by S. L. Scott
“Enough with the Charles bit. I hate that name.”
“But you like Charlie.” Not a question, but a keen observation on her part.
“Yes. It feels more me.”
“So what happened, rich kid? How did you turn out so level-headed and unpretentious?”
“That’s a long and boring story.”
“Maybe to you, but I want to know more about the man who shares my couch every Saturday and frosts cupcakes and gets paid to write about what he sees in the world.”
I sit on the other side of the bed, mimicking her position, but then she does something unexpected. She scoots down the bed and rolls onto her stomach, kicking her expensive-shoe-clad feet into the air and propping her chin on her hands.
“Tell me everything,” she says. “I want to know who the real Charlie Adams is.”
She looks like a schoolgirl waiting for the latest gossip, and yet, the way she’s dressed and seeing her on my bed, she’s a fantasy come to life. I love that she doesn’t care if her dress gets wrinkled or her hair mussed up. It’s exactly those things that draw me to her time and time again. It’s those things that made me want to leave this privileged life. No girl I knew growing up would risk their appearance to learn more about me.
“My life is not that interesting. Trust me on this. I was living one way, and after a few years . . .” I shrug, looking around this old room. “I don’t know. I just felt it was time to grow up. The partying, the people, the whole life I was living seemed pointless. There was no value in it. At the end of the day, I wasn’t anywhere closer to being who I wanted to be. I found myself drinking half a bottle of Grey Goose just to get into the mood to hang out with my friends or go out. I was sloppy and careless. But one day in college, everything seemed to click into place in my head.” I look back into her eyes. “You’ve heard all of this. Isn’t this boring?”
“Never. Tell me more.”
“Well, I realized I’m the only one who can make my life what I want it to be. I would never have to achieve more than a diploma to take over the family business one day. That was in the bag. I wouldn’t have to make an effort for that. It would be given to me.”
She sits up, sliding her legs to the side of her body. “Are you who you want to be now?”
I nod. “Yes. I’m happy with my decisions. A lot of the people from my past didn’t understand and didn’t respect my choices, so I left them behind. My parents cut me off until I came to my senses.”
She laughs. “And have you?”
“I came to my senses years ago, but they don’t see it that way. I haven’t seen a dime of their money in six years.”
“They’d rather you continue down that path and be unhappy rather than make a change for your well-being? Sounds destructive.” She takes a deep breath and exhales with a sigh. “Well, I, for one, am glad you are who you are now. I don’t think I would’ve liked Charles too much.” She punches my arm lightly. “But I like Charlie a lot.”
“Well, that makes it all worthwhile, then.” We hold eye contact, a silent longing exchanged before she breaks it by looking away.
As she slips off the bed, she straightens the skirt of her dress. “We should go back downstairs. This house is so large, I’m sure we’ve missed the dinner bell by now.”
“Your sarcasm could be considered a talent.”
She curtsies then walks to the door. “You know it’s all just one big cover for my insecurities.”
“You’ve got nothing to be insecure about. You’re one in a million, kid.” I nudge her with my elbow as we walk back into the hall. I shut the door behind me and say, “Hey, I really do appreciate you being here. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to say that. I’m glad I got to see this, your room, a part of your old Charles life. So, stop thanking me so much. You’re starting to make me all nervous again.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that. Because when you’re nervous, you start talking really fast and sometimes you don’t make sense, but if we’re lucky, we kind of get the point of the rambling. So yeah, we wouldn’t want to make you nervous before dinner with the Adams family.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I can almost see the steam billowing from her ears. I like her feisty. When she’s feisty and riled up, she’s in top form. And that’s what I need her to be in tonight—top form.
As we walk down the stairs, she turns to me and asks, “So is everyone in your family this humorous?”
“No, you just got lucky with me.”
She faces forward and continues walking, but I see the small smile on her lips and hear her mutter, “I most definitely did.”
Chapter 27
He’s been gone too long.
Charlie was summoned by a butler into a room almost forty-five minutes ago. The daunting black doors were promptly closed behind him. They’re large and solid and there’s no doubt that you stay out when they’re closed. After Charlie went through those doors, I was led into a conservatory off the main living room.
Twenty minutes later, two others arrived. I suspect they are related to someone or everyone in the other room where the will is being read, but it would be inappropriate to ask what that relationship is. The man and woman are in their thirties, maybe mid-thirties, and dressed in designer suits. I think they might be related to each other because of their light brown hair and the shape of their eyes.
They smile when they see me looking at them, but it feels false, almost more a tactic to gauge me. I shift in my seat. “Hello,” I say with a small smile.
They don’t return the gesture, but the woman says, “You’re here with Charles.”
It's more of a statement than a question. I decide to answer anyway. “Yes.” I don’t see what about me indicates that I’m with Charlie, but I guess it’s obvious to them.
The man stands from the sofa and walks over to the tray of martinis that were set out for us. “Would you like a drink?” He glances at the woman first, but then his eyes land on me.
“Yes. Thank you.” I’m unraveling in this situation. It feels too familiar, too invasive, too much like the life I once lived with Jim. Everything is so perfectly arranged, including the people in this room.
The man hands me the glass. I sip, hoping to stave off the rising nerves inside. He sits down next to me, the loveseat not providing much room for avoidance.
“I’m Donald. That’s Katherine.” He holds his hand out after the introduction.
When I shake it, his palm is sweaty. He looks me over. “We’re Charlie’s cousins. Our mother is his mother’s sister.”
“Nice to meet you.” That explains the sweating hand. They’re anxious to find out what their mom was left from Grace. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your great-aunt sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”
“That sounds like Charlie. She was a bit crazy for my tastes, hence having to wait on our inheritance until the last Saturday in July. She never made any sense.” He laughs, eyeing his sister. “I guess crazy can be loveable when money’s involved.”
His words, his demeanor, and his sister don’t bode well with me. His mocking tone is too sharp for kindness or joking, it borders closer to cruel. I don’t like his assumptions of Charlie, and my defenses go up.
I look toward the entrance to the room, hoping to see Charlie walking through it, but he isn’t there. Looking down at my watch, I realize it may be a while longer, though it already feels like forever.
“Today was her birthday. She wanted us to celebrate her death on her birthday.” Katherine speaks up with distaste in her tone. “Charles always had a penchant for the wounded, whether it be physical or mental illness.” She eyes me as if she’s trying to figure out the ailment Charlie must be trying to heal in me.
I want to say they have him all wrong, to defend him against their nasty accusations, but when I think about their words, they’re right. If I go by the meaning of the words instead of the tone they’re said in, they are absolutely right about Charlie—he has a heart where theirs is
lacking. They don’t understand his motives, because they are, like so many I’ve met in their class of society, cold and selfish. Like the many times I reasoned out some sort of justification with Jim’s family, it all came back to the same thing. They don’t know any better. They live in a closed-off world where their reality is just that—theirs.
My reality may be different and may feel more tangible to me, but to them, it’s foreign. So I brush their comments under the rug of judgment in my mind and try to give them the benefit of the doubt. From experience, I know I can blame their upbringing more than them. They are victims of their surroundings.
Katherine stands and pours herself a drink. After two long sips, she turns to face us. Her expression is annoyed as she rants. “We should be in there. We have as much right as Charles to be in there, damn it! Where the hell is Liz? If she were here, we’d be in that room knowing what the hell is going on.”
“She’s coming for dinner. She didn’t want to waste her precious time waiting around with us,” Donald replies. His tone is flat, and he seems disinterested in the topic of Liz. Turning to me, he must see what I’m thinking, because he explains the relationship. “Liz is our sister.”
“She also has a very short fuse for bullshit, which is why she’s not here,” Katherine says. “This is so unnerving. What do you think we inherited, Donald?”
She looks at him as if the rest of her life is determined by his answer. “I have no idea how that woman’s mind worked.”
She looks to me, but I seem to heighten her annoyance, so she turns away and stares through the glass out into the darkness
I sit there almost revolted by the venom they spew in connection with Grace. The Grace I’ve been told about was nothing less than wonderful. I understand that every story has two sides, or maybe more, but I don’t understand them. I know they are trying to send me a not-so-subtle message about Charlie. It’s like they are saying one thing, but beneath the surface of the words lays a hostility that predates tonight. Unlike Charlie and his feelings toward his family, they seem to hate each other, and with that recognition, my heart hurts for him.
“Charlie.” I turn toward my name and see Charlie standing at the door. My name slips from his mouth again, but he’s eyeing his cousins, the distrust is evident. “It’s time for dinner.” He stretches his arm out, offering me his hand.
The three of us rise, and Donald asks, “Your name is Charlie?”
I nod, realizing I never introduced myself. The discomfort of the situation distracted me from proper etiquette.
I take Charlie’s hand, and he tucks me against his side, moving me away from them. “Sorry that took so long,” he whispers.
“It’s all right. I was fine.”
“I didn’t know they were here, or I wouldn’t have left you.”
I stop and look up at him. “I’m okay. Are you?”
He pulls me quickly into a small corridor off the main entryway. While looking into my eyes with determination, he takes hold of my upper arms.
“Dinner might be intense. We can leave if you want.” His voice is low and he glances over my shoulder quickly before returning to me.
“And you’re worried? Should I be?”
His hands drop to his side, and he takes a deep breath, leaning against the wall. “Things didn’t go how we thought they would. I just want you to be aware that dinner might be strained if we stay.”
“Do you want to stay?” When all I want is to be here for him, to make sure he’s all right, he’s focused and worried about me.
“No, but I promised my mother that I would.”
“And you’d break that promise?”
“Well, I think it might be awkward for an outsider to sit through this.”
“I’m fine, Charlie. I don’t want you to break your promise for me. And I don’t want to insult your mother.” I have to say that he’s making me nervous. “Can we sit near each other?”
“Yes, I’ll make sure we do.”
He seems to relax once we step back out into the bright foyer. He looks down the short hall toward the room where the other eight members of his family are filing in. Donald and Katherine pass us, but not without giving us a curious once-over.
When we enter the dining room, the first thing I notice are the place settings with name cards. Assigned seats. We move closer to scope out the arrangement. Charlie is seated next to his mother at one end, and I’m farther down the other side of the table. Our eyes meet. He quickly grabs his name card and walks down to the chair across from me. He picks up that name card and says, “Katherine, you’re sitting down there now.”
She huffs in frustration. “And I was so looking forward to the stimulating conversation I was going to have with your friend.” Her sarcasm is overstated as she walks to the other seat he left for her. Thanks to Charlie, I’ve dodged a bullet.
We sit down as the wine glasses are filled by two different servers working the room. I look up and see Charlie watching me. Most of the strangeness of this dinner fades away when he smiles. I smile back, moving my foot forward until my shoe is against his. That’s when I notice his hand move to the top of the table and start to slide toward me, but he stops himself. A flash of disappointment covers his expression before being covered by a more aware one. Too many witnesses, too many others to judge us—to try to stuff us into some category that doesn’t fit what we are or what we mean to each other.
The atmosphere is as tense as he warned me, but with each course that’s served, it turns to more lighthearted talk of familial inside jokes. They tease Charles Sr. His dad seems likeable, even jovial tonight, despite whatever they were told in the other room. Or maybe he got what he wanted from Grace, which allows him the ability to enjoy dinner.
After his dad tells a boisterous joke, the group laughs, and I see that maybe they don’t hate each other. Maybe it’s possible for them to feel something real for each other.
I lean toward Charlie and ask, “I didn’t know you were a junior?” The little fact is another key piece to the puzzle that is him.
He lets out a small laugh and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a woman standing at the door. “Charlie’s not a junior. He’s a fifth. Charles the Fifth. So pretentious.”
The room falls silent as we all turn to watch the pretty brunette in the blood-red strapless dress enter the room without reservation or invitation. She walks confidently to the empty seat next to Charlie and sits down. Holding her glass in the air for wine service, she asks, “We’re still talking to each other, so the old bat didn’t screw us in the end?”
Donald says, “It’s not good news, Liz, but the wine is plentiful.”
So this is Liz. From Donald’s comment, I surmise that they aren’t happy with the will, but are happy to drink away the bad of the night.
She looks straight at me and takes a sip from her filled crystal goblet. “And who are you?”
“This is Charlie, Charles’s date.” His mother interjects before I have a chance.
I look down at Emeline, surprised to hear from her. When I turn back to Liz, her eyes have never left me. She’s staring at me, and for a brief second as we watch each other, I feel like I’ve seen or met her before. There’s something so familiar about her brown eyes.
She turns her attention to Charlie. “I think this is the first time you’ve brought a date to dinner since you discovered what a fucked-up family you have. And the girl you bring shares your name. That must make for some interesting pillow talk.”
“Don’t start, Liz.” His tone cautions.
She glares at him a moment longer then focuses on the food that’s been placed in front of her.
Charlie’s mother tries to lighten the mood by talking about the floral show she’s co-chairing next month, but no one seems interested in her news. They’ve disengaged themselves, from a family laughing, to somber individuals again as the tension returns.
I eat in silence, concentrating on my food while praying that this painful dinner c
omes to an end soon. I look up once, and my eyes lock on Charlie’s. I can see how much he wants to leave. Every word that he can’t say aloud is visible in the grey of his eyes. More grey than blue with worry.
I move my foot forward again to bump his in an offer of comfort.
“Ow, you kicked me!” Liz looks at me, and when she sees my look of horror, she asks, “Were you trying to play footsy with my cousin?” She bursts out laughing.
“Enough!” Charlie says under his breath.
She starts laughing harder, and her dessertspoon drops and clangs against the plate, garnering everyone’s attention. “Oh my God, footsy! That is so pedestrian.”
Although I should be embarrassed, I’m not. Something else starts to overcome me. Watching her with her head tossed back and her dark wavy hair falling down her back behind her bare shoulders, everything clicks into place.
Jim.
Naked.
Long brown hair.
It’s her.
Liz.
The other woman.
Chapter 28
I don’t even know if I’m breathing at this point, too stunned to notice. My thoughts are clouded, except for the realization that Liz is the woman I caught in bed with Jim. She is the one who had sex with my fiancé. She is the one who shattered my world and caused a hole in my heart the size of the Grand Canyon. I stand abruptly, the crystal glasses clinking together when my legs hit the edge of the table. My napkin falls to the ground as I stare at her in disbelief.
“Charlie? Are you all right?” I see Charlie in my peripheral vision, but I can’t take my eyes off her to respond.
“What? What are you staring at?” Liz asks. The anger in her voice is evident.
I don’t care about her anger. I can’t. I’m too focused on my own. “You slept with my fiancé. You! You—” My tears cut off my words, choking me.
I feel the chair disappear from behind my legs then an arm wraps around me. Warm. Strong. Charlie. “Come on.”