by Jahn, Amalie
“Oh really,” he said, pulling me across the car and into his lap.
“Yes really.”
“And when was that? When did you start loving me?”
I thought momentarily about telling him the truth. Telling him about my trips. About the first time I saw him from afar across the vacant lot and knew instinctively that he was someone I could love.
“I can’t tell you now. But I will, someday,” I promised, winking at him.
“I look forward to that. But now, my lady,” he paused dramatically, “we have an entrance to make.”
I carefully maneuvered myself back into the passenger’s side of the car and waited for him to come around to open the door for me. He took my hand, helping me carefully make my way across the icy parking lot in my heels.
The main dining room was lavishly decorated in silver drapery and crystal adornments. Most of Charlie’s family had already arrived, some from out of state, and all eyes turned toward us as we entered the room. I quickly spotted Charlie’s mother and Melody sitting with his father, who until that moment I had only seen in photographs. Melody waved frantically in our direction and I returned her enthusiasm. Instead of heading in their direction, Charlie led me to the other end of the dining room, where an elderly woman was seated prominently at the head of the table. She wore a lavender chiffon dress and tiny bauble earrings that dangled daintily from her earlobes. He greeted her warmly with a hug.
“Happy birthday, Nana,” said Charlie, leaning down to speak into her ear. And then, placing my hand in hers he continued, “This is Brooke. She’s the girl I was telling you about.”
“Purple is my favorite color,” she said squeezing my hand. I made a mental note to thank Sarah for choosing my purple dress. “Mine too,” I said. “I’m very pleased to meet you Mrs. Johnson.”
“Charlie’s told me so much about you. And please, call me Nana.”
It was flattering to know that Charlie spoke highly of me to his grandmother. I turned to face him. He was beaming with pride.
“Well, Nana, thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of your special day. And happy birthday!” I said.
“Make sure you have a piece of cake,” she whispered to me, as if it were a secret. “It’s my own recipe.”
“We will Nana,” Charlie agreed. “We’re going to go sit with Mom and Dad. We’ll be back a little later.”
We made our way across the room, maneuvering carefully through tables, chairs, and family members chatting together in quiet groups. As we approached Charlie’s parents, he squeezed my hand tightly, and I wondered if the action was for my benefit or for his own. I squeezed back in a silent show of solidarity.
Melody ran immediately to greet me with a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “All these grown-ups are boring!”
I smiled at her, returning the hug.
“Will you sit next to me at dinner?” she asked.
“Of course,” I replied. “And I think I have a pen in my purse, so maybe we can play hangman while we wait for dinner to be served.”
While I was speaking with Melody, Charlie greeted his father with a handshake and spoke so quietly that I was unable to make out what was being said between them. At last, Charlie turned to me and made the introduction I had been waiting for.
“Father,” he said, with a tone I had never heard him use, “I would like you to meet Brooke Wallace.”
Phil Johnson extended his hand and took mine, shaking it firmly, saying, “Miss Wallace, the pleasure is all mine. We are so pleased that you could join us today. Please make yourself comfortable and let us know if there is anything you need.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied, unable to think of anything more suitable to say.
Charlie and I made our way to the other side of our table, where I sat between Melody and Charlie, opposite his parents. My nerves had returned after the contrived greeting I received from Mr. Johnson. I tried to console myself with the knowledge that he was a politician and was used to speaking formally, keeping his emotions reserved. I suddenly felt a pang of sadness for Charlie, realizing how difficult it would be to have a man like that for a father. Someone who kept every part of his persona carefully arranged for the world to see.
As if a veil was being lifted, I was suddenly aware of why Charlie enjoyed spending time in my home with my family. I remembered how quickly he took to my father, watching sports on TV and throwing the football in the yard with him and Branson. Charlie’s father was not only physically absent while serving in the legislature, but emotionally at arm’s length when at home. I discreetly placed my hand on Charlie’s knee and squeezed firmly, eliciting the same response from him. I turned to look at him, look into him, and when I did, I could see the sadness, but also the joy. I was the joy. In that moment, the rest of the world melted away.
After my revelation regarding Charlie’s father, I was finally able to relax and enjoy the party. Lunch, which consisted of prime rib, stuffed flounder, roasted asparagus, and parsley potatoes, was in a word, delicious. Nana opened her many presents, gushing over the charm bracelet Charlie presented to her. Only as she read the card aloud did I realize that Charlie had signed my name to the gift as well. His thoughtfulness had no end. After Nana blew out all eighty candles on the cake, the dance floor was revealed and Charlie took my hand to escort me into the center of the room. He gently slipped his free hand into the small of my back and led me gracefully around the floor. I wondered silently if there was anything that Charlie could not do.
It was not long before our coats were brought from the check room and Charlie and I said our goodbyes to his many family members. As we met with Nana for the last time, she took my arm and pulled me close so that she could whisper into my ear once again.
“He looks at you the way my Harvey looked at me. Take care of one another,” she advised.
“We will, Nana,” I promised.
The ride back across town was quiet. Charlie seemed strangely introspective.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I inquired.
“I meant what I said,” he said, taking his eyes off the road to gauge my reaction.
“Me too,” I said, knowing immediately that he was referring to his declaration of love for me.
“You said it was a miracle. What did you mean by that?”
“Isn’t all love a miracle?” I asked. “It’s a gift from God, don’t you think? The fact that we walked into one another’s lives was a gift we were given. We didn’t have to fall in love, but we did. And that’s the miracle.”
“You’re one special girl, Brooke Wallace,” he said.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I replied, grinning at our private joke.
We pulled into my driveway and, after securing the car in park, Charlie leaned over to kiss me passionately before saying goodbye.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said finally. “Maybe you and Branson and I can go for a hike into the valley.”
“I’d love that,” I said.
Once inside the house, I headed directly to my room to take off the heels and party dress that were cutting off my circulation in all the wrong places. I heard music coming from Branson’s room, alerting me to the fact that he had returned from bowling with Chad. I was pulling my favorite sweatshirt over my head when I heard it. Branson coughed. I ran to my tablet that was sitting on my desk to check the date. It was Saturday, February 27 and in the previous two timelines we had gone bowling together. I was devastated to learn that even though we had been apart for the day, like clockwork, Branson’s cough had returned. My descent into Dante’s Inferno began again.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Facing Branson’s death for a third time was completely different from the prior occasions. During both previous experiences, I carried a gift along with me. As I was living out the nightmare each time, I had been completely unaware of the gift. I was also ignorant of the effect this gift had on my ability to continue from day to day as a mentor to Branson througho
ut his illness. However, now that I was facing his death without the gift, I was painfully aware that it was gone and I struggled daily to persevere.
The gift I lost was hope.
During the original timeline, Branson’s illness progressed slowly, and for the first several months, we had hope that he would get better as we were ignorant of the final diagnosis. It was only at the end that my family was forced to face the reality of his death. When I returned and subsequently failed to save Branson using my first trip, I found hope in returning for a second time to finish what I had started. Knowing there was still a chance to save him allowed me to find solace during our final weeks together.
Facing his death for the third time, now without any hope at all, was more than I could emotionally or physically handle. I had absolutely no idea what Branson had been exposed to which triggered the disease and that realization crushed my spirit. I tried over the course of the first several days after the coughing began to maintain my composure. I attempted to portray a façade of ignorance about what was to become of Branson. This became a daily struggle. One to which I would eventually succumb.
Knowing that I chose to enter the timeline later during my second trip than I had on the first also meant that I would be forced to stay to watch his disease progress further than I had during my original journey. I would be there to witness the diagnosis and the aftermath. I would see the anguish on his face as he learned he would die. This knowledge was a burden I carried with me morning, noon, and night.
In addition to the loss of hope, I was battling yet another demon, which also fueled my downward spiral. Self-loathing consumed every waking hour. I had failed my brother not once, but twice. And the second time, instead of maintaining constant vigilance for other possible exposures, I cast off my duty to my brother and indulged in my own frivolous behaviors with Charlie. I despised myself. And that hatred quickly found its way to Charlie in the form of resentment.
The morning following the return of Branson’s cough, Charlie called immediately after breakfast to ask about spending the day together.
“Do you want to hike out to the lake in an hour or so?” he asked. “It’s supposed to be a nice day. I thought maybe we could stop at the deli and pick up some sandwiches to take along.”
“I don’t think I can,” I responded.
“Oh.” He paused. “Why not?”
“I think I may have been exposed to the flu the other day. I don’t want to make you sick.”
“I’m not worried about catching anything from you Brooke,” he laughed.
“Also, I have a ton of homework to finish before tomorrow.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Lots. It’s just not a good day.”
“Okay. Well, do you want me to come over and we can just do homework together?”
“No Charlie. Not today.”
“How about after school tomorrow then?”
“I’ll let you know,” I replied.
When our conversation was over, I was sure that I left Charlie feeling rejected. However, I found that I was suddenly able to separate myself from him emotionally as I was clearly unworthy of his love. Over the course of the next several days, I repeatedly avoided contact with Charlie, either over the phone or in person.
Finally, on Friday, Charlie showed up at my school. We had not seen one another since his grandmother’s birthday celebration the weekend before. As I exited the building, I saw a figure leaning against the hood of my car and knew immediately that he had come for me. My initial reaction was to return to the building and wait for him to go away, but I knew him far too well. He would wait for me.
With Branson by my side, I crossed the parking lot slowly, giving myself a few precious moments to concoct an excuse for my behavior. As soon as Branson recognized that Charlie was in the parking lot, he jogged the rest of the way to the car, leaving me in his wake. By the time I caught up, Branson was doubled over, coughing and gasping for air. Charlie was kneeling beside him, clearly distressed at seeing my brother struggling to breathe.
“Is he okay?” he asked with genuine concern in his voice.
“No,” I said flatly, desperate to add that he was dying.
Charlie looked at me as if I had slapped him across the face and returned to Branson’s side.
“Branson, sit down buddy,” he consoled him, helping him to the ground and patting him gently on the back.
Within a few minutes, Branson was breathing normally again and he was able to muster the strength to climb into the passenger’s seat of my car. However, he continued to cough repeatedly and each time it was as if a knife was piercing my heart. Tears welled up in my eyes and I was suddenly no longer able to maintain my composure. I slumped to the ground, bracing myself against the trunk of the car and wept openly into my arms. Instantly, Charlie was upon me and I was wrapped in his embrace. As he smoothed my hair, he whispered words of comfort quietly in my ear. I have no idea how long I sat there sobbing on the ground, but Charlie remained by my side. When I was finally able to raise my head, I was devastated by the love I saw in his eyes being poured out on my behalf. I shook my head forcefully, pushing him away with my arms.
“No, no, no!” I cried. “Please Charlie, I can’t! It’s not fair! I’ve ruined it! It’s all my fault!”
I beat my fists repeatedly into his chest as he sat stoically before me and accepted every blow. When at last my energy was completely spent, he lifted me carefully off the ground and placed me gently into the back seat of my car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he buckled his seatbelt and without another word, drove Branson and me home.
As we pulled into the driveway, I buried my face in my hands once again, unable to face either of the boys after my outburst. Charlie parked the car and walked with Branson into the house, leaving me alone in the backseat. I waited for Charlie to reappear, but as the minutes ticked by, I decided to make my way into the house on my own.
As I entered the kitchen, I could hear low voices coming from the family room. I eased through the doorway carefully so as not to alert the boys to my presence. Tiptoeing to the opposite end of the room, I was able to listen to what they were saying.
“I don’t know. It’s weird. It just kind of came out of nowhere. I’ve been sucking on lozenges all week, but it’s not helping. It’s not like a tickle in my throat. It feels like it’s in my lungs,” Branson was explaining to Charlie.
“Could be pneumonia,” Charlie speculated, “or bronchitis. Have you been to the doctor?”
“No, not yet. I think Mom was planning on taking me in the morning. I don’t have a fever or anything. I haven’t been sick. It’s just my lungs are driving me crazy. And you saw what happened when I tried to jog.”
“You don’t have asthma, do you?” Charlie inquired.
“Nope.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Brooke hasn’t called me all week,” Charlie commented.
“I know,” Branson said sympathetically.
Charlie paused. “Have I done something? Did she say anything to you?”
“No. She’s barely spoken to any of us all week. She came home after your grandmother’s party Saturday and was singing as she came up the stairs. That’s how I knew she was home. I’d been out with Chad, but I was tired, so his mom brought me home early. The next thing I knew she was in my room looking at me like she’d seen a ghost. She’s been a wreck ever since,” explained Branson. After a moment he continued, “Did she act weird at the party?”
“No. She was amazing,” Charlie responded.
“She loves you,” Branson confided.
“She loves you too.”
“Guess we’re both pretty lucky.”
Furious with myself for destroying everything beautiful in my life and on the verge of yet another full blown meltdown, I held my hands over my face to keep from giving away my location. I maneuvered carefully through the kitchen toward the staircase but was tripped up by the cat lying at the foot of the steps. She m
ewed, alerting the boys to my presence.
“Brooke?” they called simultaneously.
I took off at a run up the steps and retreated into my room, slamming the door behind me. Of course, it was only a matter of seconds before Charlie appeared in the doorway, his eyes full of compassion. Compassion that he saw fit to waste on me.
“Please talk to me!” he begged.
“I can’t!” I yelled at him, hysterical again, burying my face in my pillow.
“You can,” he reasoned, sitting next to me on my bed. “You can tell me anything.”
I remained silent, sobbing between gasps of air.
“Have I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Not you.”
“Then who are you mad at?”
“Myself.”
“Why?”
“Because people were counting on me and I’m a selfish brat.”
“You don’t have a selfish bone in your body. You are not a brat. And who was counting on you?”
“Everyone.”
“The whole world?”
The tiniest of smiles formed at the corners of my lips and I took a deep breath.
“No.”
“Then who?”
I filled my lungs to capacity and slowly, very slowly released the air through my mouth. Finally, I turned to face him, picking up my chin and squaring my shoulders.
“I can’t tell you. I want to but I can’t. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way, but it has and there is nothing anyone can do about it. I thought I could fix everything, but I couldn’t. I didn’t try hard enough. And you are partly to blame because you… you… you made me love you. I didn’t stand a chance against you. If you’d left me alone, maybe I would have done better. But it’s too late now.”
My cat appeared on the bed, nuzzled my face and curled up on my lap. Her fur was silky and she purred lazily as I stroked her head. The sun warmed my face through the window and I closed my eyes and accepted the moment of peace I had been granted in the tempest.
Charlie broke the silence saying, “I don’t know what has happened. I don’t know what you think is going to happen. I don’t know how I kept you from doing whatever it was that you thought you had to do. But I love you Brooke Wallace, and I want to help you. Please don’t shut me out.” He paused to take my hand. “And Branson too. That kid worships the ground you walk on.”