All She Wanted (Letting Go)

by Deese, Nicole

  “I’ll be worried about you until the day the good Lord takes me home. You’ll always be my baby girl no matter how old you are, Charlie,” he paused as if wanting to say more. There was a strain in his voice, which seemed to parallel the one in my heart. “I’m sure mom will email you some pictures in a couple days.”

  “Sounds good, bye.”

  Though my dad had emailed a couple times, I was surprised he had waited over ten days to call. I wondered if he had been keeping tabs on me through Briggs without my knowing. It was likely.

  Life had fallen into a bit of a new routine over the last week. My house-arrest didn’t seem quite so horrid anymore. Briggs and I had been riding to work together each day in his truck and eating dinner together in the evenings. We’d played cards a few times, visited a book store to fulfill my fiction cravings, and tonight we were going to watch the first Indiana Jones movie. Briggs about spit his coffee out when I couldn’t place some line about a holy grail he’d made reference to.

  He said he couldn’t allow me to live another week without watching it.

  Whatever.

  The truth was he made me laugh. I enjoyed being with him—no matter what we were doing. His company was unrivaled by anyone else in my life.

  I finished up with yet another stack of files and headed out of the office.

  Briggs

  Charlie knocked on my door a tad after eight, and for a second, I hesitated.

  Is this really a good idea—Charlie and I alone together in my apartment?

  I swallowed hard and reassured myself that it was fine. We were just friends.

  Friends watched movies together all the time, right?

  “Hey, Manny.” She walked past me, placing a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. But it wasn’t the fragrance of popcorn that overpowered my senses. It was the smell of fresh peaches—coming from her wet hair.

  Charlie—recently showered—was clad in flannel pj’s and slippers.

  Get a grip, Briggs.

  Why does she have to look so good in flannel? I mean, who looks that good in flannel?

  As my inner-dialogue progressed, I suddenly realized she was talking to me.

  “What?” I shook my head slightly.

  “I asked if you wanted the recliner?”

  “Uh no, go ahead. I’ll sit over here,” I replied, not-so-smoothly.

  “Okay.” She shrugged.

  Just put the movie on, Briggs.

  …although , I doubt even Harrison Ford could smell that good after a shower.

  She curled up on the recliner, pulling her legs beneath her like she was some sort of carnival pretzel.

  “When was this movie even made?” she asked snottily as I made my way over to the couch.

  “I don’t know—the 80’s I think?”

  “Awesome.” She rolled her eyes.

  I picked up a handful of popcorn and threw it at her. She laughed.

  That laugh was my favorite. I had learned that Charlie had many laughs—at least a dozen. Some were soft and airy, some were strong and showy…but this one, this one was completely unabashed. When she laughed like that, her defenses were down. Her pride was gone, and it was just her—raw and open.

  I sat on the far end of the couch—the end farthest from the recliner. I grabbed the remote and put my feet up on the table.

  I pressed play.

  “So where does your sister live?”

  I pressed pause.

  “About an hour north.”

  I pressed play.

  “Do you get to see her much?”

  I pressed pause.

  “About once a month, sometimes more.”

  I pressed play.

  “What’s your nephew like?”

  I pressed pause.

  “Charlie…we will be here till three in the morning if you don’t shut it,” I said.

  “Oops, sorry,” she shrugged, “I’m not a very good movie watcher.”

  “Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

  She laughed.

  I smiled.

  **********

  For the next two hours Charlie stayed relatively quiet, except for her snarky remarks about fashion or special effects. To which I told her to shove it. To which she would hurl more insults my way. It went on like that till the end credits rolled.

  When she stood and stretched, it was difficult to find something equally distracting anywhere else in the room. Her hair was a wild mess of waves as it had dried while being pressed against the back of the recliner. Yet somehow, it still looked amazing.

  I swallowed hard.

  She walked over to the sink to get a glass of water, stopping in front of the fridge.

  “Cute—is this from Cody?” She asked, looking at the picture I had put on the freezer door.

  She remembered his name?

  It was a drawing of a fireman that he had done last year after I spoke to his class during safety week. It was one of the few things I treasured. I had brought it over with me when I picked up the poker paraphernalia from my apartment last week.

  “Well, I can tell it’s you,” she said, her words dipped in mockery.

  “How’s that?” I asked, too curious to let it slide.

  “Toothy grin, broad shoulders—but what really tipped me off was how he nailed your big, fat head.” With that, she flashed me a smile and laughed heartily.

  I made a beeline for her as she shrieked, running to the other side of the kitchen. She realized a second too late that she had nowhere to go. She had boxed herself into a corner. I put my hands on either side of her, gripping the counter.

  “Take it back,” I said.

  “Never.”

  I inhaled. She smells so good.

  I was so close—closer than I’d ever been to her.

  Her laughing eyes changed then, our smiles fading-out at the same time.

  I wanted to kiss her. No, I needed to kiss her.

  But with some supernatural strength unknown to me, I released her, taking several steps back. She seemed just as dazed in that moment. I cleared my throat, turning to walk her to the door. She followed behind me, quietly.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I shoved my hands into my pockets and watched her walk toward the house. I wanted to make sure got inside okay, but as she passed, a familiar urge crept up into my throat again, begging to be released.

  And this time, I didn’t hold the words back.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yes?” She stopped, turning to stare at me.

  “He was a fool.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “The idiot who left you. He didn’t know what he had—if he did, he wouldn’t have let you go.”

  Though it had been dark all around us, the motion light came on in that instant—illuminating her in its spotlight. She stared at me, as if contemplating my words. Finally she spoke, in a volume that was practically soundless, “Thanks.”

  She disappeared beyond the light a second later.

  The instant I was back inside the apartment, I banged my head against the door.

  “And I am an even bigger fool for falling for the Chief’s daughter.”

  Charlie

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I tried for hours, but rest never found me. I got out of bed and walked down to my music room. I opened the doors and turned on the single lamp that sat atop my piano. It shone onto the keys, causing a halo effect to surround them. I sat down, closed my eyes and let my fingers explore. My mind was open to the melody that flowed through them. The notes were powerful, depicting images, emotions and words.

  They told a story, one that came directly from my soul. There were no two the same.

  Melodies were intimate.

  The room echoed triumphantly as the aggressive swells filled the air, holding the passion inside it even as the soft, delicate treble notes were played.

  This room was made for music; this room had been made me for me.

  **********

  “Charlie, we have one mo
re present for you, sugar,” my daddy said.

  He led me down the hallway toward my mom’s sewing room as he shielded my eyes with his large, rough hands.

  I was ten. It was my birthday—or at least the day we celebrated as my birthday.

  My mom stood behind me, I could feel her nervous anticipation as she awaited my reaction. I heard the doors open in front of us. My daddy moved to the side before dropping his hands away from my eyes. And when he did, I gasped.

  There, in the middle of my mom’s old sewing room, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen—a black, baby grand piano.

  I couldn’t move. I just kept looking at it in disbelief, blinking. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear next to nothing other than it’s strong beat inside my ears.

  “Go ahead Charlie, go sit down on the bench, sweetie,” my mom coaxed.

  But I remained frozen—still.

  This gift was too big, too nice, too overwhelming for me to understand. This gift was beyond anything I could ever repay—much less deserve. I began to cry, my chest heaving with the heavy burden of what this must have cost them.

  My daddy knelt down in front of me, his eyes glistening with as he spoke.

  “This is a gift, sweetheart. It might seem overwhelming, but our love for you is even bigger than this. You have been our gift, Charlie. Nothing would make us happier than to help you grow in your talent…do you understand that?”

  I nodded as they each took one of my hands and led me to the piano.

  The moment I sat down and touched the keys, my life had changed yet again.

  I was never the same.

  *********

  This room had always been my refuge—my safe haven.

  It was the one place I could find answers, even to questions unasked. Its solace had represented hope and peace, no matter what memory waged war in my mind. It not only inspired me to connect with my music, but when I sat here—when I played—it was that same connection which seemed to transcend the confines of my soul.

  I was known inside this room.

  But something was off…

  As my fingers slid off the keys, a familiar ache filled my chest. Whatever great connection I had once felt—it seemed a distant memory now.

  I wanted to blame it on Alex—on the heartache, on the rejection, on the deception.

  Yet, I was just as much to blame as he was. I had done the same thing to the only two people who had ever shown me unconditional love.

  I stared at the sheet music again—the piece I just couldn’t seem to finish.

  I sighed. Tomorrow I’ll start Tori’s processional.

  It was almost 4 a.m.

  I turned off the light and shuffled to the couch, not having the energy to climb the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  Briggs

  This new eight-to-five workweek was very odd.

  Since becoming Charlie’s manny over two weeks ago, this was the schedule we had worked out. Chief had made it clear to me (several times) before he left, that she was the priority. There was no reason to make her pull night shifts, so I was simply taken out of the normal rotation so that Charlie could get her office tasks done during the day. It was quite an adjustment from my usual twenty-four on, forty-eight off.

  Honestly, I much preferred my old schedule to this one.

  It had been said that life as a fireman could be compared with marriage—we ate, slept, worked, cleaned, played and lived at the station together. When Chief Max hired me, I couldn’t fully grasp that idea, until I experienced it for myself. Acting as one, working as one, fighting as one for a common purpose had changed the way I saw the world.

  We were a family.

  Family.

  Working for Chief had completely redefined that word for me.

  Angie and I had grown up in a family that was nothing short of dysfunctional. It was no wonder why she had chosen Dirk straight out of high school. She had been looking for the same sort of escape I had been—only mine had come in the form of fighting, drinking, and women.

  Angie was fifteen months older than me, but I would forever see her as my little sister—no matter what our birth order said. I had always felt responsible to protect her, maybe because no one else had. Our parents were a tangle of co-dependence and self-destruction. They never saw past their own needs or wants. They never saw us.

  Our home had not been one of violence, but neglect left scars that violence couldn’t reach. There was no stability, no consistency, no refuge inside it—we were merely a pit stop in their search for greener grass.

  They never did find it.

  My mom was a master manipulator, holding an invisible power over us all. She was the kind of crazy that stayed under the radar, too well kept to be noticed, too unhinged to be healthy. My dad was a passive man, letting his work have the best of his time and attention, meanwhile letting his family drown in the chaos.

  Their fights would last for hours, some for days. Their verbal battle of insults was enough to drive even the most lucid person toward the brink of insanity.

  I was sixteen when they divorced.

  Though I’d spent years craving peace—the way one craved water in a desert—it was my endless hours of training that had filled the deep void inside me. But that irony only served as a reminder to my own dysfunction, which in turn caused me to push harder and train more.

  Fighting quickly became my whole existence.

  When I moved Angie to Dallas, I started at the station soon after, working as a volunteer. I was desperate to find work that could support my sister and soon-to-be nephew, outside of my winnings on the weekends. Though I had saved every penny that I could, the day I was hired into a permanent position was a huge sigh of relief. Kai had been the one to convince Chief to hire me, ultimately securing my loyalty and respect.

  Kai never sought praise or affirmation; he was humble, kind, and good—likely the best man I would ever know.

  I loved him like a brother.

  He had been there for me during the darkest time of my life—the night I almost lost my sister.

  When Tori crashed into his life unexpectedly, I was none-too-pleased. I was leery of her—suspicious. Kai wasn’t weak, but he trusted people to a degree I couldn’t understand. I felt it my place to reveal her blind spots to him—to clue him in on the tragic mess that love really was…only that wasn’t what happened.

  Instead, I watched them battle through hardship, hurt, and heartache. I watched them fight for each other—loving each other with an intensity that I couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard I tried to.

  And what I had seen, what I had witnessed, had slowly and painfully peeled back the calloused layers of my heart.

  The life I had chosen had always felt right, until it didn’t anymore. Until no amount of drinking, fighting, or sex could fix me, or the destruction I had caused.

  I had never loved any of the warm bodies that had filled my bed. I didn’t know their likes, or their dreams, and I certainly never knew their laughs. Women had only been a means to meet a need, one that only pacified itself for so long before the emptiness found its way back in.

  When it finally caught up to me: the past I couldn’t escape, the shame I couldn’t hide, the truth I had to accept, I was done living for the empty.

  **********

  I’d been sitting in my truck for nearly ten minutes waiting for her to come out. I kept thinking that any second I would see her open the front door with her greek yogurt in hand, but the only thing I saw was the minutes ticking by.

  Did she feel awkward about what happened between us last night?

  Is she avoiding me?

  I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. That moment had felt…intense, but I couldn’t even begin to analyze Charlie. Who knew what she thought? I sure didn’t.

  I watched the clock for another five minutes after shooting her a text.

  No response.

  Do I go in?

  Do I leave her and go without her?


  Why are women so dang complicated?

  I turned off the engine, and knocked on the front door. When there wasn’t an answer, I started to get a little bit freaked—or a lot bit freaked. I snatched the key from my glove box that Chief had given me, and walked inside a second later.

  Why do I feel like I am in a constant state of deja vu with this girl? What is this—my third time breaking and entering since I met her?

  Just as I opened my mouth to call her name, I stopped short. There she was—asleep in her flannel pjs, on the couch.

  Why is she sleeping on the couch?

  I wasn’t sure what to do at first; this was a new conundrum for me. Finally, I did the only thing I could; I left, shutting the door behind me quietly.

  And then I rang the doorbell.

  Several times.

  In a row.

  To the beat of Jingle Bells.

  Charlie

  Something hideous was clanging inside my brain.

  My eyes snapped open as I covered my ears in a panic, trying to understand what was happening.

  Jingle Bells?

  I stumbled off the couch toward the door, seeing a familiar silhouette beyond the fogged-glass. There was only one person I knew who could match that level of annoying. I marched to the door and jerked it open.

  “Oh hello, Shortcake! Welcome to the land of the living.”

  “Did you get dropped on your head as a kid? Or does this,” I pointed to the doorbell, “just come natural to you?”

  “Someone needs her coffee today,” he mumbled, pushing past me to walk inside.

  “Oh—well, please come on in.” Though my voice was no better than a croak, I hoped it still held the necessary dramatic inflations.

  “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.” He looked at the couch and then back at me, “Why were you sleeping down here?”

  “Wow, nosy and annoying...your list of qualities just keeps growing by the minute.”

  He grinned as if I had just complimented him, “Aw, stop…you’ll make me blush.”

  Rolling my eyes, I decided to let that one go as I saw what time it was. “Can you give me twenty minutes, or should I just drive myself?”