Charles promised himself this wouldn’t happen again. It was a promise he believed in. One he lived by, that got him through the long days as Cordelia’s husband. It ushered him safely through parties where he and Cat were both in attendance, and made pleasant conversation, when Colin was present, almost easy. The promise sustained him, because it was one that came also with an excruciatingly hard truth: this was impossible. Whatever fantasies he’d harbored, years before, of a life with Catherine Connelly, they were just that. She might slink back from her need of him from time to time, but she would never choose him. In her choice was his strength.
Two weeks later, looking down at her peaceful face as she slept in his bed, blond hairs falling and sticking around her mouth, Charles was no longer strong.
Augustus stared at the phone. All he had to do was reach forward and lift the receiver, then dial. It was as simple as that. Augustus liked simple. He detested easy, but simple was a matter of efficiency. Efficiency led to success. Success led to…
He buried his face in his hands. This wasn’t business. This was his life.
His unborn daughter’s life.
Elizabeth would be babysitting upstairs for a couple more hours before it was his turn to take over. There wasn’t much risk of her coming downstairs. She almost never left Ekatherina alone now, not since that day.
And even if she did overhear him, what of it? Ekatherina’s mental state wasn’t some closeted family secret. If anyone knew the desperation seeping through his veins right now, it was his youngest sister.
Augustus, finally, understood why men resorted to drink.
He felt so old. So terribly, unutterably old. He was only twenty-four, and already he’d launched a successful business, married for love, and was now preparing for what might be the end of his marriage, for whatever the opposite of love was.
For her, anyway. He still loved her, despite everything.
At twenty-four, he’d already done so much, but the only thing that mattered to him now was the one thing he hadn’t yet.
His daughter still had several months before she’d enter this world.
And he couldn’t live in a world where she didn’t.
Charles told Colin he wouldn’t divorce Cordelia, but he’d said so knowing what his circumstances were. He could never marry Lisette, and in any case, he didn’t want to. Somewhere within him, he knew the love he carried for his French nymphet wasn’t the lasting kind. It wasn’t the Catherine kind.
For Catherine, he would’ve divorced Cordelia in a heartbeat.
But that wasn’t so simple, either, now was it? To choose Catherine would be to lose Colin forever. Of the two, only Colin had ever really been loyal to Charles. He showed tough love at times, and his truths were not always welcome, but these things came from a friendship that had interlaced their entire lives. Cat was only as loyal as her fears allowed her to be.
Now, she was giving him the choice again, and he was no longer strong enough to be sure he’d make the right one.
Since the night she came to him, desperate and seeking his arms, he’d spent his nights making love to her on Frenchmen, and his days enjoying the soft thrill of fatherhood, with Nicolas. It was the best of both worlds. His two loves. His only true loves.
Late at night, while she slept, he’d step out onto the balcony of his flat, listening to the lively beat of jazz float up from the street below as he smoked, and his fantasies would lie to him. They’d show him a world where he could have her, have Nicolas, have Colin, have it all, all of it. Evenings in New Orleans were a place where magic had no counterweight. Where anything was possible.
And then Colin would call him, devastated. He’d ask for advice on how to bring his wife home, as Charles looked over at that same wife, sleeping in his bed, not Colin’s.
Catherine’s smooth arms rolled around his waist from behind, looping together at his torso. Her face fell against his back, sighing. “I just want it to stay like this, forever.”
Charles blew out his smoke, leaning his head back. “Me too.”
“It could, you know.”
He flicked his butt and redirected his hands to hers, winding their fingers together. “I guess anything is possible.”
“What’s wrong, Huck? You’re changing.”
He watched a couple on the street below stumble drunkenly into an overflowing dumpster. “Not the first time you’ve said that to me.”
“I meant you’re changing now. Right before my eyes. You’re not the same man who carried me to bed when I came to you.”
He chuckled. His heart wasn’t in it, but it felt like the right thing to do. “It’s only that anytime you’re mine, there comes a point where reality comes in and reminds me the cost of having you.”
Catherine dropped her arms. “The cost? What does that mean?”
“Come on. We’re not kids anymore, Cat.”
“We were never kids together.”
“Weren’t we?” He turned toward her, leaning into the iron balcony. “And now we both have children, Catherine.”
“Catherine!” Her mouth and eyes widened with offense. “Now I’m Catherine?”
Charles lit another cigarette. It wasn’t what he really wanted, but he’d made a promise to Nicolas, and what greater promise was there, than the one you made to your son? “Don’t read so much into everything. I’m not that deep.”
“So, what, I’m just a fling to you? Something you turn to when you have a need?”
His laugh this time was real. “Quit it. I have much easier, less heartbreaking ways to fulfill my needs, and we both know it. Don’t put words in my mouth, or intentions in my heart.”
“Poetic,” she accused.
“I have changed,” he said. “I’ve changed because of you. I’ve changed away from you, and I’ve changed for reasons that have nothing to do with you. One thing, though, will never change.”
She curled her lips in petulant defiance.
“That I love you more than my own life.” He tangled his hands in her messy blond hair, careful not to burn her with his cigarette. His face lowered to hers. “That you’d ever question this hurts me more than I can say.”
Tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. “You’re saying goodbye again, aren’t you?”
Charles kissed her. His hands fell to her sides, to the thin fabric on her negligee. “Soon,” he whispered against her lips. “But not tonight.”
The dial tone grated his ears in the quiet room. The sound was repellent, and he wanted it gone, but he had to dial.
Augustus realized he didn’t know who he planned to call.
Charles was entangled in some secret tryst with Catherine Sullivan, something he only knew because Lizzy knew, and Lizzy knew because she’d seen something about that and wasn’t telling.
Evangeline was out of the question. She was gone for a reason, and he’d pushed her to do it, for her own good. He couldn’t reel her back in now.
Maureen was… well, of all of them, she was the least capable of the kind of reasoning he required. She’d been over at the house a lot lately, visiting with Elizabeth, which struck Augustus as extremely odd, but he said nothing. He was afraid of what Ekatherina would do, too, and he understood the need to share that burden.
Mama was out of the question.
This left Colleen, who was herself drowning in her own heartache. Augustus’ guilt gnawed around the corners of his own conundrum. He’d called her a few times to check in, of course, but he never really expected her to answer, or to talk about what had happened to her. He’d called her out of love, and duty, but the truth was, he wasn’t equipped to help her any more than he was able to help himself. He’d been relieved when she never answered, and then angry at himself for failing her.
Augustus found himself dialing Scotland anyway.
Charles and Catherine woke around the same time. Like all mornings during the period of their time-bending interlude, they each went about dressing on their own, keeping their peace, and parted with simply a kiss. Any more than that felt disrespectful to what was next on their agenda, which in both their cases, was always a day with their children.
Catherine, to her mother’s house.
Charles, to his.
It was somewhere around the first week he realized he looked forward more to the days than the nights. By the end of the second, he wasn’t thinking of her at all when he was on the floor of his son’s nursery, being silly and playful.
He kept that to himself, but wondered if she felt the same way when she was with Oz.
Charles hoped she did, but he feared otherwise.
There was also Lisette to consider. She asked only once where he’d been going, but she knew, in the way all women knew. Would she be as receptive to him when he came home for good? Should she? He didn’t deserve it, but her options were limited. What was most likely was that she would love him out of necessity.
Catherine. Cordelia. Lisette. All the women in his life were so very different and served very different purposes in his sphere of living.
None belonged there.
“Should I have the staff save you a plate?” Lisette asked, eyes hopeful, when he left that day, handing Nicolas back to her.
“Not tonight,” he said. “But soon.”
Colleen answered the phone.
Augustus didn’t waste time with pleasantries, or small talk. Neither liked it much, and if he stalled in any way, he might never say what he needed to.
That he was afraid.
That he, the man who had never thought much of children, now wanted to be a father more than anything in the world.
That he, for once in his life, didn’t know what to do.
Colleen morphed into caretaking mode, and it occurred to him, however briefly, that she needed this, too.
“I already told you that healers can’t fix what’s wrong with her,” she said gently. “And I think you know that, too. In your own way.”
He hung his head. The hand not gripping the phone pressed a fist to his forehead. “Yes.”
“I don’t know if you can save your marriage, Aggie. Do you think you can?”
The hesitation before he answered was more an answer than the words that came next. “No.”
“But that’s not what you’re trying to save anymore, is it?”
“No.”
“No,” she repeated. “You’re trying to save your daughter. And you will.”
Augustus’ voice cracked when he asked, “How?”
“You need to have her committed. Not only for your daughter’s sake, but hers.” Colleen didn’t hesitate. She didn’t sugarcoat. This was what he needed, and he now understood, why it was always her he intended to call. “She’s a danger to herself, and the baby. And if you don’t do this, if you don’t commit her, then Christmas this year is likely going to be hard for another reason.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“I wish to God I wasn’t,” she said, sighing. “I’ll be home for Christmas this year, Aggie. I’ll be there when she’s born, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“You’ll be home? Evangeline said—”
“I know what Evangeline said,” Colleen said. “She… she isn’t wrong. But I don’t need seclusion. I need my family. And… sounds like they need me.”
Augustus felt like crying, but found he didn’t need to now. A new, decisive resolve had overcome him, one that was more comforting than any words. He knew now what he needed to do, and in the knowing was peace. He’d always known, but knowing was a process.
“We do need you, Colleen,” he said.