The Infinite Moment of Us (21 page)

Clearly she’d been in a bad place. Still . . .

Once upon a time, Charlie had let Starrla treat him like

shit. Last night, Wren had treated him like shit.

But he wasn’t perfect, either. Wren had told him she

wanted to have sex with him—and Jesus, he wanted that,

too—and yet for reasons he didn’t fully understand, or

maybe it had been purely a knee-jerk response, he’d run

off to check on a girl he knew was beyond his help. God,

he was an ass.

Never again, if there was an again.

Charlie’s heart told him that Wren was still Wren, that

he still loved her, and that he would always love her. If she

would have him, he would have her—forever.

c h a p t e r f i f t e e n

Wren paced back and forth by her car. Her eyes

flew to the park’s turn-in. Where was he?

Meet at our ditch? he’d texted, and she’d typed back

immediately: Yes!

She’d brushed her teeth, borrowed a clean shirt from

Tessa, and dragged a brush through her hair. Then she came

here, to the parking lot. She didn’t go straight to their

ditch, because they always walked there together. Plus, she

knew he wasn’t waiting for her there, because she’d have

seen his car.

Where are you, Charlie? I need you!

He pulled into the lot, and the sight of his ancient Volvo

made her feel boneless.

“Charlie!” she cried, running to his car. She stopped

when she was maybe three feet away. What would his face

tell her? Would it be good or bad? He wouldn’t have said

to meet at the ditch if it was bad, would he?

He cut the engine and got out of his car. He wasn’t smiling.

“Wren,” he said. He raked a hand through his hair. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said. She took half a step toward him. She

extended her hand, her heart beating furiously, and he

took it. Oh, thank God, he took it.

“Ditch?” he said.

She nodded. “Ditch.”

He led her to his trunk, where he grabbed his blan-

ket. Their blanket. They didn’t speak as they cut across the

grassy field, and that was okay. He was holding her hand.

He was guiding her with his characteristic assurance. He

was Charlie, and he was here.

They reached the wooded boundary of the park, and

Charlie stepped down the steep incline of the ravine. He

braced himself with a wide stance and helped Wren hop-

skip to meet him. He spread out the blanket. Charlie sat,

and Wren sat beside him. She put her hand on the front of

his shirt and, with a question in her heart, gently applied

pressure. Do we want to lie down? she was asking him. Do
you
want to lie down?

He did. She lay beside him and placed her head on his

chest.

“Charlie. I am so sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound quite like

himself. A few seconds passed, and he said, “I’m sorry, too.”

Wren’s ribs loosened. “Is Dev all right?”

“He’s fine.”

“Good.”

Charlie’s chest rose and fell. Wren was in his arms,

where she belonged. He was warm and strong and right.

“Sometimes I worry that your problems are bigger than

mine,” she said softly. “Like with Dev, and your foster par-

ents.” She hesitated. “Everything you’ve gone through. Your

job.”

“My job?” Charlie said.

“Well, yeah. You work so hard. You put in so many

hours.”

“You work hard, too,” Charlie said. “You sewed me up

at Grady, remember?”

Yes, but that was volunteer work, and, while it was

important, she could call in sick or take a personal day if

she wanted. She got the sense that Charlie really couldn’t,

because Chris counted on him. Charlie contributed to his

family in a non-kid way. Part of her thought it wasn’t fair

that Chris asked so much of him. She wished Charlie could

just enjoy summer and being done with high school and the

freedom that came with that. Another part of her admired

Charlie’s work ethic immensely, along with his loyalty to

Chris and Pamela and Dev.

She tried to explain. “I know. You’re right. But you have

stuff going on in your life that . . . I don’t know. It makes

my problems seem so silly. And then I feel bad for feeling

bad, and I want to rise above it, but—”

“Wren. Your problems aren’t silly.”

Throwing a tantrum because you didn’t text me back

after I sent you a sexy picture of myself? she thought. That

was pretty silly—and even so, the fact that he hadn’t texted

her back still hurt.

She
would
rise above it. She burrowed closer and whispered, “I’m just not sure I’m good enough for you.”

“Hey,” Charlie said. He adjusted his position so that he

could look into her eyes. “You are always good enough for

me. More than good enough for me. Don’t ever say that,

Wren.”

She gave him a wobbly smile. If he said she was good

enough, she should believe him, right? She wanted to be

done with the fighting, or the discussing, or whatever they

were doing as they tried to get past last night’s bump in the

road. And that’s all it really was, wasn’t it? Just a bump in

the road, and now that they were past it, wasn’t it time for

a kiss to make things better?

“You’re more than enough, too,” she told him, angling

her body so that more of her touched more of him.

“Wren, wait,” Charlie said.

She brushed her lips over his. “You’re perfect. You’re

kind and you’re sweet and you’re smart. You also happen

to be insanely handsome. You know that, right?”

“Wren. I’m not . . .” He pulled away from her.

She didn’t understand. Were they still fighting? She’d

messed up last night, which was bad. But he’d messed up

at least a little bit, too. They’d both messed up, but just

now they’d both accepted each other’s apologies, and that

meant everything was okay. Was everything not okay?

“Charlie?”

“It wasn’t Dev,” he said. “Last night—the emergency—

it wasn’t Dev. It was Starrla.”

She didn’t get it. “Starrla?”

He nodded. A squirrel scurried up a nearby tree and

regarded them. It twitched its tail.

“Starrla,” she repeated. “Hold on. I told you I wanted

you. I sent you that picture . . .”

“I was thrilled you sent it,” Charlie said. “I’m still

thrilled.”

“And you went to Starrla?” Wren said. Her thoughts

were sticky and confused. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said desperately. “Her mom got

arrested. She was sad. Scared. She needed me. She needed

someone to make her feel . . . safe.”

“
I
needed you,” Wren said.

“I know.”

Charlie sat up. Wren sat up, too. The sun was still shin-

ing. Birds called out to one another. The squirrel who’d

been spying on them jumped to another branch, and the

branch bounced, and the squirrel chittered indignantly. On

another day, all that would have made Wren smile. Five

minutes ago it would have made Wren smile.

Charlie took her hands. She attempted to free them

from his grasp, but he held on tightly.

“I guess it’s . . . an old habit,” he said. “I guess I fell back into it. But I’m done now.”

“What’s an old habit? Running to Starrla?”

Charlie hesitated.

Wren pulled away, this time successfully, and clasped

her knees.

“Yes,” he said. “Going to Starrla. But you’re the one I

wanted to go to. From now on, you’re the only one I will

go to.”

Wren thought of all the other times Charlie had been

called away from her: to help Pamela with Dev, to pick up a

delivery for Chris, to take a payment directly to the Atlanta

utilities billing office because it hadn’t been mailed in time.

And then there were the times he’d texted that he was run-

ning late, or whatever, but hadn’t been specific about why.

“Wren?” Charlie said. He looked dangerously close to

crying.

Wren felt like she was free-falling.

“Wren. Please.”

He was begging, just like he’d begged her last night.

And, like last night, a scrim was lowering itself over her,

isolating her from the rest of the world. She fought it, but

it was strong.

Love
isn’t
worth it, she thought.

Yes, it is, she argued back. Charlie is.

She swallowed. “Were there other times?”

“Other times? What do you mean?”

“When you ran to Starrla. When you chose her over

me.”

Charlie looked stricken.

“Were there?”

A muscle twitched along the line of his jaw. Wren had

the sense of being trapped in a maze, and again, she didn’t

know how to get out.

“Once,” Charlie confessed. He pressed his lips together.

“Twice. Sorry—twice.”

“Oh,” Wren said.

“But I never
chose
her over you. Please, Wren. You have to believe that.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“When?” he said, which was a horrible answer. “Since

you and I have been together?
No
, and not for a long time before that.”

Wren hugged her shins. She rested her cheek on her

knees and stared at the ravine’s incline, then the trees, then the squirrel she’d spotted jumping from branch to branch.

He—if he was a boy squirrel—had found a friend, so now

there were two squirrels. On any other day, Wren would

have pointed them out to Charlie, who would have smiled

and wondered out loud if the squirrels were a couple.

Charlie, when he was relaxed, could be adorably goofy,

and Wren could imagine him naming two love-drunk

squirrels. He’d give them goofy names, too. Jerome for the

boy and . . . hmm. Ginger for the girl. Jerome and Ginger,

Wren decided.

“Wren, Starrla doesn’t mean anything to me anymore,”

Charlie said.

“Well, clearly she means
something
,” Wren said.

He tried to meet her eyes. “Wren, I love you. Don’t you

know that?”

Maybe, but this was the first time he’d said it out loud.

“I only love you,” Charlie said, spacing out his words.

He gazed at her with such intensity that her eyes could no

longer keep skittering away.

She felt dizzy.

He’d said he loved her. That was huge.

He’d said it with Starrla hovering between them. That

sucked.

A breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and shadows

played across Charlie’s face. The shadows shifted, and a ray

of light hit Charlie’s auburn eyes, making them look strik-

ingly, dazzlingly clear.

“Starrla was a mistake from the beginning,” he told her.

“She treated me like shit, and I let her. Then last night,

when you . . . when you . . .”

When
she
treated him like shit? She wanted to flee, but Charlie held on to her with his eyes.

“At first, when you sent me that text saying you were

mad at me, I just wanted to fix things,” he said. “I just

wanted to talk to you, because I knew if we talked, we

would work everything out. Because we’re
us
, Wren. You and me.” His eyes stayed locked on hers. “I didn’t think

love existed until I met you. I thought it was something

people made up. I thought people who believed in love

were either lying to me or to themselves. But then you

came along . . .”

Wren held still.

“What I feel when I’m with you is different from any-

thing I’ve ever felt before,” Charlie said with absolute

conviction. His eyes welled with tears. “Last night, I could

barely function, and when you shut me out . . .”

Wren wanted to reach out to him, but she was afraid.

“I thought, ‘I can’t. I can’t let her do this to me.’” He

blinked. “I knew I’d screwed up, and it killed me, but I also

knew that I couldn’t be your doormat. It would be wrong

for me and wrong for you if I let you walk all over me.”

The air left Wren’s lungs. She reached for him now

out of panic. She gripped his hands, and he was warm

and strong, and promises fought to reach the surface. I’ll

behave! she thought desperately. I’ll be better, I promise!

The idea of losing him made her realize how much she

wanted him, because
yes
. Love. Charlie and Wren. Their souls colliding. And they were human, and they made mistakes, both of them, but by herself, Wren was alone. With

Charlie, she was half of the “us” he talked about, only that

didn’t come close to expressing what she knew to be true:

that together they didn’t simply become one. They became

greater than one.

Something hot and thick clogged her throat.

“But I can’t let you go,” he said. “How could I let you

go? I searched my heart”—he shrugged—“and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said.

His expression grew almost, but not quite, blank. Not

quite, because beneath the blankness, Wren saw a flicker

of hope.

“I do,” she told him. “I love you so much, Charlie.”

He pulled her toward him.

“Last night, that wasn’t the real me,” she managed.

“I know.”

“It was the drunk me.”

“I know.”

“It was the drunk me, who was also a very, very sad me,

because I missed you so much. And I sent that picture, but

you never responded, and I felt dumb.
So
dumb. But I know that’s no excuse, and I don’t ever want to shut you out or