume button over and over, Billy Joel’s voice growing louder and louder as it echoed off the walls around us. We were alone in the room, but the entire country club was full with volunteers for the event as well as members enjoying their dinners just down the hall.
“Reese!” I scolded, trying to grab the speaker from his hands, but he stood, holding it high over his head as I jumped up trying to reach it.
Mom flew in the door in the next moment, her eyes wild and confused.
“What on earth is going on? Reese, turn that down!”
“Not before we dance!”
Reese flitted across the room to Mom next, placing the speaker high on one of the shelves in the corner before sweeping her up in his arms. I raced to the corner, hopping up and down trying to reach the speaker on the shelf, but it was no use.
Piano Man blared at the highest volume setting as Reese did some sort of attempt at a two-step with my mother.
“Reese, let me go! We have so much to do! I have to call the catering company to triple check the menu and I have to go check on the linens and make sure the tables are set correctly and that the centerpieces are the right height and, and…”
Reese spun her out, twirling her back into his arms just in time for the first chorus to start. He sang at the top of his lungs, off key and too loud, and suddenly, Mom smiled.
And she started singing, too.
My jaw dropped at the sight of it, Mom and Reese floating around the messy tables piled high with prizes still to be bundled and baskets and ribbon and cards and ink. I couldn’t believe Mom was dancing, that she wasn’t completely freaked out.
And then I realized this was exactly what she needed.
A laugh shot through me as they twirled in my direction, a few of the other volunteers gathering in the door frame to watch and sing along. Reese and Mom threw their hands out toward all of us just in time to sing the famous question the bar had for the piano man in the song.
It was like being in a piano bar, just like the ones I’d gotten too drunk in during my college years. Before I knew it, I was swaying along and singing out loud, too. And suddenly all the stress and tension from the night melted away, all at the hands of the boy next door.
“Alright, alright,” Mom finally said through her laughter, pushing at Reese’s chest with her tiny hands. “I’ve got to get back to work. Take over, Charlie.”
My eyes bulged. “What?”
But before I could protest, Mom was out of Reese’s arms and I was in them, being swept away from my safe little corner as Mom gathered up the rest of the volunteers and headed back to their respective stations.
It was just me and Reese then, dancing to the end of the song, but Reese wasn’t singing anymore.
He was just watching me with a small, victorious smile.
“Oh, you just think you’re so smooth, don’t you, Reese Walker?”
He laughed, spinning me out before twirling me back into his arms again. I missed his hand on the come back, palm landing against his chest, instead. Reese covered my hand there, slowing our steps as the music faded out.
“Had to lighten this place up,” he said softly. “Your mom needed that.”
“She did,” I agreed, and we slowed even more, our hips just barely swaying as we held each other.
“So did you.”
My teeth worked at the inside of my cheek as I trailed my eyes up his chest, finally finding his gaze. “Listen, Reese…”
“Hey,” he said, cutting me off. His knuckles found my chin and he lifted it to keep my eyes on his. “It’s okay, Charlie. I know what you’re going to say, and it’s okay. That night was intense, and we were both drinking. But just because it got a little out of hand doesn’t mean you have to ignore me now.” His brows bent together then. “We’re friends, right?”
Friends.
The word was a perfect description of our relationship. It was right, it fit, it worked.
Why did it feel so inadequate?
“Of course we are, Reese. But—”
“No buts.” He raised both eyebrows, as if he wanted to be sure I was listening before he continued. “I’ve missed you, Charlie. I’ve missed you more than I can even say. It’s been over a decade since we were last together, and now I’m back. Now, we can be friends again.” He swallowed. “I don’t have many of those nowadays. Please. Be my friend.”
My heart broke for him, for that young boy who used to live next door, now a grown man without a family to go home to. My parents were the closest thing he had to that now, and I realized distantly that I fell in that same category.
For Reese, I was a piece of home.
And, truthfully, he was a piece of home for me, too. I thought that was a bad thing, something I needed to distance myself from, but why couldn’t we be friends? Why couldn’t I have him in my life again?
I cared about Reese. I always would. And just as he needed a friend, so did I.
So, I pushed my fears aside, packing them into a box and shelving them away. Because the truth was, I wasn’t afraid of Reese.
And I’d missed him, too.
“I’ll always be your friend,” I finally whispered, and we both stopped dancing, standing perfectly still in the middle of the room.
Reese smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting in unison before they fell flat again. His eyes searched mine, his hand tightening over where it held my waist. We were so close, maybe a little too close, so I cleared my throat, stepping away as the song changed.
“Okay, trouble maker. Can you turn the music down now so we can get back to work?”
I was already making my way back to my station as Reese grabbed the speaker from the shelf he’d placed it on. He changed the song before lowering the volume and setting the speaker next to us again. Then, he took his seat, picking up where he’d left off on the card.
I tied the first knot on the ribbon I’d abandoned, but then my fingers stilled, and I glanced at Reese.
“Thank you,” I said. “For being here. And for the dance. You’re right — Mom needed that.”
He smiled, nodding his you’re welcome before his eyes were on the script he was writing again. And I knew I didn’t have to say the other half of that sentence for him to hear it.
I needed it, too.