“No way,” Hannah said, “This is the best summer ever.”
“No it isn’t…” Gracie glared at her sister, and then flicked her eyes back toward Charlotte. “With all this stuff going on between you and Dad. But I do love hanging out with Aunt Fiona. And Mad and Max. And since Dad’s here, it would be dumb to go home.”
“You know what, Mom?” Hannah asked.
“What?”
“Aunt Fiona said we could move here.” Hannah studied her mother’s face. “If we wanted to. She said you could do whatever you want, and we could stay here, with Fiona, until we all get on our feet.”
“No way,” Gracie said, sliding her glossy lips together. “Not unless Dad moved here, too.”
Charlotte put a hand on her stomach. “Nobody’s moving anywhere, but you’re having a good time with her? With Aunt Fiona? ”
“Yeah.” Hannah raised her chin. “She keeps telling us how she always wanted a daughter. Daughters. And how she’s secretly pretending to adopt us for the summer.”
Charlotte’s stomach twisted. “Should I stay home tonight?”
“Don’t you have a painting class?” Hannah asked.
“I do.”
“Why would you skip it? We have a girls’ night planned with Aunt Fiona anyway. Consuela is coming over to take care of the boys and we’re going out for mocktails.”
“Mocktails?”
“Yeah. They are virgin drinks, Mom. Don’t worry,” Hannah said.
“I know perfectly well what they are, but I still don’t think that’s appropriate.”
Gracie elbowed her sister. “I told you not to tell her.”
“No, it’s okay. Whatever. You’re right. I should go to class.”
***
Caleb was right in the middle of a scene. His fingers raced across the keyboard and his heart surged with frustration at this woman, this character, who kept failing, over and over again, to recognize her own beauty, her own worth, and who kept running from herself and from her life. How he longed to reach into the setting and thump her on the forehead.
Caleb pushed away from his desk. His scalp ached on the sides. Had he been pulling on his hair again? He had to stop doing that.
Whenever he was writing a rough draft, he would sink so deeply into the character that Charlotte would threaten to call a therapist. When his protagonist was a workaholic businessman, he would come home all curt and bossy. When his protagonist was a handyman, he would come home and start ripping out drywall.
“Why can’t you ever write about a hopeless romantic?” Charlotte had asked him from time to time, and then she would do something Charlotte-ish…she would wrap her arms around him, maybe, or kiss at the top of his head. How many other clues had she dropped, over the years, that she wasn’t satisfied with him?
And so now, for the first time in his career, Caleb found himself writing from the perspective of a woman, a bored but amazing female, just so he could get inside her head. Just so he could figure out how the story might end.
His cell phone rattled, and he startled. He had set his new publicist’s ringtone to be particularly jangly, so he could get himself in the proper mindset to speak with her.
“Caleb.” Stephanie always sounded breathless, like she had just run up a flight of stairs or escaped an aggressive lover. Talking to her was like slicing through something. Chop and then chop again, punching each word.
“Stephanie,” Caleb retorted, matching her tone and pace.
“Fantastic news. Are you sitting?”
“I am.”
“Fantastic. We are moving up your book launch. By three weeks.”
“Oh.” He grabbed the back of his neck. “You can do that?”
“We can. Apparently.”
“Why?”
“Marcus will explain in greater detail. It’s in regard to the timing of a book by another house. We want yours to launch first.”
“Oh,” he said again. “That’s great.”
“Yes.”
“So you need to be here. In New York.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
He waited for her to continue, because he knew she would.
“I understand you are dealing with personal matters, so I have consolidated your public appearances. You need to hit NYC this week. Then Los Angeles the following. Then your book launch is here in New York on July fifteenth. Then we’ll go from there.”
What would it be like to be married to someone like her, he wondered. So mechanical and precise, nearly robotic.
“So get on a plane. I’m still waiting to confirm, but you will be appearing on Good Morning, New York tomorrow. Your call is at four a.m. Be prepared, of course, to speak about each of your titles.”
“Okay.”
“Are you packing your bag yet, Caleb?”
“Just about. I’ll call you from the airport.”
He lay the phone down and flopped backward on the couch. Then he took a deep breath, pinched hard at the skin on the top of his nose, just between his eyes, and dialed the number he knew so well. His stomach gave a little twist when she answered the phone.
“Jellybean, I need to leave town,” he began. “They’ve moved up the release.”
“Why?”
“Not sure. I still need to talk to Chaps.” This was Charlotte’s secret name for his agent, Marcus, because she said he smelled like aged leather. That Charlotte and her nose. “But Stephanie has booked a slew of media appearances, so I can’t put it off.”
“Okay then,” Charlotte said. “Good luck and have a good time.”
His throat tightened. “I’m calling to ask you to come with me.”
He could hear his nephews scrabbling in the background, but nothing from Charlotte. Not her breathing. Not a moan or a sigh. Nothing.
Finally, a small voice. Not her rah-rah voice, but the true, kind Charlotte voice, the one she used when she was speaking her mind, to him and him alone. “No, Caleb.”
He shuddered, deep in the center of himself. He could feel a trembling there, and then a tightness behind his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak after a moment, but his throat felt closed off. When he spoke, it came out in a choking, halting blurt. “Okay, I won’t go, then. I won’t go without you.”
“Caleb, you have to go. And I want you to go. I need some space, some time away from you. That’s what I asked you for in the first place.” Then, in a louder voice, she said, “I think this was meant to be…you being called away. You have to go.”
The worst part was that this was something Fiona would have said, not Charlotte. It wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t meant to be this way at all.
***
Charlotte arrived to class early that afternoon. She thought perhaps Caleb would be there, waiting for her, with more gerbera daisies, mounds of them this time, and a bloated, tear-stained face. He would tell her he couldn’t leave this town without her, and she would tell him that he must.
But he wasn’t there. She chewed at her lip and wondered if she should have gone with him after all. She had never been to New York in the summertime. She had never been to New York in the…anytime.
Special Ed was already there, in a black button-down and indigo blue jeans. She smiled at him, tucked her hair behind her ear, and settled at the easel next to him. She stood close to breathe him in, but he was wearing cologne, and now he smelled like someone else, like any other man wearing cologne. Like cowboy sweat mixed with perfume. Most decidedly not bread.
She shook her head at him but continued to smile. She thought of Caleb, who was probably already on his way to the airport. Or he was packing. This would be his first publicity trip that he packed for himself, without all of her checklists.
“Psst,” Special Ed was leaning toward her. “Do you want to get that cup of coffee tonight?”
“Oh.” She rubbed her palms on her jeans. The girls would be out late. Caleb was… not here. “Okay.” What else was she going to do?
Rachael had come in then, and during the en
tire duration of the class, had narrowed her eyes at Charlotte only once. Toward the end, she had even flashed her what looked to be a sympathetic smile, like you might give to someone if you’d just flattened their puppy. As soon as class was over, Rachael cut to the door and was gone. Charlotte clenched inside. Caleb had said she was star struck. What if Caleb and Rachael… What if she was going with him to New York instead?
“Are you ready?” Special Ed was asking. “For coffee?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. Let’s do it.” Charlotte shook her head and forced on a smile.
“I know the perfect place. We can take a walk by the river, and then the coffee shop is right there. A little ways down. Does that sound okay to you? It’s a nice walk.”
“It sounds perfect,” she said and she followed him out the door and along the paved path toward the river. They were quiet for a bit as they walked together, and Charlotte was surprised at how comfortable even the silence was between them. At how good this felt, with the way her mind had been racing, to simply stroll along with this simple, kind, and beautiful man.
“So,” Ed asked. “Do you know the visiting professor? I saw you talking. The other night.”
“Caleb MacDougall?”
“Yes. The author.”
She paused. How to phrase this? “I do. He’s my ex.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“Not technically.”
“Oh, your ex-boyfriend,” he said, brightening.
“No. Technically, he’s my husband. Still. I mean, if you want to get technical about it.”
“Oh.” His voice dropped. “You’re married.”
“Separated. Actually. Technically,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t true. They hadn’t filed any paperwork at all. But she would. What if Caleb and Rachael, right now…. Her stomach pressed in on itself.
Ed’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his feet as he walked. “He’s a good author. I mean, I’m not a big reader, by any means, but he has written some engaging books. One of the English teachers on our faculty has been attending his workshops. He says the one he taught the other night was spectacular.”
She wondered then if Rachael had been in attendance. She hadn’t even known when the workshops were scheduled. Caleb hadn’t even called to tell her about them.
“But you probably know all about that. Since he’s your husband.”
“I don’t know all about that, actually. But I do know his books well. I do his editing and his proofreading.”
Ed was quiet and she looked down at his feet, scraping along on the path. His pace was slower than hers and she pulled herself back, reminding herself to take a breath. To enjoy the moment, the cool evening air, the sound of the water rushing over rocks in the river nearby.
“Is he your children’s father?”
Wow. Special Ed thought she really got around. She grinned. “Yes. He is my children’s father. Both of them.”
“For the record, I did check for a ring on your finger before I asked you for coffee. Just so you know.”
She nodded and smiled.
“So I am out in public with a woman who has a famous husband.” Ed looked around then, swiveling his head from side to side. “Is there paparazzi around?”
She laughed. “No paparazzi. Wow. You must think he’s pretty good.”
He was quiet then for a beat. Charlotte had never been out with a man whom she had to tell to relax before. It was oddly empowering to be the calm one. “He’s not that well-known. And I’m so glad to be out with you. You’re nice to talk with. Already.”
When they arrived at the coffee shop, she ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream, vowing not to tell Leopold. When they both had their paper cups in hand, they pushed out the door again and meandered back along the path.
“So, Charlotte, what brought you out here, to our fair mountain town?” Ed asked. The question sounded stiff, as though he had been rehearsing the line while they stood waiting for their drinks.
“I came out to visit my sister.”
“Oh. And your husband. He is visiting your sister, too?”
“No. He followed me, actually.”
“I see.”
“I’m kind of on a path of change, Special Ed.”
He slowed his pace and said, low, “Is that name going to stick? Because I think I might prefer just, you know, Ed, or, really, anything besides ‘Special Ed.’”
She laughed. “Sorry, Ed. I’m here because...well, there are few things I need to get straight before I go any further in my life, and I guess I came out here to do that.” It struck Charlotte just then that this was completely untrue. She hadn’t come out here with the intention of changing anything. She had come out to rest, to relax, to get a change of scenery. “Maybe it’s a mid life thing,” she said.
“You aren’t mid life.”
“Well…”
“Unless you plan to kick it when you’re sixty.”
“Just how young do you think I am?”
“You’re as young as you feel.”
“Oh brother,” she said, laughing. “I do have a thirteen-year-old kid, if that gives you any indication.”
Ed was silent for a moment. He took a swill of coffee. “It’s just, that’s kind of my thing,” he said, finally.
“What’s your thing? Mid-life crises?”
“No. Change. At any time of life. I feel like that’s what I’m always talking to my students about. What I’d like them to leave my class understanding.”
“And you’re a math teacher?”
He laughed. “I know. But, really, as a teacher, you are with these kids for a chunk of time every single day, and you get to know them, and they are at such a vulnerable time in their lives. A time when they’re really trying to figure things out. It’s like they’re putty. Or modeling clay. You’ve got to get certain things shaped before they harden.”
Charlotte gulped, thinking of her daughters sitting at a dark table somewhere, wearing too much eye makeup and drinking virgin daiquiri after virgin daiquiri.
“Mostly, I guess, my message to these kids is that you can always decide you are someone else,” Ed continued. “You can always decide what’s important to you. You can decide that you’re willing to put in some hard work and show the world what you are made of. That’s what I tell the kids who aren’t motivated.” He paused for a beat and then said, “For the kids who are too motivated, who are perfectionists and scared to fail, I tell them that life is for experimenting. For making mistakes. For messing up and trying again. And that you can always start over.”
Charlotte took a sip of her coffee and looked at his shoes. They were nice. Polished. Had he dressed up for class? For her?
“It just gets me,” Ed went on, “because kids come in to my class, and when they start middle school, they are eleven years old. I mean, they are babies, really, just starting out in this life, but they are starting to understand who they are. And they think that, for example, if they have never played soccer before, then, that’s it. It’s too late.” He threw his hands up in the air and spilled a little of his coffee but he kept talking. “It makes me want to shake them by the shoulders and say, ‘You’re eleven.’ But they think they are over the hill already and that it’s too late. That’s why I try to do something new every summer. I know I’m a crappy painter. But this is my summer to learn how to paint. Just to prove it’s not too late.”
“I admire that.” Charlotte met his eyes then and a ripple of something passed through her. “You should talk to my sister. She has me on a program of transformation.”
“Does she now?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, laughing, “she most certainly does.”
“And what about yourself are you supposed to transform? Or are you already finished with her program? Because you seem absolutely perfect to me.”
She laughed and took a sip of her cocoa. She had forgotten how much she loved fat and calories. Whipped cream really was quite delicious.
“I’m supp
osed to lose some weight, for starters. I visit a personal trainer for a rather grueling session just about every day. I’m also supposed to have more fun, which has mostly resulted in my becoming a klutz and a spaz, somehow. Probably because I’m trying to be someone I’m not and I get all self-conscious and weird and start to act like a goofball.”
“Goodness.”
“There’s more. I’m also supposed to discover my life’s mission by saying ‘yes’ to whatever opportunities happen along, employment or otherwise. Oh, and I’m supposed to get laid.”
“Well, there, your sister might be on to something,” Ed’s laugh was deep and rollicking.
“No, no!” Charlotte said, turning toward him and laughing. “You’re supposed to tell me how ridiculous she is.”
“The truth is, you can always transform yourself. And you can always decide you don’t need to, too. That’s the beauty of being an adult. Did you tell your sister that?”
“No. Not exactly. Maybe because I’m worried that I do need to make some changes.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, the longer I’m out here, the more I see that maybe my clay has hardened in the wrong position.”
“That’s not good.”
“Yeah, like maybe I’m stuck, hard up, in a boring, pastoral life. The wrong life.”
“That’s not good, either.” Ed drew his shoulders back, took a sip of coffee, and said, “So the question becomes, are you truly stuck, or are you just feeling kind of stuck, right now?”
Charlotte shrugged.
“Because we all have our moments when we’re really stuck and then a lot more moments when we just feel that way, and all we need is a little vacation or a maybe just a really good orgasm.”
“Special Ed! I hope this isn’t what you tell your students.”
“No. Of course not. But, you know, again, you’re an adult.”
She watched her feet move along on the pavement.
Ed continued. “So which is it? Are you really stuck, or is this one of those this-too-shall-pass kinds of things. Because I have found, for me, at least, that most things are in the latter category.”
She shrugged again.
“Well,” he laughed. “You’re the only one who knows.”
And when she didn’t say anything more, he spoke again, his tone lower and softer. “If you were one of my students, I would tell you that you need to give yourself a break. Maybe work on seeing yourself in a better light. One that’s more kind.”
Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) Page 16