Remembering Phoenix (16 page)

She shakes her head, pulling her loose-fitted beanie down. “No way. It’s too cold for ice cream.”

I pop the dollop of ice cream in my mouth and eat it. “It is never too cold for ice cream,” I correct her. “Some people are just too sensitive.”

Charlie laughs, leaning into me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “Some people are just too insane to realize eating ice cream when it’s cold doesn’t make sense,” she says before taking a bite of her chocolate chip cookie.

“Some people are so weather sensitive,” I joke, taking the final bite of my ice cream and tossing it into the nearby trash can.

She nudges me playfully with her elbow, and giggles before looking at the shoppers walking about. “I don’t know how people spend hours in this place shopping. It tires me out just thinking about it.”

“This is why we’re perfect for each other. I hate shopping, too.”

Leaning her head back, Charlie scrunches her nose in mock disgust. “Except when it comes to buying a stupid expensive jacket?”

“Hey now. It’s not a jacket. It’s a coat, and it’s my favorite.”

“So,” she says, “if it’s a coat and
not
a jacket, tell me the difference between the two.”

“That’s easy.”
That’s so not easy.
“My jackets zip up. My coats button up.”

She laughs hysterically. “That makes absolutely no sense what-so-ever. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. I have absolutely no idea, so it was the best answer I could come up with.”

She laughs. “Hey,” she says, looking out at the people, “I think that’s the waitress from that restaurant we ate at last month.” She points in the direction.

I look, but I couldn’t tell you if it was or not. I really didn’t pay her any mind. “I have no idea.” I shrug, smiling as I remember Charlie riled up.

“I could always go say hi.” She grins mischievously.

“Let’s just stay right here.”

She rolls her eyes jokingly. I grab her hand, interlocking our fingers together as she takes the last bite of her cookie. We sit on the bench for a while, just watching all the shoppers meander around the Galleria.

An older couple slowly makes their way around while a group of teenagers skip around, laughing without a care in the world. A young mom and her two children walk by, and I can feel Charlie’s body tense beside me. The light air that has been surrounding us falls heavy. “So,” I say, trying to get her mind on something else other than her heartache, “if you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“I don’t know,” she breathes out, never taking her eyes off of the little family.

I grab her chin with my hand, forcing her gaze to break from them. She looks in my eyes, and I can see the tears trying to form, but I won’t let them. “Hey. It’s you and me right now,” I tell her. A sad smile peeps at her lips, and she blinks back the moisture in her eyes. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” I repeat my question.

She chews on her bottom lip as she contemplates the answer. “New Zealand.”

“New Zealand?” I ask. “Interesting choice.”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, “It’s the first far off place I remember seeing when I got out of the hospital. I don’t remember if it was on the TV or on the internet, but every picture I saw was absolutely beautiful.”

“Maybe we can go there someday.”

She blinks rapidly a few times, soaking in my response. “Yeah, maybe…”

The conversation stays lighter. No one comes by that triggers Charlie, and I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful for a few moments of having the fun, lighthearted Charlie that I know she can be. I don’t see that side of her often, so anytime I do, it’s cherished.

“You ready to get out of here?” Charlie asks, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingers.

“Yeah.”

We stand up and head towards the car, walking through the maze of shoppers and retail kiosks when something, off to my side, catches my eye.

I turn my head to look.

Then, I freeze.

Every muscle in my body locks up. The bustle of the Galleria fades into oblivion as my eyes focus in.

Charlie jerks as she tries to continue forward, while I remain stoic. I’m frozen as I watch a little girl—curly, brown hair—totter her way across the floor.

She’s grown so much since the last time I’ve seen her. Her hair is longer. She’s taller. It’s incredible how time seems to stand still, but when you look back you wonder just where all the time went.

“Claire,” I breathe out.

That peace I’ve found since finding out she wasn’t mine is being tested, and it’s hovering on the edge of nonexistent.

“What?” Charlie asks, stepping closer to me. I can hear the confusion in her tone, but I don’t look at her. I can’t take my eyes off Claire.

I nod my head in the direction. “That’s Claire. That’s my little… That’s the little girl I thought was mine.”

She gasps as the realization hits her. I try to mask the pain I feel, but it’s no use. Seeing Claire is equivalent to watching a knife jab into my chest in slow motion, but not being able to do a damn thing about it.

She walks on shaky legs, babbling before she yells, “Da-dee!” But she doesn’t say it towards me.

She says it towards… her father.

As she continues to go forward, Marcus—I remember so vividly how he looks with his blonde hair and suntanned skin—goes towards her and picks her up in his arms. She reaches in and kisses him on the cheek.

She looks…happy. So happy.

The tightness in my chest grows as I stand there watching what I thought was
my
life play out before me. Except it’s not my life at all. And she isn’t mine.

I continue to watch, unable to pry my feet from their cemented position, as Marcus plays with Claire. Jodi walks up to them, hugging Marcus tight. Claire wraps her little arms around both of their necks. At the same time, a vise wraps around my throat. Fifteen, maybe twenty, strides separate Claire and me. I could get to her in mere seconds, but I won’t.

They have no clue I’m here, and that’s the way it needs to stay.

I see another wooden bench off in the other direction, a bit hidden from their view. I don’t think. I just move. I quickly make my way to the bench and sit down, my eyes never leaving them.

I can see the happiness all over Claire’s face. I can see the joy in her actions.

Her smile is infectious. Her little laugh is so genuine.

She’s okay.

She’s more than okay.

She’s perfect.

“Hey.” Charlie sits down beside me, getting as close as she possibly can. “Are you okay?”

She grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. This is her comforting
me.
This woman, the one who has literally lost
everything,
is worried about me. The enormity of this small gesture speaks volumes to who she is. I blink, turning my eyes towards her. “Yeah.” I turn my head, taking one final look at Claire as they walk out of sight, camouflaging themselves in the crowd of people. I fight the urge to run after them, to be able to see more of her. But I don’t. Because it would be selfish. I can’t confuse her. She’s not hurting over this. She feels nothing but joy and happiness, and I’m okay with that. I have no choice but to be okay with that. I can live with this as long as she is living her little life full of love. And from what I just saw, she is. “I think I am.”

“Want to talk about it?” she probes. “You know, you can talk to me about it.”

“No.” I lean into her. Brushing my lips against hers, I let her sweet scent calm me. Needing to feel her on me, I whisper against her lips, “I just need you right now.”

She grabs each side of my face in her hands. “Let’s get out of here, then.” She kisses me with her soft lips and says, “Let me take your pain away. Let me do this for you, the same way you do for me.”

We lay in my bed, legs tangled together. The sheets are haphazardly thrown over both of our bare bodies.

The laboring of our breathing is all that cuts through the silence of my bedroom. Running my fingers through Charlie’s hair, I replay everything that happened at the Galleria.

I understand now how someone can go from feeling like they’re on top of a mountain to feeling like they’re in the lowest of valleys to feeling at peace with the events that have happened in their life.

I get it because that’s the way I feel right now.

I’m still not ready to talk about everything relating to Claire and Jodi with Charlie, but she respects that. There comes a point when you have to trust the fact people don’t want to talk about certain things for fear that once a wound reopens, it’ll never be able to heal.

Charlie, of all people knows that.

I kiss her forehead. “Thank you, beautiful.”

Her head tilts up. She looks at me through those thick lashes, her eyes blinking heavily from fatigue. “Don’t thank me. I was just returning a favor.”

“Charlie,” I whisper, my thumb rubbing light circles along her jawline, “you don’t give yourself the credit you deserve. You are amazing. More than amazing.”

“I’m not amazing, Slayter.”

“But you are.  You’ve gone through so much. But you saw me hurting, and you—just being you—helped bring me out of that. Thank you.”

She blinks lazily several times. “I’ve got you, Slayter.”

“That’s my line,” I tease.

“I was so lost when I first met you,” she admits, her voice soft-spoken. “The night at the bar, I just wanted to drink my heartache away, drown it at the bottom of a bottle. And when you showed up, spilling your sob story, I hated you. You were complaining about living with only a memory when I would die to
just
have any memory at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Let me finish,” she says. I nod my head, and she continues. “I laughed inside at your pitiful excuse for feeling broken. But the truth is, being broken has no rule book. When your world comes crumbling down, the blow can come in any form. Not everyone loses everything, save their beating heart, like I have. And, for that, I’m grateful. But someone else’s everything isn’t
my
everything. It’s taken me a while to realize it. You helped me see that, even though I get so caught up in the things of my mind, there is a light out there for everyone. And my light is you.” She laughs lightly, and I can’t help but get mesmerized by everything that is
her
. “I kind of really hated you that day, though.

“But Slayter?”

“Yeah?” I ask, running my fingers through her hair.

“I don’t hate you anymore.”

I laugh as she nuzzles into me.

We lay here, neither one of us speaking. We don’t need to. Sometimes silence can speak louder than words.

Charlie’s eyes flutter closed, and a few moments later her breathing evens out.

Our conversation replays in my head. She thinks I’m her light? Little does she know, she’s quickly becoming the brightest light in my life.

I kiss her on the top of her head, breathing her cherry blossom smell in. This—her in my arms—feels so right. I hold onto her tighter, afraid that if I don’t she’ll slip from me, and possibly even herself. “I don’t hate you either, Charlie. Not even close.”

I’m not sure of a lot of things in my life. One thing I am sure of, however is that Charlie McGee is by far the most incredible, yet complicated, woman I have ever met.