The Words We Leave Unspoken(29)

I open the bathroom door and walk back into Grey’s office. He is sitting behind his desk, his pants back in place, his hair in more disarray than before. My body hums at the sight of him, already in anticipation of more.

He just stares at me, his eyes dark and filled with lust and I can’t get a read on what he’s thinking.

“Well, I guess I should get back to work,” I say, if only to break the silent tension in the room.

I turn to go but his voice stops me.

“Charley. What are we doing?” he asks, a genuine question.

I turn back to face him. And because I don’t have the answer that he’s looking for, I respond by saying, “Working. We’re working. I just... I just needed you.”

He only nods and then says, “Well, I’m here. Whenever you need me.” He narrows his eyes at me as if he wants to say something more. But he must think better of it because he only smiles and says, “Thank you... for the copies.” He picks up the stack of papers and begins to look them over. I take this as my cue to leave.

Stepping out the door, I mutter to myself with a smile, “You’re welcome.”





Chapter 19





Gwen


“I’m sorry, honey, I won’t be home for dinner. Hal and I are meeting with a client for drinks. Tell the kids I love them.”

“Of course. Be safe. Love you,” I say into the phone where it rests between my chin and shoulder while I drain the cooked pasta over the sink. Steam rises up to my face and I turn my head away while placing the hot pan back on the stovetop to cool.

“Love you too,” John says, his voice laced with regret as I slip the phone from my shoulder and end our call. He hates working late and missing out on our family time together in the evenings. I sigh, feeling a sense of relief to not have to face him. Maybe I’ll be in bed asleep before he gets home. It’s too hard to lie about my day and yet I’m not sure that I’m ready to tell him the truth. My fingers go to the bandage on the underside of my forearm, hidden by my sweater. The IV site is still tender to the touch. I’m not sure how long I can keep this from him.

“I’m hungry,” I hear Max say from behind me, snapping me back into the moment, my task at hand.

“Dinner is ready. Why don’t you go wash your hands?” I say. “Olivia. Dinner,” I call out.

Moments later, the three of us are sitting around the kitchen table eating a pasta dinner, chatting about our day.

“It’s down to me and Chelsea Hammitt for the lead role, Mom,” Olivia says animatedly. She’s trying out for the school play, a more modern version of the musical, Annie; she’s been practicing for weeks.

“I’m so proud of you, Olivia. When do they announce the cast?”

“Right before Thanksgiving break, and rehearsals begin the first week of December.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” I say, crossing my fingers in the air. I’ve already volunteered to help build and paint the stage set for the play, which will be performed at the end of the school year. I try to push the thoughts aside that creep into my conscience, the thoughts that wonder if I’ll be here to paint the set when Max is in the fifth grade play, five years from now. Five years.

“How about you, Max? How was your day?” I ask, turning my attention to Max. He has pasta sauce dripping from his chin while he tries to stuff a huge noodle in his mouth with his fork. I smile and use his napkin to wipe his face.

“Travis pushed me down at recess and took my soccer ball,” he says around a mouthful of food.

“Did you tell Miss LaBorn?” I ask with a frown. This isn’t the first time that Travis has picked on Max.

“No. I played on the swing instead. I don’t like Travis. He’s mean.”

“I know Max. Just use your words to fight back, not your hands and I’ll talk to your teacher and see if we can get this straightened out, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, so easy to please.



Hours later when the kids are in bed asleep, I grasp a hot cup of tea in my hand – one of the organic brands my mother bought – wrap a throw blanket around me and step outside onto the deck. The air is crisp, the dark sky remarkably clear and dotted with thousands of stars. I lay back on a lounge chair and stare at the stars. I trace the big dipper with my eyes and wish that I remembered more constellations, sure that I would be able to see them on this rare, clear night. I spot a shooting star; it happens so fast that I think I imagined it, but then I see another and another. Amazing, I think. And then I instantly wish that Olivia was awake to watch this. The thought occurs to me at the same time that I stand from the chair and before I know it, I’m running up the stairs to her room.

I shake her awake. “Olivia. Wake up sweetie,” I whisper, breathless.

She stirs and then opens her eyes wide with shock. “What Mom?” she asks, still half asleep.

“Come here, I want to show you something,” I say, taking her hand and grabbing the blanket off the end of her bed. I lead her down the stairs and out the backdoor.

“Mom, what are we doing?” she asks. She must think that I’ve lost my mind.

“You’ll see.” I guide us both down the grassy slope toward the water, the soggy grass is cold on our bare feet, the cold air biting as it blows off the bay. We sit in the white Adirondack chairs near the beach, pulling our knees up to our chests to keep warm. I wrap Olivia in her blanket and pull mine tighter around me. She watches me with curiosity, waiting quietly for an explanation. I lean back and look up and for a moment I think that we’ve missed it, but then I see a star shoot across the night sky and burn out in midair.