The Last Time I Saw Her

by Alexandra Harrington

  Charlotte woke up much later. The moonlight cast his room and her body under the sheet in a smooth, pale glow. As soon as her senses collected, she realized Max wasn’t there. Fear vibrated through her, both that he had left her and that she was now alone in the house. But as she lifted her head from the pillow, she could hear music playing quietly in the main room.

  Charlotte found the nearest piece of clothing—his North Colchester hoodie—and pulled it on over her head, being careful of her face.

  Max was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to her. His elbows rested on the table and he held his head in his hands. Music was drifting out of the stereo over on the armoire.

  “Hey,” she said quietly.

  He jumped, surprised by her voice, but barely looked at her. She watched him press the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Hi,” he answered.

  “I love The Beach Boys,” she said softly, nodding to the radio. “Reminds me of my dad.”

  Max looked in the music’s direction, as if in agreement. “They always cheered me up,” he said, his voice wobbling and uneven.

  “Max,” she said. Something was wrong. She stilled, worried it was about her, about them, and what they’d done.

  He looked at her finally, the same light from his room pouring over his face, carving out his features in the dark. He looked at her like he knew her but also like he didn’t. Like he recognized her but couldn’t place her, or maybe like they’d met before in a past life and his current incarnation was trying to bridge the gap. He looked like he was remembering all their fighting with each other and for each other, and everything else they’d been through. Of all the universes where they might have met and didn’t, he looked at her like he loved her in every single one. She met his gaze finally, and she realized she’d been stupid these last weeks to think that he didn’t love her, and even stupider to think that she didn’t feel the same about him.

  Charlotte crossed the room because she could see his face shifting, unsure; just the way she felt. As soon as she was in range, he took her gently around the elbows and pulled her to him.

  “It’s my fault,” he said. His voice was hoarse. He sounded like he had been crying.

  “What? What is?” she asked, his hands finding hers in the darkness.

  “This. All of it,” he said. “You leave the door open for me, don’t you?”

  “Max, what?”

  “At night,” he said, twisting on the word, “you leave the back door open…so I can sleep over. That’s how Nick got inside. That’s why you’re hurt. Why Sean’s gone. Why he’s dead.”

  He shoved the chair back and pulled her closer, wedging her between the table and him. She found herself in his lap, both legs over one side of his and her body turned to face him.

  “It’s not,” she assured him. Her voice was rough, like her own body was protesting ever talking about this and Nick again. “Even if that door had been locked, he would’ve just broken in. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

  Max’s arm coiled around her waist, pressing them together and holding her steady. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Charlie,” he said, his fingers spreading out along the bruises that decorated her collarbone, acknowledging every one.

  She raised her hand to his face, tracing the edge of his jaw and sliding her fingers up into his hair. His hair was so dark it looked almost blue in the moonlight.

  “And, Christ,” Max said, regaining his composure a little. “You’re the one who was attacked and you’re consoling me.”

  She sighed the tiniest bit. “It doesn’t matter,” she said seriously, “you can’t help how you feel.”

  His hand mirrored hers on his face, his fingers settling just under her row of stitches.

  “You still look like you,” was all he said. “Your eyes.” Max hooked his hand around the side of her head, their eyes and noses and lips aligned. Max slanted his face toward her and she curled her hand around the collar of his shirt when he kissed her—years from now if she thought about it, she knew she would think of this as their first real kiss. It meant more now. Max pressed his lips to hers gently, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried about hurting her, or because he was nervous, or both.

  When they pulled away she just stared back at him in the dark. The dark made it easier. All they were was what they could barely see. The space between them as she held his gaze was full with the weight of them.

  She curled against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She held onto him and he held onto her, his hand tracing slow circles up and down her back. Max pressed his lips against her forehead and she listened to his breathing and the ocean outside. She could hear the wind and Max humming along softly to The Beach Boys.

  “God only knows,” Max said quietly, and it was the last thing she remembered before she slipped back to sleep.

  twenty-eight

  They both slept until late into the morning. It was grey again today, Charlotte noticed when she pushed the corner of the comforter back from her face. The days of hot July sun seemed to have finally died off and they were left with August’s purple mornings and dark blue nights. She moved to wipe the sleep out of her eyes but stopped herself. Oh, god. It was like it took the pain a second to wake up too, before it swam up and settled under the skin around her eyes.

  Damnit.

  Charlotte touched her fingertips gingerly to her cheek, which felt hot and puffy and a hell of a lot more sore than yesterday. She didn’t even want to look. Easing herself onto her back, she turned her head to look at Max.

  He was awake, reading something on his phone but she could tell he had been waiting for her to wake up. He looked up when he heard her stir. “Morning. How’s your face?” Max asked.

  “Bad,” she said, realizing even moving her jaw to talk made it hurt. “How does it look?”

  Max rolled onto his shoulder, closer to her, and placed his hand under her chin as if he was getting a better look. “Uh. Do you think it’ll get worse before it gets better?”

  She sighed and turned away from him, toward the window so he couldn’t see her face. “I think most things do.”

  Max slipped his hand around her waist and slid himself closer to her. “How do you feel?”

  Charlotte flip-flopped between what he could be referring to. About her missing brother? About the murder said brother had committed in their house? About the sex she’d initiated in Max’s bathroom last night? She wasn’t feeling too great about any of it.

  “Um. I’ve been better,” she mumbled without turning around. “You?”

  She felt Max place a kiss on her shoulder. “I’m okay. Last night—”

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said quickly. “I was a mess. I’m sorry.”

  Charlotte felt him shift like he was half sitting up. “No, don’t be. I wanted it. I wanted you—I want you—and I don’t…I don’t want you to regret it.” He paused. “Do you?”

  Charlotte looked back at him over her shoulder. Did she regret it? “No,” she said, assuring herself and him. “But I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

  Max put his hand alongside her head and tilted her face gently toward him. “Can I kiss you again?”

  Charlotte tried for a weak laugh. “If you don’t do it hard.”

  He kissed her and she felt his mouth twist into a tiny smile against her lips. It hurt, but she considered it collateral. He kissed her a bit more and they ended up pushing off each other’s clothes again as the morning faded into a rainy afternoon. She felt more alive this time and when they were done she was smiling back at him. Smiling definitely hurt. Max eventually slipped out of bed to make coffee and she drifted back to half-sleep.

  When she woke up again later, she got out of bed carefully and found him in the kitchen, poking at eggs in a frying pan.

  “The police left a message,” Max said. “I gave them my n
umber at the hospital. You’re free to get back into your house.”

  “I guess there wasn’t much mystery to investigate,” she said dryly as he handed her a mug. Her cellphone was on the counter. One message from Leo, checking in with about a dozen emojis: smiley wearing a sick mask, four blue question marks, kissing face, ocean wave, sparkles, and two green hearts.

  “Anything?”

  She knew he meant from Sean. “No.”

  She pushed the thoughts from her mind. She wasn’t going to wait around for Sean to contact her. He left because he’d had to, she knew he would say if they ever met again.

  Charlotte was suddenly hit with a wave of whatever Sophie must have felt a year ago. She shook her head, trying to focus on anything but Sophie. Her eye caught the letter stuck to Max’s fridge with a magnet. His letter from Dalhousie.

  “Oh,” she said quietly and mostly to herself. “You leave in, like, two weeks.”

  Max glanced at the fridge. “Yeah,” he said, almost sounding guilty.

  “You must be excited.” She stood on her tiptoes and eased herself onto the counter.

  Max dumped the eggs onto a plate and looked at her. “I won’t go.”

  Charlotte jerked her back straight. “What?”

  “I’ll defer,” Max said, placing a hand on each of her knees.

  “Why?”

  “Charlie, I can’t just leave you here.”

  “Max.” She shook her head. “That’s…crazy.”

  “What are you going to do? Who’s going to look after you?”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to respond and Max immediately recanted when he saw the look on her face. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I think I would survive without you while you’re at school.”

  “Yeah but what about without Sean? And Leo? And Sophie, even?”

  Charlotte folded her arms. He was painting a pretty grim picture. “I’m not asking you to not go to university.”

  “Not forever.” Max stepped closer. “And I know you’re not asking. I’m saying. I don’t want you to be alone and, if I’m being honest, I don’t want to be away from you. Just until we…figure this out.”

  It wasn’t that. Charlotte looked at him, and for a split second she saw Sean. Sean, who had miraculously gotten into Saint Mary’s and was so looking forward to university before their dad died. Before he had gotten landed with her. Charlotte knew Sean loved her, but she also knew there had to be a small part of him that saw her as the reason he’d never made it out of River John.

  “You can’t stay here for me,” Charlotte said, angling her head down so she was staring precisely at the centre of his T-shirt.

  “You could come with me, you know.”

  Charlotte swallowed a shaky breath at the proposition. She could go to Halifax with Max. Leave everything behind. She could, she could, she could.

  “He might come back,” she said. “Sean,” she clarified, her voice crackling over his name. “I have to stay.”

  Max softened. His hand took hers. “Then I’ll be here with you,” he promised.

  “I just don’t want you to have to wait for me,” she said quietly. “To catch up.”

  “There’s no catching. I’m right with you. Look at me.” He lined his fingers under her chin, along the edge of her jaw. She looked at him. “Here.”

  Max kissed her. They didn’t talk about it again.

  “Are you sure you want to go home?” he asked as they pulled up to her house. “We can still stay at my place.”

  “Yes. I’m sure. As I’ve said four hundred times.”

  They got out and climbed the porch steps together. Max paused with his hand on the doorknob.

  She caught his eye, reading his hesitation. “Max. I can handle it.”

  He looked like he didn’t believe her but pushed the door open anyway.

  Inside, everything was the exact same. Same couch and books and walls and floors, the same floor that Nick had died on and that she very well could have, too. She caught Max looking at her expectantly and snapped out of it.

  “What? I’m fine.”

  “I know.” Max nodded a few times.

  There was noise in the kitchen. Someone else in the house.

  Charlotte whipped around to look at Max and could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Retaliation? One of Nick’s cronies come to finish the job?

  Neither of them moved in the split second before Leo popped his head out of the kitchen.

  “Hi,” Leo said, not his usual chipper self. “I just put the kettle on. Thought you might want some tea.”

  “Oh my god,” Max groaned, rubbing his face. “I asked you to make sure everything was okay at the house, not re-enact her home invasion.”

  Leo’s expression faded quickly when he saw their faces. “Oh, shit, I thought—”

  “It’s okay, Leo,” Charlotte said, trying to steady her shaking breathing and the heart that was thrashing inside her ribcage. “Tea would be nice.”

  Leo moved toward her and pulled her into a hug. “You okay?” he asked against her shoulder.

  She pulled back and tried to smile, but avoided his eyes. “I’m still kicking.”

  “You really scared us.”

  “Leo was with me,” Max explained. “When Sean called.” His knuckles were pressed to his lips like he was nervous. Charlotte was trying to ignore him looking at her like she was a science experiment, waiting to see how she interacted with other members of the species.

  “Ah,” Charlotte said.

  “Well, your face is gnarly,” Leo said. “You’re gonna look like a badass.”

  “Thanks. That’s what I was going for.”

  “I think I’ll leave you guys to it,” Leo said. “You probably need to rest.”

  “Thanks for the tea, Leo,” she said.

  Leo patted Max on the shoulder as he passed him and left.

  “I’ll get you a mug,” Max said once they were alone, starting toward the kitchen.

  “It’s okay.” She shook her head. “I don’t want it.”

  “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  She headed down the hall and made a point not to look toward Sean’s bedroom.

  • • •

  Back at home, the days seemed to roll around. Charlotte didn’t answer her phone—calls or texts. She always checked to see if it was Sean and it never was, and there was no one else she wanted to talk to. Not even Sophie. Not that Sophie had texted her in months. Charlotte wasn’t scheduled at the restaurant this week, so that was one less thing to worry about, though she’d have to reach out to Laurie eventually. But now that Sean was gone, Charlotte wasn’t sure how much time she could afford to take off work.

  Max was always there. Almost overbearingly so. But sleeping was hard—her old nightmares about Nick were nothing compared to now. There was always a few seconds of panic between when she woke up and when she found Max in the dark. And sometimes when she came down the hall into the living room her mind sent her back to Nick waiting for her. Max’s hovering made her feel anxious and fussed over, but she didn’t want to think about what it would be like if he wasn’t there. Sometimes when the panic over everything warped through her and left her shaking, telling her that everything was her fault and Sean was gone because of her, Max would hold her and at least it wouldn’t get worse. She thought of him a year ago, navigating the worst year of his life, without Sophie and certainly without her. Max was stronger than she ever gave him credit for.

  It was a sunny afternoon, nearly a week after everything. Max was on the couch, reading the mythology book she’d given him for his birthday. Charlotte mostly busied herself with cleaning and sorting and reorganizing. Kept her mind occupied. She had spent the last hour dusting the photos hanging on the
wall in their living room, even though some of them were hard to look at now.

  Charlotte lifted down one of her and Sophie in the eighth grade. Charlotte was skinny and speckled with unflattering front bangs. Sophie was beautiful. She always was.

  “We should talk to her,” Max said. He must have seen what she was looking at.

  “Huh?”

  “We should talk to Sophie,” he said. “She might tell us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Max waved his book nonchalantly. “Remember? The money? The accident?”

  Every time Max mentioned Sophie, Charlotte hated herself. Hated that she hadn’t told him, after all this time, that Sophie didn’t know what he thought she knew. Charlotte didn’t know why she hadn’t told him yet. It was something she thought she’d be okay lying to him about, but she wasn’t. She told herself she was waiting for more information, or until things had settled down a bit. Every day she didn’t tell him, she felt like too much time had passed and she felt sick over everything. And now every time she thought about Sophie, uneasiness bubbled in her stomach and she wondered if Max would hate her for keeping it from him.

  “She didn’t,” Charlotte said quietly. She held her breath. “She doesn’t.”

  “What?”

  “Sophie doesn’t know who hit you.” Charlotte straightened the photo of the two of them. “It’s something else.”

  Max set his book down. “Wait, what? How do you know that?”

  Charlotte pulled the next photo, one of her and Sean as kids, off the wall and toward her chest. Her heart was beating in her ears, begging her to pick a different course for the conversation.

  Max stood up. “How do you know that, Charlie?”

  She looked at him, finally. “I found more receipts. Dated from before the accident. I asked Sophie about it. Whatever she knows, it isn’t about the accident.” Charlotte stared back at the wall and he was silent for a long time.

  “Are you kidding?” Max said after a while.