The Last Time I Saw Her

by Alexandra Harrington

  “How are you grades?” Simon asked.

  “Dad,” Max cautioned.

  Charlotte felt her cheeks growing hot. “They’re…average, I guess. Better in some things than others.”

  “You and Max can start a club, then,” Simon said. “At least you have some time to improve, before you start. And there are scholarships to apply for—Max can tell you all about those. He certainly applied for a lot of them.”

  Charlotte half-smiled, half-grimaced. She knew Max didn’t like relying on his dad for money, as much as he often had to, and as much as there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Hey, but at least Charlie will actually work for her education,” Max said, “whereas I am probably already beyond the point of valuing money and when I flunk out of my first year, you can make a generous donation to the computer science department and pop me back in there, right Dad?”

  Charlotte covered her face with her hand to shield herself from Simon’s expression, and wondered if Deirdre would give her some wine if she asked.

  The rest of the evening continued much in the same way that dinner had. Simon made backhanded comments about his son, and sometimes about Charlotte, and Deirdre laughed harder each time—a direct correlation to the number of drinks she was throwing back. After approximately thirty-six minutes of painful living room talk, Max announced his offer to drive her home.

  “Thanks again for having me,” Charlotte said to Deirdre as Max helped her into her coat. Outside, it was just starting to rain. Max ushered her out the door and they walked to the truck without speaking. And she thought dinner had been awkward. She buckled her seat belt before he could remind her. They drove in silence.

  Many times she considered saying something, but her brain didn’t seem to want her to form the words. She was thankful for the rain, as it provided a distraction from the quiet.

  “Are you cold?” Max asked, motioning to the dials beneath the radio.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  She watched the windshield wipers fling left and right over and over again. They rumbled down the dark road as she mentally rehashed the evening’s events. They approached the intersection in front of the Quik Mart. Charlotte sighed, folding her legs, and Max turned his head to look at her. The car in the oncoming lane was far enough back that they might have been able to beat it if Max hadn’t stopped to think about it. Maybe he thought the other car was going to stop.

  Max stepped on the gas, swinging through a left turn a split second before the light changed from yellow to red. The second car accelerated to beat them. The screech of tires, glaring headlights, and a blaring car horn was suddenly all around. Max swerved onto the shoulder and slammed on the brakes once he’d cleared the intersection. Over before she even knew what had happened. The car that had been cut off—a blue Honda driven by a middle-aged woman who gave them both the finger—sped off behind them and disappeared.

  Charlotte took a few seconds to steady herself and twisted around to watch the other car disappear into the dark, the streaks of water on the road reflecting the red tail lights. She closed her eyes and took a single deep breath. They were fine. Charlotte made riskier moves all the time.

  She turned back to Max. Hunched forward in his seat, his hands were curled around the steering wheel.

  “Max?” Charlotte laid a hand on his shoulder. She could feel him shaking under her fingers.

  “Are you okay?” he asked without looking at her.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

  “I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry,” he stammered, “I wasn’t paying attention—”

  “Max, hey,” she said, scooting closer to him along the seat. “It’s okay. We’re okay. It was just an accident. People slip up all the time when they’re driving.”

  “For a second I thought…it felt like—”

  “I know, okay? But it wasn’t.”

  Charlotte pressed her cheek to his shoulder as he bowed his head against the steering wheel. She traced her hand up and down his back for what felt like a long time, and eventually his breathing steadied.

  “I’m sorry,” Max said finally, “I just kinda…lost it, for a second.”

  Max pulled the truck back onto the road, continuing toward her house. Charlotte reached across the seat and slipped her hand inside his, pulling it back to hold in her lap. They were quiet again, but it was a softer quiet. The tension from the rest of the night had drained away and instead was replaced with something completely different. Charlotte felt worse.

  When they got to her house, Max left the engine running.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him again.

  Max nodded toward the windshield, but didn’t look at her. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier tonight,” he said.

  She shrugged and released his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Things have just been…I feel like I’m going crazy. Over Sophie. Over everything.”

  Charlotte almost laughed. She could relate. Thinking about the accident had infected everything, every part of her and them. She could feel it everywhere, like heat. A year ago it had destroyed everything and it wasn’t finished yet. Charlotte wondered if it would ever go away, really. If there would ever be a morning they might wake up and not relate every little thing back to the same summer night when they were seventeen.

  “Come inside,” she said quietly.

  Max finally looked at her. He hadn’t slept over since Sophie’s ultimatum. They were taking things slow. Supposedly.

  “Are you sure you want me to?”

  “Please. I don’t want you to be alone.”

  Max’s face was unsure in the dark. “I don’t know, Charlie.”

  She slid closer to him. “Do you remember the first night I called you?”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “You came over right away. I’m just saying, you’re allowed to hurt too, Max,” she said, thinking of her talk with Leo the other day. “Just because you aren’t the worst off, doesn’t mean you have to ignore it.”

  Max swallowed hard, and she felt his arm slip around her waist, drawing her closer. “Thanks,” he said.

  Inside, they crept past Sean’s room and she shut her bedroom door behind them, gently easing the doorknob into place. Max was stooped over, uncurling his sleeping bag in his usual spot beside her bed. While his back was turned, Charlotte pulled out a baggy T-shirt and sleep shorts from under her pillow.

  “Don’t turn around for a sec,” she requested, shimmying into her pyjamas. She wasn’t nervous—she knew Max would never look at her, even if she hadn’t said anything. She felt silly being shy around him when they’d spent the entire summer showing each other parts of themselves. A different kind of exposed. “Okay, you’re good,” Charlotte said, freeing him. Max hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d spoken.

  Charlotte slid under the comforter, pulling it tight to the space beneath her chin. She was weirdly reminded of the first time he’d slept over; she felt the same kind of apprehension, like they were about to do something there was no going back from.

  “Just sleep in here,” she said.

  “What?” Max asked. It was the first he’d spoken in ages.

  “Sleep with me.”

  Wordlessly, Max moved into the space beside her, but was careful that they didn’t touch. She laid on her stomach with her head turned toward him, and he was looking at her too. She felt him hook his fingers around her wrist, just for a moment before releasing her.

  “Good night, Max,” she said. She reached back out, pushing her fingers between his, tangling them together by a thin line. A thread in the dark.

  “Good night,” he answered.

  twenty-six

  Charlotte’s first official paycheque was presented to her after work on Friday with little fanfare. Laurie swirled the R in Romer in a tight curl and pulled the cheque
free of the little book.

  “Make sure this doesn’t all go toward booze, hm?” Laurie said as she handed the cheque over.

  Charlotte accepted the money gratefully, but figured she couldn’t make any promises about the booze considering the way things were going.

  At the top of her mind was Sophie, as per usual. Charlotte yanked open the door to her car and hopped inside. So, Sophie had some anonymous benefactor handing her buckets of money every month. If Charlotte was right and Sophie did know who had hit her and Max last year, then they were at the centre of some conspiracy that Charlotte wanted no part of. She felt like they were trapped in one of those teen TV dramas she and Sophie used to watch together.

  She shook her head and buckled her seat belt. It couldn’t be that.

  The bank was just down the road, across from the library. Charlotte pulled over in front of it. She didn’t realize she had to, like, physically deposit the paycheque to get the money. She’d only ever been paid for babysitting and other odd jobs. All cash. She envisioned herself stumbling into the bank waving around her cheque for one hundred and ninety-six dollars and asking for help—Simon in the background making a mental note to tell his son that the girl he spent all his time with was a moron. She put her best adult face on, re-reading the cheque to make sure it really did have her name on it before she went inside.

  Charlotte was hardly ever at the bank—in her previous life, she had only ever come here to visit Sophie at work. There were a few potted plants strategically placed around the room, and the large reception desk was in the centre, with two tellers seated at either end. Hallways led to offices and whatever else.

  The ATM she was looking for was just inside the front door. Charlotte was just tucking her beloved cheque into an envelope and pressing it closed when she heard someone behind her.

  “Charlotte Romer, hello,” the woman chirped.

  She was Kathleen Langille, who had gone to North Colchester High with her dad way back when, and had sent a few casseroles when he’d died.

  “You look so grown up,” Kathleen said. “Beautiful, just like your mom.”

  Charlotte held back a cringe. She didn’t like being talked at about her mom. No one ever did it to be rude, but Charlotte was only ever reminded that whoever was reminiscing about Eliza Montgomery actually knew her, while Charlotte did not.

  “Thank you.” Charlotte smiled anyway, not knowing what else she should say.

  “Emma said she saw you at Max’s big birthday party,” Kathleen continued.

  Ah, yes, your daughter Emma who threw a drink on me, Charlotte recalled, pressing her lips together. Kathleen’s husband, Emma’s dad, had left them when Charlotte and Emma were in elementary school. For a while Charlotte had wanted her dad and Kathleen to get married. She and Emma could have been sisters. Joy.

  “Right, yeah, I saw Emma,” Charlotte said, smiling vaguely.

  “What’s new with you?”

  “Nothing really. I’m working for Laurie, at May’s.” Charlotte held out her envelope as proof.

  “Oh, how wonderful,” Kathleen cooed. “Good for you. How’s your brother?”

  He threatens to murder people regularly but that’s just a boy thing, isn’t it? “He’s good. Busy.”

  Kathleen smiled at her. “He still mows my lawn every second Sunday.”

  “Yeah, he’s…great.” Charlotte fed her cheque into the machine, which croaked weakly.

  “And how is Miss Sophie?”

  “Oh.” Charlotte swallowed. “Good, I think.”

  “Such a trooper. We miss her here. She really could have gone on to do anything, you know?”

  Charlotte cleared her throat, annoyed at the weird twisting her stomach did whenever she had to talk about Sophie. “Well, I’m sure she still will.”

  Kathleen nodded and waved her hands. “Of course, of course.”

  They were silent for a few slow seconds. The ATM spat out Charlotte’s receipt. Chequing account was resurrected, huzzah. There had been next to no money in there for god knows how long.

  “Oh, you know what?” Kathleen exclaimed suddenly. “You can bring Soph her things.”

  “Huh?”

  “We still have them,” Kathleen explained. “Wait right here,” she said, backing away from Charlotte and then disappearing.

  Charlotte stood awkwardly by the ATM. Please don’t let it be what she knew it was going to be. Sophie had always kept a ton of bric-a-brac shit and little succulents on her desk. What was Charlotte going to do with that?

  Kathleen returned. She was carrying a box the size of a microwave and thrust it into Charlotte’s hands. “This is perfect,” Kathleen said. “Sophie never came back for them, poor thing. You don’t mind dropping them off?”

  “Uh…I shouldn’t take this,” Charlotte tried to say, nodding down at the box.

  “Honey, it’s just collecting dust here. I would give it to Emma but she says she doesn’t even really see Sophie anymore, what a sin.” Kathleen tsked. “But I know you must, and Sophie probably misses her things. And there are photos of you in there.”

  Charlotte grimaced and swallowed a painful lump in her throat. She was suddenly desperate to get out of there. “Okay. Thanks, Kathleen.”

  “Bye, sweetie. See ya around.”

  Charlotte kept her head down and swiftly exited the bank before some other distant friend could appear with a box of things for Charlotte’s grade-ten boyfriend, Jude. God, Charlotte thought bitterly as she chucked Sophie’s box into the passenger seat, why does this feel like a never-ending break-up?

  Charlotte flipped one of the flaps open, her suspicions confirmed: there sat Sophie’s brittle, brown, half-dead mini cactus that she’d gotten at Pete’s Frootique in Halifax last summer. And, just as Kathleen had said, there was a framed photo of Charlotte and Sophie. Charlotte tried to place it…first day of grade ten, maybe?

  Charlotte shifted a few things around. A few notebooks, an overpriced paperweight, and other miscellany from some stationery store Sophie always ordered from online. Charlotte pulled free a piece of paper sticking out from one of the notebooks: another of Sophie’s mysterious deposit receipts. Charlotte recoiled and released it back into the box as if it were poisonous. Another reminder of the mass conspiracy. She almost pressed the box shut again, probably forever, when she cast one last glance on the receipt.

  June 2016.

  Months before the accident.

  Same deposit slip, same amount. But it meant whatever Sophie was getting paid for, it wasn’t to keep quiet about the accident.

  There was a tapping on her windshield, making Charlotte jump.

  Max waved merrily at her as she rolled down the window, Leo behind him.

  “Whatcha doing?” Max asked. He was wearing a forest-green T-shirt and had a dart tucked behind one ear.

  “Nothing,” Charlotte said quickly, practically shoving the box onto the floor and out of sight. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for ladies,” Leo explained.

  “Ah, well, you’ll have to keep looking,” Charlotte answered.

  “Can you please point us in the direction of the nearest gentleman’s club?” Max asked, leaning against her door.

  “Hah,” Charlotte said, “are those still a thing? Use protection.”

  “Don’t worry,” Leo placed his hands on Max’s shoulders and pulled him away. “Max is saving himself for marriage.”

  “What a golden boy,” Charlotte hummed.

  Max cast Leo a sour look.

  “I’m kidding.” Leo rolled his eyes. “No one wants to have sex with him. Same thing.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Are you exercising some born-again virgin thing or just suppressing the memory?”

  Leo looked giddy at the suggestion. “Are you kidding? You think sweet, darling, Maxwell Jedidiah Hale slept with Sophie Thomps
on and stopped talking about it?”

  Charlotte scrunched up her face. “What?”

  “My middle name is not Jedidiah,” Max said.

  “No, but you and Sophie didn’t—”

  “We never quite got there, I guess.” Max glared at Leo. “Glad we could explicitly clarify, though. Like, on the sidewalk in the middle of the day.”

  Charlotte’s conversation with Sophie had been burned in Charlotte’s brain since it happened. Charlotte had just assumed that Max and Sophie had slept together. Sophie had never said otherwise.

  “I have to go. Work,” Charlotte muttered, almost amputating Max’s arm when she rolled up the window.

  “Didn’t you do the morning shift today?” Max asked.

  She looked at him for half a second and didn’t answer, leaving them on the sidewalk.

  Charlotte rattled the beat-up knocker on the door. She felt a deep contrast to the last few times she’d found herself at Sophie’s door, half-hoping she wouldn’t answer. The door flung open within another few seconds.

  Ellen Thompson leaned against the door frame, like she thought Charlotte would try and slip past her. “What can I do for you?” she said coldly.

  Like her daughter, Ellen was very tall and blonde and very good at making it clear when you were annoying her. Right now, she almost looked like she was waiting for an explanation. Hey, Charlie, remember that time you abandoned my daughter? Ellen wore her hair swept back in a low bun, but the flyaways that framed her face made her look younger, drawing out her resemblance to Sophie. Charlotte didn’t blame Ellen for the way she looked at her. It wasn’t just dislike; it was firmly planted contempt toward someone who had hurt her daughter. Charlotte knew she was the villain here.

  “I—” In all the excitement Charlotte had forgotten it was mid-afternoon and entirely likely Sophie’s mother would be home. “Sorry, Ellen. I’m looking for Sophie.”

  Ellen cocked her head. “Hm.”

  “Is she home?”

  “Yes.” A year ago Charlotte would have waltzed in unannounced and chatted with Ellen for as long as it took Sophie to drag herself from her bedroom. She didn’t think Ellen would be in the mood for a girl chat right now.