Chapter Twenty-eight
THEY SAT ON A dock adjacent to Martine’s, where Paula had first taken Charlie.
Lucia was pointing her chin at the sun, talking and sunbathing at once. “Hey, mind if I take off my clothes?”
“What?” In a panic, Charlie felt for his ring, then remembered Martine’s edict about men’s wedding bands clanking against glassware. The sound annoyed her. No rings.
“You’re going to get naked? Here?”
“No, silly, I have a bathing suit underneath. And the sun feels so good.”
“Oh.” He was going to add that it was a free country, then turn his head. Instead, he watched her strip down. There was a tattoo of the Apple computer logo that disappeared under her bikini bottom. Why can’t I tell her about Paula? he wondered.
“Guess what I have?” she asked.
“A tattoo?”
“That’s not what I was going to say, but yeah. Do you like it?”
He nodded, one too many times. In her mind I’m eligible.
How I’ve missed that feeling.
“It didn’t hurt,” she said.
“What didn’t? Life didn’t? It shouldn’t when we’re young, right?”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? I meant the tattoo didn’t hurt. Anyway, what I brought is—well, I’ll give you a hint: it’s silver and has your mother’s initials on it.”
“No clue,” said Charlie.
“The flask, Charlie. Remember the last day of camp?” She found it in her bag and handed it to him.
“I’d forgotten about that thing. Still full, too.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s been emptied many times over the year. I always think of you when I take a sip. We could take a sip now. It was sort of a dream of mine that we’d meet up one day and do that.”
They passed the flask back and forth, the Very-Brown-Eyed Counselor smiling wide, now that her flask dream had come to pass.
“Well, you seem really happy,” said Charlie, trying not to stare at the tattoo and where the bottom of the apple lived.
“I am now. I mean, right now, being with you. Just brings back good memories. Not really memories, because camp wasn’t the happiest time for me. More like, I’ve sort of thought about you a lot over the school year. God, feel that sun.”
The sun did feel good, and he shut his eyes so he could face it. “Good old late-summer sun. It tries so hard to stay warm for us.”
She wasn’t speaking, but he could feel her breath on his neck. She’s staring at me. Or maybe her eyes are shut, too, and she doesn’t know how close we’re sitting.
“Us,” said the Very-Brown-Eyed Counselor. “I love hearing you say that pronoun.”
Charlie heard her take a deep swig from the flask. “I have to tell you something important, okay?”
“Okay.” His eyes were still shut. He’d heard her say something important before, and it usually preceded a proclamation about a new diet or some gossip about an ex-boyfriend. Charlie was utterly comfortable in her company, especially with his eyelids receiving heat. So much young, soft talk around the campfire. Maybe she’s engaged? He hoped she was, so he could spill his secret, then hoped she wasn’t so that he could bask in her flirtatious heat. This teenaged girl, smelling of suntan lotion, and the September sun—he was becoming aroused.
“I can’t wait anymore.” Her mouth was over his. Charlie kept his eyes closed. He was paralyzed. If he pushed her away, she could fall in the river. So he allowed it. Just sat there, letting her wash him with her lips, her tongue.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I had to do it. I’ve been in love with you, and it’s been killing me inside.
“Listen, Lucia, I have to tell you. Listen, Martine doesn’t let the bartenders wear wedding rings at work. She was jilted, I think, or something.”
“Huh?” Now she stood up.
“Uh, I got married.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before I made a fool of myself? You haven’t changed.”
“I should have said something, but I—”
“Whatever, it’s fine, really,” she said, hurriedly dressing. “I mean, congratulations, right? Marriage, wow!” Now she’d taken off her glasses and was furiously rubbing her eyes, rubbing her face. “Well, look, I’m going to go. It was nice to see you. Oh, and here’s your flask back. Have a good life, Charlie Green.”
*
Girls, he thought, slowly making his way back to Martine’s. Girls are a little bit crazy, but that’s okay, they grow out of it. Women are awesome. Lucia is a girl and Paula is a woman. He thought of throwing the flask in the river but didn’t feel the need for the gesture. Stuff like that comes after a young drama, and there was no drama just then. Only a kiss, perhaps his last non-Paula kiss ever. And that’s just fine.
“What’s that?” Charlie asked Gary, his eyes adjusting to the bar’s old salt mine roots. “God, I love this bar’s darkness. Bad things can happen under the sun.”
“Lemon squares.”
“What?”
“Paula and her mom just dropped off a basket for you. Don’t worry, I haven’t had one yet. They said it was your favorite. Lucky man.”
“They were here?”
“Yeah, you didn’t see them? I told them you were outside with that wacky chick.” There was a red and white cloth towel from their kitchen lining the basket. Odd to see something from the kitchen out in the world. Out of place. It misses home.
“Did they say anything about Lucia? Did they see her? Us?”
“Nope. Just said they worked all day on getting your lemon squares right.”
He ran outside, ran to the dock, then ran out to the street and looked both ways. Back to the dock to see if there were any remnants, anything. Then back into the salt mine darkness.
“Fuck,” said Charlie, reaching to feel the soft terry cloth towel.
“What is it?”
“Probably nothing. I have to go,” he said, grabbing the basket.
“Hey, can I have a lemon square?”
“No.”
*
When he got back home, the front door was wide open. Charlie’s gait changed from a jog to something comically ginger. An inept 1950s TV detective.
“I’m home,” he said in a weak singsong voice, from the front porch.
This is stupid, he thought and marched right in. “I’m home!”
There were no bad signs in the kitchen. Perhaps it was conspicuously clean, but if Mrs. Henderson had assisted with the day’s baking it made sense. He placed the basket on the kitchen counter and shouted upstairs, “Thank you for my treats.”
Their key basket was empty except for the car keys. She’d taken her house keys. Which meant she still had use for them. A good sign. They owned Mrs. Henderson’s second car, a 1981 Buick Regal. It was still in the driveway, which meant she was either upstairs or with Mrs. Henderson, together in her primary car, a 1985 Buick Regal. Charlie decided she was home. She was upstairs, getting ready for their Saturday date night. He sat on the couch, crossed his legs, and reached for the New Hope Free Press.
“Just occurred to me that your mom only buys Buick Regals. She probably thinks all that dashboard wood is real. How was your day? The lemon squares look amazing. Work was slow. Old friend from camp came in. Nice to see her. She lost a lot of weight. I hope she finds the right guy. So where are we going tonight?”
He lay down on the couch, shut his eyes, and willed that he would feel her weight over his body, but it was exhausting, this telekinesis, and he fell asleep. He awoke to nighttime, the lemon squares precisely where he’d left them. It was a little after nine. A three-hour nap. The longest of my life.
“I think I fell asleep,” he shouted upstairs. “People say that naps are refreshing. This one made me feel dead. Maybe I’ll see if the answering machine is blinking. Maybe I’ll fix myself a drink and make my way upstairs. Maybe you left a note.”
*
He left twelve messages on Mrs. Henderson’s machine, the last one at three in the morning.
I don’t know if you saw something today, but things aren’t always how they seem. I love you so much.
Her clothes were still in their drawers, her green Samsonite World Traveler in the closet. Her valuables, however—her birth certificate, her passport, and her Pennsylvania Savings & Loan passbook—were missing. She hadn’t spent a dime of Rose Green’s $25,000 gift. In fact, with interest, it was worth $25,177, an appreciation that delighted her.
“Interest is like magic,” she’d said. “Maybe one day, when we’re old, it’ll be worth double. Then I’ll take you on a vacation.” She’d held her head so high.
Okay, so something is definitely off, thought Charlie. I won’t say wrong. Not yet. He hadn’t closed the blinds, nor gotten under the covers. He hadn’t the heart to concede it would turn morning without her, but it had. The birds were chirping, light pouring in, and he was alone, in yesterday’s work clothes, the same he’d worn when he’d been kissed. He hadn’t even taken off his boots.
I’ll shower, change, throw away the clothes from the kiss. Maybe burn them outside. Then I’ll buy flowers, go to Mrs. Henderson’s. No, no flowers. It’ll make me seem guilty. I’ll pick sunflowers from the towpath. I won’t even bring them to Mrs. Henderson’s, I’ll just put them in a vase here. Next to the basket of lemon squares. The kitchen counter will look like a painting, and its yellowness will lure her back home.
*
The Hendersons’ driveway was empty, the front door locked. Charlie looked in every window, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No signs of distress or a changed life. The garden flag flapped in the wind. Charlie waited for hours, pacing, practicing speeches. Some were angry.
You shouldn’t just leave. Even if you’re upset, you should give me the benefit of the doubt. You should give me the chance to explain.
Some were desperate.
Without you, my life is a horrible mistake.
Every hour, he would hear the Sunday peal of bells, a sound he’d never noticed. A grotesque sound for the internally desolate. God didn’t rest on Sunday; he used the day to practice torture.
The bedroom above the garage was unlocked. He’d stashed away a shot glass and the Hendersons’ ageless and endless plastic liter and a half of Gordon’s vodka that he used for post-lovemaking nightcaps. Today, he needed some protection from the hourly bells: an empty stomach buzz. He also needed to be with the pile of TV Weeks, which he ordered chronologically. Bonanza to ALF. That they ended abruptly in 1986, with the fall TV preview, sat heavily with Charlie. It was probably when Paula moved out of the house to Philly that Mrs. Henderson stopped adding to the collection. He could just see her waving goodbye in the driveway. Paula’s tears, Mrs. Henderson’s tears, Gary waiting patiently in his admirably beaten pickup. That was a beginning for Paula, and now Charlie wondered if today she might be experiencing an end.
“Where’s my love?” he pleaded with ALF. “Where’s my heart?”
He brought the vodka downstairs and sat outside, against the garage door. A slumped-over sad sack.
“Girls forgive sad sacks,” John had said. “It’s a rule for them.”
*
“Come on, Charlie, let’s go inside,” said Mrs. Henderson, snickering and shaking her head. “Just look at you.”
“Where is she?”
“I’ll explain everything inside.”
She’d pulled into the driveway at dusk. Charlie had closed his eyes, hoping to hear the sounds of two car doors, but there was just the one.
“You went to the airport?” Mrs. Henderson held the handles of a Philadelphia International Airport Duty Free shopping bag.
“You really hurt her this time, Charlie. Now you come sit down at the table, I’ll heat up some pasta.”
“I did nothing wrong.”
“Necking with an almost-naked girl right under her nose? I thought she would faint.”
“Where is she? Please, Mrs. Henderson.”
“Charlie, she asked me not to say. She needs time. I’m not even sure what she’ll settle on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Which country.”
“Country? But she didn’t take her suitcase. Her clothes.”
“Well, today she withdrew your mother’s magnificent gift and we bought all-new. Then to the American Express office for her traveler’s checks. Never saw her sign so many things. Think her hand got cramped, poor thing.”
“She can’t withdraw from a bank on a Sunday.”
“She grew up with the banker’s son, and they made an exception. She’s beloved, that girl of mine, and you treated her like a dog. I’d usually heat up the pasta on the stove, but it’s been a long day, so I’m going to cheat and use the microwave. You know all about cheating, don’t you, Charlie?”
“Listen, Mrs. Henderson—”
“Watch your tone with me, Charlie. I spent all yesterday and today trying to pick up the pieces of my daughter’s broken heart. It took all the strength I had to put her on that plane.”
“Okay, fine. When is she coming back?”
“It was a one-way ticket, Charlie. I insisted it be that way.”
“This can’t be happening to me.”
“She’s always thinking about what other people need. What you need, what her boyfriends needed, never about herself. Now this is her time.”
Charlie’s chin was on the dining room table, his arms lifeless at his sides. He looked into the convex glint of the Parmesan cheese spoon. If I can just focus on that light forever. Mrs. Henderson can feed me through a tube. Then eventually I’ll expire, and the emptiness will be gone.
“Chin up, Charlie. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find each other again. But Paula has very strict rules when it comes to cheating. She got that from me. One and done. I was the same way with her father, Mr. Asshole. I always told her that you men are just no good when it comes to fidelity. And as much as we both cared for you, it’s the truth. ‘Men cheat, women weep.’ Well, excuse my French, Charlie, but that’s bullshit. How about ‘Men cheat, women go to Europe.’”
“What? No but I didn’t really—”
“I’ve said too much. Now eat some pasta, you’ll feel better. Come on, Charlie, take that chin off the table, hon. Charlie?”