What About Charlie?

by Haley Michelle Howard

She smiled, not because she was enjoying the conversation, but because she simply didn’t know what else to do. “I’m glad to hear that, William.”

  “The only thing is if farm prices are up, business is up. It fluctuates with the market.” He looked at Charlie squarely in the face. “Your dad says you work with computers.”

  Charlie couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to her dad to simplify her job to the bare minimum. “Something like that. I actually work on designing computer software.”

  “Well,” he coughed, “maybe while you’re back we could get together for supper some time before you leave?”

  Charlie sighed. She knew the dinner invitation was coming. She liked William. He seemed nice enough, but she had no interest in him.

  “William, I appreciate the invitation, but I’m only going to be here for a couple of days. We’re having Easter dinner tomorrow, and I’ll be heading back to St. Louis Monday.”

  The smile on his face slipped. Charlie couldn’t help but feel low. She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings.

  He nodded, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “I understand, Charlie. No problem. It was good seeing you.”

  Charlie felt wretched, hating that she hurt his feelings. What else could she have said? As he was leaving, she called out, “Thanks again for carrying in my bags, William.”

  Glancing back at her, he nodded. “No problem,” and was out the front door.

  Fury filled her. Didn’t her father realize the hurt his match making caused? The uncomfortable situations he inevitably put her in? Why couldn’t he accept her for who she was and not try to force men on her? Couldn’t he trust her to find the right man herself?

  Charlie gave a deep sigh, disappointed that her visit was off to such a rocky start. She knew what was coming next. Henry was going to be furious with her for not accepting William’s dinner invitation, but she wasn’t going to let her father dictate her life. He was going to have to accept that she had her own life to live and she was very capable in making her own decisions.

  Charlie sighed and sat on the foot of her bed, taking comfort and strength in the familiar surroundings. She looked around her room. It was just the same as when she left for college. The same brass bed covered with the same patchwork quilt-decorated with purple and white diamonds. The quilt had been made by her mother many, many years ago. Two wooden nightstands on either side of the headboard still stood in the same spot. One nightstand had a lamp and clock, the other a picture of her mother and father and a silk flower arrangement. Various crafts, all made by her mother, hung on the white walls. There was a chair in the far corner, an oak dresser beside it with a jewelry box in the center, bottles of perfume, and another picture of her mother beside it.

  The room wasn’t fancy, but it had been decorated by her mother with loving care. Charlie had never changed it. She supposed it was a shrine of sorts. The simple knowledge that her mother had so lovingly placed those items there for her was a great comfort, something she would always cherish.

  Charlie grabbed her suitcase, deciding she might as well put away her clothes. As she was putting her underwear and bras in the top dresser drawer, she heard the front door open, close, then the sound of her father coming down the hall, stopping in the doorway to her room.

  Holding a lacy bra in her hand, she looked up to find his angry gaze on her.

  She ignored his anger, hoping that it would blow over if she acted as everything was ok. “The wind looks like it’s picking up out there,” she commented airily.

  “You disappoint me.” His voice was hard, his eyes even harder, like granite.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Charlie said in a pained voice, hating to hear his censure of her. It was like a knife through her heart. She lifted her hand, and then noticing the bra, dropped it on the bed. “Why do you keep doing this? Why can’t you leave it alone? I have asked you time and time again to quit trying to fix me up with men.”

  “Charlie, I’m doing it for your own good.” He sighed, his voice softened. “It’s not good for you to be alone. William is a nice enough fellow. What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing is wrong with William.” Charlie’s green eyes pled with her father, hoping that he’d at least try to understand. “What’s wrong is that you keep pushing men on me. I want to choose the men I go out with. I want you to respect my wishes, respect the fact that I’m a grown woman.”

  “I do respect the fact that you’re a grown woman, but I can also see you have no sense when it comes to men. You’re not even seeing anyone. Before you know it, your childbearing years will be over. All you do is hang around your friend Evan.” He said Evan’s name like it was a dirty word. “No self-respecting man is going to let his girl hang around another man.”

  Henry Johnson, a tall imposing figure despite his age, towered over her. But she was not intimidated. At that moment, she didn’t think about this man being her father or the fact that he was a good foot taller than she. All she thought about was Evan’s honor. She was tired of her father always acting like Evan was some low class scoundrel.

  Charlie narrowed her eyes. “Don’t bring Evan into this,” she warned. “He has nothing to do with it.”

  “He has everything to do with it,” Henry retorted. “It’s not natural, Charlie. A man and woman can’t be friends without things happening between the sheets.” He looked at her accusingly. “Is that what’s going on between you two? So help me if it is I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

  “No!” she exclaimed, horrified. “How could you even say that?” She felt tears well up in her eyes, but she held them back. She wasn’t going to let her father win!

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  Facing her father, head high, Charlie spoke. “Evan is my best friend and he has always treated me with the utmost dignity and respect. Always,” her voice broke at the end and she turned away from him so she could wipe away the tears that were now slipping down her cheeks. There was no way she was going to let him see her cry!

  “Charlie, I want you to move back here with me,” he stunned her by saying. His voice held authority and command signaling no wasn’t an option, at least for him. “You’d be better off here away from St. Louis.”

  Despite her red, swollen eyes and the fresh tearstains on her cheeks, she turned to face him, incredulous that he was making such a demand. “My job is in St. Louis.”

  “You could get a job here.”

  “What is here?” she said angrily, knowing that she was being hurtful, but it somehow didn’t matter. She pointed out the window. “There’s nothing but corn and soybeans! I didn’t go to college to become a farmer!”

  Henry’s face remained a stone mask, not betraying how her words were like a slap in the face to him, their heritage. “I should have never let you go to school in St. Louis. I should’ve made you go to the University up in Des Moines to become a teacher. I knew I was making a mistake. I send you off to get educated and come home looking down your nose at your humble beginnings!”

  Charlie held up her hand in protest, not wanting to hear anymore. In truth, she didn’t know if she could take hearing any more. “Daddy, I don’t want to rehash this again. I’m a software developer. My home and job and friends are in St. Louis and that’s where I’m going to stay.”

  “Well, what about me?” he thundered, his face red with anger, furious that she dared to disobey him. “Is your home and job and Evan more important than me? Is that it?” He paused, catching his breath. Then he pointed his finger at her. “You need to get your priorities straight girl! I can see where your heart is. You disgrace me! You’re more worried about yourself than your family.” He turned on his heal and stormed out of the room.

  As Charlie listened to his angry footsteps fading down the hall, she sat down on the foot of her bed, placing her face in her hands. Waves of gut wrenching sobs racked her body. She didn’t notice the front door slamming.

  ****

  The roar of a tractor engine and a flurry of curse words brought Charli
e to her bedroom window. There in the machine shed stood her father next to his old green John Deere tractor, black puffs of smoke spewing out the stack.

  Turning away from the window, sadness enveloped her. All afternoon her father had been outside working on the tractor. No doubt he was still angry with her. She had wanted to have a nice visit, have a nice Easter Sunday dinner with ham and candied sweet potatoes and all the trimmings. That was out of the question now.

  She knew Henry Johnson. He had made up his mind about what his daughter should be doing and where she should be living and he wasn’t going change it. Charlie had inherited that same determination from her father. She wasn’t going to changer her mind either.

  They were just alike, like two rams butting heads. The question was who would give in first? Admittedly, during the last few months, Charlie had thought about moving back home or at least closer to home. Her father was getting old, and he was to the point where someone needed to be there to look after him.

  In all honesty, however, she didn’t want to move back home. Granted, she missed the farm, she loved her father dearly but there was no way she would be able to live back here again. She’d suffocate.

  Did that make her a horrible, ungrateful daughter feeling the way she did? Was she being selfish and uncaring? She often wrestled with those questions. At times she would be at the point of convincing herself that going back home would be best.

  But could she honestly live with being treated like a child, being told what to do and how to do it? Could she live with the constant pressure to get married? The unending parade of eligible single men her father would inevitably produce?

  Charlie knew in her heart she couldn’t. She would be miserable and she feared, in the end, she would become bitter towards him. She enjoyed living in St. Louis; she enjoyed her life.

  Most of all, she cherished her friendship with Evan. They had a special closeness, a connection that she had never had with anyone before, not even her closest girlfriends. Evan was the person with whom she shared her hopes and dreams. Evan was always there no matter what. He was that special friend that a person would feel lucky to have once in a lifetime. And she felt blessed because she had met him and he was a part of her life.

  Why couldn’t her father at least try to understand her relationship with Evan? Why did he have to make it dirty and unseemly? Why couldn’t he see Evan for who he was – a kind, honorable man who happened to be friends with his daughter?

  Charlie then thought maybe she was asking too much out of her father. He was from the old school where relationships between men and women were black and white, no gray area at all. And her friend Amy, who was definitely not from the old school, disliked Evan, too. Just as her father, Amy thought him to be cold and haughty, standing on a pedestal looking down on everyone.

  But he wasn’t that way at all. If they could only know the true Evan, they would like him and admire him as much as she did. In truth, maybe she liked Evan too much, handsome with wavy light brown hair, full, sensual lips, and the most amazing light green eyes she’d ever seen.

  He wasn’t perfect by any means. His nose was a little too big, his mouth a little too wide. But he was handsome nonetheless. She’d always found him to be attractive and always experienced a jolt of awareness when she was around him. But it wasn’t his looks that she admired most. It was his qualities as a human being. He was a gentleman, thoughtful, hardworking, intelligent. However, no matter how much she was tempted, she never tried to make their friendship more than what it was. She cherished her relationship with him and would never put that in jeopardy.

  Besides, she would be foolish to even entertain the thought that a man like Evan would have any type of romantic inclinations towards her. Men like Evan didn’t date farm girls from Iowa named Charlie. They dated the beautiful women: women with flawless skin, women with hair like silk, women that could grace the cover of fashion magazines.

  Without anger or jealously, Charlie accepted that. She was none of these. She was content with herself and their relationship the way it was.

  ****

  The smell of baking meatloaf filled the small house. Charlie looked at the kitchen clock. It read 4:50 pm. Almost suppertime. In order to try to makeup for their disagreement, she decided to make Henry’s favorite meal – meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, and broccoli with cheese. Everything was ready except the meatloaf and it would be done in a few minutes.

  Charlie gazed out the kitchen window in hopes of seeing him. She’d worried and worried all afternoon over their confrontation, rehashing it over and over, trying to think of some way to break the impasse. But she feared it was a loosing situation. Her father’s health wasn’t good. Though he didn’t need live in help now, he would in a few years. Maybe she could hire someone to check on him everyday…

  Charlie shook her head. Doing that might ease her conscience, but the main problem would remain. Her father would still demand that she come live with him. She desperately hoped he had cooled down enough to discuss this reasonably over supper.

  Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Charlie continued to watch for him through the window, her nerves almost strung to a breaking point. The need to get this settled grated on her. She wanted to talk and get things settled between them. A few seconds later, unable to take the waiting any longer, she grabbed a jacket and headed out the kitchen door in search of him to resolve this situation one way or another.

  Stepping out the back door, the cold wind seemed to slice through her thin jacket. Stuffing her hands into the pockets, she put her head down and made her way to the machine shed. It was eerily quiet.

  “Daddy?” she called, looking around the corner.

  As she walked around the front of the tractor, Charlie screamed in horror, her hands flying up to her mouth. Henry was lying on the ground.

  “Daddy!” Charlie screamed, running to him and kneeling beside him. His brown eyes were glazed. Without even thinking or feeling, she put her hand to his chest to feel if he was breathing. He was motionless.

  Charlie bent, pressing her lips to her fathers, blowing life-saving breaths into him. She then placed her hands on his chest, compressing it up and down. She paused for a moment. His chest still didn’t move.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her eyes blurred; she tasted her salty tears on her lips.

  Hysteria enveloped her. She gave him several more quick breaths, then pumped his chest again. “You can’t die on me, daddy. You can’t. You can’t,” she repeated in a tortured voice again and again while she gave him breaths and pumped his chest. How long she stayed there trying to bring her father back to life she didn’t know. Time seemed to blur.

  Finally sitting back on her heels, she numbly stared at him. His face had turned blue. Touching his cheek, only then did she notice how cold he was. A sense of finality overcame her. Realizing that he was gone, she took her hand and gently brushed his eyelids closed.

  Shaking, she leaned over him, hugging him to her chest, wishing that for one last time she could feel his arms encircled around her.

  Chapter 4

  Keosauqua, Iowa was just as Evan had imagined it would be from Charlie’s vivid descriptions over the years – wide paved streets, the historic courthouse in the center of town, and the Des Moines River flowing nearby beneath a majestic silver metal bridge. To him Keosauqua looked like the typical American small town.

  At least from what he could see of it.

  It was well past midnight. He’d been traveling since eight that evening, going well beyond the speed limit to get to Charlie’s farm. Through the entire trip, her tearful voice played like a tape recorder over and over in his mind. It had been weak, barely above a whisper. Barely able to understand her, he finally deciphered that her father had died. Hearing her trembling, grief laden voice, his gut felt like it had dropped to his knees.

  Charlie was alone; she was in pain. She hadn’t asked him to come be with her. Without giving a second thought, however, he had decided th
at his place was there with her. After reassuring her that he would be there soon, he hung up, got the driving directions to Keosauqua off the internet, threw some clothes in a duffle bag and was on his way to be with Charlie.

  Now he was almost there, dreading the next several days to come. He was going to help Charlie anyway he could, but to be honest, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the prospect. As a physician, he was able to maintain an emotional distance with his patients and their families. On a personal level, however, he was a man who admittedly had difficulty expressing his innermost feelings to those closest to him. As a result, he had intense difficulty really expressing emotion when he needed to. When tense, emotional situations arose in his personal life, often the right words failed to come to him, and, instead of sounding caring and concerned, he came off as cool and aloof, uncaring.

  And while he was more at ease with Charlie than with anyone else in his entire life, he always held his feelings and emotions in check. In this situation, however, he feared that he was going to be unable to maintain his distance. Not in this situation. It was impossible. Not only was she his best friend, she had become a very important part of his life. Maybe too much.

  Finally pulling up to Charlie’s farm house, he took a deep breath and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel, trying to steel himself against what was going to come. Looking up, the yard was bathed in a yellow glow, lit up by a big light mounted on a pole next to the house. The small white house itself was dark with no light visible from the windows.

  Wearily he got out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk to the front door. He knocked loudly, impatiently waiting for Charlie to answer. After several minutes with no answer, he began to worry. Where could she be? Was something wrong? Surely, she wasn’t so overcome with grief that she’d done something foolish. A sense of urgency consumed him. He tried opening the door only to find it locked. Maybe the back door was unlocked.