When We Fall (14 page)

“We did say we're in the middle of a meeting. So maybe you can come back another time?” Elizabeth offered. “Or preferably not.”

“This one's a spark plug. I like that. Kind of like you, Ali.” He reached out to stroke her shoulder and Allison recoiled.

“Okay, that's enough. I'm going to ask you to leave.” Dempsey put a hand on Buck's back to guide him toward the door.

“Dude, get the fuck off me.” He shoved Dempsey.

“I'm not going to ask you again.” Dempsey's voice was even as he positioned himself between Buck and Allison.

“What? Are you two some kind of item now?” He glared at Allison. “You know she's a little whore, right?” Elizabeth's hand went to her open mouth as Allison's eyes filled with hot, bulbous tears and her heart beat rampantly against her chest.

“Aaaaand . . . we're done. If you don't leave now, I'll remove you myself.” Dempsey's face was red and his jaw tight.

“As if you could.” Buck unleashed a raspy chortle, which turned into a coughing fit. “You may think she's a good girl now, but Buck knows better. Isn't that right, Ali?”

Allison flinched as a repulsed expression registered on Dempsey's face. What if he believed Buck? He'd probably read it on the bathroom wall when they were in high school too. Who hadn't?

“Let's go.” And with that, Dempsey took hold of Buck's arms in a death grip and dragged him away by force.

When he returned moments later, Allison and Elizabeth had already slipped out the back.

C
harlotte dashed around her bedroom frantically, back and forth from her gargantuan walk-in closet to her pristinely adorned king-sized bed, tossing shirts, shorts, pants, and various pairs of shoes—flip-flops, wedges, even high heels—into her oversized Louis Vuitton suitcase. Next it was into the bathroom for an array of essential toiletries, her hair dryer, Velcro rollers, and a gel eye mask for the plane ride. After that, she'd select jewelry and, finally, throw in the extras, like chargers for her cell phone and iPad, along with a stack of fashion magazines to peruse on the beach. If they ever got to the beach.

Despite having planned the trip to visit her parents in Florida more than three weeks earlier, with the best intentions of packing in advance, Charlotte had been consumed by preparations for the Wincourt school fund-raiser in addition to her usual appointments and errands. It was hard to understand how anyone had the time to commit to a real job, especially without help. So often she found herself running
around like a chicken with its head cut off, until she glanced at the clock, only to realize it was already time to pick up Gia from school.

Gia. Sigh. She'd wailed this morning when Layla had taken her for a playdate at her friend Marcy's house, armed with the knowledge that Charlotte would be gone by the time she returned home. Even though, most often, it felt like Gia could give or take her in favor of a television show or trip to the ice-cream shop, Charlotte knew that her daughter needed her. That, at the end of the day, being with Mommy was always Gia's first choice. She loved Charlie, sure. Her sweet little face always lit up when he entered the room; she craved his undivided attention, which she rarely got. Not that anyone did. He could certainly be an adoring father when he wanted to be, when he had a spare hour or two to play dolls with her or to chase her around their three-acre property, causing Gia to giggle boisterously as Charlie called out, “I'm gonna get you!” Those were the moments when Charlotte would stand at the door to the playroom or crack a window in the kitchen so she could watch them play and hear the infectious sounds of a daughter who worshipped her daddy, even though he didn't necessarily comprehend the extent of it.

“Aren't you only going for three days?” Charlie walked into the bedroom, still in his pajamas, with his tortoiseshell reading glasses perched on his nose and his strawberry blond hair ruffled. She'd always liked the way he looked in glasses. Something about it turned her on.

“Yup.” Charlotte spoke in a clipped tone. She was still irritated that he'd come home late the previous night, especially
since she'd told him she needed to pack without having to deal with Gia putting her two cents in. He'd blamed it on a business call. Of course.

“Seems like a lot of stuff.” He sat down on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and lifting his feet up too. “I doubt you'll need any dresses to sit around your parents' condo.”

“You're on my Loro Piana cardigan.” Charlotte tugged it out from under his leg. “Anyway, since when did you become the authority on fashion?”

“I'm just saying.” He lifted his hands into a defensive pose. “I know you don't like to carry a heavy bag through the airport. That's all.”

“Well, it's a good thing it has wheels, then.” She didn't bother to look at him.

“Are you pissed at me?”

“No.”
Yes.

“Well, you seem it.” For a fleeting moment she was flattered that he'd noticed.

“I'd rather not get into it now,” Charlotte said dismissively, rolling her underwear into cylinders so she could arrange it around the perimeter of the suitcase. She had a system for this, as she did for everything else.

Charlie had once told her he was pretty sure she suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder. She'd been instantly offended, recalling an episode of
Oprah
that covered OCD. One segment had featured a woman who couldn't leave her house without driving around the block a zillion times to check and recheck that she'd closed the garage door. The next segment had been about a man who did everything in threes. If he
tapped his pencil on his desk, he had to tap it two more times. If he smiled at a passerby—guess what? Another smile, smile. So she liked everything to be in its place. What was the big deal about that? It was better than being a slob.

“There is an ‘it,' then.” He exhaled and folded his arms behind his head.

“If you must know, I didn't appreciate the fact that you waltzed in at eight o'clock last night when I'd specifically told you I wanted time to pack without Gia harassing me.”

“I'm sorry, but I couldn't get out of work. You know I would have been here if I could have been.” His mea culpa sounded authentic, but Charlotte knew better.

“Do I?” She heard her own acerbic tone but couldn't manage to curtail it. Anyway, what was the point? They'd had this same fight over and over through the years, and it always ended the same way. With Charlie walking away and Charlotte left stewing.

“From the sound of it, I guess not.”

“I don't know what to tell you.” She shrugged.

“Charlotte, I don't think you comprehend that I can't just get up from my desk and walk out of a meeting because you need peace and quiet to put some clothing in a bag. It's not like you're jaunting off to Paris. You're going to Daytona Beach to care for your sick parents. What could you possibly need beyond the basics?”

It had actually been Charlie who'd taught her how to pack like a pro. He'd been on so many business trips that he'd mastered the art. She'd been in awe as he'd pointed to a heaping pile of clothing and then a small carry-on bag and said, with a knowing smile creeping from his lips to his twinkling
green eyes,
Bet you don't believe I can get all that in there.
She hadn't. But he had. He'd showed her how to roll her socks and smaller items to stuff into shoes and even bra cups—he'd been excited to discover that option, having never traveled with bras himself. He'd watched and advised patiently as she'd learned how to stack her sweaters, skirts, shirts, and pants, alternating them like blocks in a game of Jenga. Charlotte had delighted in seeing how satisfied he was with her progress. After that they'd pushed the suitcase onto the floor and made love for what had seemed like an eternity.

“I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

“Fine. You know what? If you want to stay annoyed, there's nothing I can do about it.” He stood up. “I'm going to make some breakfast.”

“Why not? I just spent twenty minutes cleaning the kitchen.”

“What? I'm not allowed to eat a meal in my own house?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You might as well have.” Charlie marched over to his own walk-in closet, pulled a sweatshirt over his head, and slipped into a pair of boat shoes. “I'm going out for a bagel.”

“Fine.” Running away was always his answer. “Will I see you before I go?”

“Do you want to?”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, Charlotte.” He stopped to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Have a safe flight.”

•   •   •

“Is
this seat sticky?” Charlotte pressed her fingers against the cheap leather. “This seat
is
sticky. Excuse me? Excuse
me?” Her voice grew louder and more agitated as she tried to summon one of the flight attendants, who was busy hoisting another passenger's suitcase into the overhead compartment.

“Would you shush? People are staring at us.” Elizabeth pushed past Charlotte. “I'll sit there. You take the aisle.”

“I don't like the aisle. I need to be able to see out the window during takeoff and landing. You know that.”

“Well, would you rather sit by the window in the sticky seat or in the nonsticky aisle seat? Your call.” Elizabeth stood hunched over, waiting for Charlotte to make a decision, until she sat down, resigning herself to a viewless ride. “What the hell has gotten into you today?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Charlotte snapped. Fine, so she was a little cranky. Who wouldn't be after the morning she'd had?

Shortly after she'd sparred with Charlie, he'd returned with a bagel for himself and one for her. When she'd nearly bitten his head off, insisting that if he really knew her he'd be well aware of the fact that she hadn't eaten a bagel since 1998, he'd stalked out of the room, mumbling expletives under his breath:
You try to fucking do something nice for someone . . . and that's what you fucking get.

A few minutes later, Gia had come home from her playdate prematurely, citing a sour stomach, which she'd suggested might feel better if Charlotte didn't go on her trip. Layla had apologized profusely, swearing up and down that she'd had no other choice and that she'd even driven around the block five or six times in the hopes that Charlotte would have left already. This had impelled Charlotte to glance at
the clock, only to realize she was running twenty-five minutes behind schedule. And she did not like being late. It only made her more anxious than she normally was. On the car ride to the airport, Charlotte had gazed out the window at nothing, while Elizabeth had prattled on and on about this or that. Some new job Nick got. The fact that they were thinking about getting a puppy. How she was pretty sure she'd gotten food poisoning from the new Indian place in town. All Charlotte had been able to do was sit quietly, looping the events of the morning in her head as her blood pressure soared.

Once they'd finally reached the Delta terminal—there'd been hideous traffic on I-95—Charlotte had felt like a caged animal, ready to leap on anyone who so much as looked at her the wrong way. Which they had. Starting with the attendant at curbside check-in. Then it had been the pleasant lady behind the ticket counter who'd committed the cardinal sin of forgetting that they'd been upgraded to first class. Lastly, Charlotte had glared at an innocent elderly woman who'd taken too much time in the bathroom stall.

“You've been a crazy bitch since you picked me up.”

“Bad morning.” Charlotte closed her tired eyes and opened them to the same reality.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elizabeth reached for the copy of
SkyMall
in the back pocket of the seat in front of her and started leafing through the pages aimlessly.

“Not really.” Charlotte summoned the same flight attendant who'd ignored her before. “Can I please have some water?” Her mouth was parched and she could feel a stinging in the cavern of her throat. Just what she needed now
was to get sick on top of everything else. Though the irony of falling ill on the way to take care of her already ill parents wasn't lost on her. In fact, it wasn't an altogether bad idea. She could lie in bed all day with no one to badger her with needs, wants, or have-to-haves. And Elizabeth would be forced to shoulder the burden of caring for all three of them.
Right
.

“Okay, well, I'm all ears if you want to vent.”

“You wouldn't understand.” Charlotte shook her head, refusing to let her sister see how upset she really was. Even if she tried to explain it, it wouldn't make sense. The events of the morning weren't nearly enough to drive anyone to the edge. But the cumulative effort of years' worth of power struggles was.

She'd never forget her first fight with Charlie. It had been both unexpected and unsettling. They'd bickered over a rug she'd bought for the living room of their first apartment in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. Charlotte had thought it was spectacular in all its glory of vibrant blues and greens with a floral pattern around the border. She'd been so excited to show it to him when he got home from work. Charlie had hated it. But that wasn't what had set him off. Rather, it had been the hefty price tag. Charlotte had relied on ignorance as her defense. How was she supposed to know it wasn't a fair price for a quality rug? The salesperson at ABC Carpet had told her it was a steal. Charlie had questioned how she could be so gullible and had called her irresponsible when she'd said it was nonreturnable. Charlotte had cried. Charlie had comforted her and apologized for being “mean,” as she'd called him. And that had been that. The
wound had been opened and closed in the matter of a half hour. The wounds had continued to open and close with every further dispute until—at some point—they'd ceased being mended. Now all Charlie had to do was sprinkle in some salt to achieve the desired effect.

“Whatever.” Elizabeth continued flipping through the magazine, pausing to admire a fluffy, midnight blue dog bed, monogrammed in white with the name Prince. “So I had lunch with Allison a couple of weeks ago.”

“What?” Charlotte came to attention.

“Yeah, she took me to this great gourmet place in town. She's awesome.” Charlotte had noticed that Elizabeth and Allison had hit it off at her house and it had annoyed her at the time. But she'd hardly expected her sister to pursue the relationship. Elizabeth didn't pursue anything, much less anyone, Charlotte chose to associate with. She wondered who'd initiated the lunch. Probably Elizabeth. Just to get under her skin. Still, it was throwing her off balance to know that Allison actually enjoyed her sister's company.

“I know. She's
my
friend, remember?”

“Wasn't she kind of Charlie's friend first?”

“What's the difference? Can't you just—” Charlotte stopped herself, realizing she was about to come off sounding like a ten-year-old, if she hadn't already.

“Can't I just what?” Elizabeth knew exactly how to press her buttons.

“Nothing.”

“Just say it, Charlotte.”

“Can't you just find your own friends to hang out with? You've never been interested in any of mine before.”

“Who? Sabrina and Missy? No mystery there.”