Hannah’s fingers curled around the steering wheel like claws. She still seemed overly pale, even for her.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’
‘I’m fine.’
She wasn’t. None of them were. Charley was the least fine of them all.
He’d fallen asleep on the way home from the clinic. Walked into the cottage and gone straight to bed.
When Lanier had said ‘not long’ he couldn’t have meant tomorrow. Could he?
‘I’ll be back by the end of the week,’ Hannah said. ‘There are some things I gotta do in DC before I …’
She looked so forlorn, Frankie wanted to pat her again, but she should probably stop. Patting not only made Frankie feel like a blue-haired old lady, but every once in a while Hannah glanced at her when she did it as if she might want to curl up in Frankie’s lap and never leave.
Frankie wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
‘Are you going to be able to do this?’ Frankie asked.
‘I’ll have to.’ Hannah started the car. ‘I’ll bring the photographs along with me.’
Frankie almost asked, ‘What photographs?’ How could she have forgotten the reason she was here?
Except it wasn’t really the reason any more.
Frankie backed away without another word, just lifted her hand in goodbye, which Hannah ignored.
‘Text me when you reach the airport,’ she called.
‘I’ve already got a mother,’ Hannah muttered.
‘I heard that.’
‘You were supposed to.’
Frankie gave her the finger.
Hannah actually laughed, which made Frankie feel a little better about her driving all the way to Green Bay after she’d lost her breakfast – or what appeared to be several weeks’ worth of breakfasts – into the garbage can at the clinic.
Frankie’s cell started to vibrate in her pocket and she went on to the deck to answer it. She didn’t want to wake Charley.
‘Is he out of your house and your life yet?’ Irene asked.
It had been a while since she’d talked to Irene. Had to say she hadn’t missed it.
‘No.’
‘When will he be?’
‘Not long,’ Frankie said, then had to fight a hysterical giggle at her echoing of Dr Lanier’s timeline. Why was that funny?
Why was anything funny any more? Was anything funny any more?
‘I thought the bimbo was taking over at the end.’
‘Don’t call her that.’
‘You called her that.’
‘I know. I shouldn’t have.’
Hannah wasn’t a bimbo, had never been a bimbo. Hannah had been through a lot; she’d come out on the other side not only whole but stronger. Frankie wished she could say the same about herself.
‘Maybe not,’ Irene allowed. ‘It was all Charley’s fault.’
‘No,’ Frankie said. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘Well, it wasn’t your fault.’
‘More of it was than I realized.’ Or wanted to admit.
‘He left you, Frankie, when you needed him the most.’
Irene really needed to find a new tune.
‘I wasn’t there for him either.’
‘He killed your child.’
‘He did not!’ Frankie snapped.
‘What, exactly, did he do?’
‘He made a mistake.’ Several of them.
‘You’re going to forgive him?’
‘It’s about time, don’t you think?’
‘You know what I think? You need to boot him out of your life before you fall in love with him again and get your heart broken worse than before.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Frankie said.
She didn’t think she was capable of loving anyone again the way she’d loved Charley.
‘I worry about you.’
‘I know. It’s the only reason I put up with you.’
‘You want me to come out there?’
‘No. Thanks. It won’t be long now.’
‘It won’t be long until she takes over or it won’t be long until he dies?’
‘Yes,’ Frankie said, and left it at that.
While she had the phone in her hand, Frankie called both the visiting nurse and the medical supply place and made the arrangements she needed to. When she returned to the house, Charley sat on the couch, his camera in his hands.
‘You OK?’
‘Nope. Dying.’
‘Charley, you could try …’
‘No.’ He lifted his gaze and she found herself as captured by it today as she had been way back when.
Those eyes. They saw everything, even things you never wanted them to see.
‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I want to spend the time I have left with you, doing what we both love.’ Charley lifted the camera. ‘If you’ll help me.’
‘Of course.’
He looked away again. ‘The only way I can handle this, Fancy, is to handle it with you.’
Frankie swallowed. What was he going to think when she left him with Hannah?
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to leave him with Hannah.
‘I’m just going to ask one thing,’ he said.
One thing? What could it be?
‘Can you bring Lisa here so I can see her before things get too bad?’
‘I … uh … don’t think so.’
‘Maybe we can go to her.’
‘Um …’
Why couldn’t she get the words out? How hard could it be?
Lisa’s dead. Has been for almost twenty-five years. You weren’t paying attention and she drowned.
What possible purpose could telling him have now?
‘Please?’ Charley begged. ‘I know she’ll probably be scared, especially when she sees me like this.’ He waved at his too-skinny body. ‘Maybe I should just talk to her on the phone?’ His face crumpled. ‘But I want to hold her one last time. What do you think?’
How many times had Frankie thought that same thing? If she could only hold Lisa one last time.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Frankie said, then blinked. She hadn’t wanted to tell him the truth, but she hadn’t meant to lie either. What was wrong with her?
Charley grinned. ‘Thank you.’
‘It isn’t going to be easy.’ Understatement of a lifetime. ‘She’s … um … pretty far away.’
Charley seemed to have forgotten his request already. He started fiddling with the camera. ‘I’d like to take some shots on Washington Island.’
Washington Island was located off the tip of the Door County peninsula where Green Bay and Lake Michigan met at a place referred to as ‘Death’s Door’.
Life was quite the comedian sometimes, wasn’t it?
Frankie had only been to Washington Island once when the three of them had gone to Door County. They’d been so happy, so clueless as to what life had in store for them. Frankie had never gone back because she didn’t want to spoil the memories of that day with anything less than happy.
Going there with Dying Charley might do that.
‘We can’t today. They’re delivering your hospital bed.’
They were. Whew! She didn’t even have to lie again.
The next day it poured. The day after that Charley woke up with a nasty headache; his right hand twitched of its own accord.
Frankie panicked and called Dr Lanier.
‘That’s common, though he does seem to be deteriorating fast.’
‘What should I do?’
‘Make him comfortable. I’ll call an order for morphine to the visiting nurse.’
Frankie felt terrible about not taking him to Washington Island when he’d been well enough to go because she was afraid. This wasn’t about her. Never had been.
She sat on the side of his bed and stroked his head. His hair was starting to grow back. Would he be around long enough to see if it came back as curly as it had been before it had left?
‘You want an aspirin?’
she asked.
‘No.’ He kept his eyes closed. ‘Pain’s fading. Can you keep doing that? It helps.’
Frankie wasn’t sure how stroking his face and head could help, but she continued anyway.
‘The only thing that makes me feel better is you,’ he whispered.
‘You haven’t tried morphine yet.’
He opened his eyes, took her hand, held it to his cheek. ‘Don’t make fun.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It really does help to feel your touch, hear your voice.’ He pressed his mouth to her palm, and she shivered. ‘Remember how Lisa believed that you could kiss it and make it all better?’
Frankie nodded. She couldn’t take her gaze from his face, or pull her fingers from his grasp.
‘I think I believe it too,’ he whispered, drawing her closer and closer.
Their lips met. Her gasp was audible. Frankie felt that kiss everywhere.
‘Hush.’ He tangled his fingers in her hair.
She hushed. She couldn’t do anything else with his tongue in her mouth. Or maybe her tongue was in his mouth. It was hard to tell.
‘I’m afraid,’ he murmured against her neck.
‘Oh, Charley,’ was all she could manage.
She had no idea what to say to soothe a frightened, dying man.
It’ll be all right?
It wouldn’t.
You’re going to a better place?
Trite. Predictable. Might even be a lie.
Don’t be afraid.
Who was she to give him orders? He could be, do, say, have anything he wanted.
‘I’m afraid I’ll die before I make love to you one last time.’
Frankie stilled in his arms, the last place she’d been where she felt alive. She felt alive now in a way she hadn’t been in so very long.
Should she? Could she?
Could he?
Charley shifted closer. Apparently, he could.
‘Just once,’ he said. ‘It’s probably all I can manage.’
Hadn’t she been thinking that a frightened, dying man could be, do, say, have anything he wanted?
Since what he wanted was her … She gave it to him.
Just once.
Charley
Charley woke with his arms full of Frankie. He knew it even before he opened his eyes.
That faint scent of lemon. The honeyed texture of her skin. The drift of her hair across his chest.
Why did it feel as though he hadn’t held her in far too long? Because it always felt like that. Every time they’d been apart and come back together, he found it hard to let her go.
How long had it been this time? Before Africa for sure. Weeks? Maybe a month. Why couldn’t he remember?
Even if it had been a month or more, he’d been gone that long before and not felt so desperate to lose himself in his wife. Not that he’d ever been happy about the separations.
Not sad either, because he loved his job. But he was always, always thrilled to get back to his wife and his little girl.
Why did it seem like he hadn’t seen Lisa in even longer?
Too many thoughts. They were starting to confuse him, bring back the headache that Frankie’s touch, Frankie’s kiss had banished.
He opened his eyes, just as Frankie did too. He’d always loved when that happened. How long had it been since they’d managed to wake at the same, exact moment?
‘Decades,’ he said.
Frankie frowned as if she knew what he’d been thinking. But if she had, the word decades would have made as little sense to her as it did to him. And she didn’t look confused at all, just … concerned. Maybe wary. Why?
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ She sat up, pulling the sheet to her neck.
He considered convincing her to let him take a stab at round two, but the way she was fondling that sheet, it wasn’t going to happen.
‘Washington Island today?’ he asked.
Relief flowed over her face. ‘Great.’
She scampered out of the room, taking the sheet with her. What did she have to be relieved about? Had she been that excited to visit Washington Island? He felt bad that he’d been too weak to go. He wasn’t sure he felt strong enough today, but since Frankie was so thrilled he would not disappoint her. He’d already disappointed her enough.
Where had that thought come from? He couldn’t remember Frankie ever saying she was disappointed in him. To the contrary, she constantly told him how proud she was. He was embarrassed to admit that he soaked up every word of praise both from her and the critics, his bosses and his colleagues. He had a compulsion to be the best, to prove himself to anyone and everyone, which would not be satisfied no matter how long he was in the job, no matter how many awards he won or how much money he made.
Daddy issues, no doubt. Nothing he’d ever done had been right enough for Daddy. Honestly, the sins of the fathers. He hoped that he hadn’t fucked up Lisa as badly as his dad had fucked him up.
Pain whispered behind his right eye. There was something about Lisa …
In the distance a phone rang and Frankie answered. Her voice raised, then raised again, then quickly lowered. A few minutes later she returned wearing a robe.
Charley really missed that sheet.
‘Hannah can’t come back for another week.’
‘Your friend Hannah?’
Frankie nodded.
‘Who cares?’ He couldn’t figure out why the woman kept hanging around. ‘What’s up with you and her? The only friend you’ve ever had is Irene.’
‘I have friends other than Irene.’
‘Who?’
‘Han-nah,’ she said, making the two syllables pronounced enough to reveal annoyance even if he hadn’t been able to read her face better than anyone’s on earth.
‘I don’t like her,’ Charley said.
Frankie burst out laughing.
‘Why is that funny?’
She stopped laughing and that concerned, wary expression returned. ‘Why is anything funny any more?’ Frankie asked, and left.
The shower turned on and Charley lay back to wait his turn, though maybe he should … No. He didn’t think Frankie would welcome his company in there today as she had so many times in the past.
Instead, he contemplated the ceiling. There was something weird about Hannah. The way he caught her staring at him as if she knew him, as if she liked him – a lot. Had she hit on him at some point?
Charley rubbed his eye. Wouldn’t he remember that? Except he didn’t even remember her. Should he ask Frankie?
Best to let it go. While Hannah got on his nerves, Frankie seemed to like her. She treated Hannah like a child, or maybe a younger sister. They were obviously close and Frankie would need friends when he was gone.
Charley got out of bed, then sat on the side until the vertigo passed. He’d had head rushes before, usually from dehydration, but this was different and worse. He sucked down the remains of the bottle of water that sat on the white painted wood nightstand. After a few minutes he did feel better.
They set off for Washington Island after they ate some toast and Frankie drank some coffee. Charley stuck with water. Coffee no longer agreed with him.
He’d thought he would be upset about that. Coffee was his second favorite reason to get up each morning after Frankie’s smile, but when it bubbled in your stomach like microwaved acid, you got over wanting it pretty fast.
Despite the summer warmth, Charley wore a sweatshirt and jeans. After losing those last five pounds, he couldn’t ever seem to get warm any more. Except last night, in bed with Frankie. He’d been warm enough then.
He rubbed his hand over his stubbly head. Frankie had insisted he bring the fedora she’d bought him in Sister Bay.
‘Wear that or I’m gonna put SPF eight thousand on the top of your head.’
Since he hated the way sunscreen felt in his hair, or lack of it, he took the hat.
Frankie wore jeans that ended just below her knees. His mom h
ad called them pedal pushers. They called them something else now, but he couldn’t remember what and didn’t feel like exerting any of his remaining brain cells figuring it out. Her red espadrilles matched her T-shirt. She hadn’t brought a hat. But then she had her gorgeous hair to cover her head, neck, shoulders. He loved that hair.
The roads were clear, the huge crowds that mucked them up absent during the week. The ferry wasn’t busy either.
Charley meant to use his camera all the way across – pictures of Northpoint Pier, where they’d caught the ferry, pictures of the town of Ellison Bay as they pulled away, pictures of the water, fish, wildlife, then of the approach to Washington Island. Instead, he found himself waking up as they docked.
Frankie lowered her camera. He thought she’d had it pointed at him.
‘What happened?’ He wiped a bit of drool from his chin. He’d been out cold.
‘You needed the sleep,’ Frankie said briskly, though the line between her eyebrows that became more pronounced when she worried appeared deeper than usual.
‘I wanted to photograph …’ He waved his hand at everything he’d missed.
‘Isn’t it the same in reverse?’ Frankie moved toward the stairs that would take them to their Volvo, which had also made the trip to Washington Island.
Charley glanced back at the peninsula about five miles away. ‘You might have a point.’
He followed her, reaching the lower level as she strode toward the car, boxed in by several others. They’d have to wait for all the vehicles in front of them to drive on to the island before they could.
The array of cars intrigued him. Charley lifted his camera, surprised when his hands shook. He should be used to it by now, but every time he expected that shake to be gone. He rested the lens on the dashboard, peered through the viewfinder.
‘What do you see?’ Frankie asked.
He’d never been able to explain how he saw things, how the slight variation in angle or focus could say something completely different about the subject framed by his lens.
‘Take a look.’
Frankie lifted her camera – he gritted his teeth against the jealousy that her hands were as steady as his used to be. She glanced through the lens, lowered it, shrugged. ‘Meh.’
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