She imagined then, being bathed in a kind light. What would that look like? Candlelight, maybe. This was her favorite way of getting the house ready for a dinner party. Instead of scouring the floors and the walls, she dimmed the lights and lit some candles. And there was that wonderful Instagram filter, the one that flooded all of your flaws with this diffuse glow and then added timeless rounded corners to each edge.
“But, hell,” Special Ed continued, “I hardly know you. And you’re a married woman.” His chin dipped and he stared at the ground once again.
She was silent a moment, then she stopped walking, turned to him, and smiled. “You are special, Ed.”
“Oh boy.”
They laughed together, and they walked a bit more in silence, and then he said in a small voice, “So there’s something I need to know before I ask you out again. Because I’m an honorable man.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the deal with your marriage? Are you trying to work things out…or is it only a matter of time? Or what?”
“Well.” A laugh burst out of her. “I slept with him last night.”
“Egad.”
“Did I just say that out loud?”
“You did.”
“Remember what I was saying about being a klutz and a spaz?”
He chuckled. “That complicates things. The fact that you are still sleeping with your husband. Not the fact that you are a klutz and a spaz.”
“I know.”
“I mean, you aren’t a klutz or a spaz or anything.”
“I get what you are trying to say, Ed.”
“So what happened?”
“Let’s see. What did happen? We went out to dinner, to talk about the fact that he wants custody of the girls, while I get myself back together. Apparently, I’ve fallen apart. This is what everyone is telling me. And I sort of freaked out and there were margaritas available, and I guess I was thirsty.”
“Okay…”
“And then I guess we went back to my place. And so my kids are now really confused. I feel like I’m losing them.”
“To Caleb.”
“Not to him, really… But to, well, the world. Because I just keep making mistake after mistake. And they are watching me make them. It’s like I can feel my relationship with them starting to weaken. And that was the one thing I had going for me. The one thing I felt like I was doing right.”
There was something about walking with someone that helped her to talk, to speak her mind. Maybe it was because no one was staring at her, measuring her words. She felt less self-conscious somehow when she wasn’t face to face with someone, and so she continued. “You know when things go along and you can feel things slipping, and the more they slip, the more momentum they gain, and you just don’t know if you’re going to be able to stop yourself?”
He nodded. “You feel like you are on a slippery slope.”
“Very, very slippery.”
“Can you get off?”
“I’d like to go home, I really would. And now Caleb has left for New York City, just this afternoon, but I refused to go along, and I don’t know what that will mean. How the girls will react to that. I feel like I dragged them here, in my haste to run away, and now, if we run away again, I haven’t taught them anything. And I feel like they are losing respect for me. And if I lose that…I’ve lost just about everything. I don’t know if I could go on.”
“Well, you can always go on.”
“So what should I do?”
“Selfishly, I would stay stop sleeping with your husband. But I don’t think you should consider me a neutered party.”
Her eyebrows popped.
“God! I mean neutral party.”
She guffawed.
“Also, please don’t think of me as a neutered party.”
Charlotte laughed again and slugged him alongside the arm.
“Because of course, I’d like to take you out again. I just don’t think you should ever feel trapped, Charlotte. I think you should keep your options open. Because sometimes, when people say they want you to change, what they really mean is that they want you to live your life a certain way. Never forget that you get to choose your way. Even if you have a family. A husband. Kids. You still get to choose your way.” His voice drifted off at the end, and Charlotte got a sense that it was a speech he had given many times before.
By now, they had made their way back to the college. Hers was the only car in the lot. And when she looked at him just then, she recognized the glassiness in his eyes. She remembered how Caleb would look at her that way. His eyes would look so watery, so ripe, just before he would lead her upstairs to bed. She felt a shifting inside her, a flutter in her chest, and she wondered if Special Ed would kiss her now. She wondered if she would let him.
They stood there a moment. She put her hand to her throat. He took another sip from the plastic cup and shoved a hand deep inside his pocket.
“Where is your car?” she asked, finally.
“It’s around back,”
“I didn’t know there was an ‘around back.’”
“There is.”
“Okay. Well…because I could drive you somewhere if you needed it.”
“No, no.”
“Thanks a lot for the coffee. I had a really nice time,” she said.
“So did I.”
“No, I mean, I had a really nice time.”
“So did I.”
He kept standing there, looking at his feet, and she found that she enjoyed even this, the height of awkwardness. It made her feel young again. Pre-Caleb. In her life with Caleb, she always knew what was going to happen. By now, she was kind of a sure thing. All he had to do was roll over in bed and say, “Do you want to…?” and then she would say, “Do you want to…?” and they would get after it. There was no wondering if it was going to happen. It always happened. The game was done.
“If you weren’t married, I would kiss you right now.”
Oh, honorable Ed. Special, honorable Ed.
“I still kind of want to,” he continued. “But that would be wrong. Even though you aren’t wearing a ring...” He moved in closer.
And she smiled then and she relaxed deep in the core of her, and she decided to let him off the hook. “I was thinking….” she began, softly. “There’s an Arts Festival in town. I saw a flyer on the way into the college. Would you like to go? Tomorrow?”
He took a step back. “I would love nothing more than to go.”
“I’m thinking we should just meet there. You know, so we can avoid having to go through unnecessary nonsense.”
“Absolutely. Yes. Let’s do.”
He grabbed for her hand then and he held it to his lips, which were full and smooth and he gave her a kiss so gentle, so kind, and then he walked backwards away from her, releasing her hand at the very last moment, and then he turned and walked away. She glanced at the paved path for just a moment, in the fading light, and when she looked up again, he was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte swung her feet over the cottony expanse of her bed, kicking off the down coverlet and stretching. Sunlight streamed through the skylight, its golden puddle nearly the size of her bed.
She heard petite and clicky footfalls in the hall and then a crisp rap at her door. “Charlotte.” Fiona’s whisper was hoarse. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, yes. Come in.”
Fiona burst in, fully dressed, another amulet, bigger this time, tucked tight into her cleavage.
“Kamal is coming today.”
“Oh, hooray! I finally get to meet Kamal.”
“Well…but I have so much to do. The house is in shambles.”
“No it’s not. It’s beautiful. Besides, we can help you do what you need to do.” She would have time to knock out some chores before she sneaked off to meet Ed. A few, at least.
“Kamal could arrive any minute. So I’ve called in a team.”
“A team of what?”
“The team of peopl
e who get things to look just so for Kamal’s visits.”
“Goodness. Really?”
“He has very exacting standards. You have no idea…”
Charlotte could see the tendons on Fiona’s neck. “Okay, what can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Except…maybe you could take the girls out for the day. I didn’t exactly tell Kamal you were staying with us.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I know.” Fiona chewed on the inside of her lip.
“Is he going to have a problem with it? Should we pack our stuff in the car? Find somewhere else to stay?”
“No, no. of course not. He’s just going to wish I had told him. So I’ll tell him. Or maybe he’ll be gone again before he even notices. That’s more likely, really.” Fiona pushed her hands through her hair. “He doesn’t even know about Princess Tulip and Duchess Poi Poi. Isn’t that a riot?”
“He doesn’t know he has dogs?”
“They are my dogs, technically. Not his.”
“Fiona, should we find somewhere else to sleep tonight?”
She looked at her. “What, like with Caleb?”
“Well, no, Caleb is gone.”
“He left you? Again?” She shook her head and made a tsk sound.
“He left for a few days on business, that’s all. He’s coming back. Besides, I was thinking, like, in a hotel.”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think that will be necessary. But how about I let you know?”
Charlotte nodded and Fiona said, “But, for now, could you just get yourself and the girls up and at ‘em?”
Charlotte hopped out of bed. “Of course. It will great to spend the day with the girls. Probably just what I need.”
Charlotte tiptoed to Gracie’s room, then, and knocked softly. When there was no answer, she swept the door open and padded over to the bed. Watching Gracie rouse from slumber gave her a quiet sense of hope. It was like stepping back in time, seeing her face puffy with sleep, the familiar way she yawned and rolled her wrists in tight circles. Charlotte had a sudden urge to crawl under the blankets and hold her the way she had when Gracie was a toddler, curling up beside her and pressing Gracie’s head against her chest and hugging her little face tight, tight, tight.
“Rise and shine,” Charlotte whispered. “We need to leave the house for awhile.”
“Wha? Why?”
“Long story, I think. And one I don’t know. But we need to spend the day somewhere else.”
“Where are we going to go?” Gracie blinked her eyes a few times.
“There’s an Arts Festival in town, and I want to take you and Hannah. Just us. No cousins. No Aunt Fiona.”
“Okay, mom. Yeah, okay.” She smacked her lips together and sat up. “That sounds fun.”
“I already planned on meeting a friend from art class there, so we’ll all go together, and you can meet him.”
Gracie groaned. “Is this, like, another date?”
“No, sweetie. Just a friend. He’s nice. I think you’ll like him. He’s a middle school teacher here, actually.”
“And that’s going to make me like him?”
“Yes, actually, I think it will.”
Gracie looked up at the ceiling. “As long as it’s not a date. Whatever.”
“I’m actually kind of curious to know what you think of this guy. He’s kind of….curious.”
“Curious, as in ‘he wants to know a lot of stuff.’ Or curious as in ‘peculiar?’” Gracie asked.
She thought for a moment. “Both, I think,” and she smiled.
“Does he know you’re bringing your kids along? On your date?”
Oh, slippy, slippy slope, Charlotte thought, and then she said, “He doesn’t and it isn’t. He’s a fan of Dad’s work, actually. He’s the only half-normal person I’ve met in this town, and I think you’ll like him.”
Then Charlotte turned to wake Hannah and to get dressed. Because Fiona was distracted leading a team of women through the house with Swiffer dusters and washing wands, Charlotte was able to wear whatever she pleased, which, today, was a pair of running shoes with jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Despite the increase on the scale, her jeans slid on and rode loose on her hips. Huh. How about that.
***
The four main streets in the downtown area had been blocked off with white lattice barricades and the morning sun washed everything in slanted lemon light. In the street, crisp white tents stood, evenly spaced, each housing a different artist’s wares. Photography, ceramics, oil painting, jewelry.
Charlotte and the girls had walked the mile or so from Fiona’s house, and, as they did, Charlotte savored the simple sounds of morning and of her daughters, their flip-flops smacking the soles of their feet. Their laughter, which burbled and scattered, like the splash of a waterfall. She could see Arturo’s now, half a block down. The silver chairs were still stacked atop the tables on the patio. The twinkle lights had been extinguished for the daytime crowd and everything looked clean and new. She saw Ed then, in a pair of tailored jeans and a crisp white button down, rolled up at the sleeves. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and when he met her eyes, he raised his hand in a wave and ambled forward.
“These are my daughters,” Charlotte said, “Hannah and Gracie.” Ed smiled and then looked away for a beat. This was a man who understood the introverted teenage girl, Charlotte thought. There weren’t many who did, and she felt a rising in her chest.
Ed turned to her, then, and said, simply, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied and smiled, noticing the chiseled lines of his mouth then, and the copper flecks in his eyes.
Hannah sniffed the air. “Someone is baking something. Can we go find out what it is?”
Charlotte slid her hand into her pocket and produced a twenty-dollar bill, which she presented to Hannah. “You two are welcome to explore on your own, but if you find anything especially delicious, bring us back a piece.”
The girls gave Ed a shy glance. They moved through the gathering crowd together, talking and walking. Just before they turned the corner at the end of the block, Gracie peeked back at them.
“My sister needed some time alone this morning, so…” Charlotte said.
“No need for explanations. I’m glad you brought them.”
“You know what? So am I.”
“They are beautiful. Just like you.”
She looked off in the direction they had gone.
“And they are calm, like you.”
“Calm?” Charlotte chuckled. “No one has called me that in this town.”
“I know. You keep saying that bit about the klutz and the spaz, but I’m not seeing it.”
“The moment I met you, I rammed into your easel and sent your papers flying around the room.”
“That could happen to anyone. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with being a bit nervous,” he said. “When Hannah and Gracie are nervous and act a little awkward, do you think, ‘What a klutz. What a spaz?’”
“No. But they don’t act like that.”
“They have the same energy as you.”
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
“And what energy is that?” she asked, knowing perfectly well that she was fishing.
“A calm one. Sweet and kind and quiet.”
“That’s exactly how I would describe yours,” she said, and she held her hand out to his. He squeezed it once and then released.
Who did he remind her of just now? Who was it?
They strolled from one white tent to the next, first reading its signboard, which announced the artist’s name, medium and hometown. A textile artist from Santa Fe, New Mexico. A glassblower from Tucson, Arizona.
“Do you know why I love coming to this festival each year?” Ed asked. “Besides the art, of course.”
“Why?”
“Because it gives you a chance to see the artists, alongside their work. And each artist looks precis
ely like his or her art. Kind of like dogs look like their owners, but more profound.”
“Is that right?”
He nodded. “It’s true in every case. Take a look and see. It’s as though the person in the tent is the only person in the world who could make art that would look like that.”
In the very next booth was a middle-aged woman wearing a faded tie-dyed dress with skin that precisely matched her pale blonde hair. She sat amid dozens of pastel watercolors, hushed landscapes of greens and blues and pinks. In the next booth stood a tall, thin man wearing a sun visor and a pressed Polo shirt. He gestured to his landscape photographs, everything in sharp focus with precise lines and crisp details.
“That is astonishing,” Charlotte said, and then they found themselves in front of an angular red-haired man, broad-shouldered, wearing a striped shirt with rhinestone buttons and a leather apron over his well-worn Wranglers. He was, at that moment, painting with oil on a canvas, some five feet in length. His palette showed a smattering of hundreds of colors. Some he had mixed together; others stood alone.
Ed and Charlotte stood, entranced, as he worked on his piece: two cowboys crossing a river on horseback, the water running through red cliffs, spruce trees dotting the landscape in the distance. The artist’s hand moved wildly back and forth. After a minute or two, he would dab and jab at a series of colors on his palette and then his hand would fly back to the canvas, where his vision would take shape, layer upon layer, right before their eyes. Charlotte had never seen anyone paint so quickly.
“What if you make a mistake?” she blurted. The artist stopped and looked at her, his eyes flashing. Then he stabbed his brush toward a dozen or so areas on the canvas, one to another, fast. “Those were all mistakes.”
“They don’t look like mistakes.”
“That’s because you get to make layers. If you mess up once, you can put something else on top. Sometimes the piece is better for it.”
Then the man kept painting, and the sun felt bright on her skin and she felt strong in her legs and in her core and in her belly and in her heart.
Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) Page 17