When We Fall (16 page)

“Charlie, you don't owe me anything. And you definitely don't have to explain yourself to me.”

“I know, but I want to.”

“Okay. I'm all ears.”
Please don't start bashing Charlotte.

“What Charlotte and I have is complicated. There was a time when I was madly in love with her.” He cleared his throat. “I still love her very much. She's a good person, Ali.”

“You don't have to tell me that. I adore Charlotte.”

“And I love that. I love that you see the good in her. The thing is, sometimes I feel like we've gotten so far from that and there's no way to turn back.”

“What are you saying?”
Please don't tell me you're going to divorce her. I do not want to be the keeper of that secret.

“I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I feel like I've lost control of us.”

“Maybe you shouldn't be trying to control it.”

“That came out wrong. What I mean is that there are days where I want to go to her and say, ‘Let's run away. Let's sell the house. Let's pack up everything. Take Gia. And leave Wincourt. Go someplace where life is simpler.' You know?”

“I do.”

“And then other days I think, ‘What if Charlotte and I are already lost? Too lost to find our way back to each other?'” He sighed. “I hate the way I treat her sometimes. That's not who I am. I used to be a laid-back, go-with-the-flow, let-life-lead-you kind of guy. Not rigid and stubborn.”

“I remember.” Allison put her hand on Charlie's arm to comfort him.

“And you've reminded me of that. I feel like my old self when I'm around you. I don't know who I am anymore, Ali. There's just been so much stuff for so long now. Elizabeth, Gia, our conflicting parenting styles, no personal or romantic time ever, the small grievances that seem to balloon into major arguments in less than sixty seconds flat.”

“Can't you talk to Charlotte? I know she's a reasonable person. And she loves you too.”

“Does she? I mean, really, Ali. Does she love me? Or does she love being married and having a family? I honestly don't know anymore. But I do know I can't go on like this. She can't either. I can see her stress levels are through the roof. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but some nights I stay at the office late, even when nothing is going on, because I don't
want to go home. Do you know what that feels like?” Charlie bent over and covered his face with his hands.

“No, but I can't imagine it's pleasant.” Allison couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She'd cast him as the villain. The truth was, there was no villain. Charlie and Charlotte were two people so beleaguered by their own bitterness and resentment that they couldn't get out of their own way. Was that how people ended up in divorce court battling it out over a set of sterling silver flatware that neither of them would ever use? But they'd be damned if they'd let the other one walk away with it. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“You're doing it.” He looked up at her with tired, bloodshot eyes. “I'm not looking for any answers. At least not tonight. I just . . . I guess I wanted you to understand where I'm coming from. And that I'm not a monster. I do love Charlotte. I do want her to be happy. For us to be happy. Only, I haven't figured out how to make that happen. How to get back to the way it was or even a version of that. I don't even know if it's possible anymore.”

“Daddy?” Gia appeared in the doorway, her hot pink cotton nightshirt rumpled and her curly brown hair disheveled. “Is it time to go home now?”

“Yes, sweetie.” Charlie stood up and Allison followed. “Thank you, again. Gia, can you say thank you to Logan's mommy for dinner?”

“Thank you,” she whispered before her mouth stretched into a yawn.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.” Allison bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, inhaling the sweet scent of little girl.
She'd always wanted a little girl. “You and your daddy are welcome here anytime.” She hugged Charlie. “Drive safely.”

After Allison had watched them climb into Charlie's massive SUV, she practically skipped to her art studio, throwing back the cloth she'd draped over her latest piece. She'd thought about it all through dinner and couldn't wait to add some of the necessary touches she'd visualized.

“Allison?” She heard Charlie's voice approaching before he appeared in front of her. “Sorry, Gia left her blanket. I knocked but you didn't hear.”

“Of course, no worries. It's probably in Logan's room. Let me grab it.” She scooted out from behind the easel.

“Thank you. I know it's ridiculous, but she can't sleep without it.” Allison smiled knowingly. Logan's toy monkey had filled a similar purpose until he was about six.

A few minutes later, Allison returned, blanket in hand, to find Charlie staring at her painting. She lunged toward it, throwing the cloth back over it. “I'm not ready for anyone to see it yet.” She realized she sounded more petulant than she'd intended, but she felt protective of this particular piece and she wasn't prepared to expose herself in that way yet. At least not to Charlie.

“Oh sure. I understand.” He appeared somewhat wounded. “It looks amazing so far, but I should've asked.”

“It's fine.” She handed him the blanket.

“Okay, well, have a good night. Thank you on Gia's behalf for ‘Blankie' and, again, for dinner.”

“Of course.” Allison waved as he left her studio. Suddenly she didn't feel like painting anymore. Instead she curled up on the couch in the family room with her journal.
My Dearest
Jack,
she wrote, and instinctively started sketching something, but her creative juices had ceased flowing. Frustrated, she tore the page out and began writing to him; the words came quickly, and without formal introduction.

Sometimes the pain was so visceral, she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. Sometimes it was there right in front of her, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, taunting her to reach out and grab it. To wring it until she'd squeezed it to a pulp. But, instead, she closed her eyes. And when she awoke, it was morning.

I
f Charlotte hadn't expected the worst, she might have been traumatized, just as Elizabeth had been when they'd arrived at their parents' shambolic condominium on Atlantic Avenue in Daytona Beach Shores.

Charlie had purchased the three-bedroom, three-bath corner unit in the stately oceanfront high-rise for them five years earlier when the upkeep of their house had become too much responsibility for them to shoulder, both financially and physically. When they'd first been given a tour of the fully furnished apartment, Charlotte's parents had oohed and aahed at every turn, declaring that it was fit for royalty. There was an expansive master bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water, a gourmet kitchen with granite countertops, walk-in closets, a semiprivate elevator, a swimming pool, a fitness center, and a concierge to attend to your every need—he'd even bid them farewell by name on their way out. This had sealed the deal for Charlotte's mother, who'd exclaimed,
It's like
Cheers
!
And then
her father had bellowed,
Norm!
at the top of his lungs, which had caused their real estate agent to flinch, before jotting a price down on a piece of paper and handing it to Charlotte.

To Elizabeth's shock and Charlotte's disappointment, their once pristine abode had gone from gorgeous to ghastly since the last time they'd visited. Upon walking through the front door, they'd been engulfed by the smell of rotten something or other. Eggs? Cheese? Whatever it was, the odor had been so overwhelmingly offensive that it had raised an immediate flag and impelled Elizabeth to make repeated gagging sounds. Further inspection, from room to room, had confirmed their suspicion. With their father confined to his bed, their mother barely able to walk ten feet without stopping to wheeze, and a biweekly housekeeper who was doing anything but keeping house, the place had gone to shit and beyond. The bathrooms reeked of stale urine, if there was such a thing.

Immediately, Charlotte had called a local cleaning service—one that cost a fortune but sent no less than six staff members to wash, polish, dust, and sweep every nook and cranny of any corporate or residential space, no matter how big or small. But even that hadn't been enough. The stench had seeped into the carpets, rugs, drapes, probably their clothing too. If possible, the walls had also absorbed it. With little help from Elizabeth, Charlotte had done twelve loads of laundry and reorganized every pill bottle in the medicine cabinet, tossing the ones that were expired. She'd stocked the refrigerator after three trips to the supermarket and had even rearranged all the kitchen supplies in every drawer and every cabinet, only after running them through the dishwasher
multiple times. Finally, she'd done what she swore she'd never do. She'd given both her mother and father a bath. The circle of life at its finest.

There'd been no sitting by the pool or walking on the beach. She hadn't even dipped a toe in the water, unlike Elizabeth, who'd taken some time to work on her tan, insisting, “I can't very well come back from Florida looking all pasty.” Under normal circumstances, her sister's behavior would have sent her into a tailspin, but she'd realized what her priorities were and that if the goal was to help her parents, she'd have to focus on that and deal with Elizabeth once they'd returned to Wincourt.

Unfortunately, to add insult to injury, their flight back to New York had been delayed six hours due to “weather” in the area, which meant Charlotte hadn't rested her head on her own pillow until three o'clock in the morning. And now it was nine a.m., following a taxing round of arguments with Gia about why she had to go to school, even though she preferred to spend the day with Mommy, shopping and having her nails done. Charlotte already needed a nap.

The phone rang and she lifted her tired body out of one of the chairs in her living room, where she'd been dozing off reading the latest copy of
People
magazine. Of course there were a ton of things to catch up on in light of the fact that she'd been gone for a few days, but her exhaustion was so oppressive that she'd decided to allow herself the morning to recharge.

“Hello?” Charlotte lifted the receiver to her ear, praying—for the first time—that it was a telemarketer so she could bark at them and be done with it.

“Thank
God
.” Sabrina's voice came through the line.

“Oh, hey, Sabrina. What's going on?” Charlotte rolled her eyes in advance of a response.

“What's going on? That's exactly what I'd like to know.” It sounded urgent, but everything sounded urgent when it came to Sabrina.

“Okay.” She sat down again, this time sinking into the plush couch and stretching her legs down the length of it.

“You didn't tell me Charlie and Allison were having dinner while you were gone.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte sat up.

“I figured you didn't know.” Sabrina's tone smacked of
I told you so
.

“Didn't know what? That they had dinner?” She hadn't known but was considering pretending she had if only to shut Sabrina down. Though she couldn't do that if she wanted more details, which Sabrina undoubtedly had and was practically panting at the chance to share.

“I
saw
her.”

“Saw her what?”

“Allison was at DJ Gourmet with probably fifteen bags full of food. I think I saw caviar and strawberries.”

“Really?” Charlotte swallowed a lump in her throat. That did seem a little much for dinner with a friend. And where had Gia been? Charlie had told her he'd stayed with their daughter, exclusively, when he wasn't at work. He'd actually bragged about it.

“Yes, really. But that's not the best part. Well, I don't mean
best
, but you know—”

“What? What is it?”

“When I saw her, I said,
and I quote
, ‘I guess while the cat's away the mice will play,' and she didn't deny it! I told you that girl was not to be trusted!”

“That doesn't sound like Allison.” Charlotte shook her head. Just yesterday, on the plane ride home, she'd been thinking about how nice it would be to talk to Allison. To confide in her about her awful trip. She knew that Allison, of anyone, would be empathetic. Sabrina hadn't even bothered to ask about her sick parents. Why would she, when instead she could call her first thing in the morning to drop a gossip bomb about her husband?

“Oh, really? The other day at school I saw her flirting with Craig. When I confronted him about it, he said I was being ridiculous and that she's a sweet, delightful woman. And, get this, then he suggested that maybe
I
should be more like Allison. Can you imagine?” Sabrina scoffed. “He said she was gorgeous too. I'm telling you, Charlotte. This Allison character is
not
to be trusted. I told Craig I don't want him associating with her anymore. I'm looking out for both of us here, Charlotte.”

“I don't know what to say.”

Could Sabrina be right? Could Charlie and Allison have had some sort of dalliance while she was caring for her ill parents more than a thousand miles away? Sabrina did tend to stretch the truth. But what if she'd been wrong about Allison? What if Allison was trying to steal her husband? And what about Charlie? Could he be trusted? There'd been a time when she'd have said yes, without a second thought. Though things between them had been exceptionally knotty lately. She couldn't even remember the last time they'd had
sex. What if he felt the need to go elsewhere? Allison would certainly be an obvious choice.

“Well, if you want my opinion, I'd look into it.”

“Right.” Charlotte exhaled. She couldn't think straight. Her eyes were so heavy that it stung just to keep them open.

“Listen, I've gotta run. Flywheel class with Ginny in fifteen! Keep me posted. And, for Christ's sake, maybe you'll listen to me from now on.”

“Okay, thank you, Sabrina. I'll talk to you later.” Charlotte hung up. And then, paralyzed by both fatigue and insecurity, she sat staring at her living room wall for hours, cognizant of the fact that she'd never felt or been more alone.

•   •   •

Later
that night, Charlotte sat on the same couch, in the same spot, staring at the same wall, waiting for Charlie to come home. She'd thought about calling him at work or sending him a well-articulated e-mail, but neither approach had seemed right. What would she have said?
Hey, so, by chance, are you having an affair with Allison?
Oh no, she needed to see the look on his face when she asked about their dinner. Surely, if anything was going on between them, she'd be able to read it in his eyes. She still knew him, no matter how far apart the two of them had grown. Somewhere, deeply embedded beneath the layers of bitterness and resentment that had piled one on top of the other over the last decade, he was still her Charlie.

The Charlie who had nursed her through having four impacted wisdom teeth removed and had held her hair back when the pain medication had made her sick to her stomach.
The Charlie who had squeezed her hand so tightly she'd thought it was going to crumble when she'd gone into labor with Gia. The Charlie who, just this morning, much to her astonishment, had left a note on her nightstand saying that he'd missed her, that he loved her, and that he was looking forward to seeing her when they were both awake. At the time it had seemed heartfelt. But now she was wondering if it was evidence of his guilt.

She heard him come through the front door and set his briefcase and keys on the table in the foyer. He'd probably assume she was sleeping until he saw the dim light on in the living room. She should be sleeping. After Sabrina's call, there'd been no relaxing morning or afternoon nap as she'd originally planned. How could she be expected to rest or even unwind after their conversation? Of course, the result was that she blamed Charlie for her delirious state. And delirious she was, having spent the entire day pacing and stewing. Stewing and pacing. The only benefit was that she hadn't been able to eat a thing, which might have helped offset the absolute crap she'd been forced to stomach while in Florida. It was no wonder her parents were a combined sixty pounds overweight.

“Charlotte?” Charlie called out in a stage whisper, so as not to wake the beast otherwise known as Gia. She didn't answer. “Hey, sweetie. Why are you sitting in here alone in the dark?”

“There's a light on.”

“Barely. Is everything okay?” He approached her, sitting down next to her on the couch and leaning forward to hug her. She recoiled at his advance. “What is it? Your parents?”

“No.” She shook her head, annoyed that he was being uncharacteristically tender with her. “Did you have dinner with Allison while I was gone?”

“Yeah.” He slid his shoes off.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't know. Because it wasn't a big deal.”

“Wasn't it? I heard she went all out.” Charlie was watching her, she could tell, but she couldn't look directly at him as she'd hoped she could. She didn't want him to see the sadness or condemnation in her eyes.

“She cooked a nice dinner to thank me for all of the help I've given her around the house and for watching Logan while you guys were at Canyon Ranch.”

“With caviar and strawberries?”

“Caviar and strawberries! Where'd you get that idea?” He laughed. “She made steak and creamed spinach. I think there was salad too, and some kind of cheesy potato thing. I assure you there was no caviar. There may have been strawberries in the fruit salad she made for the kids, but that was about it.” He rubbed Charlotte's arm, and this time she let him touch her.

“So Gia was with you?” She turned toward him now.

“Yes, Gia was with me.”

“One big happy family.”

“Charlotte, come on. It wasn't like that.”

“Then why wasn't I invited? Huh? Why didn't she wait until I got back from Florida?”

“Honestly, I think she thought she was doing you a favor by feeding us on one of the nights you were away. I don't think it was anything against you.” He brushed a wisp of
hair out of her face. “What's going on, Charlotte? Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere.”

“Well, it has to be somewhere; otherwise, you wouldn't have known we had dinner in the first place.”

“And why is that?”

“I already told you. I didn't think it was something so important that I needed to e-mail or call you while you were with your parents.”

“Sabrina seemed to think it was important enough to mention to me after she saw Allison in town. She said something about while the cat's away the mice will play and Allison didn't argue.”

“Are you serious? This is based on something Sabrina told you? Ridiculous. I'm not going to entertain it.”

“She's my friend. And she was looking out for me.”

“That's rich.” Charlie sniffed. “Sabrina doesn't look out for anyone but herself.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is, Charlotte. And I've heard you say the very same thing about her.” He took her hand. “Come on, I think this is the exhaustion talking. Let's get you to bed.” She pulled her hand from his grip. “Fine, have it your way. But I'm telling you, whatever ideas Sabrina has put in your head are ludicrous. I didn't do anything wrong. And Allison certainly didn't do anything wrong.”

“Whatever.” Charlotte folded her arms across her chest. Of course he'd defend Allison.

“I'm going upstairs. Feel free to join me once you've come to your senses.” She didn't budge.

But a few hours later, when she'd finally decided it was time to go to bed, Charlotte walked toward the staircase, via the foyer, where Charlie had left his briefcase and keys on the table. In the garbage can next to it was a bouquet of white calla lilies.