Unwilling to accept his secrecy, I thought about calling Natasha directly, believing she might be willing to provide some answers. Philip distanced himself from me often, but this wasn’t business travel, this was a different form of isolation. I found myself noticeably short, and he was unusually anxious. We argued over things that had always been inconsequential: the volume of the television, leaving the toilet seat up, and the temperature of our room at night.
“Why don’t you invite me on your trips anymore?” I asked, when the thought had occurred to me that he hadn’t in weeks. The trips were always important. There was always an appointment to be had, a client to meet. He scoffed. “Oh darling, you’ll be bored to tears.” Still, it mattered to be asked.
I asked myself if I was being difficult, remembering how our close relationship had always been about space. And that became our great contradiction. The further I dove, the deeper I plunged, the very things I spent my life avoiding became the ones I craved. I was changing, but I thought we would change together. So how could I be upset with him for being who he always was?
Work kept me busy, and the clinic was bustling with appointments, though the problems continued to brew in our relationship. Philip checked in less frequently. When we spoke, he was serious and short. There was nothing humorous about the funniest guy I knew. One time I was certain there was a woman very near to him, so near I could hear their combined breaths in my ear. Apparently, I’d interrupted him in a meeting. “You must have the schedule mixed up,” he’d said. Blaming me, blaming Elise.
Once he asked if I had heard from my father. “You really need to talk to him.” The strange number from Nashville called two more times, but I hadn’t picked up, and he didn’t leave a message. I lied and said, “No,” resenting the intrusion and how Philip led him back into my life in the first place. Philip was the connection I craved, not my father.
And while I was quite certain of our love for each other, beneath this sea of “rubbish” we were swimming through, I attributed the strain in our relationship to stress—Philip’s workload—and focused on the things that I could control.
Like Jimmy. Jimmy arrived for his first treatment dressed in a uniform shirt and bottoms, with a backpack slung over his shoulders. Following the trend across the country, schools start ridiculously early in Florida. While some states still relish a reprieve through Labor Day, Florida’s students return in late August, when the steamy weather translates into breezy bathing suits, not polyester. “Where’s your dad?” I asked, curious.
“Carla brought me,” he said while a youngish woman with pointed features and a long dark ponytail stepped through the door.
Jimmy pulled off his shoes and washed his hands. I ushered him into Liberty’s treatment room, prepared to leave him there, when he reached for my arm. “Will you stay?” His fingers pressed my skin, and the need in his eyes almost knocked me over. I sat in the crowded office, close enough, but not too far away.
Liberty placed tiny vials of allergens in Jimmy’s right hand and instructed him to raise his left arm to shoulder level. “Resist,” she said, putting gentle pressure on his forearm. “Don’t let me push the arm down.”
“You’ve got this, Jimmy,” I said.
Clenching, cheeks brightening, he resisted, but the arm slung downward, indicating a weakness. “It’s normal, Jimmy,” Liberty said. “These are the allergens we’re treating today. We already know your body is sensitive to them.”
With the vials still in hand, Jimmy lay on the table while Liberty used her mini massager to apply acupressure on points along Jimmy’s body. The treatment concluded in the relaxation room, where I gathered the warm blankets from the heater and fluffed the pillows. Most of the young ones want their parents to stay, but Jimmy surprised me, saying he’d be fine alone. The session meant fifteen minutes in the dark under the blanket. After that, he couldn’t eat or touch anything with vitamin C for twenty-five hours.
I handed Carla the list of allowed foods, thinking maybe I should explain it all to Ben, when Liberty said she’d phone him—just to be sure.
After the allotted time, Jimmy exited the relaxation room with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair. “I fell asleep,” he said.
“That’s good. You’re comfortable. Remember to follow the list or we have to repeat the treatment a second time.” He was so proud of himself. I could already tell he was going to be my favorite patient.
The following afternoon, I walked Sunny after work near the Moorings and caught sight of Jimmy entering Morada Bay. I was curious to see how he was doing. The day was blistery hot, and I spotted him seated at a purple table with his papers spread out.
“Hey, Jimmy! How’s it going?”
He didn’t look up. His fingers tightened around the pencil, and he wrote across one of the worksheets.
“Is something wrong?”
He shook his head and erased a problem, rewriting the answer.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
His swallow was long, his eyes forcing back tears. “Today’s her birthday.”
CHAPTER 18
April 2018, Back Then
Islamorada, Florida
Philip announced he had something special planned for my birthday. The last few months, his travel schedule had been excessive, and I was pleased he’d be home to celebrate.
That morning we were enjoying breakfast on the deck. I was pretending to read the paper, but I was really observing how handsome he looked. He had his after-sex glow, his hair a ruffled mess, and he was on his laptop, talking loudly into the phone. I was partially listening in to his side of the conversation when I heard: “I can’t tonight. It’s Charley’s birthday. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”
What Philip hadn’t realized was what that day had come to mean to me. How his being there touched me in ways I could never explain.
The weather was pleasantly mild, and the sun lit up the ocean with a glittery sheen. We walked toward the water’s edge, the breeze sweeping strands of hair across my face. He stripped down to his boxers and urged me to do the same. The surf was flat, a crystal clear you could see through to the bottom.
His hands landed upon my shoulders, and the love that sprang from his eyes was a cushion I thought nothing of falling into.
I smiled up at him. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
His eyes flickered, and he pulled me closer. We kissed, and it was salty and familiar. Then he hugged me hard, before we raced across the dock, plowing into the water. I released all my wishes into the breeze, the wind carrying them across the sky.
Hours later, Philip had Joe’s Stone Crabs deliver a delicious meal outside by the water. There were men and women decorating our backyard with hundreds of candles and fresh-cut flowers. On our bed, there was a gift with my name scrawled across it. I tore open the paper, revealing a box from one of my favorite stores. In it, a simple ivory dress.
Philip was buoyant. I took my time getting ready, listening to him instruct the staff outside our bedroom door. When I stepped onto our patio, bright lights hit my eyes. Classical music piped through the speakers, and I was shocked to find Liberty, Meghan, and her partner, Myka.
“Philip!” I covered my mouth in surprise.
“Happy birthday!”
We were seated at a table set up by the water. Philip entertained with the usual round of outrageous stories about interesting people he had met through his travels. Meghan chimed in every so often to add a quirky detail of something Philip missed. Myka was beautiful, and her black skin contrasted against her low-cut lacy salmon dress, one from the clothing shop she owned on Newbury Street. The two appeared very much in love. Liberty explained her NAET therapy to Myka, who had a pollen allergy, and they exchanged cards and agreed to talk. Even Philip refrained from calling her a kook. There was laughter. There was togetherness. There was love.
I surveyed the scene, feeling alive and peaceful. Myka leaned over with her red wine in hand and said, “Philip, t
ell the story of how you and Charlotte met.”
Philip’s face brightened as he shared the details. “I fell in love with her the minute I saw her seated in 13F.”
I gazed up at him, a grin fixed to my face. “That’s not exactly true. You were too pissed to notice.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I noticed. You said telling someone they can’t have something makes them want it more. It’s an internal drive.”
“I did.” I nodded. “I said something like that.” I was beaming, basking in the glow of our history, trusting the fate that brought us together. The faces at the table admired us, too. We were so happy, Philip and me. All that mattered was this. Here. Now.
“I was going to wait . . . but now seems like the appropriate time . . .”
CHAPTER 19
August 2018, Present Day
Islamorada, Florida
There was a tightrope in front of me, and I was careful to time the first steps. “Jimmy, you must be having a tough day.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, and I wondered if they were so filled with emotion that they would explode off his tiny wrist. “It’s not fair,” he said. “I want to talk to her. I want to tell her stuff.”
The words were shards of glass sharpened by gloom and grief. They pricked my skin.
“Have you ever been to New York, Charlotte?” He was looking up at the sky.
“Once. With Philip.”
“It’s the same sky,” he said. “Right?”
“It is, Jimmy.”
“My mom told me we’d always share the same sky. Do you think she knows I’m here?”
I sucked in my breath as the weight of his words needled me.
“She knows, Jimmy. She absolutely knows.”
“She said that when we were living in New York. How do we know it works from here?”
I studied his profile. “She knows, Jimmy.” Then slowly my words fell into place, grounded by wisdom, arranged with love. “Moms are magicians. Did you know that? They’re always around us. Even when we can’t see them.”
He finally looked at me. The green of his eyes pooled with tears. He asked, “How do you know?”
“I know,” I said.
“But how?”
My heart was full, and the words poured out. “I know, Jimmy, because . . . because my mom died . . . like yours . . . and I know she’s everywhere and nowhere. I don’t see her, but I swear to you, she’s out there.”
We sat there like that, holding on to each other’s pain. If only I could take one of his hands in mine, but I wasn’t sure he’d let me. A noise interrupted the moment, and Ben was standing over us. I could tell at once he was upset.
“Jimmy.” He hesitated. “You’re going to have to stay here with me tonight. Carla has an emergency.”
Jimmy scowled, but he didn’t argue. I reminded Ben of my offer to sit. He stepped away from Jimmy and closer to me. “Nighttime is hard for him. He’s comfortable with me, with Carla. He gets anxious . . .”
The beach quieted, and the water slapped the shore. Ben was dressed in his chef’s jacket with baggy black pants. He plopped himself in a nearby chair, seafoam green, and Jimmy sauntered over, a pout on his face. “Dad, I don’t want to stay here tonight.”
My eyes dug into Ben, forcing him to think about the date. He was stroking Jimmy’s arm and glanced in my direction. “What if Charlotte watches you?”
Jimmy thought about this.
“I won’t be late, buddy. I’ll do my best to get out of here early.”
Jimmy hesitated. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
Ben handed me a piece of paper with their address and Jimmy’s allergy instructions. This was on top of the restrictions from Liberty, which expired in a couple of hours. I read the familiar list, feeling terribly sorry for Jimmy, but worse for Ben. “I won’t let anything happen to him. You know that.”
“There’s a pizza place nearby where you can order gluten-free pizza. Tell them it’s for Jimmy. They know what he likes.” He stopped before adding, “I really appreciate you doing this for us, Charlotte.” There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice.
The Keys were an eclectic mix of cozy cottages, trailers, and multimillion-dollar homes. Whether they were in plain sight or hidden behind towering hedges or modest gates, you could imagine what they looked like by their names: Hip Nautic. Reel Paradise. Beach Daze.
Jimmy stopped in front of an aluminum entryway and punched in a code. Soon we were walking down a gravelly road toward a modern structure high above the ground. I didn’t see a visible name, so I asked Jimmy.
“We’ve never been able to decide,” he said. “Daddy likes Thyme Out, you know, like the seasoning. I like The Boys’ Clubhouse.” Approaching the home with no name, Jimmy quickened his pace and bounced up the steps. Sunny and I followed, and when we reached the top, I stopped, mesmerized by what stood before me. The home was made of glass. You could literally see through the transparent walls to the ocean. No blinds, no curtains, a seamless shift from indoors to out.
This “boys’ clubhouse” was anything but. A spacious airiness greeted us—contemporary luxe, almost un-lived in. Clean lines, minimalistic furniture, and lots of light and glass made up the design. The stark contrast between Morada Bay and Ben’s home was astounding, and I was surprised to see the many sides to his personality. The restaurant emanated a cozy warmth; we had just entered a stunning structure where I was afraid to touch anything. Jimmy’s cheeks seemed to lighten as we walked through the ultramodern house. You could tell he was content here—used to people’s reactions—and Sunny began an immediate inspection. New territory was his buffet, and he was sniffing for morsels of food, though his prospects were slim. The place was spotless.
“Want to see my room?” he asked.
“Of course!”
He scampered off, and Sunny and I followed. Without walls, the palms and the banyans became the natural tapestries. Through the branches and leaves, the pale blue of the Gulf came into view. “Jimmy, this is beautiful. I already have a few names in mind.”
He smiled, and I saw him slowly relax. Up ahead, the door to his room held a hand-painted sign: “Boys Only. Girls Keep Out.” Jimmy stopped me before entering. “You’re not really a girl.” His compliment, or insult, amused me.
If Ben’s home was the pinnacle of sophisticated simplicity, then Jimmy’s room was its contradiction. Stepping through the doorway, we were immediately greeted by warmth and chaos. A platform bed rested against the far wall, overlooking the water. Navy and white pillows flanked the thick comforter. Literally piles of them. The walls were covered in layers of artwork. I entered the room and began at one side, where the paintings were simplistic and rudimentary. Moving through the room, the trajectory changed, and the technique became intricate and detailed. Steely skyscrapers, bold cityscapes, Central Park’s leafy trees. The far side of the room was a collection of oil paintings. Close-ups of faces, a few I could make out as Ben’s. A large, blistery sun. A little boy standing between his parents, holding both of their hands.
“Jimmy, are these yours?”
Crimson covered his cheeks.
I was admiring the walls, but I was speechless. The vast number of drawings had to span years. There was barely an inch of remaining wall space. By the window, an easel stood overflowing with supplies: brushes and paints mixed with crayons and fine pencils. Rolls of paper covered the floor. The room was a mess, but an enchanting mess.
“Jimmy,” I gasped. “These are amazing. Do you have someone who helps you? Like in school?” I touched some of the textures. “They must know how talented you are.”
He shrugged.
“Jimmy, your teachers know about the art, don’t they?”
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go outside.” Letting it go for now, I followed him through bright-orange curtains that opened at the touch of a button, revealing glass doors and an enclosed balcony with stairs. Jimmy raced down the steps while I took my time
admiring the view. Sunny ran past me, chasing after Jimmy.
The backyard looked straight out of a magazine. The teak deck showcased a black-bottom infinity pool that appeared to rest over the water. Towering palms sprouted from the ground, their leafy arms fanning across the sky. My mouth dropped open, and Jimmy seemed proud to be taking me on this journey. “I’d never leave here, Jimmy. Ever.” A glorious sun cast a shimmery veil of orange and gold over the property, and I tipped my face up, basking in the warmth.
“Watch this,” Jimmy said, making his way down a winding path. I followed him past the pale-pink and white plumeria until we reached a pocket of sand by the water surrounded by cushioned lounges. At its center was a firepit. “I’m not allowed to use it unless Daddy’s home,” he said.
I settled in one of the chairs and took in the view. Jimmy took the empty seat beside me.
“Will you play a game with me?” he asked.
I jumped at the chance to foster the connection to this lonely boy, and we played cards for over two hours. Spit, Go Fish—and he surprised me with his knack for poker. “This is the clubhouse, Charlotte. I told you.” He said this as he clobbered me with a royal flush.
Satisfied with his win, Jimmy dropped the cards on the table and lay his small frame against the oversize chair. A moment passed before he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t feel her.” And before I could respond, he added, “You said I’d feel her.”
I regretted the conversation. Jimmy was too young to understand, and I felt responsible for his anguish. But it was someone else who was eyeballing me with displeasure.
“Jimmy,” Ben said, “get yourself washed up. I’m going to make dinner.”
I stood up, embarrassed at how casually I had lain across his furniture. “No pizza?”
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