by Jahn, Amalie
“It will be our secret,” I laughed. “And Charlie,” I added, “I feel that way too.”
“See ya at two,” he ended.
“See ya at two,” I replied.
Church was ridiculously slow. I tried concentrating on the readings and the sermon, but in addition to the fact that I had experienced the entire service twice before, I finally admitted to myself that Charlie Johnson had infected my entire consciousness. It was the same as it had been when Branson died, only with Charlie, instead of debilitating pain, there was absolute joy. The agony of losing my brother had been replaced with the delight of newfound love. And there was little else that was able to hold my attention.
Mercifully, two o’clock arrived, as did Charlie. I had been glancing out the window every two to three minutes for half an hour by the time I caught a glimpse of his car pulling down the drive.
“He’s here!” I yelled to anyone within earshot. “Please don’t scare him away!” I added.
Before the doorbell could ring, I threw myself down the stairs in an attempt to get to Charlie first, but Branson had positioned himself next to the door in the hopes of making his own introductions. He opened the door, revealing a casually yet respectfully dressed Charlie, still sporting his same canvas coat.
“Hey Charlie. Come on in,” Branson motioned with his hand. “I’m Branson, Brooke’s brother.”
“Good to meet you, Bro,” replied Charlie.
It was as if I was observing the scene in the third person from a narrator’s point of view. They were both there, two boys who each held a place in my heart, meeting one another for the first time. I was reminded of the dream I had about the three of us together during my previous trip. I shook my head, suddenly afraid that I was indeed still living within a dream. I told myself that no, it was real. It was happening. I forced myself to breathe.
Charlie noticed me standing halfway up the staircase and a smile spread across his face. “Hi you,” he said.
“Dinner in fifteen minutes,” my mother called. “Has Charlie arrived?” she added, emerging from the kitchen into the foyer. “Oh, I see he has! Welcome Charlie!” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and extending them towards her guest.
“Hello, Mrs. Wallace,” he said formally, shaking her hand firmly. “Thank you for allowing me to join you this afternoon.”
“It’s our pleasure Charlie. Well,” she added, turning back toward the kitchen, “you all have fifteen minutes and then I’ll need some help serving.”
“The football game’s on,” Branson said to Charlie. “Dad and I are watching in here if you want to join us.”
Charlie looked to me for what appeared to be approval. “I’ll come too,” I laughed.
After my father and Charlie were reacquainted, the boys quickly bonded over their mutual dislike of the opposing team’s defensive line and what they considered to be poor officiating by the line judges. I sat beside Charlie on the aptly named loveseat, my father in his recliner and Branson on the floor. Charlie did not hesitate to reach for my hand, casually taking it in his own, right in front of my father and brother. After several minutes, I announced that I was heading to the kitchen to help Mother with the meal. Charlie offered to assist me, but I insisted that he stay to enjoy the game.
Entering the kitchen, my mother was busily carving the roast. She stopped immediately as I entered the room.
“He’s adorable,” she gushed.
“Ugh, Mom,” I groaned.
“Good manners, dressed appropriately, clean shaven. He seems real nice, Brooke,” she added.
“He is Mom.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “Well, now, if you can get the green beans in a bowl and pull the rolls out of the oven, I’ll get the rest. And tell Branson he needs to get drinks for everyone. I made some tea if anyone wants some.”
I returned to the family room where all three men were yelling at the screen, enraged by a sack that resulted in a fumble and a turnover.
“Dinner’s ready,” I called above the din. “And Branson, Mom said to get drinks.”
Ten minutes passed before my mother and I were able to persuade the boys to turn off the game and join us in the dining room. I spent the first half of the meal unable to eat, merely pushing food around the plate, fearing that my father was going to derail my blossoming romance with some embarrassing comment. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to be taking the entire situation in stride, complimenting my mother’s cooking, commenting on the artwork on the walls, and even having a full conversation with Branson about the many torturing techniques of the Spanish inquisition. Finally, as the rest of the party was finishing, I gobbled down the food on my plate.
“Will you be able to stay for a while and join us for some dessert a little later on?” my mother asked expectantly.
“Yeah, at least stay and watch the rest of the game,” Branson encouraged.
“Sure,” Charlie readily agreed. “My mom and Melody are at a dance recital all weekend, so I am on my own.”
Charlie stood from his chair and began to clear the dishes from the table.
“Charlie!” exclaimed my mother. “Absolutely not! You are our guest and I will not have you doing chores.”
“I disagree, Mrs. Wallace,” Charlie replied. “You already prepared this wonderful meal for all of us, and so you should be the one relaxing. Let Brooke and I take care of cleaning up and you go put your feet up in the family room.”
“Yeah, Mom. It’s fine. We’ve got this,” I agreed.
She caught my eye from across the table and beamed with delight.
Alone at last in the quiet of the kitchen, Charlie seized his opportunity to catch me in his embrace. He took me by the waist, bringing me close, only inches from his chest. As he had the night before, he gently placed my chin in his hand and tilted my face up towards his own. Slowly, cautiously, he brought his lips to mine. The kiss was moist and soft and tasted sweetly of butter. When at last he withdrew, I found myself holding steadily to his arm, lest my legs give way beneath me.
“Your mom is a good cook,” he whispered.
“Taught her everything I know,” I replied.
He laughed aloud. Then he stopped himself, feigning seriousness and said, “As much as I’d love to stand here and make out all day, these dishes are not going to wash themselves, so we better get to it.”
I saluted him. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
It took us the better part of thirty minutes to wrap the leftovers and clean the pots and pans. Mother insisted that we prepare a plate of food for Charlie to take with him. It felt strangely natural to be engaging in domestic chores with him and our conversation flowed easily.
“When did you start swimming?” I asked, scraping a plate into the compost.
“Before I could walk,” he laughed. “No, not that early. But I don’t remember learning, so I was little. What about you?”
“I’m not a great swimmer,” I admitted. “Branson and I would swim in the lake during the summer, but I’ve never had lessons. A couple times we got invited to friends’ birthday parties at the pool, but we could never afford a membership growing up.”
“It sounds like I need to get you to the country club and we need to work together on your technique,” he teased.
“The country club, huh?” I laughed. “Sure they’ll let someone from my side of the tracks in?”
“I’ll sneak you in the back door,” Charlie whispered, pulling me close again as we finished drying the last pan.
Suddenly he spoke, as if hit by a burst of inspiration. “Swim championships are this week. I’d love for you to come and see me swim. Would you?” he asked, his voice heavy with anticipation. “You should bring Branson with you, and you can sit with my mom and Melody,” he added, as if sensing my anxiety at being out of my comfort zone.
His eyes pleaded with me and I happily agreed. “I think Branson would love that. And me too,” I added.
With that, a cheer erupted from the family room. A look
of excitement passed across Charlie’s face.
“Go!” I said, smiling at his inability to suppress his desires. “We’re almost finished. I’ll be in in a minute.”
Charlie pulled his lips to mine once more. “You are one special girl Brooke Wallace,” he beamed.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I said.
Alone in the kitchen, I listened to the sounds of Branson and Charlie cheering on our team in the adjacent room. I sat down at the table and closed my eyes, reflecting on the grace I had been shown over the course of the last year. Traveling to change the past, a past that God may or may not have had a hand in, gave me pause with regard to the condition of my soul. I had convinced myself initially that, if it was God’s will that I should succeed, then so be it. Now it appeared that I had not only succeeded, but He had seen fit to bring Charlie into my life as well. And so alone, at the kitchen table, I gave thanks for the first time since my journeys began. And I wept.
I heard footsteps approaching. First, the soft padded sound of the family room carpet, then the tapping of the kitchen tile. I lifted my head from my hands and tried discreetly to wipe the tears from my eyes. Branson was staring at me, holding his empty glass in his hand, apparently looking to refill his tea. It was obvious from his expression that he had not expected to find his sister quietly weeping at the table.
Without a word, he sat beside me. He waited patiently for an explanation. Finally, he asked, “Did something happen?”
I smiled at him, my sweet, naïve brother. The brother for whom I had risked everything. For whom I would lay down my own life. Had something happened? Only a miracle dear brother.
“I’m fine. Happy tears, I promise. Just feeling lucky to have such wonderful people in my life.”
“Like Charlie,” he teased.
“Like you,” I replied.
“Well, you better get back in there with the ‘wonderful people’ before they think you’re in here hording all the dessert for yourself!”
The football game ended in a victory for our team, for which there was much whooping and hollering from the boys. Dessert, a chocolate éclair cake that I made myself, was a smash hit. Both Branson and Charlie helped themselves to thirds. The sun had long since signaled the end of the day when Charlie finally announced that he should probably be heading home, as he still had homework to finish before returning to school in the morning. My parents graciously welcomed Charlie back to our home whenever he was able, and Charlie offered to let Branson borrow some of his European history novels that they had been discussing. I carried the plate of food we prepared earlier in the day as Charlie and I walked out into the starry night together.
“Your family is great,” Charlie observed on the way to his car.
“They are,” I agreed. “When will I meet your family?”
“Wednesday is preliminaries and Thursday is finals for the championship. I have to ride the bus with the team from school to the pool both days, but I can send my mom to pick you up and then we can bring you home too. You can get to know her then.”
“Does your mom have enough room in her car for all of us, especially if Branson comes too?”
“Sure. She drives an SUV. I know she’s excited to meet you. So are you okay with that?”
I paused for a moment. The thought of spending time alone with Charlie’s mother without him around made me nervous. But I was brave. Charlie had said so.
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
“I have practice late tomorrow and Tuesday, so I won’t have time to see you at all…”
“That’s okay,” I interrupted.
“But can I call you?” he finished.
“Yes,” I replied.
“So then, I’ll call you tomorrow and see you Wednesday. That’s a long time, isn’t it?” Charlie asked, smiling and pulling me close, so close that our bodies were touching.
“You’ve survived eighteen years without me. I think you can last three days,” I teased, returning his embrace.
“I didn’t know you the first eighteen years. Now that I know…” his voice trailed off and he leaned down to press his lips against my forehead. Then my cheek. Finally my lips. I returned his kiss forcefully and pressed against him, feeling the warmth and strength of his muscles beside mine. A shiver ran through my body, but the cold air was not to blame.
“Bye,” he said finally.
“Bye,” I said.
I watched as he slid into the driver’s side, buckled his seatbelt and started the car. He began backing up the drive, pausing halfway to wave and throw a sideways grin in my direction. The darkness of the night enveloped him within seconds, and he was gone. I stood there, in the driveway, in the cold, in the dark for several minutes, attempting to recapture the feeling of our closeness. The creaking of the front door hinges alerted me to the presence of someone else joining me in the quiet stillness of the evening.
“Brooke?” my mother called.
“Coming,” I answered, quickly heading in her direction. She waited for me on the porch and wrapped her arm around my shoulders as we made our way through the door into the warmth of the house.
“That was a big deal,” she said as she took my coat to hang beside her own in the hall closet.
“What was a big deal?”
“Charlie. Coming here to spend the day with a family he doesn’t know to impress a girl he’s just met. Not many teenage boys would do that.”
“Branson will,” I declared immediately, thinking of Jill Overstreet and how I had seen the two of them together more and more frequently in the hallways at school.
“I hope you’re right. I hope he will be the type of boy who wears his heart on his sleeve for a girl who will be worthy of him.”
“He will be,” I said, yawning, suddenly overcome by exhaustion as the adrenaline that had been fueling my body for the last two days seemed to drain away.
“You heading to bed?” Mother asked.
“Yeah, but I’ll say goodnight to the boys first.”
I found my brother and father lounging in the family room, engrossed in the night game on the television.
“Thank you,” I said from the threshold.
Both looked up from the game to acknowledge my presence. “For what?” my father asked.
“For being amazing. And for not embarrassing me,” I said, looking directly at my father who was smirking openly.
“Who? Me?” my father joked.
“He’s cool,” declared Branson. “I like him.”
“So glad you approve,” I laughed, rolling my eyes at him. “I live to serve. I’m going to bed. Goodnight and love you.”
I floated up the stairs, feeling lighter than air, content and fulfilled. For the first time in many months, I was ready to begin the rest of my life. In fact, I couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The joke was on me as I was forced to eat the words I had spoken to Charlie about waiting until Wednesday to see one another again. I was a disaster. I spent Monday and Tuesday walking around as if my brain was in no way connected to the rest of my body. I drove straight past school on Monday morning, missed my third period English class because I went to study hall instead, tried to buy lunch before realizing I left my purse at home, and completely forgot that I promised to take Branson to the hardware store for work after school on Tuesday afternoon. He waited outside the front office for forty-five minutes before I realized my mistake. The worst part was that he could not even call to remind me to get him as I left my cell phone charging on my dresser.
By the time Wednesday afternoon arrived, I was a bundle of nerves. Between seeing Charlie again and meeting his mother for the first time, I had barely eaten all day. Branson was happy to join me because, as he put it, somebody had to make sure I remembered to keep breathing. Never had the six miles home from school seemed so long. Branson found me pacing in the kitchen when he appeared for his requisite afternoon snack.
“This is fun,” he commented, as he rummaged through the
pantry shelves.
“Hmmm,” I replied absentmindedly, gazing out the window. “Watching you go gaga over a boy. It’s like watching an after school special. I’m just wondering what big life lesson I’m supposed to learn once it’s all done,” he teased. “You know… don’t do drugs, don’t be a bully, don’t forget to engage your brain.”
“You’re hilarious,” I told him.
“You’re in love,” he declared.
“No I’m not!” I asserted. But as the words came out, I knew I was lying. Ridiculous as it was, in just a few days, I was falling in love with Charlie Johnson. I looked at Branson who was smirking at me, half a peanut butter sandwich dangling from his mouth. I returned his smile.
“Jerk,” I said.
Several minutes later, Mrs. Johnson arrived. Branson and I piled into the back of the SUV with Melody and were warmly welcomed. Mrs. Johnson asked Branson and me a multitude of questions about our lives, our parents, school, and sports. She chatted nervously about Charlie’s swimming, clearly anxious for him to do well. She seemed refreshingly normal and I realized that she was obviously the parent responsible for keeping Charlie firmly grounded in reality. I got the impression that his father was considerably harder to please.
We made our way through a mob of spectators as we arrived at the pool. It was the largest pool I had ever seen, full Olympic length, and the deck bleachers seemed to go on for miles. There were over a dozen teams competing and the sheer volume of participants was overwhelming. I wondered how we would ever find Charlie in the sea of humanity. Luckily, Mrs. Johnson was familiar with the seating process and easily maneuvered us to the section assigned to Hawk’s Ridge spectators. It was already packed.
As we took our seats, I scanned the pool deck for Charlie. Everyone was in similar suits, which made it extremely difficult to pick him out of the crowd. As I strained to catch a glimpse of him, I was surprised to feel a pair of arms wrapping around my shoulders.
“Hi you,” Charlie whispered in my ear.
I turned to see him, bare chested, crouching on the bleachers behind me. He was almost God-like, like a Roman sculpture formed from the clay of a Renaissance master. His muscles were chiseled and strong but not bulky. There was the smallest patch of hair emerging from the center of his chest, and his shoulders were round and firm. I felt self-conscious about his partial state of undress, especially in front of his mother. I averted my eyes almost immediately. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by his lack of attire.