by Staci Hart
I’d come back to my room last night swallowing tears and rejection, bewildered and wounded and confused. I shouldn’t have touched him, shouldn’t have had so much to drink, shouldn’t have gotten so close to his heart. Because the more I knew, the more he told me, every minute we spent together—it only pulled me closer to that line.
I didn’t want to want him, but the truth was that I was well past the point of control.
Because I’d wanted him to kiss me. I wanted it still. I’d said yes, and he’d said no. And that was all the answer I needed.
That answer didn’t make the truth any easier to bear.
And now, everything would change. We wouldn’t spend any more days together without the no hanging between us. I wondered if the damage was deeper, if he was upset with me. I wondered if I should leave, wondered if he would fire me.
A desperate, No, rushed through me, and I did my best to push the wave of panic down.
There were things I could control and things I couldn’t. I would see him when I left my room, and as I lay in a bed that wasn’t mine, hair fanned out around me, face turned up to the blank ceiling, I considered what I would say, what he might say.
Stupid, silly girl.
There was really only one answer, one solution. I would hold my head up and focus on my job, which was what I should have been doing all along. I would put up the wall of propriety and expectation and stay firmly on my side of it. And I would hope against all reason that we could move on and pretend like last night had never happened.
This was the thought that bolstered me as I climbed out of bed and dressed for the day. It was the sentiment that kept my nerves tamped down as I climbed the stairs, bracing myself to see Charlie like I was waiting for the guillotine to drop.
But he wasn’t on the main floor. Katie waved at me from the kitchen as she moved biscuits onto a tray but offered nothing in the way of information. I climbed the stairs to wake the children, glancing at Charlie’s room. The door hung open, his bed empty and rumpled.
He was already gone. Over everything else, I felt relief by a large margin, though a sliver of disappointment made its presence known just as well, perhaps to spite my good intentions.
I turned the whole of my attention to the children, busying myself with collecting them, dressing them, and ushering them downstairs for breakfast.
Katie and I moved about each other, situating the children, and when they were happily eating, she offered a seat at the island where a cup of tea waited for me.
“Thank you,” I said as I sat, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
“You’re welcome. Charlie left just as I was coming in. Strange to not have him here in the mornings like he has been.”
I didn’t know what it was about the way she’d said it, but the statement felt loaded with questions, her eyes full of some knowing, and it made me wonder what Charlie had said to her on his way out.
I tried to smile. “He must have a lot of work to tend to today.”
“Yes, he must,” she said thoughtfully. “What did you do yesterday?”
With that question, I realized he must not have said much. I tried unsuccessfully to relax.
“We went to the zoo and walked through the park.”
She nodded. “Beautiful day for it. The kids were okay for you all by yourself?”
I took a sip of my tea, which was too hot, but I didn’t want to answer. She watched me in a way that left me certain she would give me no quarter.
“Charlie came with us.”
Her eyes gogged for a fraction of a second, but she smiled. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “He told me he didn’t take the kids out often, but I didn’t believe it to be all that bad. Is it?”
She shrugged, tilting her head in thought. “He’s not the type for fatherly outings, no. Only because he’s just so busy—or that’s what he says. I suspect there’s a bit more to do with it than that though. Charlie has hidden behind his job for as long as I’ve known him. Being alone is hard enough without the addition of two small children you’re not accustomed to caring for. Charlie doesn’t even look after himself, and he has a hard time believing that he should be allowed to.”
“He told me as much.”
Katie quietly assessed me. “I’ve something to offer, and it doesn’t require a response, just something I feel I should say. I hope you’ll forgive me for being so bold. It’s plain to see something’s happening between you two—not only from his face this morning, but in yours right now.”
I straightened, my heartbeat doubling up for a breath before finding its rhythm again.
She held up a hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’m not asking. I just want you to understand something about Charlie that you might know—or you might not. Charlie has had a rough go of things, and because of that, because he’s so deep in his hurt, he makes things more complicated than they have to be. He wants so very badly to be happy, to find a way to be all the things he wishes for. As long as I’ve had the pleasure of working for Charlie, he carries his past on his shoulders like it’s his cross to bear. And ever since you’ve come into this home, he has found a second wind.”
I looked down into my tea, unable to speak.
“I’m not insinuating there’s more between you two than there is. I’m only saying that your calm breath in this house has already changed it for the better. It’s plain to see from where I’m standing, and I’m certain it is from where Charlie’s standing too. There’s worry on your face, and I want to tell you not to fret, no matter what’s happened or what will happen. Because things always work out. The big wheel turns on and on. The clock ticks without sleeping, and life goes on.”
Katie offered a reassuring smile that did its job. She pushed off the counter.
“Well, the laundry won’t wash itself, and thank goodness for that. I’d be out of a job.”
I laughed, and she headed into the laundry room, leaving me to my thoughts.
It was true, what she’d said. The world turned on, and things kept moving forward. And I’d felt the change in Charlie just as she’d said, humbled and moved at the idea that I had helped him find his way. Because that was what I wanted more than anything—his happiness.
And as for the rest, I would leave it behind me and look ahead, keeping my eyes on the hope that I wouldn’t stumble into him again, for my heart’s sake.
Charlie
My tie had long been loosened by the time I looked up from my computer that night. It was nearly eleven, which didn’t surprise me, given the bleary state of my eyes or the steady ache behind them.
To say the day had been long would be a gross understatement.
I’d gotten to work before most everyone—there always seemed to be someone there, the grind unceasing. I’d even managed to tell myself that I’d come in earlier strictly for my desire to get ahead.
Seemed making up lies to tell myself was my favorite pastime.
In all honesty, I hadn’t slept much at all, so when I’d woken at five without a single hope of drifting away again, I’d pulled myself out of bed. I’d showered and tried not to think about Hannah’s face when I’d walked away from her the night before. I’d shaved and reminded myself I was doing the right thing. I’d dressed and told myself just what a shitty, miserable man I was to have ignored reason for my own wants.
Because in doing that, I’d hurt her. And in hurting her, I’d hurt myself.
It was likely I’d ruined everything in the process.
The subway had been relatively quiet at six in the morning, and I had been left to my thoughts as the train clicked down the tracks.
Spending the day with her had been too much. The admissions, the wine—it had all been more than I could bear. There should have been a line between us, a boundary, but there was none. I’d single-handedly erased it with words that were too honest and lips that were too willing.
I wondered if she felt the moment was a mistake. I wondered if she blamed me.
>
She should.
I’d taken advantage of her. I’d taken advantage of her friendship and kindness, her sweetness and care. I’d placed my burden on her, drawn her into the tangled knot of my life and heart. I’d been talking about my wife, for God’s sake. And that wasn’t how I wanted to kiss her for the first time.
Because I wanted to. God, how I wanted to.
My mind sounded its warning, and it was right and wrong, just as right and wrong as my heart was.
It was selfish and unfair to her. I couldn’t give her what she deserved, what she needed, not as broken down as I was. I couldn’t ask her to heal me, to fix me, to bear with me while I sorted through the wreckage of my failed marriage and failed fatherhood. I didn’t want to hurt her, and I felt certain I would. Because the truth was that I didn’t know myself anymore, and I didn’t know how to be what Hannah needed.
I had been alone for so long, I didn’t even know the mechanics of dating, or whatever people called it now. The rules had changed since I was last single, and I’d been left in the dust. I hadn’t been on a date since Mary left, before that even, long before.
But even with that knowledge, even with all those facts to stack up and nod at and applaud for their rightness, my heart couldn’t find a way to subscribe. Hannah was everything I’d ever been looking for—someone kind, someone who put others above themselves. Someone who smiled, who found joy and beauty in the world.
The opposite of my ex-wife. Wife. Her.
Going to a museum or the theater with Mary had been a chore, her constant criticism and boredom maddening. Dinners alone with her had been endured with large quantities of alcohol, but mostly, we had gone out with friends since being alone with each other was generally unbearable. Mostly we had been with Jack, sometimes accompanied by his girl of the week.
Looking back made me feel like a fool. They’d been playing cat and mouse with me in the middle, unaware and smiling and unbelievably stupid.
I tried to imagine Hannah doing something like that to me, something manipulative and cruel, and I couldn’t. I thought about taking her to a museum and imagined her face turned up to a painting, full of wonder, like she’d had when the zoo clock chimed and the animals danced. I imagined her sweet smile across the table from me while out at dinner and thought I wouldn’t need a drop of alcohol to feel completely drunk.
But I circled back around, my mind guiding my heart back to the point. I couldn’t have Hannah because I couldn’t give her what she needed or what she deserved.
I sighed and pushed back from my desk, packing my bag and clicking off my light. Down the elevator I went and to the curb, hand in the air to hail a cab.
It was late, and I hoped she’d be asleep when I got home. In honesty, it was the reason I’d stayed late. I knew I’d have to answer for what I’d done, but I thought maybe a little time would ease the matter, calm my nerves, bring me answers.
Lies, lies, lies. I’d just keep on telling myself what I wanted to hear. Maybe something would stick.
I laughed to myself. What was one more lie on the pile?
I unlocked the door, praying I’d find the house silent as I stepped in. But luck hadn’t been on my side in a long time, and it didn’t choose that moment to make the move.
Music floated in from the kitchen, pretty acoustic guitar riffs and the soft voice of a man who’d lost love and lived to tell. When I stepped into the doorway, there Hannah stood.
Her lips moved only a little as she sang along, her long fingers rolling up dough with preserves in the center. Baking supplies littered the island, and a sheet of already rolled pastries sat just next to her workspace. She leaned into the counter, her hips flush against it, body arching just a little, just enough to curve her back. The shadow of her long body was blurred under the gauzy white fabric of her nightgown, her arms bare, fingers covered in flour, blonde hair tumbling down her back in untended waves.
She was magic, quiet and steady and astounding and real, though she felt like something I’d only dreamed.
“I didn’t think you’d still be up,” I said, wanting to break the moment before I did something stupid.
She jumped and touched her chest, leaving streaks of white flour on her skin. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry.” I stepped into the room, heading for a stool so I could sit across from her with the counter between us. It was safer that way.
She flushed, turning her eyes back to her task. “I couldn’t sleep.”
I nodded. Silence hung between us. I swallowed.
It had to be me. I had to speak. I owed her that.
So I took a breath and did just that. “Hannah, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, her eyes still down as she rolled the dough up. “Please, don’t. Let’s just not talk about it.”
Another swallow, my throat attempting to work that tightness away to no avail. “I have to. I need to tell you …”
Hannah glanced up at me, pain and worry on her brows. “It’s all right.”
It was just what she’d said to me last night, but tonight, it meant something completely different.
“It’s not all right.” I scanned her face, her eyes, her lips that had consumed my thoughts since I first saw them smile. “I’m sorry because the timing is wrong. I’m sorry because this—our situation—is so much more complicated than I wish it were. I’m sorry I crossed the line, Hannah. I’m sorry the line’s there at all.” I ran a hand through my hair, not feeling like I was explaining myself well enough. “I don’t even know if that makes sense.”
“It does,” she said quietly, her hands still and folded in front of her on the counter.
I nodded once, feeling grateful but not knowing what else to say. I was afraid to admit much more. If I cracked the door open further, I’d end up with her in my arms. I knew it as well as I knew my name.
“I wish things were different,” she said softly, an unexpected admission, her eyes so open, so honest.
I fought the lump in my throat down again before saying the only thing I could, “Me too.”
Hannah sighed, a heavy sound, turning back to her pastries and closing the conversation with grace and ease. “Was your day productive?”
My sigh echoed hers, and I leaned on the island surface. “Productive enough. How are the kids?”
“They’re all right. Maven had a fever today and barely ate. I’m going to keep her home tomorrow.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. She can’t go to school with a fever anyway. Is she okay?”
“We’ll see how she is in the morning. I gave her ibuprofen, and she went to sleep early. I was going to go up with a cool cup of water and check on her when I finished here.”
“I’ll do it,” I said and stood, heading for the cabinet where her sippy cups were. “What are you making?”
“Banketstaaf. It’s a pastry roll with almond paste and apricot jam in the middle. We usually make them for Sinterklaas, but I had a taste for them.”
I twisted off the lid of the plastic cup and filled it up at the fridge. “Sinterklaas? Like Santa?”
She chuckled. “Not quite. But Holland is where your Santa came from. When I was a girl, we didn’t really celebrate Christmas. Sinterklaas comes on his boat from Spain, and for a week before his birthday on the sixth, we leave our wooden shoes out with hay and carrots for his horse.”
“Like stockings?”
“Yes, you got the idea for that from us too,” she joked. “And, at night on the fifth, the doorbell rings, and there will be a sack of presents on the stoop. Such magic.”
I smiled, screwing the lid back on. “I like that.”
She smiled back. “I do too. It’s a time for family, and our gifts are usually handmade with poems or letters from Sinterklaas, but really, we all give them to each other, though the children don’t know. The trick is to be the most clever, to have the funniest poem and a gift that matches. Like, once, my oma gave me a rolling pin that had been my great-grandmother’s with a poem t
hat told me never to stop doing what I loved or what fulfilled me.”
“I think I like your oma. And the holiday sounds like magic, just like you said. I’d like to see that.”
“Maybe someday you will.”
I caught my mind wandering again, imagining walking the canals of Amsterdam during the holidays with Hannah, and I shook the thought away, turning. “Well, I’ll go check on Maven and try to get some sleep.”
“All right. I’ll finish up here and see you in the morning.”
I couldn’t help but look back, and I found her watching me leave. And that made it so much harder to go.
But I told myself once more that I was doing the right thing, and I almost believed myself that time.
Almost.
11
Quite Contrary
Hannah
The next morning, I woke feeling better than the day before though still unsure in my own way. Thankful as I was for clearing the air with Charlie, to bear the admission that he wished things were different didn’t help me let the idea of him go.
But as I’d pulled the pastries from the oven the night before, lost in my own thoughts, I’d refocused my attention to the kids and my job.
That was the only thing I could control, so I found a way to accept the fact.
Charlie was in the kitchen eating that morning, one foot hooked on the rung of his stool, the other long leg stretched out, his eyes on his phone as he read. He glanced up when I passed, and we shared a smile that made me believe things might be all right.
Up the stairs I went, not hearing Maven’s cries until I was halfway up, and louder and louder they grew. My nerves climbed too, and when I opened her bedroom door, she nearly broke my heart.
She sat in her bed, face red and wet from crying, the covers bunched up around her. She’d thrown up, leaving evidence in her hair and the bed, down the front of her clothes, and from the smell of her, it wasn’t the only sick.