The Words We Leave Unspoken

by L. D. Cedergreen

  Grey clears his throat and says, “I’m thankful for all the amazing people in my life and for your gracious invitation. Thank you for having me.” I am just about to raise my glass in a toast when Grey looks at Charley and adds, “And I’m thankful for you, Charley. For reminding me what I’ve been missing in life.”

  I watch all the color drain from Charley’s face as the table falls silent.

  “I’m thankful for Aunt Charley too,” Max blurts out and you can see the relief in Charley’s eyes as the moment is softened, the attention lifted from her and centered on Max.

  “Thank you, Max,” Charley says. Grey’s eyes are still fixed on Charley while I watch her look at everything, anything, but Grey. I stand with my wine glass in hand and say, “Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Cheers. Now dish up.”

  “Cheers,” carry on from around the room accompanied by the chime of crystal as everyone raises their glass in toast. Dishes are passed around the table one by one as conversation is sparked. John and Grey talk about the stock market as Mother and Olivia discuss the school play. Max is asking Charley, over Olivia’s head, how many cookies he will get to eat after dinner and I sit and take it all in, feeling grateful yet utterly exhausted once again and unable to eat more than a few bites of the dinner that I spent the entire morning preparing.

  I stand at the kitchen sink lost in thought as I watch John, Grey, Olivia, and Max in the back yard, fully engaged in a game of flag football. They run frantically back and forth beyond the glass doors, surrounded by white clouds of breath, completely oblivious to the wintry temperature.

  “You okay?” Charley asks from behind me as she sets more dirty dishes on the counter. My hands are submerged in a sink-full of warm, soapy water as I mindlessly scrub the platinum serving ware that I use only on special occasions.

  “Yeah,” I sigh. She stands next to me, picks up a wet plate that I already washed and dries it with a blue and white striped dishtowel, as the backyard football game catches her attention.

  “Doesn’t it make you wonder about your future just a little bit when you see how good he is with my kids?” I ask quietly of Grey.

  She sighs next to me and a moment goes by before she answers. “It makes me think about his future, Gwen, but not mine. I don’t see a future with him.”

  “Come on, Charley. You don’t watch him and wonder for just a second what it would be like to get married and have kids?”

  “Wow. Married with kids? That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

  I start to open my mouth to say something but suddenly Grey is opening one of the glass doors. He steps inside, his presence almost too big for the usually vast space of my kitchen.

  “Just grabbing another beer for John and me. Do you girls need any help?” Grey asks politely.

  “We got it. Just keep those kids busy and I’ll be happy,” I say with a smile.

  Charley is quiet beside me. She turns to put a dish away in the cabinet and bumps into Grey. I keep my back to them, giving them a little privacy.

  “Charley, can I talk to you for a minute? In private,” I hear Grey whisper.

  “No, Grey. You’ve said enough today, don’t you think?” Charley says quietly.

  “Not nearly enough. We need to talk about this.” Grey is still whispering and I struggle to hear while I continue to scrub dishes in the sink. Part of me feels like I should give them more privacy but the better part of me is too curious to leave the room.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I hear Charley say more loudly and then I hear dishes clash and the slam of a cabinet door.

  “Come on Charley. This isn’t over, not for me.”

  “Yeah, well that’s too bad because I’ve already moved on.”

  I’m shocked at how hostile she is toward him. I slowly turn around just in time to see Charley walk out of the room, leaving Grey standing with his hands on his hips and his head hung low. I can’t help but feel sorry for him.

  “I’m sorry Grey,” I manage to say as I dry my hands on a dishtowel.

  “Not your problem Gwen, but thanks,” he says. He grabs two beer bottles from the fridge and heads back outside.

  My mother walks into the kitchen at that moment, her hands spread out as she balances several dirty wine glasses between her fingers.

  “Mom, can you finish washing these for me? I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure, honey,” she answers while setting the wine glasses one at a time on the kitchen counter.

  I find Charley in the family room standing with her hands over her face.

  “Charley, don’t you think that was a little harsh, even for you?” She drops her hands and looks over at me.

  “Stay out of it, Gwen,” she snaps.

  “No. It’s Thanksgiving and Grey is my guest. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “No? This is my family and he’s intruding. He shouldn’t be here.”

  “We invited him, Charley. He’s welcome here. Don’t be rude.”

  “Rude? He should keep his mouth shut then. And yes, you’re right, you invited him. Without even asking me if it was okay. You know how tortured I’ve been about this. Why would you do that?”

  Charley is shouting at me and I’ve had enough of her selfishness. I’m too tired for this. I shout back.

  “I can invite whoever I want. It’s my house. I don’t have to ask your permission, Charley. It’s not my fault that you’re so fucked up.”

  The minute the words slip from my mouth, I want to take them back. But it’s too late. Charley’s glaring eyes grow wide in shock, cementing the guilt in the pit of my stomach.

  “Girls, what’s going on?” my mother asks as she stomps into the room, looking back and forth between the two of us.

  “Oh I’m fucked up now? Here we go!” Charley scoffs without missing a beat, as if my mother’s sudden presence and her question do not exist.

  “Charlotte, watch your mouth,” my mother demands.

  “Mother, stay out of it,” Charley says, her eyes still directed at me, tiny slits spitting fire.

  “I will not stay out of it. I am your mother.”

  Charley looks toward her then and says venomously, “Really? You could have fooled me. You want to know why I’m such a mess?” Charley looks back at me.

  “Because my mother threw my father out and then pretended as if I didn’t exist. Nothing like losing both your parents in one day. How’s that for fucked up?”

  I hear my mother suck in a breath from across the room.

  “Charley, you’re being unfair,” I say, looking at the defeat in my mother’s eyes. Charley knows exactly which button to push when it comes to our mother.

  “I’m being unfair am I? I’ll tell you what’s unfair, Gwen. The fact that you lie to John. Every. Single. Day. You can’t even tell your husband the truth and you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that I’m fucked up.”

  I flinch at her words. She starts to walk out of the room toward the front door. I follow her.

  “Just walk out Charley, you’re so good at that,” I yell after her.

  “Learned it from the best,” she mumbles as she grabs her coat and purse and walks out the door, slamming it so hard that the walls rattle.

  I am left shaking in anger yet instantly feeling guilty for allowing our fight to get so out of control. I could have easily apologized and smoothed everything over like I always do but instead something had snapped inside me. Tears start to fall down my cheeks and I suddenly feel exhausted, so exhausted that standing on my feet is almost too much to bear. Within seconds my head begins to spin and my breath feels labored, as if I can’t get enough air. I move to sit down in the chair just a few steps away but I don’t make it that far. I feel my knees buckle as I reach out with my hands, but all I feel is the cold tile against my cheek before everything is black and I am lost in a sea of nothingness.

  Chapter 25

  Charley

  I slam the front door with every ounce of anger I feel and run to my car. Th
e cold sea air is a shock to my heated body, tapping down the inferno flaring inside me. I climb into my car, throw it in reverse and back out of the driveway without another thought. My need to get far away from my family, from Grey, fueling my escape. I only make it as far as Tony’s Tavern, on the edge of Main Street in the historical downtown Seaport. A local favorite dating back to the year before I was born.

  I pull open the heavy wooden door and make my way through the dim-lit room to the bar where I plop down on a red vinyl barstool that has seen better days. The bar smells like stale beer and cigarette smoke even though no one has been allowed to smoke in here since 2005, but years of heavy smoking cling to the walls as a reminder of the past.

  Tony, who has also seen better days, approaches me from behind the old mahogany bar. He has lost all his hair on his head but his gray beard and mustache grow as wild as his protruding belly.

  “Well if it isn’t Charlotte Brant. Something tells me you could use a drink?” he says with a wink as he wipes down the bar in front of me.

  “Vodka tonic,” I say, setting my purse down on the stool beside me. And then add, “Make it a double.”

  Without a reply, Tony sets an ice-filled glass on the bar and reaches for the good stuff on the back shelf. He pours until it nearly touches the rim, adds a splash of tonic and a lime wedge and slides the glass closer to me.

  “Thanks,” I say and then bring the glass to my lips.

  Tony only nods and then moves on to the only other patrons desperate enough to be here on Thanksgiving. Three lonely men spaced out evenly along the bar. For a moment I imagine why these men are here, alone on Thanksgiving, and I feel a hint of guilt for abandoning my own family when I should feel lucky to have them, to have somewhere else to be for the holiday. But I’m still too angry to feel grateful. I’m angry at Gwen for inviting Grey and not warning me. I’m angry at Grey for showing up and pushing the issue of us when I can hardly stand to be in the same room with him. I’m angry at the pang of longing that hit me as I watched Grey in the backyard with Olivia and Max, catching me off guard. I’m angry at my mother for being the reminder of all the things I try so hard to forget. Overall, I’m just tired of feeling like there’s a gaping hole inside me that I can’t seem to fill.

  I guzzle my drink down and order another, followed by yet another, burying my self-pity and my anger with each gulp. Welcoming the fuzzy, blurred edge of my reality.

  In the vague silence of the bar, a song begins to play from the jukebox, louder and more obvious than the faded background music that was playing before. A song that I instantly recognize, a song that carries me back to a time long ago, back to a certain someone from long ago. I turn in my stool to the jukebox and nearly choke on my drink. Standing like a breath of fresh air, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a warm smile spread across his face is Ben.

  He shrugs his shoulders and just stands there with those clear, blue eyes locked on my face while our song pipes through the speakers in the near empty bar. My head is trying to catch up to the shock of my heart as he walks toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” I manage to say as he sits on the stool next to me. I can’t help but glance at his left hand resting on the bar, noting the absence of a ring.

  “Just finished a shift at the clinic. Thought I’d grab a quick beer before going to see my Mom. What are you doing here?” he asks.

  I only shrug and turn back toward the bar and down the rest of my drink.

  Tony silently brings Ben a bottle of beer and Ben nods toward Tony in thanks.

  “Another please, Tony,” I call out.

  “Tough day?” Ben asks.

  “You could say that,” I respond. I feel intoxicated by the vodka, the song that still plays on the jukebox, and Ben’s presence. Suddenly wanting to lose myself in more than the alcohol. Something or someone that could make me forget.

  And as I finish another drink, and Ben sips his one and only beer like a responsible adult; we start to talk. We talk about his shift at the clinic, how he left New York to come home and care for his ailing mother, how it feels to be back in Seaport, and all the things that remain the same in this small town. We talk about him until the conversation eventually turns to me and by this time, I’ve had too much to drink and the words just pour out of me. About the day, my mother, Gwen telling me that I’m fucked up, about Grey. The words continue to pour out until I find myself empty of anger and filled with longing as I stare into Ben’s eyes. The moment is charged as we both fall silent. Ben reaches over and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, his finger grazing my cheek subtly. My heart beats heavy in my chest.

  “I never forgot you,” he says quietly. And I am all out of words. I have nothing to say, my insides churn, a lethal mix of regret, shame, and longing. I lean into him slowly until our lips touch and I feel his hand on my face, caressing my cheek. My body thrums as his warm lips work against mine, a familiar taste that sends me spiraling back in time. My eyes are closed and I crave more, wanting to get lost, to leave it all behind. But a phone ringing interrupts the moment. Ben pulls away and looks into my eyes, his lucid eyes glazed with his own longing.

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “It must be you,” he says.

  “Oh,” I say in a daze, reaching for my purse. The ringing gets louder as I dig around in my purse until I find the source. I instantly see that I have several missed calls from my mother and her name is flashing across the screen.

  “Hello,” I say, holding the phone to my ear.

  “Charlotte,” my mother says, frantic. “I’ve been trying to reach you. It’s Gwen.” As soon as I hear Gwen’s name, my heart plummets. “She collapsed. We’re at Seattle General. Where are you?”

  “What? Oh my God. Is she okay? Oh my God.” My thoughts are racing. The cancer. The cancer. Is all I can think. “Mom, Gwen has...”

  I try to tell her, but my mother interrupts me. “Charlotte just get here,” she yells into the phone and hangs up.

  The phone drops from my hand and I look up to find Ben’s pleading eyes searching mine.

  “I have to go. It’s Gwen. I have to go,” I jump up off the stool, nearly falling down on my intoxicated legs. I reach down and grab my phone, stuffing it frantically in my purse and search for my car keys. “I have to go,” I keep repeating.

  “Charley, slow down. What’s wrong? Go where? Where do you have to go?” Ben says, reaching for my hands to steady me.

  “Seattle General. It’s Gwen. Oh my God. I have to go,” I say again, nearly breathless.

  “Tony, can we get a cup of coffee to go,” Ben calls out. “Charley, calm down. I’ll drive you. You’ve had too much to drink.”

  I nod as tears start to fall down my cheeks. Ben leaves money on the bar, grabs the cup of coffee and the car keys out of my hand. We walk to my car where he opens the passenger door and I mindlessly crawl inside. Within minutes we’re on the freeway, heading toward Seattle, toward the hospital, toward Gwen. Please let her be okay, I keep repeating in my mind as I sit with my knees bent into my chest, cradling the hot cup of coffee that Ben is forcing me to drink. I can’t stop crying as I think of the fight that Gwen and I had. Please don’t let that be the last thing I say to her.

  “What happened?” Ben finally asks.

  “I don’t know. Gwen collapsed,” I say. And then I tell him the truth, unable to keep it inside another minute. “She has cancer. Stage four. She’s been going through treatment to give her more time. But it’s not good. No one knows but me.” And this thought brings on a whole new realm of worry. “Oh my God, no one knows what’s wrong with her. We have to get to the hospital,” I say, frantic.

  “It’s okay. We’ll get there. She’s in good hands, Charley. Her records are all computerized. The doctors will have access to her chart. They’ll know, Charley, they’ll know.”

  “But John. Oh God, John. He doesn’t know.” I feel desperate. Desperate to be there, to be there when they tell John.


  “He’ll know soon enough,” Ben mumbles. He doesn’t ask questions. He just drives and places his hand on my knee when I begin to sob harder. The drive seems to take hours and all I can think of is Gwen, and what this means for all of us.

  Ben parks in the physician’s parking lot right in front of the hospital and I run inside following Ben’s lead to the emergency room.

  As soon as we walk into the waiting room, I see John pacing back and forth, his hand spread out over his mouth. And then I spot my mother sitting in the corner. With Grey. Olivia and Max are nowhere in sight. I go straight to my mother with Ben trailing behind me.

  “Mom,” I say as she looks up at the sound of my voice.

  “Charlotte,” she says and stands, wrapping her arms around me. I stand awkwardly, unsure of what to do. I haven’t hugged my mother in years. She releases me and I start to approach John when a doctor walks out of the double swinging doors, grabbing John’s attention.

  “Mr. Porter?” the older physician says.

  “Yes, I’m John Porter,” John says, walking closer to the doctor as we all huddle around him.

  “I’m Dr. Hoffwell. Your wife is suffering from congestive heart failure. We’ve stabilized her and we’re doing everything we can to treat it. But sometimes the damage is irreversible. Only time will tell, we won’t know anything for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  “Congestive heart failure? I don’t understand. She was fine just a few hours ago.”

  “Mr. Porter, this is a common complication of Gwen’s treatment. Unfortunately the medication has weakened her heart muscle. Her heart’s been working overtime and now her system is backed up.”

  “Treatment? What treatment?”

  I step up and put my hand on John’s back. “John, Gwen’s been undergoing treatment for cancer. She wanted to tell you...”

  “Cancer? What are you saying, Charley? How do you know this? What do you mean ‘she wanted to tell me’?” He looks at me, completely baffled. His eyes grow dark with fear.

  “John, Gwen has cancer. Again. She wasn’t sure how to tell you because it’s...it’s...”