Philip cradled me, and Sunny licked the tears away as he’d done for weeks. When Philip had to get back to work, Sunny took his place beside me in bed. That’s when his aversion to all things Philip took root. Sunny wanted to curl his body into my belly. He didn’t want the tall, weird guy who said words like cheeky and cheesed off near.
Nights were the worst. I’d wake up frightened and disoriented. For a split second, I’d forget Mom was gone, and the crushing force of her absence would hit me all over again. One night, I sat up drenched in sweat, panicking that I hadn’t asked her how old she was when she went through menopause. Sunny’s warm nose nudged me. It was his way of saying it was okay. He’d resume his position by my belly, like a baby longing for protection in its mother’s womb. I’d often wondered about Sunny’s mom during those months of mourning. I wondered if by way of pressing up against me, he was replacing his mother with me, if the warm fold of my skin gave him a safety and security that only a mother could.
Losing her was hard, and the regret in missing those final moments made it even harder. The remorse remained hidden in a secret vault, and I only allowed myself to take it out from time to time. I mourned my mother by living the life she wanted me to live, even though it riddled me with lingering guilt—to give love and accept love, when she could not. For that, I threw myself headlong into Philip and the happiness she had wished for me.
We never did get to celebrate our first anniversary. He remembered—I knew he would—but it was me who had refused to care. For the holidays, he whisked me off to London and showed me the house where he and Meghan had once lived. It was modest and well-kept, and exposed Philip in a way he’d never revealed himself before. I could tell the home held painful memories, but we didn’t delve in. Being there, it was as if I’d known Philip my whole life—known him deeply, lived under his skin before we ever met. But then there was this other Philip. The vulnerable man with a past and a private pain. The one I was meeting for the very first time.
In those early days, I thought I understood how Philip’s and my losses connected us, how a man like him had fallen for someone as ordinary as me. Deep-seated sadness linked us as one. With me, he could be himself. I was someone he could trust. Neither of us knew at the time—while I kissed his tears and he kissed mine—there were feelings sprouting from deep within that we might never understand.
CHAPTER 13
July 2018, Present Day
Morada Bay
Goose—Ben—broke the silence first. “Charlotte.” It came out even, unrehearsed.
Philip flung an arm around my shoulder. “There’s no jollier man than I, seeing you two meet.”
I waited for Ben to correct him, to tell him of our recent encounter.
Jolly Philip kept talking. “Charley and I just love it here, Goose. We’ve missed you, but the staff’s taken great care.”
Ben appraised us, all the earlier emotions buried beneath his smile.
“Let’s sit,” Philip said, gesturing to our table.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ben began. “Jimmy . . . he had a bad morning with his allergies.”
Philip leaned over to explain to me what I already knew. “Jimmy’s quite the young lad, Charley. How old is he now, Goose?” Eleven, I said to myself at the same time Ben replied, and Philip added, “Goose, Charley adores kids. She’s fantastic with them. She’s a teacher, but now she’s gotten herself a job with the local quack. Maybe you should take Jimmy over there. Dr. Scott can perform her witchery. It worked for Charley.”
Ben listened while I glared at Philip. I didn’t want to appear rude, but Goose/Ben was interfering with my mood. Hong Kong was festering between us, another lengthy separation we didn’t need. Had I revealed too much when I told Ben my fiancé traveled all the time?
Ben took the empty seat beside us while I forced Sunny into a sit. His hand came down on the dog’s head and scratched the soft patch between his ears, calming him down. I closed my eyes and imagined my mother’s hand smoothing out my hair. When I opened them again, both men were staring.
“You all right, Charley?” Philip asked.
“I’m fine,” I replied, though he knew I wasn’t. Diving into conversation with Ben gave Philip an out, a convenient excuse to avoid talking about our problems.
“I hope everything’s been to your liking while I’ve been away,” Ben said. “The staff had strict instructions to look after you.”
“We’re happy as can be. Right, Charley?”
I nodded, my toes digging deeper into the sand.
When the waiter arrived with menus, Ben motioned they weren’t necessary, taking the liberty of ordering for the table. I felt him studying me, peeling away a denial I’d tried to hide. Their conversation shifted from the menu to various flavors Ben had been toying with, his recent additions to the wine cellar, and his other restaurants. “Goose Hearst is legendary,” Philip raved.
I cleared my throat and took a sip of water. “Goose Hearst.”
“Well, I’m the only one who calls him Goose. His real name is Benjamin.”
He’d cleaned up since this morning. He wore the palest of pink linen shirts with white casual shorts, as though he belonged here, beside us, relishing the breeze. I was trying to piece together what I’d missed. Had Philip ever referred to Goose as Ben? Had I forgotten the conversation about his wife and child? And why was he acting as though we’d never met?
Philip plucked me from my daydream. “Goose’s asking you a question, Charley.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a deep swallow. “I’m being rude.”
He asked, apparently for the second time, “How do you like the island?”
I wished my voice were trained to dispel emotions. “It’s lovely.” When his eyes let go of mine, I returned to Philip. He jiggled the ice in his glass and addressed Ben. “What was it, Goose, thirteen years ago we met?”
Over lobster salad and conch fritters, I listened to the two men reminisce about meeting in a Manhattan bar. “He was a charming young lad,” said Philip.
“I was twenty,” Ben laughed.
“Always reminding me of the decade between us,” Philip said. “The women . . . they just loved this chap. I’ll tell you, buddy, if you weren’t so handsome, your restaurants would be utter shit.” That bar was Ben’s first foray into the culinary world, and as soon as he was old enough, it became one of the most prominent restaurants in the City. I watched them closely, noting the differences in their speech, their gestures, their happiness. Ben held back. The sadness I’d witnessed this morning was still there. I could see it in his eyes, could tell by the way he was slow-moving, guarded. Philip didn’t seem to notice, but I picked up on it at once.
“Where’d the name Goose come from?” I finally asked.
Ben was about to answer when Philip took over. “Goose had a fake ID. Augusto Ruiz. We called him Augusto, emphasis on Goose.” The two men laughed. “The name stuck.”
“My friends call me Ben. And my really good friends still find ways to embarrass me with Goose.”
“It’s good to have you back, Goose.” Philip patted him on the shoulder while the waiter picked up our plates. “I’ll feel much better knowing Charley has you around while I travel. At least I’ll know she’s eating.”
“I’m happy to send meals over to the house. Or you and your dog here can come in if you’d like.” He gave Philip a friendly nudge. “Don’t worry, Philip. I’ll see to it that she’s well fed.”
I regretted telling this stranger about my loneliness and believing it was something that bound us. “That really won’t be necessary.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Philip chimed back in this tone I’d heard him use to finesse finicky clients. “Of course you’ll let Goose cook for you. He’s one of the best chefs in the world. Besides, we haven’t used our kitchen much since we moved in.”
As humiliating as it was to have this failing of mine leaked to a culinary aficionado, being offered up to his friend—as though a meal would ma
ke up for Philip’s distance—hurt worse. I understood Philip was trying to help, to be kind, as he often was, but it wouldn’t have mattered if Ben were one of the famous chefs we watched on TV. I could fend for myself and I would.
“It’s fine,” I said, to neither one of them. “I’ll be fine. I’ve pulled a few recipes. I have cookbooks. The Food Network. There’s no shortage of information on the web.” I found Philip’s eyes and coaxed them not to look away. “I want to learn to cook for you. Don’t you want me to do that for you?”
Ben was caught in our silent standoff. “I’m happy to share some recipes with you,” he said. “Come by the kitchen, and I’ll have them printed out.”
“What a wonderful idea, Charley! You can get a cooking lesson out of Goose here.”
Ben straightened. “Philip, I can provide the recipes and some tips, but—”
“He’s busy,” I added. It was true. His wife was away, and it couldn’t be easy overseeing multiple restaurants and taking care of Jimmy. “Recipes are plenty, Ben . . . Goose . . . whatever your name is. Please don’t make more work for yourself. I’d hate to put you out.”
“It’s no trouble,” he replied. “If there’s something on the menu you’d like to try at home, let me know. Just don’t tempt Philip here to stop coming in.”
Philip snickered. “Impossible.”
I didn’t know if I should be insulted or chalk it up to Philip’s love for Morada Bay. I was sure it was the latter, though I was feeling cross, unmoored. Sunny stood on all fours and paced the beach around us. He felt my restlessness, and my eyes pleaded with Philip to go home, but he didn’t notice.
Resigning myself to play witness to their reunion, I remained silent, fading as the men discussed Philip’s upcoming trip and the restaurants Ben suggested he try. After several yawns, Philip finally suggested we leave. Standing up, he pulled Ben toward him with a kiss to both cheeks.
“Are you okay, Charlotte?” Ben asked.
I shrugged it off. “I’m just feeling tired.”
It was a warm night, and the ocean breeze gusted around us. The road home was less than a mile, and I was stuck in my head. We crossed US 1 and turned onto Old Highway. The Hurricane Memorial was lit up, and I was reminded of the story Liberty had told me, the poor souls who’d lost their lives in 1935.
Philip’s arm came around me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Charley.”
“Philip.”
“Strong-minded women. Say what’s on yours, Charley.”
A storm was brewing inside. I didn’t immediately respond.
“Which part are you mad about?” he asked. “Natasha? The wedding? Or something else?”
Sunny pulled me, but Philip’s arm held on tighter. “I won’t let you go. You know that.”
His insistence felt good and made it harder to fight back.
“Charley,” he said again, with the lavish enunciation.
When I spoke, my voice cracked. “It’s hard here without you, Philip. I thought I would be okay with it. I was okay with it. It’s why we worked, why I let you in.”
“I’m sure there were other reasons . . .”
My body tightened. “I’m serious, Philip. It’s not funny. And when you’re here, you seem preoccupied . . . cut off . . . and then you pawn me off on some chef like good food is some consolation prize.”
“That chef is world-renowned . . .”
A tear slid down my face. I gave up trying to conceal it. I was a stranger to these emotions. I didn’t understand the neediness in me. “Is this why you bought me Sunny? I thought it was because I was losing my mom, but maybe it was because you knew . . . you knew I’d be alone. Is that it? Isn’t it hard for you, too?”
“Darling.” He stopped walking and forced me to look at him. Sunny obediently sat, but he was pissed at Philip. I knew this because he wedged himself between us. We were face-to-face, with Sunny panting between our legs. Philip pressed his lips to my forehead and swiped at the tears that lined my cheeks. I breathed him in and let his nearness mollify me. “I love you. And no matter how much I say it, I always love you more than that. And I miss you terribly when we’re apart.” He took my hands into his and kissed them. He left his mark, he always did, and it was useless to battle.
He pulled me into his arms as Sunny began to growl. “Things are tense at work, Charley. I’ve been . . . preoccupied, I know, but there’s reasons. Reasons you’d be fantastically bored with. If I’ve made you unhappy, it was never my intention. This isn’t one of those silly love stories you watch on the telly. This is real life, not merely some thesis we’re trying to prove.” I smiled against him, glad that he remembered. “We can’t be the fairy tale, but might we be something better?”
I nodded and dried my eyes against his shirt. I smelled him in the breeze and wanted to hold the scent in my hands while he was gone. If only it weren’t so fleeting. If only it weren’t so impossible to catch.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t nice to your friend.”
He dropped his arms, and we walked hand in hand.
“Ben Hearst,” he said. “That old chap is going to become your best friend, Charley. You’ll see. Let him teach you things I can’t. And I’ll be the lucky man to reap the rewards.”
I’d already told Ben too much, and I tried to block it out. “What does his wife do?”
Philip stopped walking. “Charley, I told you about his wife.”
We were standing along the busy street, cars speeding by. “Told me what?”
“Sari’s dead. She died four years ago. That’s why he left New York.”
His words carved a hole through me, and I remembered Ben’s eyes and how they’d haunted me, how their sadness pulled me in. I saw little Jimmy. The boy had no mother. Ben’s sadness was real—I had recognized it. “He said she was away . . .”
Goose bumps spotted my skin, and I wished I’d brought a wrap for my shoulders. Philip’s arm came down around me, pulling me closer to his side as we walked. “It was an awful accident. Goose . . . Ben doesn’t like to talk about it much, understandably. Terribly tragic. I thought he’d never survive.”
His mom’s away . . . You get used to it. And I blathered on about my fiancé’s travel schedule.
The rest of our walk was made in silence. “Are we all right?” Philip asked as we slipped through our front gate. I unhooked Sunny’s leash and let him run ahead, where he met us at the top of the stairs.
Thinking about Ben’s loss, I was suddenly feeling dreadful about my complaining. There were far worse things in life than a short separation and a cryptic call from a crazy ex-wife. “I apologize for overreacting, Philip. But I’ll never apologize for wanting more of us.”
He cupped my chin in his hand and slid a hand down my back. “I may tuck you into my valise this trip,” he whispered. “Saint Louis is lovely this time of year.”
We reached the house, and I thought our conversation would lead to more, that we’d make love and reconnect. But after dressing for bed and slipping beneath the covers, he yawned and curled around me. “This is my favorite place to be.” And I wanted to believe those words were enough.
CHAPTER 14
December 2017–March 2018, Back Then
Kansas City to Islamorada
“We should move in together.”
Philip sat across from me at the Hotel Phillips (no relation) in Kansas City’s acclaimed P.S. Speakeasy. I’d come to love the contemporary incarnation of the 1930s bar tucked away in an underground hideaway. Everything about it was cool and sophisticated, with a stealthy aura varnishing its dark wooden floors and lush velour seats. I was wedged against a velvety brown pillow, and Philip’s hand was wrapped around my fingers.
We had just returned from London.
I was beginning to get nervous because Philip never drank champagne, and here he was ordering a bottle. New Year’s Eve was still two days away, and I wasn’t nearly ready for a proposal. I was brittle, marked by grief, and
unprepared for grandiose expressions of love.
“We’ll move to the Islamorada house.”
This surprised me. Philip had his pick of first-class locations. The Islamorada house stood an hour from a big city and didn’t have a Ritz-Carlton nearby. Or, as he would explain to me later, it was a sensible option since it was near enough, but not too far from the Miami office. But before I could respond, I thought about leaving Kansas City, Mom’s memory, and my students.
“No.”
“No?” he repeated.
“No, I can’t marry you.”
It slipped out before I knew it was off my tongue.
His arms came down at his sides. “Well, that hurt.”
“Oh my gosh.” I dropped my head in my hands. The cerulean blue tile above us reflected on the table. I didn’t dare look up.
“I wasn’t proposing, Charley, but I will if that’s what you need.” He paused. “Or not.”
“Shoot. That’s not what I meant.”
“Tell me what you meant.” His elbows came down on the table, and he rested his head on his hands.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.”
“You weren’t going to propose, were you?”
“No, but I shall if you want.”
“Why Islamorada?”
He swirled the champagne before deciding to take a swig. “I thought you’d like the quiet. Sunny would enjoy the ocean and the warm weather. You’ll be safe there. We can watch the sun rise from our backyard.”
I’d never been to the Islamorada house. Years ago, when the company opened a Miami office, Philip had decided to buy it “just in case.” Then earlier this year, he had “people” complete renovations and decorating.
“I think you’ll rather enjoy the Keys, Charley.”
“What about you?”
“You know I can do my job anywhere as long as there’s an internet connection and Zoom.” I giggled, remembering the time I did a dance for him while he was on a video conference. “It’s an easy life. You’ll see.”
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