I shake her awake. “Olivia. Wake up sweetie,” I whisper, breathless.
She stirs and then opens her eyes wide with shock. “What Mom?” she asks, still half asleep.
“Come here, I want to show you something,” I say, taking her hand and grabbing the blanket off the end of her bed. I lead her down the stairs and out the backdoor.
“Mom, what are we doing?” she asks. She must think that I’ve lost my mind.
“You’ll see.” I guide us both down the grassy slope toward the water, the soggy grass is cold on our bare feet, the cold air biting as it blows off the bay. We sit in the white Adirondack chairs near the beach, pulling our knees up to our chests to keep warm. I wrap Olivia in her blanket and pull mine tighter around me. She watches me with curiosity, waiting quietly for an explanation. I lean back and look up and for a moment I think that we’ve missed it, but then I see a star shoot across the night sky and burn out in midair.
“Look,” I say as I point to the sky and as she tilts her face up to the stars, they begin to explode one after the other.
“Wow,” Olivia whispers, a smile stretched across her face. And rather than watch the meteor shower, I watch the awe and wonder on my daughter’s face. Tears fill my eyes and slide down my cheeks one at a time, as if in slow motion, and I discreetly wipe them away with my blanket. And I think, I’ll never forget this moment, as I store it away along with so many others. I reach over and grab her hand and she turns to look at me for a moment before glancing back at the sky. I see so much of myself in her. Her stick-straight blonde hair, big hazel eyes, and her quiet strength. My heart is overflowing with love and heartache all in the same beat.
And right then, I make a wish on a falling star, feeling the power of it so deep that it touches my cancer-riddled bones.
Chapter 20
Charley
I stare at the piece of paper that I just found in the back pocket of my jeans while sorting the dirty laundry. Ben had written down “Pedialyte, Gatorade, and Children’s Motrin – 1 tsp” on a sheet of paper from his prescription pad. At the bottom he wrote, in his chicken scratch that I remember well, “Call my cell if you need anything” and his personal phone number. I had forgotten the business card and sheet of paper that were burning a hole in my pocket that day; I guess the stomach flu can distract you from these types of things. I had forgotten, until now. I am considering making the call if only to thank him for everything he did while I was sick. It’s the polite thing to do, right? I grab my cell phone and sit back down on my bedroom floor, surrounded by piles of dirty clothes, and punch in his number. Suddenly my hand is shaking and my heart is beating like a drum in my chest. My finger hovers over the little phone icon as I consider what I’m going to say. And before thinking better of it, I hit call and bring the phone to my ear. It rings several times and just as I am about to hang up, I hear his voice.
“Dr. Roth.”
I freeze, unable to find my voice.
“Hello,” he says into the silence.
“Ben,” I manage to say. “It’s Charley.”
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say. “I just wanted to say thank you for everything you did. You saved me.”
“You were in pretty bad shape.” He chuckles and the familiar sound brings a smile to my face.
“Yeah, well thanks,” I say and then, “I’m still completely mortified that you had to see me like that.” I bring my hand to my face in embarrassment even though he can’t see me.
“It wasn’t that bad. You didn’t look much better twelve years ago,” he teases.
“Hey,” I warn. “You look the same but with less hair.” He laughs again and it warms me from the inside out. He looks amazing but I’m not about to tell him that. He always had longer hair and now it’s shaved close to his scalp, but it only makes his eyes more pronounced.
“When I walked into that exam room and saw you sitting there... well let’s just say you... well, you took my breath away.” His comment hangs in the air. It’s almost too much. I’m not sure how to respond. “Charley, can I see you again? Just to catch up?”
My heart is thrumming so fast and hard, I feel as if he can hear it through the phone.
We both wait in silence for my response.
“Yeah,” I finally say. And then add, nonchalantly, “That’d be great. We should... ya know... catch up.” Although in my mind I have no intention of a chummy reunion of any sort. And yet, my heart feels achy and something else that I can’t quite pinpoint. I rub my hand over my chest in an attempt to soothe the source of the discomfort I feel.
“Yeah, we should,” he agrees.
Another beat of silence and I am suddenly desperate to get off the phone.
“Well, I have to run. I just wanted to say thank you.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” he says.
“Bye, Ben.”
“Bye Charley,” he draws out my name with his breath as if he is reluctant to end the call. But I hang up before he can say anything more.
You took my breath away. His words replay in my mind as I stare at my phone. I wonder if he ever thinks of me. If all these years he has wondered about me? And if he does think of me, what is it that comes to mind? My betrayal? Or the three years that we spent together, happy and in love? I’m almost afraid to know the answers to my own questions.
Guilt is a vicious emotion and when I think of Ben, it nearly suffocates me.
It’s Saturday night. I have somewhat avoided Grey this week. I managed to fill his schedule with client meetings outside of the office and I dodged his invitations for late night “booty calls,” afraid that he would expect another sleepover. My emotions have been all over the place since Gwen’s diagnosis and it’s been screwing with my head in respect to Grey. I drew a line in the sand when this whole thing began and that line has been blurred. I’m afraid that I’m giving Grey the wrong idea and I don’t want his expectations about us to change. Nothing has changed. The space that I put between Grey and I these past few days has given me back my perspective. If anything I have less time and less motivation to be in a relationship than ever before and let’s be honest, I have never before wanted or needed a relationship. So there you go. I need to focus on Gwen right now.
All these thoughts bounce around in my head as I try to calm my unexpected nerves about the evening. Grey is picking me up in a few minutes to take me to dinner. I have changed my clothes three times already. I want to look nice but not too nice. I don’t want to send the wrong message. I don’t want this to feel like a date, even though that’s exactly what this is. I settle for a simple cotton black sheath dress with heeled booties. I pull my hair into a messy bun and finish the look with the right accessories. I admire myself in the mirror. Sexy but edgy. I throw my phone and tiny wallet into a clutch purse and down a glass of wine to drown my nerves. I hate waiting on someone. I should have met him at the restaurant. After a lipstick touch up, he finally knocks on my door. And I am suddenly nervous as hell.
I open the door and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. Dammit, he is breathtaking. Grey is wearing jeans and a dark button down shirt, untucked. His hair is still damp and I can smell his familiar clean, woodsy scent.
“Wow, Charley. You look incredible.”
“Thank you,” I say and I can feel my cheeks heat under his intense gaze. “Do you want to come in?” I ask. I’m not sure how this whole thing works; this is all new for us.
“Actually, I have a full night planned, so we better head out,” he says with a smile.
“Okay,” I say, feeling unsettled and then I mumble, “I don’t know whether I should feel excited or scared.”
“Maybe both,” he teases as I grab my clutch and step out on the porch, locking the door with my key. Grey offers me his arm and I loop my arm in his, thankful for his warmth as we step out into the chilly night. It hasn’t rained all day, which is a small gift this time of year. Grey leads me to his flashy car and opens the door
for me like a true gentleman.
“My lady,” he says as he helps me into the passenger seat and closes the door. I watch him round the front of the car and climb into the driver’s seat and I remind myself to breathe. It’s just Grey, I tell myself.
“So where are we going?” I ask while I pull my seatbelt across my lap and fasten it into place.
He shakes his head and says, “And ruin the surprise. No way.”
“Surprise? I thought we were just two people sharing a meal, remember?” I’m intrigued now and loving his playful side, but my nerves are still balled up in my chest from the unknown.
“We are. Just relax. I promise I’m not going to propose,” he says with a smile and then turns and winks at me.
And dammit if that doesn’t make my stomach do a little flip as a full-watted smile stretches across my face. It’s refreshing to know that Grey gets me and maybe his expectations aren’t what I fear them to be.
He pulls into a valet-only parking lot just to the southeast of Pioneer Square. The valet attendant opens my door and I step out of the car as Grey pulls me into his side and guides me down the sidewalk, around the corner and into an old bar. I didn’t catch the name, but it’s old and sports-themed and Grey seems to know his way around as he leads me to the long bar in the back.
We sit in two empty bar stools and the mid-thirties bartender with dark hair and a matching beard immediately walks toward us, his eyes lighting up in recognition.
“Hey G!” he says, reaching out and shaking Grey’s hand. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.” He looks at me and asks, “Who’s the pretty lady?”
“James, this is Charley. Charley meet James. The best damn bartender in Puget Sound.”
“Nice to meet you, James,” I say and give him a little wave.
“Any friend of G’s is a friend of mine. What can I get you?”
James looks and talks like your typical bartender and I smile at the way he calls Grey “G”.
“Two shots of tequila,” Grey says, holding up two fingers. James nods and steps away.
I turn to Grey and say, “If I didn’t know any better, G, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me.”
“All part of the plan.” He places his hand on my bare leg and spins my stool until my body is facing his. He leans in and kisses me on the mouth. My body instantly flushes with heat and when he pulls away I discreetly look around to see if anyone is watching us. PDA is really not my thing; I like to keep it behind closed doors.
James sets two full shot glasses down on the bar in front of us, along with a plate of limes and a salt shaker.
Without taking his eyes off me, Grey says to James, “Keep ‘em coming.”
I look at him, puzzled.
He hands me a shot glass and asks, “Salt?”
I shake my head and he picks up his shot glass. We are sitting close, our faces nearly touching and Grey says quietly, “This is to loosen you up. And it’s not because I want to take advantage of you, although that will come later. If you’re lucky.” His smile sets my insides on fire. “It’s because I want to get to know you, Charley. So cheers,” he says as he clinks his glass against mine. We both raise our glasses to our lips and I pour the tequila to the back of my throat, feeling the burn. I set my empty shot glass down at the same time as Grey and grab a slice of lime. The sour taste erasing the flavor of the tequila just as James sets a fresh set of full shot glasses on the bar.
“Jeez, Grey. I’m not sure how many of these I can drink,” I say, already dreading the next shot and the inevitable hangover it will bring.
“Okay last one,” he says loud enough for James to hear.
We both pick up the next and, hopefully, last shot of the night and Grey asks, “What’s your favorite song of all time?”
I stare at him, my mind drawing a blank.
“A song that no matter how many times you hear it, you never get sick of it and it instantly brightens your mood.”
“‘Jack and Diane’ by John Cougar Mellencamp,” I blurt out. It’s the first song that popped into my head.
He pulls his face back and says, “Really?” as if he completely disapproves.
“Hey, you asked.”
“You know he goes by just John Mellencamp now, right?”
“Whatever.” I shake my head and then ask, “What’s your favorite song of all time then?”
He thinks for a minute and then says, “‘Fight For Your Right’ by the Beastie Boys.”
“Okay that’s pretty solid,” I say, picturing Grey yelling the lyrics in a crowded bar with his fisted hand waving in the air.
“See, a true classic,” he says and then holds his glass against mine. “To learning something about you while we’re still wearing clothes.” He winks at me seductively as he clinks his glass against mine and I suddenly welcome this shot. His words settle in my gut, twisting it in knots as I begin to question his intentions all over again.
“One more round,” I call to James as I slide my empty shot glass down the bar.
Grey smiles at me in approval.
The next round arrives and Grey turns to me and asks, “What’s your favorite color?”
I set my full glass down and sigh. “Really? We’re gonna do this?”
“Uh-huh.” He nods, sets his shot glass down next to mine on the bar and spins my stool back toward him.
“How about, favorite position in bed,” I say, cocking my head to the side playfully.
“How about I show you that later,” he counters.
“Promise?” I say and bite down on my lip.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he says as he smooths his thumb over my lip.
“What?” I ask innocently, getting lost in his dark eyes as the tequila goes straight to my head.
“You’re trying to get out of these questions, out of dinner, this whole date by seducing me. You want me to throw you over my shoulder and take you back to my place and fuck you senseless.” His tone is seductive and yet he is mocking me.
His words and the images they provoke make my thighs clench and at the same time the truth of his words makes my heart sink. Because without even realizing it, that is exactly my intention. I want something familiar, I want to keep this thing with Grey on my level. The way Grey is looking at me now, I know that although he is teasing me, he means what he said. And I feel somewhat ashamed. Surely I can have dinner with this man, or whatever it is that he has planned.
“As a matter of fact, I want to end this interrogation because I’m starving,” I say but he only raises his eyebrows and looks at me like, exactly, misconstruing my words until I clarify. “For food. Are we actually going to eat on this date?”
He eyes me warily and then glances at his watch.
“Yes, dinner is next, I swear.”
We both drain our glasses and then Grey throws a couple hundred-dollar bills down on the bar and calls out, “See ya James.” James waves as we head toward the door. My body is feeling tingly and warm, my head a little dizzy from the tequila.
Grey takes my hand and laces our fingers together as we step outside. The cold air feels good on my flush skin, clearing my mind. We walk a few blocks until we are standing at the entrance to Safeco Field. Grey pulls his phone out and begins to text someone.
“What are we doing? You do know the Mariners’ season is over, right?” I ask, wondering what in the world he has planned.
“Come on,” he says ignoring my comment. He grabs my hand and leads me to the nearest closed gate.
A guy appears on the other side out of nowhere and unlocks the large iron gate, its hinges groaning in protest as he swings it open wide enough for us both to walk through.
“Hey Marco,” Grey says as they hug briefly, giving each other a man-pat on the back. Grey steps back and ticks his head toward me, “This is Charley.”
“Nice to meet you Charley.” He holds his hand toward me.
“Nice to meet you too, Marco,” I say, sha
king his hand gently.
“It’s all yours, I’ll be in the office. Just let me know when you’re ready to leave,” he says to Grey as he turns the key in the gate, locking the three of us inside Safeco Field.
“Thanks, buddy.”
I am silent as my mind runs through all the possibilities of why Grey brought me here.
He tugs on my arm and leads me down the corridor, down a huge staircase and through a door. We are suddenly standing on the baseball field, the bright lights glaring overhead in the eerie quiet of the empty stadium. Grey leads me out toward center field and I can see a blanket spread out near the pitcher’s mound.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“We’re having dinner,” he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.
When we reach the blanket I see a few paper bags filled with takeout food from a local restaurant. A large hooded Mariner’s sweatshirt, a stack of blankets and a small cooler sit off to the side.
“Wow, this is some dinner,” I say with a smile. Emotions overwhelm me but I tap them down. Grey did all this for me. Normally when men go out of their way to impress me, especially when it accompanies the intention of vamping up a casual fling into something more, it sends me in the opposite direction, a complete turn off. But this is different. Grey isn’t trying to impress me. He didn’t take me to a fancy restaurant or fly me to New York to see a Broadway performance on a moment’s notice. He’s trying to make me feel at ease. And although this evening feels extravagant, it is anything but fancy or pretentious. He has taken the fear away, he has made going out on a date with him fun and completely harmless. He gets me, I think again.
He motions for me to sit down and I do, tucking my legs up underneath me in a ladylike fashion, wishing that I’d worn jeans. He sits across from me.
“Are you cold?” he asks. As soon as he mentions it, I shiver and look up to see that the roof is open and the cloudless dark sky is above us.
“A little,” I say. He snatches up the sweatshirt and pulls it over my head. I raise my arms in the air as he pulls the warm and bulky sweatshirt down into place. He grabs a blanket and wraps it around my bare legs and tucks it underneath me, snugly.
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