Charlotte rubbed the back of her neck.
“This is going to work out great, don’t you think?” Tabitha asked.
At the start of the day, Charlotte had six children. By midday, there were fourteen, of varying ages and manic tendencies. She tried to imagine who was left in the other rooms. And she tried to imagine what her quiet kids were doing just now. Sitting alone, probably, she thought. Looking for Miss Charlotte.
“I think the ratios are off here,” Charlotte said, before Tabitha could disappear.
“Oh, you are so funny,” Tabitha said.
“No, really. State law says there must be a teacher for every, like, six kids.”
“I think that’s just for two-year olds. You have all kinds of ages in there,” she said. “So the laws don’t apply.”
“I’m sure they do. Why don’t you call your granddad and ask him.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll do that.” Tabitha rolled her eyes. “That’s why we like you. So rule-oriented. But, truly, you should lighten up a little. You’d have more fun. And your ex-husband might even come back around. He’s got a great sense of humor. I’m reading one of his books right now. The one about the…”
Charlotte interrupted. “Will we be joining you in the big room for naptime, as always? Because I’m not sure there’s room in here for any cots or for the kids to stretch out.”
“I think it would be best for the other children if they stayed in here with you. It’s really making things go so smoothly out there. Really. It’s wonderful. It’s the best day we’ve had in….well, since I opened this place.” She clapped and hopped a little, and then launched herself toward the door. Just before she left, she turned. “Oh, and I know these kids all walk on the wild side, but Grandpa says you aren’t allowed to put Sominex or anything like that into their sippee cups for naptime. One of them could have a reaction or something and that would be bad.”
Charlotte gave a quivery smile. “Duly noted.”
“What? What does that even mean? Why do you have to talk like an old lady?”
“Sorry,” she said, “I meant, ‘Gotcha’… ‘Straight up.’”
Tabitha winked and shut the door, just as one of the cackling two year olds chucked a toy at the doorframe.
What would New Charlotte do here? Because even Old Charlotte wanted to bail. Oh yeah, New Charlotte wouldn’t have set foot in here in the first place. She would still be in bed with the hunky guy from painting class.
Charlotte opened the door and let the craziness spill out into the other rooms. Then she sat on the floor in the main room and said goodbye to the little friends she had made. The boy with the puddles for eyes. The girl with the rash on her forehead. And then she walked out the double front doors.
Would New Charlotte call Child Protective Services? She wasn’t yet sure. New Charlotte would have to think about that.
***
Charlotte was met, at the entry of Fiona’s home, by a towering basket of cinnamon rolls, bagels, and even some sparkly pastries for the boys. The package was wrapped in yellow cellophane and emblazoned with the name of some Los Angeles bakery.
These were all of the things Old Charlotte loved. Gooey sticky buns, cinnamon twists and curls. Tins of coffee and tea. At its side, an advanced copy of Caleb’s new book and a note, in black Sharpie, in Caleb’s hurried scrawl: “I’ve made some changes to the book. Desperate to know what you think. Call me.”
It was a slapping reminder that she was no longer his lover but his proofreader. It all seemed to be the work of a New Caleb. A man who could dash off an autograph without breaking stride. Who flirted with talk show hosts. Who would take a lover on a publicity tour if his wife declined.
She missed Old Caleb then. The mewy, not-so-smooth Caleb. The one who wore flannel shirts and who would wrap his legs around her so she couldn’t get out of bed. The one who forgot to shave. Who needed her to remind him to zip his pants before heading out into the wide, wide world.
New Charlotte stood and dumped the entire basket, along with its note, in the trash. She had a race the next day.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte woke just before the squawk of the alarm. The house was dark and she wanted nothing more than to roll over. But she knew, as Leopold had been saying, that this could be the day when things would change for her forever. This might be the moment upon which the rest of her life hinged. A new day was dawning. A new leaf was turning. A new Charlotte was pulling on race shorts and her Confidence Coach Brigade race jersey. She looked like a runner. She may have even felt like one.
She wished just then, as she had on other occasions, that there was some sort of soundtrack for her life. A musician with a score, over in the corner, giving her some musical bridge with which to cleanly tie things together, a series of movements to make her life feel more finished. A hush and then a tinkling of piano when something came along that she should be paying attention to. A crescendo just before something big was about to happen.
She tried to imagine what the musical accompaniment would be right now. Piano, adagio, as she roused herself from sleep. Then building in intensity and pace as she stood and walked around, here in her bedroom. And, when it was time for the race, cymbals crashing and then…vivamente. She’d be off.
Her stomach rolled. Why was she so nervous? New Charlotte would never be nervous.
Leopold would be here in fifteen minutes. That gave her time to eat a MuscleBar or two. And she would stash one in her bag for just before the race.
Leopold had come up with all kinds of instructions on nutritionals. But, really, she didn’t have a fainting problem anymore. Not since she’d met the MuscleBar.
Charlotte pulled her hair into a high ponytail and smoothed in a few drops of the hair oil Fiona had given her. It made her head smell like oranges. Leopold probably wouldn’t want her to drink coffee, or to sneak in a splash of Irish Cream, but she knew that would calm her nerves. Oh well. She didn’t have time anyway. Leopold’s car purred up the driveway and she grabbed the pre-race tote he had prepared for her, including the precise amount of water she should be consuming before and after the race. “Hydration is important,” he had said. “It is a science. If you let yourself get dehydrated, you’ll crash or bonk.”
“So no crashing or bonking,” she had said.
“It is not a joke, Miss Charlotte. This is serious business.”
There was, she had discovered, an entire industry devoted to helping people exceed their natural human abilities. Caffeine gel packs, bull hormones, amino acids, and a variety of other substances she couldn’t pronounce, and which she suspected Leopold couldn’t either. All were entirely legal, so said Leopold, and without them, you couldn’t even really compete.
“What about people who just want to see how fast they can run?” Charlotte had asked.
“Sure, they can do that. But they are not going to win. Some of these competitors…it’s about what kind of shoes they have on. What kind of pre-race snack. And when they first hydrate.”
And, now, as Charlotte slid into Leopold’s car, he winked at her.
“Do you have the moths?”
“You mean butterflies?”
“Yes, yes. Do you have butterflies?”
“I do have butterflies. Lots of them. They are about to make me sick.”
“Remember, you can teach them how to give you energy. You can imagine that they give you the energy.”
Why was she so nervous for this? She didn’t even know anyone here. The girls and Fiona and her boys would be waiting for her at the finish line. She knew that. They would drive down leisurely after breakfast. What she wouldn’t give right now to be going with them.
“Now, you must keep in mind that some of the best runners in the world will be here, running the marathon.” How many times had he told her this?
“Got it.”
“I do not want you to be discouraged by people who are running faster than you.”
“I won’t.”
“Just
go at your pace. Do not speed up too much. Especially at first.”
“Got it.”
“This is what you have been waiting for. Training for. This is your new leaf.”
The music would soar now, and she would smile and flip her hair back. Finally, they arrived in the racer’s parking area. Leopold put his smooth, white arm on hers. “Charlotte,” he said. “Make me proud.”
***
There were so many racers that they had to break into packs, each with a slightly different start time. Her official time was 9:04. Leopold, who was running the marathon, started at 8:28. She watched him line up with his start wave and she marveled that—though he was a man who had always and ever defined himself as an athlete, for his country, for his career—here, he was one of many. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands.
All around her, athletes were stretching and holding one another’s legs in the air. They ran in place and pulled their knees up high. Each of them had tight, toned legs and a tiny butt. She knew this outfit that Leopold had picked out for her would look amazing on someone else, but she felt ridiculous. She walked around with her hands on her hips, wishing she had someone here to talk to and trying to look occupied and serious.
She tried to stand the way New Charlotte would stand. She adjusted the number that was pinned to her top, and she looked out into the crowd, wishing now that she had asked Fiona and the girls to come for the start, and not just for the finish.
And then everything happened so fast. A man was calling her start time with a bullhorn, and she had to run to the start, and she was out of breath and felt like her tongue and her throat were thick and tight. Where had Leopold told her to stand? The sun was so bright, but she hated wearing sunglasses when she ran because they would get all steamy if she slowed down. Her eyes began to water and she felt sick to her stomach. Had Leopold said to eat something just before the race? She suddenly couldn’t remember, but it was too late now, and then she got an image of herself lying face down on the asphalt while all these skinny runners hurdled her.
A starting pistol fired and there was a bright tumble of colors and ponytails flapping ahead of her and her legs just started moving and these people were all running so slowly, and so she decided to try to get in front of them. It felt so good to be able to do that. She and Leopold had trained at a higher elevation, after all, and she allowed herself a quick mental “ha ha!” as she took off ahead and passed them all. All but a few. She felt her heart pounding in her face now, and she knew her complexion would be getting red. She could feel it. “You are so uncool,” she heard Tabitha say. This was why she had always hated gym class. Everyone thought she was going to die all the time. Someone would ask if she needed a glass of water or if she needed to sit down, and she didn’t know how to say, ‘It’s just my fair Scottish heritage and all the extra damn capillaries in my face.’” Her father and her mother suffered from it, too. Whenever they drank too much or got mad or worked outside in the heat, their faces became red and beady and looked ready to explode.
And then Charlotte thought about her father and her mother and her sister and Caleb and how she was truly alone in this world, running along a road in a mountain town she had never heard of before this summer. But she was running, fast, fast, faster than she had ever run before. She could see people behind her and she turned her head from time to time to look. No one even appeared to be breathing hard. Their mouths were closed. Their faces were relaxed, calm. Charlotte started to wheeze.
What had Leopold said about starting out too early? Starting off too fast? Oops. Okay, she would dial it back a little. She had just gotten carried away. Slow it down, Charlotte. Damn, she was thirsty. Already. Probably not a good sign. But there were people behind her. So many behind her. She would do well. She would make Leopold proud. She had come a long way, baby. She leaned forward a bit and pumped her arms. Here, a water table. Ah. But there were so many people here, from the previous start wave, that they were standing in line, waiting for the water. No way. She would wait until the next water table. Leopold said they were all over the place. She didn’t need it yet. Especially if she slowed down a little bit.
“I am light and my legs are strong,” she repeated to herself, over and over, just the way Leopold had instructed her to. “I am light and my legs are strong.” Her knees were beginning to hurt, and curiously, the areas just above her ankles. Not her ankles. Not her shins, but somewhere in between. And her hip flexors. They ached with each foot stroke. She felt faint and a little dizzy. She had done this wrong. God, it was so hot. How could it be so hot? “You are so uncool,” she heard again, and it was true. She was boiling. She saw a man ahead approach the next aid station. He took two paper cups. One he guzzled, throwing his head back, and the other he poured over his head. Ahh. Yes. This, this is what she needed to do. She was so hot. She went off to the side where there weren’t so many runners standing and she grabbed two paper cups and she kept running as she tossed one into her mouth and the other over her head. And that’s when the cloying scent of raspberry hit her nose and her taste buds and she realized that now there was Blue Razzle Dazzle Powerade dripping from the tip of her nose onto her white jersey. A group of spectators began to point and laugh at her and she wanted then to just lie down, there on the asphalt, but she put her nose down and she kept running, watching her feet and counting her footfalls and recognizing that New Charlotte was just as much a doofus as Old Charlotte. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t outrun who she was, who she used to be, and who she would be forevermore.
Just then, a wave of loneliness descended on her, and all she wanted to do was to stop running. From her life, from Caleb, from whatever she was trying to escape. “No matter how much you have to slow down,” Leopold had said, “just don’t stop. Don’t stop running.” And then spectators everywhere, holding signs meant for other runners and shouting, “Don’t Stop! Run! You can do it!” Everyone a cheerleader. Everyone filled with support and praise for her slightly-below-average running ability. For her goofy, Powerade-soaked mediocrity.
At last, she could see the finish line. Fiona and Maddox and Maxwell and Hannah and Gracie. And then, was that Caleb behind them? In dark sunglasses? No. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there. He probably would have brought Rachael along anyway. And she wasn’t sure she could take that. Seeing them together, as she dripped blue goo, with her red face and her stupid jersey and the cellulite that she knew was on the back of her thighs.
She pulled herself tall. She felt the tears come up then and she clenched her eyes, then blinked and put on her upbeat, positive, courageous face.
Maddox and Maxwell had made a banner from a white bed sheet and sparkly fabric paint. Each child held an end and waved it back and forth: “Go Auntie Charlotte. Go, run, go!” it said.
“What was your time?” Fiona asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I wonder where you placed.”
“I don’t know.” The colors around her looked so vibrant, the smells around her so acute.
“Did you run into the Kool-Aid guy?” Fiona asked.
She sniffed. The bottom of her feet ached, and she was thirsty.
“Seriously, mom. Why are you all sticky?”
“Long story,” Charlotte said. She looked away. Old Charlotte, New Charlotte; she was a mess.
***
Fiona wanted to take everyone out to celebrate, and so, once Leopold had finished his race, they had stood around for a time and watched him eat snacks and rehydrate himself. They all patted his back and smiled and shook their head and marveled, “26.2 miles. Wow.” And Leopold picked Charlotte up in the air and spun her. He kept telling her how proud he was of her and grabbing for her hand, which she kept finding a way to drop.
Now they found themselves seated at a long table in a dark, unfamiliar restaurant Fiona had discovered in Fodor’s. Charlotte was pleased that Gracie and Hannah had wedged themselves on either side of her. Leopold sat directly across, slapping at the table in a susta
ined drum roll, which he continued until everyone turned to look at him. “And now we wish to present Charlotte with a gift, for finishing her first race… One of many.” He lowered his tone. “Races. Not gifts.”
Fiona winked at him and took a deep breath. “That’s right. Leopold and I went in on something fifty-fifty,” she said.
“And it was not cheap,” Leopold added, “so you had better like it.”
He and Fiona laughed at this, and Fiona wiggled her shoulders and wrinkled her nose at him. Then Fiona handed Charlotte a crisp white envelope.
Everyone was looking at her. Please don’t let it be another pact, she thought, tearing at the packet with a chewed fingernail.
But inside was a thick, slick brochure. Red block letters, spelling out “The Owning Your Power Convention” soared over an image of a rangy man with a shiny black mullet. He was crouched deep into a fist pump and looked to be shouting into a headset.
“Ooh, what is it? Let me see, mom.” Hannah leaned in close.
Charlotte handed over the envelope, and Hannah read the brochure aloud in her tractor-pull-announcer voice. “The seminar that will rock your life and change everything,” she growled. “We’re talking…total transformation.”
Charlotte smiled in a tight-lipped way because everyone was watching her. She blinked hard. Then she looked over Hannah’s shoulder as she read to avoid meeting their eyes.
“No matter if you’ve lost your job, run your business into the ground, chased off everlasting love, or become somehow paralyzed, insert your name here cares about you…”
“You didn’t write in our names?” Fiona elbowed Leopold.
“Leopold and Fiona,” Hannah corrected herself, “care about you enough to give you the ultimate gift. The one weekend that will completely, totally, unconditionally, perfectly, absolutely, finally and utterly transform. Your. Life.”
Hannah flipped the page. “On Day One, losers walk in. On Day Three, winners walk out.” Hannah paused for a moment, reading silently to herself then.
Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) Page 20