“Myers,” I corrected him. “It’s Myers.”
He didn’t seem to notice, or care, that he’d gotten my name wrong.
“You,” he said while pointing a finger in my direction, “you were one of the far more interesting conversations I’ve had with a woman in years.”
The compliment gave me pause.
“No response? You were ever so chatty on the plane . . . put Margaret right to sleep.”
I laughed. “You put her to sleep with all those drinks.”
“You know something? I knew I was going to see you again. You ever get that feeling from someone? Of course, I’d have found a way had destiny not intervened. You’re an interesting woman, Charlotte. I haven’t met many like you.”
His face was close enough to mine that I could feel his breath.
Then he kissed me. A gentle touch against my forehead that reminded me of years ago and being loved.
“Tell me, Charlotte, have you thought about me?” He was holding my cheeks in his velvety hands.
I shook my head and averted my eyes.
“Ah, I misstep.” He inched backward. “Shall I go?”
I was ashamed to say no. I wanted to stay there, with him, in that dimly lit bathroom that smelled of persimmon and copal soap. I wanted Daniel to suddenly remember he’d left a power tool running at Home Depot, and excuse himself to leave. I wanted to rewrite Stephanie Lippman’s thesis because maybe it was wrong. The heart knew what it wanted. It wasn’t complicated. It was pure and simple. This was simple.
I moved in closer.
He pressed the lock, and his eyes traced the black fabric along my shoulder. “Was this for him? Or were you thinking of me?”
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and he came around, catching my eyes. “You’re lovely, Charlotte.” He was lovely, too, but I couldn’t say that. He was something else. He wasn’t real. He was make-believe spinning wildly out of control. He was a presence that left me wordless—mute—something that rarely occurred. I felt dizzy. Unstable.
An urgent knocking broke the silence. “Charlotte!” It was Daniel. “Are you okay in there?”
Philip caressed my ear with his lips. “Tell him you’re all right, Charlotte.”
His blue eyes held mine. I couldn’t turn away. My voice quavered. I didn’t recognize the pitch. “Just a minute, Daniel. I’m fine.”
Then Philip kissed me again. He kissed me long and hard as if he might never see me again. He kissed me as though we hadn’t flown thousands of miles to reach this moment. He kissed me so deeply it began to hurt, but I didn’t stop him. Before long, he would slip away.
“We’re not done,” he said with a playful smile. “This. This is only the beginning.”
CHAPTER 5
July 2018, Present Day
Islamorada, Florida
It was late morning when I entered the lemon-colored clapboard beach house, shaking off the gravity of the last few hours. The frightened faces of the man and his son haunted me. They were in the bay windows that framed the deep-blue ocean; in the acid-washed concrete floors. The juxtaposition of old world against new—nature among the garish tones of the house—hurt my eyes. Philip prided himself on creating an eclectic home.
Sunny turned around, which he did when he wanted to be sure I was following. He obediently waited for his treat by the breezy white cabinet, his tail wagging against the matching island. I didn’t have to instruct him to sit, he was already on his hind legs with hopeful eyes.
The plastic bag crinkled in my hands, and Sunny’s mouth came down on my outstretched palm. I plopped down beside him, scooting against the cabinetry, and watched him gnaw the bone in his paws. Every so often he glanced in my direction. The chomping sounds of his jaws lured me to stay; worried eyes wondered if I was okay. He sensed these things. Most dogs did. He’d already watched me grieve for someone I loved, knowing to lick away my tears and bathe me in his love. What he didn’t know, and neither did Philip, was that the hole had been there long before we’d met. I bit back the memories and dropped my head against the cabinet.
Footsteps meant Philip was close, and Sunny growled. I sat up and surveyed the room. When Philip had picked out the electric-blue backsplash, I had fought him. “It’s really busy,” I had said, “and loud,” but who was I to argue when Philip had decorated multiple homes? I’d grown to love the differences. The loud colors against the smooth steel finishes; the wood beams that stretched across the ceiling.
“What on earth are you doing on the floor, Charley?” Philip chimed.
I patted Sunny’s head to assure him for the hundredth time that Philip was harmless. Then I gathered myself and stood to meet him. He was still handsome, in his self-assured, yet utterly boyish way. Women took note of his towering frame and fine clothing. Wherever we’d go, I’d get a sense that I could be easily replaced. I was hardly the kind of woman who stood out. I wasn’t the tallest, or the slimmest, or close to the prettiest. Philip’s admirers often reminded me of our differences. Their enthusiasm for his British pedigree bubbled over, and the flicker in his eyes had them believing they were the only ones in the room. Having paid careful attention to these virtues of his, I noticed his accent was less pronounced since we met, as was his waistline. Philip, with all his traveling, believed in a strict, healthy diet, often quoting a recent Mediterranean fad with precise guidelines for a man of his size. Today, freshly sprouted gray trickled through his dirty blond hair, and his pale face seemed drawn. His cologne enveloped me, a musky scent that had lined our history.
“I’m just hanging with Sunny,” I said, letting him wrap his arms around me.
His soft lips grazed my cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you.” It came out as a murmur, a gentle kiss, and I felt my body come to life, while the images of the little boy and his dad slowly drifted away.
“Are you still upset?”
I was, but I blinked back the disappointment as I’d been doing for weeks. I fingered the ring, remembering when I thought it would make a difference. “I’m fine.”
“Morada tonight?” he asked.
I pulled back. “Let’s try something new.”
“You love it there,” he said.
I did. Once. Morada Bay’s beach housed the upscale Pierre’s restaurant and the Morada Bay Beach Café, where we spent countless nights. When we’d first moved here, we’d crowd her shores while the guitarist crooned Taylor and Buffett beneath a canopy of stars. There we’d drop ourselves against the knotted webs of the old hammocks, admiring the expansive palms, while our feet brushed the sand, and I’d laze in his arms sipping colorful drinks. We talked of a future, dreams fastened together with sunlight and laughter. Our table by the water was where we watched the sunsets against the Gulf, some of the most spectacular I’d ever seen. Just imagining the crisp surf lapping against the jutting rocks sent the smell of sea through my memory. I remembered how our love had sprouted and grown, and it left me lonelier than ever.
“Goose’ll be there,” he murmured in my ear.
“He’s back?”
“He is. He finished the restaurant.”
Morada Bay’s owner and executive chef left to open a high-end Dallas diner right before we dropped our anchor in the Keys, though he was part of the reason we’d come in the first place. Philip talked about him in a sincere tone that always struck me as out of place. They’d met in Manhattan years ago at one of Goose’s famous establishments. He was the closest thing Philip had to a friend. There were plenty of business associates. Clients. A team of lawyers on call for any legal tangling. But no one notable enough to warrant this kind of adoration. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees the woman who’s making an honest man out of me.”
“It sounds perfect,” I lied, yet pleased to see Philip so excited.
He kissed the top of my head. “Come join me in the washroom. We can help each other tidy up.” His throaty voice was subtle, sexy, and I hid my laugh.
“You can’t expect
to seduce a lady with words like washroom and tidy.”
Sunny watched us from his cushion by the glass door while he simultaneously whimpered and chewed. “You fell rather mad for me in a washroom, I recall.” He was smiling into my eyes, and I felt myself thawing out. The morning was draining, and the idea of washing off the hospital germs enticed me, but there was more we needed to discuss.
“You can’t do this, Philip.”
He reached for me, but I pulled back. “You’re still mad?”
“I’m not mad . . . I’m frustrated.”
His expression changed. The absences were part of the deal, and I didn’t mind, not at first, not ever, until I sensed a shift in him, in me, in us. Philip was someone I really thought I could settle down with. Someone I could let in and love. Being away wasn’t the only problem. The last few times he was home, he spent the majority of his time on calls and preparing for meetings. This was the guy who couldn’t be in the same room without touching me. The shift left my mind to wander. Had Philip finally gotten bored with me? Was there someone else? Could the ring have been a mistake? The physical distance I could live with, I had lived with, but the emotional distance was something else. I couldn’t get him to connect.
I took a seat on one of our chrome-plated kitchen stools. “Did you even want to get married? Or did you think you had no choice?”
He turned away, avoiding my eyes.
“I take offense at that accusation, Charlotte. I recall your hesitance to get married. The exact words were . . .”
I held my palm up. “I know what I said . . . but you . . . It was different with you, Philip. At least I thought it could be different.”
“You told me you liked that I traveled. That it eased some of the pressure for you. It’s what gave you breathing space and freedom to . . .”
“Grow,” I whispered. It was enough for some time. And I grew. But we didn’t. Not Philip and me. Not as a couple.
“You women,” he exclaimed, leaving me as he headed for our bedroom and a warm shower. I followed him, the sounds of our feet shuffling against the polished floors. “You want, you don’t want. I can’t always follow you, Charlotte. You ask for one thing but want another.”
I didn’t know what I wanted, so I let him undress without making a move for my own clothes. His reflection in the bathroom mirror surprised me. The excess travel was taking its toll. He looked thinner than usual, and I told him.
“If I polish off dinner and dessert, can I get you to join me in the pool later?”
That was Philip. Everything was a joke. Everything too serious for him. In many ways, it was the balm for my inner sadness, but today it hurt, and I walked out of the bathroom, leaving him to shower without me.
CHAPTER 6
May 2016, Back Then
Kansas City, Missouri
I left Philip in the restaurant’s bathroom.
Daniel and I sat in silence, side by side, while my mother had the single greatest birthday of her life. Philip told her dirty joke after dirty joke, and when dessert came, he made sure it was elaborate with an abundance of candles. When Mom closed her eyes and wished, I saw joy spread across her face. It sustained me while the longing to be somewhere alone with Philip nagged at me, his deep stare telling me he felt the same.
Daniel and I didn’t talk when we exited the restaurant. We said goodbye in the parking lot. It was abrupt and terribly awkward. Daniel knew before I did that I’d never see him again.
“That was interesting,” he had said, sullen and dejected. “Is it okay if I delete you from my contacts?”
I dropped my mother off at my childhood home and watched her skip up the driveway. She was so beautiful and happy. Her kiss on my cheek remained along with the special wish she said she made. “I can’t tell you what it is, or it won’t come true.”
Undressing for bed, I waited for the heat to rub off my body. My fair skin was glowing from Philip’s touch, compliments that had me restless.
My laptop sat open on the kitchen table, its reflection turning my cheeks a soft blue. My apartment was small, a studio, so in one short step I was seated at the table, typing his name into the Google toolbar.
Scrolling. Scrolling. Almost there, I stopped myself. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to fall for words and pictures that told another version of a story. I saw the word Manchester. I saw Private Equity, though I had no idea of the context in which it pertained to Philip’s career. And as soon as his picture came into focus on the screen, I shut the laptop.
The buzzing sound of my cell phone awoke me from sleep.
I rolled over in bed and reached for the phone.
“Hello.”
“Charley.” He said it like the r was missing. Chah-Lee.
My chest filled with giddy anticipation, a nostalgia-laced memory that pressed the phone tighter against my ear. Only one person had ever called me Charley before.
“Can I see you?”
I turned on my back, marveling at the city lights dotting the ceiling. I breathed into the phone. “How did you find me?”
“Do you know how many Charlotte Miles there are in Kansas City?”
I laughed, awake and alert.
“If we call you Charley, you’ll be easier to find.”
The way he said it thrilled me. His voice did that to me. He was the shot that sparked me to take off. To run. To jump off a ledge with no net below. I closed my eyes.
“Can I come over?” he asked.
I shook my head. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m flying out on an eight a.m. flight.”
I looked at my phone and it said 11:11. They were the numbers that wishes were made upon. They meant Take a chance. Leap. I made the wish.
“You’ll have to come back,” I said, taking a swallow. “Your business will bring you back, yes?”
“Perhaps, Charley. But I was thinking you’d bring me back.”
I fell deeper into my mattress. As much as I wanted to see Philip, I wasn’t ready for him to see more of me. While I owned my small apartment, and it was an accomplishment I was proud of, Philip and his big personality would never fit, especially when my heart was swollen with sensations I couldn’t even name.
“What happened at the end of the movie?” he asked, just when I thought he was going to say good night. “Did they end up together?”
He was referring to Jade and David. Endless Love.
I sighed. “They did.”
“Are they happy?”
I didn’t know the answer, but I liked to think they were.
“Next time we see each other, Charley Miles, we’re going to watch Endless Love.”
I didn’t correct him. I wanted to say something witty or deeply moving that would have him thinking of me each time he heard the ballad by Ross and Richie, but there were no words to capture the emotion. I hardly knew this man, yet invisible strings drew us close. The memory of his kiss lingered in the air, and I listened to him breathe.
It was all so ridiculous. I’d seen Pretty Woman enough times to know that the movie should have ended when Julia Roberts returned the necklace, passing the sparkling diamonds off like a stolen memory. I knew when Edward landed on her fire escape, professing the purest of love, it would never work. How would Edward incorporate Vivian into his life? Some forms of love weren’t nearly as brilliant as those diamonds. Not nearly as strong. And when one of the teachers from school tried to convince a handful of us in the lounge that the producers were creating a Pretty Woman 2, I argued all the reasons against it. I was told I was a pessimist, that I needed to believe in the power of miracles.
It wasn’t that. In part, maybe. But I knew nothing could ever be as profoundly moving as Vivian telling Edward she wanted the fairy tale.
“Charley?”
His voice interrupted the vision of Edward walking away from Vivian, telling her he couldn’t give her the fairy tale.
“Charley?” He said it again. Like he was afraid I’d hung up.
“I’m
here.”
We talked that night until the light of an early dawn. While Google told me Philip had an important title, it was he who detailed his life’s work, the private equity firm he owned, the childhood he left behind in Manchester. His parents had died in a car crash when he was a young boy, and when I pressed him, his dismissiveness felt familiar. “I don’t dwell on those sorts of details.” The door swiftly shut. “This is the part where you tell me your history, Charley. I show you mine, you show me yours.”
“I wouldn’t possibly bore you.”
“Where’s your pop?”
I considered my answer. Honesty meant pity, which made me uncomfortable. “He’s a pilot. He travels all over the world . . . like you.”
“A man after my own heart,” he said. “Yet I bet that was hard for you.”
It rolled off my tongue like the truth. “We got used to it.”
“I like you, Charley. You’re brave and wise. An older soul.”
He couldn’t reach me, but his words found me. I was falling into the cushion of his kindness, letting him revise the narrative. What did it matter if I altered the details, when the outcome was the same? My father was gone. I eventually got used to his absence. I learned to distance myself from deeper feelings and expression, for they were as complicated as they were beautiful. Here was someone who understood that ties could be stripped away, that bonds broke as though they had never formed at all.
My silence didn’t go unnoticed.
“Did I say something to upset you?”
“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“I’m thinking, too,” he said. “I’m thinking about seeing you again.”
My heart beat loudly, and I was sure he could hear it through the phone. Only it wasn’t my heart. It was a soft knocking.
“There’s someone at my door.”
His breath was loud. It caressed my cheek, and I rose from the bed. I took the sheet with me as I peered through the peephole.
“Philip.”
“Charley.”
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