“Charlotte.” Ben’s wistfulness floated through my ears as though he knew where my mind had gone. I moved toward him, and we held each other’s eyes. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Hi,” I said, admiring his dark blazer and jeans. “You look nice.”
I saw Claudia out of the corner of my eye, how happy she was. I returned to Ben, and before we could say anything else, the new chef instructed us to take our seats.
The table was decorated beautifully, with white roses and matching votive candles. Ben sat between me and Claudia, and Liberty was to my left. The food was almost as good as Ben’s, and the laughter around the table made up for the pit in my stomach that signified his departure. Our hands brushed against each other; our feet came too close. A magnetic field was pulling us even though his arm was draped over Claudia’s shoulders. Every so often he’d ask how I was doing. His eyes would latch on to mine. “Did you have enough to eat? Are you warm enough?”
When dessert arrived with bottles of champagne, Claudia got up from her chair to make a toast. She was sexy and sophisticated in a black off-the-shoulder form-fitting dress. I could tell why she shook up a courtroom. She was a captivating speaker. I watched her lips move, her hand on Ben’s shoulder. The rest of it I drowned out . . . the adventure they’d partake in . . . the meeting of two minds . . . the new beginning . . . I sat frozen to my chair, the energy between Ben and me evaporating into the night sky.
Ben eventually stood up and beamed at the table. Claudia fell into his arms, and I looked away when he kissed the top of her head, but his eyes found mine—and the green stabbed at the armor I’d built, the shield to keep him out.
Liberty squeezed my thigh, but it was too late. I rose from my chair and headed toward the bathroom. There was a line too deep to wait, so I turned, the water pulling me in its direction. I tugged my shoes off and let my toes bury themselves in the cool sand. The breeze picked up, and I wrapped the powder-blue shawl tighter around my shoulders, stopping just as my feet reached the water’s edge. Behind me, the party was breaking up; guests were milling around, making their way over to the music. I was mere steps from our table: Philip’s and mine. It was perched by the water, backing up to the rocks. The nearby trees framed it like a postcard. I blocked out visions of Philip and me sitting there together. Philip laughing. Philip propped against the beautiful sky. I turned away and faced the Gulf. The moon cast a glow across the rippling water, and I felt my eyes well with tears. I felt Philip resting his chin on my shoulder, telling me it would be okay, telling me to find the silver lining up there in the sky.
A woman’s voice took over the mike, and it was Claudia. She was belting out a Lady Gaga tune, and a crowd formed around her. I felt him before I saw him. I could always tell when Ben was near. He called my name. “Charlotte.”
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Ben.”
“I just want to say a proper goodbye,” he said.
He was by my side, and we were gazing at the water, feeling the air skip around us. “She’s very talented,” I said. I took a few steps closer to the shore and perched myself on one of the rocks.
He warned me to get down, but I didn’t feel fear anymore. “Charlotte,” he said, but I resisted. And when I did, he climbed next to me and joined my side. The palms swayed overhead, and we were hidden from view.
“You should go to her,” I said.
“I should.”
The quiet that followed hurt my heart.
“Charlotte,” he began, “I know you regret what happened . . . I don’t. I’ll never regret it. And I want you to know before I leave that I would’ve done anything for you. Anything. Even gone out in the middle of a Cat 2 storm to save you.”
I should’ve told him to stop, but I couldn’t. “I fell in love with you long before I knew it. Your uneven smile. Your eyes. They speak to me, none of it making any sense. You don’t make sense to me. Because how could I finally fall in love again with a woman who puzzled me as much as you?”
He reached for my hand, and I heard Claudia singing. A shiver rippled through me when she was joined by one of the male waiters and they began a duet that led me back in time. This was the moment when I knew Philip had found me. Some people believed their loved ones reached them through electrical surges—lights flickering—and others saw birds or rainbows. Philip found me through song.
“When Philip and I met,” I began, fixed on the moon glossing the water, “I was watching a movie on the plane. As cheesy as this sounds, it was the remake of Endless Love.” I thought back to that day on the airplane. Margaret, our seatmate. How he’d argued with me about wanting what we couldn’t have. He’d changed my fundamental beliefs. He’d made it so I didn’t know the answer to the question once asked. Because right now I wanted Ben. Even though Philip’s soul pumped through my veins, I wanted Ben. And I missed Philip with every fiber of my being, but I wanted Ben. Again and again and again.
The feelings mingled with the breeze that cooled my skin. Our fingers clasped harder. I couldn’t tell Ben I thought about that night every single day. And I couldn’t tell him that maybe we were the kind, like many before us, who wanted what they couldn’t have, the ones who were never truly free to love. That letting each other go was the better ending, the antithesis of fairy tale bestselling bullshit.
Ben began to understand the song Claudia was singing. There was a line about fools.
“We were those fools, Ben.”
The wind picked up, and my shawl flapped in the breeze.
“Maybe we were, Charlotte. Maybe it was all a big mistake, but I’ll never be sure. I’ll never believe you found me in that market and saved my son’s life, Sari’s son’s life, without good cause, without it meaning something far bigger than the two of us.”
If, in that precise moment, Ben had continued down the path that led to me, to us, I might not have resisted. I’d have taken him in—mind, body, and soul—without looking back.
But he didn’t.
“I want you to find what you’re looking for, Charlotte. I thought I knew what that was, but I was wrong.”
I shook my head and dropped his hand. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m too broken to love anyone right now.”
“I’d have given up anything for you. You know that. You’ve always known that.”
There was no sense arguing with him.
“I love you, Charley. I’ll always love you.”
I started to cry, hearing him call me that name. Big, sloppy tears dripped down my face.
He wrapped an arm around me, and I smelled his breath on my cheeks, his skin so close to mine I could hide there and never come out. But we’d missed our chance. I was letting Ben go.
Silence engulfed us, and I was sorry I’d worn pale blue. “I’m going to miss you, Ben. I already miss you. Go to New York. With Claudia. And build that restaurant. And love Jimmy, with enough love for two.” My voice began to shake. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll never forget the three of us. How blessed I was to have been loved by two remarkable men. Some people never know that kind of love . . .”
He dusted sand off his jeans. His hair blew in the breeze, and I stopped myself from tucking the wisps back into place. His eyes glistened in the moonlight, and we spoke volumes without saying a word. And just as quickly as Ben had entered my life, he was gone.
CHAPTER 42
January–May 2019
When Philip died, I’d felt an immediate absence. With Ben, it took weeks of slowly losing him. In some ways, Philip’s absence fit me like a glove, snug and familiar, but without Ben, there was a different void, one that came with shattered possibilities, an infinite number of what-ifs and what-could’ve-beens. Knowing he was in the world and unavailable to me shed a harsh light on all that was lost. On my worst days, I convinced myself we didn’t deserve to love again, that we were doomed to fail, and on my best days, I sealed him up in a box and moved on with my life.
Throwing myself into work came easily while I
applied for certification to teach in a Monroe County classroom. A job had opened up, and when the call came through, I practically cried, realizing how much I had missed the children—my students—the ones who taught me more than I could ever teach them. I promised Liberty I’d help out at the clinic whenever I could, but it was hard to be there, remembering Jimmy, remembering Philip, remembering Ben. Liberty said I had a way with kids. “They’d be lucky to have you.” I’d been struggling with my purpose, and the call came at the right time. If I stayed with Liberty, they’d always be her patients. I needed something of my own. The classroom had always been gratifying and fulfilling, a piece that had been missing for some time.
It was six months to the day Philip passed that I was driving down US 1 and took note of the sign: “No Passing Zone.” Because of the Keys’ narrow two-lane roads, impatient drivers preferred to shoot past the slower ones. Hundreds of these signs decorated the roadway, warning speeders to avoid an impulsive decision. I hadn’t understood their deeper meaning until reaching the zones where it was safe to pass. There the other sign revealed itself: “Pass with Care.”
As I arrived at Philip’s and my home, Sunny met me at the door and followed me into the bedroom. Pass with care. Philip had passed with care, leaving everything in such precise order that it didn’t occur to me to read through the mountains of paperwork surrounding his estate. I collapsed on the bed, Sunny joining me, licking my face. “You like mustard, Sunny boy? Or is it the turkey? Hmm, boy?”
Stretching across the bed, I opened the end-table drawer to see piles of paper lining the wood. Staring back were estate documents, financial statements, and information relating to safe-deposit boxes I never knew he had. The paper at the top was our marriage license. I studied his signature and touched the swirly letters with my finger. “Oh, Philip.”
I lay back on the bed, knowing this was a bad idea, but Sunny nudged me with his nose.
Returning to the drawer, I unloaded the documents and artifacts onto the bed. One by one, I began putting the papers in some sort of order. I divided them by banking information, deeds to properties, and the miscellaneous questions I needed to ask the attorney. There were envelopes with personal items I couldn’t get close to, though his watch remained beside my bed, the ticking sound putting me to sleep. I had spread the pages across the comforter, when Sunny’s foot landed on a smaller envelope. I bent over and kissed his paw, that strange scent of Fritos filling my nose. Philip and his trove of information had told me that endearing smell was actually yeast and bacteria, but I blocked it out while my eyes adjusted to seeing my name scrawled in the fine lettering of a man who was left-handed. It was Philip’s handwriting, and my fingers ripped the paper open.
It was dated weeks before he passed.
My darling Charley,
My dear sweet almost bride, I’m sorry to have caused you this pain. You’ve witnessed too much loss in your young life, suffered more than any of us ever should. You asked me once what I feared most in life. I said falling. What I should have said was falling in love. Falling. For you. For someone as genuine and passionate. For what I fear most is not being able to love you anymore—to fall away and apart from you. To be unable to take care of you and cherish you the way you most deserve.
When I met you, you were busy analyzing that silly movie—part of your infatuation with understanding human behavior. Do me a favor darling, don’t analyze this. This is a very simple story. It’s not about death. It’s about life. Although I’d say you got the dramatic ending you longed for.
If I know you as well as I think I do, you’ve thrown these important papers in a drawer and it could be weeks or months or years (I hope not years) before you get around to reading this. That’s fine. Because I knew you’d need some time to hear what I’m about to say. You may want to sit down.
My darling, you’re a very rich woman.
Okay, you’re probably not laughing, so here’s the truth. I’ve been sick for some time.
I learned that I was ill on a terribly boring trip back home in London. You remember the one? It was July, after Thailand, and my stomach had been acting up for days. Natasha and I were at dinner—you know Natasha, the biggest hypochondriac of all—and she was convinced I’d picked up some parasite. One phone call to Dr. Bruce, and I was on my way to the hospital for some tests. A special ultrasound of my abdomen. They asked me if I drink a lot. I chuckled. Seems the machine detected a small case of pancreatitis, which in itself wasn’t alarming, but then they spotted the small tumor tucked away on my pancreas.
Bruce said we had caught it early. With some chemotherapy and radiation, I’d be good as new. Why upset you? But Natasha wouldn’t let it go, the constant phone calls her incessant worry. We argued. Lord, we always argued. The two of them insisted I tell you, but with all the traveling, I didn’t think you’d notice. And you didn’t. Until you did. Now I may have fibbed a tad, parked myself at the hospital in Miami when I said I was in Boston or Chicago, and you questioned it. I apologize for the dishonesty, but it served a purpose. Boundaries were never our thing, dear Charley. That was part of the reason we first fell in love—the spontaneity, never knowing what was just around the corner. You said you rather liked the bald look. Remember?
Watching you care for your mother in her final days, I also feared you having to go through that suffering again. I wished to spare you the cold dread of cancer, of someone else you loved leaving, and by taking this on alone, I believed that I did.
Who bloody knew the small, encapsulated tumor wouldn’t respond to any form of treatment? That our beautiful life was coming to an end, the greatest test of its strength knocking at our door? Charley, it was the one promise I couldn’t keep, and I am sorry for that. If I was distracted, it was because I wanted to live for you. If I was distant, it was because I didn’t want to hurt you. And when I didn’t seem overjoyed when you told me about the baby, it was because I feared I wouldn’t be here to meet her.
It was shortly after that when you met Dr. Leeman. Surgery wasn’t an option; I made the decision to forgo further treatment. It was already making me sick, stealing from our time together. I am not sorry for that, so don’t you be sorry either. I know you, Charley, you’ll beat your bum up for years about this. It was my choice. My choice to spare you the hopefulness that would turn to grief. I knew how difficult it would be for you. Here’s the thing, darling, and you might want to sit down again if you’ve gone off and started pacing the floor. I also knew that you and my best friend were falling in love. I can’t lie—it stung at first, but after these diagnoses, I began to see things from a rather different perspective. I could be angry and cruel, or I could give the two people I love most in the world a chance to be happy.
Close your mouth, Charley. This can’t be a complete shock. From the start, I pushed the two of you together. At first it was genuine pleasure seeing you become friends. The cooking lessons (you were a dreadful cook, darling) and that horrid little storm? Of course, I insisted that Ben take care of you. And he did. I saw it turning into more than friendship, but then I also saw how happy you were. I watched you two, even when you thought I didn’t. He gave you something I never could. And it’s what you both needed.
You’ve been torturing yourself for a long time, yes?
Don’t.
You didn’t do anything wrong but love me.
You loved me at my worst even when I begged you to go.
You told me, often, I saved you, but no, darling, you saved me. You made my last months on this earth the loveliest I’ve ever known. You stayed when others might have run. Seeing your lovely face each morning gave me reason to live, even when there was no hope.
Ben is a good man, far better than I ever could be. I heard you. I listened. Forgive a dying man for an awful adage, but I understand better now that my love was not nearly enough. Jimmy and Ben invited you inside their world, and I watched you latch on to a dream you tried rather hard to deny. Our connection was real, my lady—you were refreshing
and innocent, and took to this different life with ease and aplomb, but we both knew you would eventually need more. The fairy tale ending I could never give you. I am giving it to you now, Charlotte.
Go to him. Don’t look back. No regrets.
Love him and let him love you.
Have a baby, for God’s sake. You’re not getting any younger. Promise me one thing, Charley. Only one thing.
Name him or her after me, so it’ll always be the three of us. Like it used to be.
I’ve been privileged to know you, Charley. Privileged to love someone as big-hearted as you. Though I might not be here to love you, trust that you will feel my love. It’s there.
Oh, and darling, give Sunny a big pat on the head for me. I’m sure he’s taken over my side of the bed, and he’s beside you right now, licking away your tears like a real man. You always said dogs are the greatest judges of character. Sunny’s devotion to you proves just that.
There is a small matter I also want to bring up. I know this is a lot for you, Charley, and life doesn’t always give us the opportunities to say everything we need to say or do all that needs to be done. I’m certain you’re stunned by most of this, so while I have your attention, let me say this. Let your father in. We all make mistakes, some bigger than others. I’m sure you have a moment you wish you can take back. Treat him as you’d want others to treat you. And after the shock wears off, because it will, I want you to do this: forgive him. Forgiveness is the greatest act of love you can give another human being. With forgiveness comes the ability to fully love—yourself and others. And when I say love, I mean all that comes with it.
So dry your eyes, my lady. My beautiful Charley. Go outside and digest all this. Sit in our hammock and think and ruminate like you’ve always done. Embrace the beautiful world you live in, the endless ocean, the bluest of skies, the sun that promises to wake each day. Don’t waste another second of this precious existence being alone. Stop feeling sorry for yourself (you’ll wrinkle your face) and live the life you were meant to live.
This Is Not How It Ends Page 27