When the Night is Over (Blackbird Series Book 1)

by Lily Foster

  Simon

  Our bodies don’t line up the right way. It’s a petty observation I make nearly every time I’m with Diana. It’s the weirdest relationship and it endures. I have no real feelings for her, and I don’t get the impression that I’m anything more to her than someone to each lunch with and occasionally fuck.

  I haven’t tried to go deeper with her, and she’s never once asked about my past or my dreams for the future. I used to think it was exactly what I wanted, but it feels crappy. The just sex-thing serves an obvious purpose but it’s not truly pleasurable.

  Samantha looks on with an amused expression every time the three of us share the same space. She plays the role of friend who just happens to be a girl very well, but it’s just that, an act. She’s biding her time, subtly persuading me with her beauty and goodness, just waiting for that day when I wake up and knock myself upside the head. Gee whiz, Samantha...You’re the one I wanted all along! How could I have been so blind?

  After the concert, I took Samantha to an all-night diner and I was brutally honest with her. I know she has feelings for me and said as much. She didn’t contradict me. I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted her to understand. So I told Samantha everything. Told her about my childhood, told her about Timmy, told her about Charlotte. Everything. Told her what I did, how I left. Told her I’m still in love with Charlotte.

  “Can I see a picture?” she asked. I lied and told her I didn’t have one. Samantha’s one fault is the high opinion she holds of herself. I’m all for confidence, but it’s obvious that Samantha sees herself as a cut above the company. I didn’t want Malibu Barbie comparing herself to my girl.

  It always made me sad, the way Charlotte saw herself as a plain Jane when nothing could be further from the truth. Is it just something you go through when you’re still figuring things out? When you’re young? The kind of confidence Samantha carries herself with, does it come with age? I wonder how Charlotte sees herself now.

  I study the picture. The one I went to the trouble of printing out at the drugstore before I traded in my phone. It’s a selfie, the two of us sitting on the tailgate of my truck. We were just out of the water, Charlotte in her bikini. Her face is turned. She’s looking up at me and smiling. How could anyone see anything but the most beautiful girl on the planet in this picture?

  Where is she now? I haven’t spoken to Garth since his wedding, when I called to congratulate him. I told myself that I wouldn’t but then caved in and asked about her. He had nothing new to report. There have been a few times I’ve broken down and seriously considered calling her father, but I know it wouldn’t get me anywhere. And I know I wouldn’t be doing it for her benefit. It would be selfish on my part.

  We break for the semester next week, or most students do anyway. I have just a few days off before the summer session starts up. Between classes, work and cramming for the law school entrance exam, the fact that it’s summertime will barely even register. The Westfields invited me to their cottage up on Lake Superior in August, but I declined, thankful that test prepping gives me a valid excuse. I’m extra careful to avoid giving Samantha mixed messages. I think her parents get it, but while doing her best to be subtle about it, she’s still as rabid as a bloodhound.

  The cottage, the cottage. She goes on and on about the damn place. The word grates on me. Only uppity people use that word, people who say they “summer” somewhere. Garth lived in what could only be described as a shack, and most of my friends grew up in trailers, some on farms. Just Charlotte and the Perillo twins, they were the only ones I knew fortunate enough to grow up in bona fide houses. But the world I now inhabit is completely different. I’m sure Professor Westfield’s “cottage” is a sprawling lakeside mansion fashioned to look like a log cabin or some shit.

  “It’s so charming up there. The people speak and dress like absolute hicks, but their way of life is quaint in the Upper Peninsula. It’s like going back in time.”

  I make a mental note to kick my own ass if I ever use the words quaint, charming or cottage in conversation.

  “From what I hear, that area is going through tough times. Their economy is shit and the unemployment rate is sky high.”

  “Really?” Samantha’s nose is scrunched up. “Marquette looks booming in the summertime. And the locals always seem so happy.”

  Do I really need to explain it to her, that people who live in tourist destinations are reliant on the benevolence of people like her, people who waltz into the shops decked out in Vineyard Vines and spend money like tomorrow is their last day? Acting happy is a necessity. Those storekeepers and restaurant owners are desperate to make the experience Disneyland-wonderful for their summertime guests, lest they find somewhere else to spend their disposable income next year. No, she knows all this and obviously doesn’t care; she’s not a stupid girl.

  And shit, why am I being so tough on her? She has no reason to spend her days thinking about economic disparity and hardship. Neither do I, but I can’t help it. I’m different from her and from the vast majority of people I now interact with on a daily basis. In the summer vacation scene Samantha paints, I’m the clerk stocking the shelves in the store, not a customer like her. I’m the waiter who smiles when people like her ask if today’s catch is wild or farm raised, and then calls her a twat under my breath as I walk into the kitchen to ask the pissed off line cook her asinine question.

  Maybe I dwell on depressing shit because poverty and adversity are in my blood. Whatever the reason, I know I’d rather sweat my balls off in Chicago than spend a week at the Westfield cottage this summer.

  I’m suddenly so over this bullshit, want to shake everyone and everything off. Looking over to my bedmate Diana, I say what should have been said months ago, “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Charlotte

  Ethan toddles across the yard, giggling as he chases after Lawrence’s dog. Looking on, my heart is full to capacity. It’s warm and familiar, that surge of pure joy I get when I look at my son.

  He’ll be two and a half next month. Every birthday, every season, every successful follow-up appointment seems like a milestone, a hurdle he’s successfully navigated.

  “Careful,” I say as he goes to grab Moe’s tail. It’s a word that’s become a reflex for me, and one that’s unnecessary in this moment. Moe is the sweetest creature on the planet, much like his owner, Lawrence. He humors Ethan, lets him tackle him, grab at his wagging tail, even lets him take a ball straight from his mouth so that Ethan can throw it for the umpteenth time, only to fetch it for him and bring it right back. One day last week he was barking loudly, making such a commotion. When I looked over, I saw Ethan making his way towards the shoreline. And while Ethan was still a good ways from the lake, it served as a stark reminder that turning your head, even for a split second, is dangerous when you’re responsible for a toddler.

  I crouch down and pet my son’s protector. “You are such a good boy, you know that?”

  “Good boy,” Ethan parrots as he rubs his chubby little hand along Moe’s head.

  “Moe’s going to miss his buddy.”

  “Ethan will miss him too. He’ll miss you even more, Lawrence. You are going to come down and stay with us in Ann Arbor sometimes, aren’t you?”

  “As long as the boss says it’s all right.”

  “Puh-lease, she’ll be lonesome for you, even if she has a hard time admitting it.”

  Tomorrow is moving day. Lawrence is watching Ethan while Janelle and I busy ourselves with packing. He plays it off like he’s all good with this plan, but I know Lawrence has come to rely on Janelle in the same way she gets comfort from his presence.

  “That woman is stubborn, but she’s already planning to come back here for your fall break, so,” he nods his head in the direction of the house and winks at me, “the gig is up...I know she loves me.” Lawrence whistles then and Moe comes running to his side. “C’mon Ethan, I’m going to teach you and Moe how to make sun tea and then we’r
e going to pick some wild blueberries for Aunt Janelle.”

  “Don’t the bears up here like to hunt for blueberries this time of year too?”

  Even though Lawrence has assured me on more than one occasion that Moe is a Karelian Bear dog, a breed that’s loving towards people but known as fierce hunters who don’t cower to bears twice their own size, I’m not having it.

  “Tell your mama that us Finns are tough. The bears are scared of you, me and Moe.”

  To that, Ethan giggles, but I stand my ground. “The two-year-old stays with me while you and Moe fight the bears for the blueberries.” Looking to Ethan, I say, “Come on, you can help Mommy.”

  He’s not happy until I put him in one of the boxes I just assembled and pull him around the yard. He laughs and that sets Lawrence laughing too. “Okay,” he says, waving. “When I get back with the blueberries, I’ll teach you how to make ice cream too!”

  This kid has three adults literally wrapped around his finger.

  “Charlotte?” Janelle calls up the stairs in a quiet voice. She knows I’ve just put Ethan down for his afternoon nap.

  “He’s asleep,” I whisper back as I make my way downstairs. “What’s up?”

  “You have a visitor.” She looks apprehensive when she gestures towards the couch.

  I nearly stumble back when I see him. “Wes?”

  “Hey, Charlie.” He stands and takes a few steps in my direction. “How are you?”

  “I’m, uh, I’m good. How did you know where to find me?”

  Wes looks over to Janelle and Lawrence, who are standing side by side, eating ice cream in slow motion. Their spoons are moving in freaking tandem as they watch this unfolding scene with rapt attention. “Can we take a walk or something?”

  “Sure.”

  “You all right, Charlotte?”

  I nod, finally getting it. Janelle thinks this is Ethan’s dad, even though I’ve told her all about Simon. I know I’ve mentioned him by name. “Wes is an old friend.”

  She narrows her eyes at Wes but nods her head. After Wes steps outside and I turn to close the door behind me, I shake my head and mouth the words: He’s not the dad, to make sure there’s no confusion.

  “That was a little awkward.”

  “I don’t have friends popping over for visits, like ever, so Aunt Janelle and Lawrence are probably a little shell shocked right now.” I’m not offering up the real reason Janelle and her gentleman friend were acting like total freaks back there.

  “I’m sorry I just barged in, didn’t call first or anything.”

  We start down a path that leads back towards the lake. “It’s fine, really.” My head is spinning with questions. I ask again, “How did you find me?”

  “Wasn’t easy. Your brother’s been feeding me the same line of bullshit for the past two years…You went to live with an aunt, you’re doing great, all is well. It’s like you just up and disappeared, and when I ask why, he tells me you wanted out of there.” He stops and turns to look at me. “One night last month he was really drunk…Tells me you came back, stopped in at the dealership acting like…”

  He trails off, so I finish for him. “I’m sure he said I was acting like a little bitch.”

  He doesn’t reply, so I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.

  “Anyway, he starts talking about driving you up and dumping you with your dad’s sister in Michigan. Then he starts ranting about the Wades, and how if he ever gets his hands on Simon Wade he’s going to do to him what he did to Timmy.” He lowers his head in shame. “I hate myself for it. You know that, don’t you, Charlotte?”

  I look away and nod.

  “He wouldn’t tell me anything more specific, but once I had a little information to go on, I was able to use the database at work to get your aunt’s address.”

  “This is a long way to come just to say hello, Wes.”

  He reaches down tentatively and grabs my hand. He squeezes it gently before releasing me. “I had to see you with my own eyes, make sure you’re safe and doing ok. It never sat right with me, you just up and leaving out of nowhere.”

  I nod. “It wasn’t by choice, but it turned out to be a good thing.”

  “Who was upstairs sleeping?” When I don’t answer, he says, “You had a baby, didn’t you? You left because you were pregnant?”

  “My son’s name is Ethan.” I face Wes. “He turned two in March.”

  He scrubs his hands up and down his face. “Wow.”

  We walk side by side in silence for a few moments.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me who the father is?” And I’m nervous now because this cat has been safely secured in the bag for quite some time now.

  “I’ll go out on a limb here and guess that Simon Wade’s the father?”

  “Bingo.” I attempt levity even though I’m shaking like a leaf.

  “How are you?” He adds, “How is it, being a mother and everything?”

  “It’s, I don’t know, everything. It’s the best thing in the world, the hardest thing in the world, it’s rewarding, it’s nerve-wracking, you name it.” I stop at the water’s edge and look Wes in the eye. “No one from home knows.” I breathe in deep and add, “Simon doesn’t know.”

  He looks down at the water, shakes his head and lets out a cheerless laugh. “Good.”

  “Huh?”

  “If he knew and then left you to do this on his own, I’d want to kill him…same as Christian.”

  “He’s a good person, Wes.”

  “Then you should probably tell him.”

  “It’s complicated...I can’t.”

  “Are you ever going to tell him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So you’re just taking this all on by yourself? Doesn’t seem right…or fair.”

  “He’s not a burden. I’ll never see Ethan as anything but a gift.”

  He tussles my hair like he used to when we were kids. “You were always good, Charlotte. I bet you’re a great mom.”

  At that I tear up and my lip trembles. “I hope I am.”

  He sits on the grass and pats the space beside him. “It’s really beautiful here. How could our parents ever settle in a landlocked shithole like our town when places like this exist?”

  I laugh through the emotion clogging my throat. “I know, right?”

  He nudges my shoulder with his. “Hey, your secret is safe with me.”

  “That’s the worst part. I don’t like thinking of my situation as a secret. Ethan is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You’re right.” He turns to me. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you afraid to tell him? Afraid he won’t want to be a part of Ethan’s life?”

  The question breaks something that I’ve kept buried deep inside of me. All I can do is lower my head and nod as a few hot tears fall. I wipe them away and breathe deep for a few minutes to steady myself.

  “Do you know why I really drove out here?”

  Before he gets a chance to tell me, Janelle calls out for us and rings the freaking dinner bell. I know for a fact that bell hangs in her kitchen for decoration only.

  I stand and reach down to give him my hand. “You heard her, it’s dinner time.”

  Over dinner, with Janelle in investigative reporter mode, I learn several interesting tidbits. Wes has quit the police force. He tells Janelle and Lawrence he’s realized it’s not what he wants to do with his life, so he’s going back to school and getting his degree. He shoots me a look, telling me what I already know: there’s more to that story. He’s also leaving town. He’s moving east for school come September, and he’ll be working part-time for his uncle, a contractor in Yardsley.

  “It’s not Philly,” he says, looking to me, “but Yardsley is downright cosmopolitan compared to where we come from.”

  I’m reeling, feeling the effects of this time warp, so I haven’t added much to the conversation. Ethan, on the other hand, is hamming it up for our dinner guest. At th
e moment he’s putting his finger into his mashed potatoes and placing a blob of it onto his nose.

  Janelle reaches over with a napkin and wipes his nose. “Are you wasting my good food, young man?”

  Ethan is busy entertaining Wes, who is laughing at his antics, and also knows he has Janelle wrapped around his little finger, so he doesn’t let up. I lift him out of his chair when he ups the ante and pretends he’s farting, complete with the lifting butt cheek gesture and sound effects. “That’s enough, my little comedian. It’s time for your bath.”

  “I’ll do the honors,” Lawrence offers. “You catch up with your friend.” As they head upstairs, I hear the two of them making fart noises.

  “Guess that solves the mystery of where he learned that behavior.”

  “Ice cream, Wes?” Janelle is making two bowls before he has a chance to answer. “Ethan and Lawrence just made it today.”

  “Thank you, Janelle. And thank you for dinner. The chicken was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Come on, Wes, we’ll sit out on the deck.”

  I look over and watch as he takes it all in. A few sandhill cranes fly in formation close to the surface of the water, and the sunset has given the sky a pinkish hue. When you see it every day you forget how spectacular it is. I settle into my chair, struck by a feeling of contentment. This is nice. Having a friend is nice.

  “This is some view.”

  “We sit out here and have desert every night when it’s warm enough. Ethan loves playing out here with the dog. It tires him out before bed.”

  “He’s adorable, Charlie.” He takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’re doing a great job. I hope you know that.”

  “He’s the best thing in my life. And thank you for saying that. Sometimes I question everything I do and just pray I’m not screwing up too much.”