Chapter 54
Charles turned his car into an available visitor park outside Sarah’s apartment late on Friday night. He activated the handbrake and killed the ignition. Subtle nervous tremors sizzled through his body as he turned in his seat. With the glow from the crescent moon in the dark sky and a single lamppost near the entrance, he could make out Sarah’s shadowed form beside him. She was facing him. He was sure she looked as nervous as he felt.
He swallowed to calm himself, “I’m glad we did this.”
She flashed a smile, “Me too.”
The date at the restaurant in Asheville had been beyond what he’d built up in his mind. They’d laughed, shared stories of their past, and dreamed of their futures.
Hers had involved having a book on the New York Times bestseller list, having a writing room with a beautiful garden view, and being able to give up nursing to write full-time.
His had involved so many things he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. Not with the secret looming in the background and his plan in action, but not fulfilled. So he’d told her the basics of what he wanted in the future: a wife, children, and his mother to be safe and happy.
All true, but not the full truth.
He couldn’t tell her that what he wanted more than anything else was a time when he didn’t have to be hypervigilant about the secret, especially with the woman he loved.
Still, he’d felt the connection between them growing. At least, on his part it had.
It’s time, Charles.
He reached over and clasped one of her hands between both of his.
She stared over at him, a soft smile on her mouth.
He cleared his throat, “I want you to know how much you mean to me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this . . .”
Dammit. Why couldn’t he just say what he meant? I love you. I want you in my life. I’m moving to Germany. Do you want to try long distance with me?
She nodded, “I know what you mean.”
Did she? Hoped warmed his chest. He leaned across his seat toward her.
He tried again, “What I’m trying to say is . . . I’m in love with you, Sarah.”
A deep exhale escaped her lungs. She pumped his hands with hers, “Oh, thank God. I’m in love with you too.”
He smiled, understanding her relief.
She leaned closer and kissed him. He slipped his arms around her waist as her hands slid up and around his shoulders. The seat belts made the position uncomfortable, but not unpleasant.
She deepened their kiss. Heat formed in his stomach from the action. Each kiss, peck, and nibble they exchanged moved the heat through his body. He was on the brink of boiling when Sarah pushed from him. She captured his gaze with hers.
In a shy-sounding whisper, she asked, “Do you want to come up?”
He grinned, “Yes. I just need to make a call first.”
She nodded, “Okay. I’ll wait outside the car for you.”
“Thank you.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth and waited for her to exit the car before he reached for his cell. If he was going to end up spending the night with Sarah, somebody would need to know where he was. Let somebody else worry about the secret for one night . . . and allow himself to forget. Didn’t he deserve that after all this time?
***
Whoa. This was really happening. Charles Morgan had told her he was in love with her, and she’d told him the same thing . . . and now he was coming up to her apartment. She never could have imagined––even with her writer’s brain––that this would happen. Not that first night she’d met him at least. When he’d seemed so cool and aloof and rude. And yet, here she was.
She crossed her arms against the slight spring wind cooling the air and peeked back at the car. Charles had a cell against his ear. He was talking. The furrowed brow and crinkles around his lips told her he was worried by whatever the person on the other end was telling him. His eyes darted in her direction. When he saw her watching him, he flashed her a faint smile.
She smiled back then turned to give him some privacy. A few minutes later, the sound of a door opening made her spin around.
Charles stepped from the car and raised the cell, “All done.”
“Great.”
He hesitated then caught her gaze. “Uh, I don’t want to be presumptuous here, but I have an overnight bag with me.”
She laughed, “Oh you do, do you?”
He grinned, “It’s not like that. I keep a bag with me for the times I need to stay with Mom.”
She felt her features screw up in confusion, “Why do you need to stay with Joan?”
His expression blanched as he stammered, “I, uh . . . she gets lonely sometimes and likes me to stay.”
“I see.”
But she didn’t really. He was lying to her. Why?
Before she could figure out an answer, he asked, “Do I bring it up or not?”
The cheeky look he aimed at her made her laugh.
She nodded, “Bring it up.”
He grinned, darted to the trunk, and opened it with his keys faster than she’d see anyone do it. She watched him retrieve a black overnight bag. Slamming the trunk closed, he made his way to her and placed an arm around her shoulder.
Inside the apartment a short time later, Charles asked, “Where’s your bathroom?”
“End of the hall.” She waved her hand in the general direction.
“Thanks. I’ll be back.”
He pecked a kiss to her cheek, dropped his bag to the floor near the front door, and rushed off.
Alone, she bent to pick up his bag so she could move it to her bedroom. When she tried to pick it up, she realized she’d miscalculated the weight. It made her lose her grip. The bag fell back to the floor and toppled over. Because it hadn’t been zippered closed properly, some of the contents spilled to the floor.
“Oh no.”
She crouched and attempted to stuff the items––sheet of paper––back inside. Even though her intention had not been to pry, she couldn’t miss the words at the top of the first page: General Power of Attorney application.
Something steeled in her chest.
She glanced toward the hall to make sure Charles was still preoccupied. No footsteps came. There was time. She adjusted the paper and felt her nose wrinkle at what she read.
The words Charles Roger Morgan is to have full financial, health, and legal control over the affairs of Joan Elizabeth Morgan caught her attention. Why did Charles want financial, legal, and medical control over Joan? Her eyes roamed to the bottom of the page. She lifted a hand to her mouth, shocked. Joan had signed it. Why would her mentor agree to this?
“What are you doing?”
The tone in Charles’s voice was sharp and bitter. She’d never heard it like that before. She turned her face and saw him marching toward her, with darkness shrouding his features.
She dropped the papers and stuttered, “I, I . . .”
He bent and yanked the papers and bag away. She watched in silence as he shoved the papers inside and zipped the bag closed. When he straightened, it seemed to be in slow motion. She couldn’t move.
He barked, “Do I get an answer?”
She rose and, inches from his accusing expression, she managed to say, “The bag fell, the papers came out.”
“So, you thought that meant you had the right to read them?”
She shook her head, “No, I was putting everything back and couldn’t help seeing it.”
“What did you see exactly?”
There was a touch of panic in the question.
“It’s a power of attorney application, for Joan. Financial, legal, and medical.”
His mouth skewed, “And?”
She exhaled, “And what Charles? What’s this all about?”
“Nothing.”
She scoffed, “Nothing?”
He was lying again.
She frowned. He’d told her he loved her. They were a “couple,” weren’t they? They’d been about to sleep together! Even after everything, he was still keeping things from her, like he had since the day they met. It hadn’t been any of her business before, but now, it was.
Snippets of the conversation she’d had with Linda invaded: . . . has an issue with control . . . he makes Joan do whatever he wants. Everything has to be his way, right down to the money she spends . . .
This application seemed to be confirming everything Linda had claimed.
“Why do you have that?”
Charles’s eyes seemed to blaze with fire, “That’s none of your business.”
The words stabbed a little.
“None of my business?” She heard her voice rise when she added, “Joan’s my mentor and you’re my . . . boyfriend . . . I think I have some right to know what’s going on in your life.”
He shook his head, “Not about this you don’t.”
She took a step forward and clasped her hands around his. “You can trust me.”
“You think so? How can I after this?”
“After what?”
“Your snooping.”
“I wasn’t snooping.”
“Looked that way to me.”
“Sometimes things aren’t always what they seem.”
He looked her up and down, “Yes. I know.”
It was obvious he meant she wasn’t who he thought she was.
Was he serious? She’d done all she could think of to show him and Joan she could be trusted. He’d been hiding something from her since the awards night. If either of them deserved to have trust issues in this relationship, it was her.
She flapped her hands in a gesture of irritation, “Yeah? Well, how can I trust you?”
He went quiet. Too quiet.
In a whisper, he choked, “I think it would be best if you don’t contact either myself or my mother again.”
“What?”
“We’re over, Sarah. So are the sessions.”
Fury burned over her. She heard it come out in her voice when she snapped back, “You can’t do that. That decision is up to Joan.”
“She’ll agree with me.”
Sarah released an incredulous scoff, “Why? Because you’ll bully her into it?”
It was Charles’s turn to sound incredulous, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She wasn’t going to back down. He was the one being unreasonable.
“Is that really what you think of me?”
She wasn’t sure what she thought. But she knew how she felt: hurt and confused and enraged.
“What else am I supposed to think?”
“That I love my mother.”
“You might love her, but it doesn’t mean you’re not controlling her for your own benefit.”
The hurt in his eyes sent sickness to her stomach. Was it too late to take the words back?
“Not all men are like Jack Barrett, Sarah. We don’t all have evil intentions when it comes to the women in our lives.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
She glared at him, “What does that mean?”
“It means you have expectations that are too high.”
“It’s better than having low expectations and getting hurt again.”
“If you gave the men in your life the benefit of the doubt, they might prove their worthiness to you.”
“Maybe . . . but I haven’t met one worth the trouble yet.”
She didn’t mean it. But her internal protection mechanisms had kicked in. She could take it back . . . did she want to?
Silence stretched between them like an impassable canyon. Then he clamped his bag in one hand, slipped past her, and left.