“I’m sorry.”
Silence again.
“I spent the last two weeks thinking that my ex-girlfriend knows who almost killed us and has been making money off of it,” Max started. “That it’s someone we know. You know I’ve been obsessing over it. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, but I haven’t said anything. Because of you. Because…you’re more important, you getting better is more important, but—”
“Max, I just wanted to wait until I knew more—” she tried.
“I have never lied to you, Charlie,” Max said. “Not once.”
“I know. I know that.” Charlotte could feel tears clawing their way up her throat. She felt hot and dizzy, the same way she’d felt the last time they’d had a huge fight, right after she came home. When he told her he hated her.
“How could you let me think that?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was just thinking—”
“Of what?” Max snapped. “This has a hell of a lot more to do with me than with you.”
“You’re right,” she said, trying not to cry as she held the frame to her chest. “I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve told you, I should’ve—”
“Is there anything else?”
“What?”
“Is there something else you’re not telling me? Because I don’t…I don’t know how you could keep this from me.” He was staring at her.
Charlotte felt like her heart hung suspended inside her ribs. Moment of truth, quite literally. Charlotte knew this was likely the nail in the coffin of whatever they had been.
“Sophie was pregnant and miscarried after the accident.”
Max blinked.
“There. Now you know everything I know,” she said.
“How,” Max hissed. She could see the colour flush in his cheeks, and she knew what was coming. “How could you not tell me this? How could you spend all week…kissing me and sleeping with me? I was going to miss university for you.”
She hated that he’d spun that around on her. “You were?” Past tense.
“I can’t…look at you, right now, Charlie.” His words hurt, and she flinched weakly. “I think I’m gonna go,” Max said after several seconds.
“Max, wait.” The familiar panic gripped her. He couldn’t leave. She couldn’t be alone. Not this soon. She hadn’t realized how hard it would be, being in the house where it happened—in the house without Sean. “Please don’t leave.”
“I would never lie to you,” Max said, in an almost backhanded voice, “so I’ll tell you that I don’t want to be around you right now.”
“Max, please. You can be mad but don’t leave.” She was crying now. “I’m scared to be alone.”
For a moment it looked like she may have swayed him; his body stilled and he looked at her the way he’d looked at her a million times. Really studying her.
“Who was—” he started, his voice shaky and jerky like he was trying to walk on uneven ground. “Who was Sophie with? The baby, I mean…who did she…?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said quickly. She hadn’t really had time to speculate, but also didn’t think she wanted to. What did it matter, now? Prying every last bit of truth from Sophie wouldn’t help anyone. Charlotte didn’t need to know. “Really. I don’t.”
“Right. I’ll call you later, Charlie.” He moved swiftly by her, towards the door. She tried to grab for him but he brushed her off. “I’ll be back.”
“When?”
The screen door clattered shut.
She couldn’t even wipe her eyes, which made her angrier. She was angry at Sean and at Max and at Sophie and everyone else.
She hurled Sean’s photo across the room; it crashed against the wood stove and shattered. Poetic, Charlotte thought during the silence that hung in the air after it hit the ground.
She moved to clean it, collecting the shards of glass in her hand, so at least they’d be off the floor. The frame had wedged between the corner of the stove and the woodpile. She yanked it free, revealing a dull silver item on the floor underneath it.
Charlotte reached down, pulling out the plastic object. A phone.
Sean’s?
No, this was prehistoric—even for Sean, who had a crappy old iPhone. This one flipped open. And the battery was charged and working, so it hadn’t been there long. The only other person who’d been in their house recently was….
Nick.
She pressed the centre button and the recent calls sprang up. Just jumbled numbers—no names. She was reminded of the nondescript cellphone she and Max had found in his dad’s office. That felt like years ago.
A weird feeling crept into her stomach. Suspense? Charlotte dialled the most recently called number. Nick had called this person six times.
The ringing stretched on for ages before someone answered.
“Simon,” said the voice on the other side.
twenty-nine
june
two years earlier
It had been two weeks since he died. The end had been quiet—she and Sean were the only ones there, though Sophie and her parents were just outside in the hallway.
“Sean,” Charlotte called, her voice hoarse like she hadn’t been using it. No answer. Their kitchen felt cold, grey, and haunted, even as the June sun shimmered and danced against the window.
Charlotte clattered a dish down onto the sink, jamming it sideways into the barely soapy water even though it didn’t quite fit. “Sean,” she repeated. Louder. Angrier. “Come and help me.”
Sean was thumping around in his room supposedly cleaning, but she kept hearing the clink of glass bottles and wasn’t so sure. Still no answer.
“Goddamnit,” she was almost yelling then, spinning around to look at the rest of the kitchen like that was what was pissing her off. A mess, everywhere. Stained casserole dishes from meals donated by family friends and church ladies—they would have to soak forever before the crust even budged. They had so many they couldn’t even eat them all, not before they went bad, because they couldn’t fit any more dishes in the freezer. All they had now was a kitchen full of dishes that didn’t belong to them and no dad and she couldn’t think of what else.
“What’s the problem?” Sean grumbled, finally appearing at the far door of the kitchen. His hair was cropped short and uneven like he had cut it himself, and the sweater he was wearing had food or beer strains down the front. He looked like shit. She wondered if she looked better or worse. She felt worse.
“You have to help me,” she demanded. “We need to clean up.”
“The hell we do,” he said gruffly, but the words spilled out uneven and blurry. She was right. Drinking. “We don’t need to do anything.”
“Yes,” she spat. “They’re going to come check on us sooner or later and if this place is a pigsty—”
“No.” Sean shook his head slowly, like he had to think through the action. “Not two goddamn weeks after, Charlotte. We get time to…adjust.”
“He died two weeks ago. The funeral is over. Everything is over. This,” she gestured around the tiny kitchen, “the stream of food and cards and everything—that’s done. It’s back to real life, Sean. And you know it’s not just that.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “I know you were out with Nick last week. And about the drinking, and the weed. If the social workers ask people about you, they’re going to say that your friends are deadbeat drug dealers and you get busted by the cops every other month—”
“Watch it, Charlie,” Sean barked. “Get off your high horse. You never cared before.”
“You know it would kill dad if we got split up.”
“Well, something might have beat it to the punch.”
“God, Sean,” she said, running hot water over dish one of eighty. “We’re doing this now or we’re never going to. Help me.”
“Do it yoursel
f.”
“Wow, what a legal-guardian-like thing to say,” Charlotte snapped.
“Bite me, Charlotte.”
“Sorry Sean, why don’t you call the social worker now and they can come take me away as soon as possible, then you won’t have to clean up at all.”
“I’m not that lucky,” Sean snarled.
“Go to hell.” Charlotte flicked the water off, stabbing a pan with a crusty metal scrubber. She’d clean this whole place herself and she’d make sure Sean ended up her legal guardian, just out of spite. She didn’t realize that she was crying, thought it was water splatter and that her eyes were blurry from the sunshine. It took her longer to realize Sean was still standing there.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a long time.
“Whatever,” she levelled out. “Just help me clean up.”
Sean joined her at the sink, shoving the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows. “I’d never let them take you. Never let you go anywhere.”
She handed him a dry dish towel. “I know.”
By the next morning they weren’t speaking to each other, and the house settled into the same quiet of summer afternoons when their dad would still be at work. The not speaking was better than the yelling. It wasn’t angry. Just sad. But a new day either way.
Charlotte had her legs curled under her on the couch the way their old cat used to, wedging down into a sunny spot. Planned to stay there reading all day. She was trying to get through 1984—exams were this week.
It was almost noon, but Sean had only just pulled himself out of bed. He was stirring a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table when Charlotte heard quick, uneven steps and frustrated mumbling on the other side of the screen door. Charlotte looked up from her book. Please not another casserole.
Sophie burst through the door, a flurry of glitter and sunshine and hairspray. She had two long, flat garment bags over her shoulder and about four bulky-looking ones tangled in her arms. She was all limbs.
“Hey,” Sophie said breathlessly, heaving all her stuff onto the coffee table beside Charlotte. Her eyes swept the room, like she could see the sad and the quiet, and sense how nothing seemed to be moving in the house anymore.
Charlotte shut her book and Sean looked up from his breakfast.
“Sophie, Jesus.” Charlotte stood up and moved closer to her. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“Just need makeup,” Sophie explained, shaking her head a bit to show off her intricate hairdo. She must have driven to the salon in Pictou for it. “How’re you doing?” Sophie asked quietly, gently laying her hand on Charlotte’s cheek like she was checking for a fever. Sophie always made Charlotte feel better just by being around—like magnets that snapped together and made one tight piece. Meant to be together.
“I’m okay,” Charlotte said softly, and it was the first time in two weeks she thought she might actually mean it.
“You doing all right, Sean?” Sophie asked once she had registered Charlotte’s answer.
Sean was looking back down at his bowl but nodded a few times. “Yeah, thanks, Soph.”
“Okay, so listen.” Sophie’s fingers slipped around Charlotte’s wrists and held onto her—Sophie’s go-to gossiping stance. “I can’t go to this without you. Not when things are this sad.”
Sophie was the only tenth grader to be asked to the senior prom. Jason Langille was on the football team and Charlotte knew Sophie was only going with him to say she did.
“Sophie,” Charlotte half-laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re gonna have to. You can’t just leave Jason hanging.”
“I know. I’m not.” Sophie smiled, and Charlotte recognized the diabolical grin that Sophie reserved for when she was up to something. “You’re gonna go with Jason.”
Charlotte opened her mouth but Sophie was ready for her—years of practice in talking Charlotte out of her comfort zone.
“Look.” Sophie was holding one of the garment bags in front of her like she was a Roman soldier brandishing a shield. “I asked Delilah for her sister’s dress. She graduated last year. Remember, it’s, like, lavender? Totally your colour.”
“What? Sophie, you can’t just Parent Trap me into your prom with Jason.” Charlotte waved her hand in front of Sophie’s face. Clearly Sophie had inhaled too much hairspray.
Sophie scoffed and batted Charlotte’s hand away. “Jason knows. He’s fine with it.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’ll still make out with him,” Sophie explained with a shrug. “Trust me, he’s fine.”
“I am not taking your spot at prom,” Charlotte said, as if that was the end of it. She should know better by now.
“Duh,” Sophie said, waving the second garment bag at her. “I’m still going. Sean is gonna take me.”
Sean was mid-bite and looked at Sophie like he hadn’t heard correctly. A long pause. Sean slid the spoon out from between his teeth.
“Nope,” he said finally.
“But you can’t take your sister,” Sophie whined.
“I’m not taking anyone,” Sean insisted. “I’m not going.”
“Well, listen,” Sophie began, “Charlie is gonna go with Jason whether we go or not—” Charlotte shook her head aggressively at this, “—so I guess it’s up to you if you want to leave your baby sister with the captain of the football team….”
“I don’t have tickets,” Sean tried again. “I didn’t register or sign up or whatever the hell else you have to do.”
“I know. I called Crowell this morning.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “You have the principal’s home number?”
“There was really nothing he could say when I gave him the whole ‘newly orphaned Sean Romer changed his mind and wants to go to his senior prom after all, so can we please have two more tickets’ story. Charlie, you’ll take mine and Jason’s.”
“Sophie, I don’t—”
“Charlie, relax. You’re not going to prom with Jason. You’re going with me. We just need the boys to get us in and then we don’t. No offence, Sean,” she added with a glance at him. “It’ll be a dry-run for our grade twelve.”
“You’ll definitely get asked next year,” Charlotte said.
“I know. But I mean, us together. Practice.”
“I’m. Not. Going,” Sean said slowly, like Sophie didn’t speak English.
“Sean, come on.” Sophie had begun unpacking her makeup and bobby pins and kept moving around pieces of Charlotte’s hair like she was a sculptor staring down a giant block of marble. “Not to sound insensitive, but it’s not like you don’t have a suit.”
“Sophie,” Charlotte scolded.
“What? He’s gonna wear it one time and never again?”
Sean was scraping the bowl with his spoon, trying to clean out the last bits of sugary milk. “Well. Charlie, do you want to go?”
Charlotte looked between them, like it was some sort of trick. Sophie didn’t look at all surprised—like she knew all along Sean would cave.
“Yeah,” Charlotte conceded.
Sean shoved his chair back, rumbling along the wood. He stood and they waited.
“Guess I’ll shower,” he said.
Sean mostly ignored them while they got ready. Charlotte wondered when he was going to snap and announce he’d changed his mind.
“Okay, suck.”
Charlotte tensed and pulled in every bit of her body that she could, imagining herself as an alien being absorbed into some zero-gravity space vacuum.
Sophie whipped the zipper up Charlotte’s side, settling it under her armpit. “There. Ta-da. You look great.”
“It feels too small.”
“Nah,” Sophie said, tugging down on the skirt a bit for her so it wasn’t so bunched up at the top. “Delilah said her sister was doing some weird juice cleanse for the week before prom. Never work
s. I’m sure it has some stretch.”
Sophie was already dressed—a royal blue A-line with little butterfly sleeves. Simple, by Sophie’s standards. She said she was saving the extravagance for their own prom.
“Here, don’t move.” Sophie craned her neck, tilting Charlotte’s head back into the light. “You have mascara.” Sophie swiped her thumb at the space under Charlotte’s eyebrow.
“Thanks for doing all this,” Charlotte said once Sophie looked satisfied. “I’m really glad Sean’s going.”
“Me too. And that you are.”
“I can’t believe he agreed.”
Sophie laughed and then stopped herself, like she was meditating on what Charlotte had said. “Really? I can. Sean would literally do anything for you.”
Charlotte knew that. Really, she did. Sean just had a funny way of showing it.
“Probably doesn’t hurt that I’m the trade-off.” Sophie grinned. “Let’s go get him. I want us to get some pictures.”
Charlotte followed her. Sophie turned out to be right—the night of dancing and fun and trying to feel back to normal was a practice run, a rehearsal. For a senior prom they would never have.
thirty
“Charlie. Come on. I can hear you watching The Office.”
Charlotte paused the TV and burrowed down further into the sofa. It was Leo at the door. He’d been by three times in two days. She never answered.
Max hadn’t called like he said he would. It was better that way, Charlotte figured, after the second day passed in radio silence. For one, because she had no idea what she’d say to him if he did come back, after his dad had answered Nick’s phone call. And for another, because she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him anymore anyway.
She’d been an idiot, she thought, to think she and Max could ever be anything. If he and Sophie didn’t work because they were too different, she and Max had crashed and burned because they were too similar. Oh yeah, and his dad was definitely involved with Nick, the sketchiest person in town. Or, he was.
It was like she could feel it in her bones, knew everything had to be connected—Sophie’s money and Nick and Simon. Like it was on the tip of her tongue.
The Last Time I Saw Her Page 24