The Words We Leave Unspoken(41)

I pull the car away from the curb and drive to the freeway, where I head north toward Seaport. I haven’t seen Gwen since the day following my disastrous date and I feel anxious to pull her into my arms, to make sure that she’s still here as if she might turn to ash and slowly blow away in the wind in my absence. I call her every Wednesday morning at nine and we stay on the phone until she is done with her treatment. I have become a pro at disguising our phone calls at work, my new boss not as tolerating as Grey.

Grey.

I haven’t spoken to him, other than the cordial moments we share in the office. His phone calls and texts go unanswered. I’m not sure what I want. I miss him so much and yet the fear is stronger, sharper, obscuring all else. I see the look in his eyes, know the hurt that he tries so hard to mask when he sees me. And still I avoid him, stubbornly. I feel my own hurt, although I’m not sure where it stems from or who it belongs to.

I exit the freeway and drive by memory to Gwen’s house hidden away down a long and narrow drive. As I walk to the front door, I can hear the seagulls call and the gentle waves lap at the shore, impervious to the cold or change of season. Reminding me that some things are constant.

I knock loudly and then let myself in, already knowing that Gwen is busy in the kitchen and John is most likely watching a football game in the family room.

Sure enough, I find Gwen wrapped in a fall-themed apron leaning over a hot oven as she bastes a large turkey.

“Hey,” I call out as I place my bakery items on the counter.

Gwen stands, closes the oven door and turns toward me.

“Hey,” she says and folds me in a hug.

I can’t help but notice the swollen cheeks and the sharpness of her bones as I hug her. She looks puffy yet thin and frail at the same time. Overall the change is subtle, but I swallow the thick lump that has grown in my throat.

“How are you feeling?” I whisper.

“I’m good,” she says as she wipes a trail of beaded moisture from her brow.

“And John?” I ask.

“Let’s not talk about it today, Charley.” She sighs. “I’m going to tell him tonight. I’m finally going to do it, I swear.”

The look of resolve in her eyes assures me that she’s telling the truth. She’s finally going to tell him and maybe now we can both sleep at night. He’s been worried about her and with the slew of tests coming up, including the cardiac workup; we both know that keeping it all from John will be impossible.

“Okay. Good. Well Happy Thanksgiving,” I say in a pathetic attempt to change the subject.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she says with a smile. “Now grab that peeler over there and get to work on these potatoes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I move to the sink and begin to peel the potatoes. “Where are the kids?” I ask, noticing for the first time how quiet it is.

“They’re cleaning Max’s room.” I look at her in shock. “I know, but they built a fort in there yesterday and I refuse to clean it up. It’s a disaster.”

“Good for you.”

She takes a peeled potato from my hand and begins to cut it in quarters beside me.

“Charley, I have to tell you some...” she starts to say something but Max and Olivia stomp down the stairs and interrupt her.

“Aunt Charley,” Max squeals and wraps his arms around my legs. I put down the peeler and wipe my hands on a dishtowel before picking him up and planting a sloppy kiss on his soft, buttery cheek. “Hey Max. Hi, Olivia,” I say as I pull her into my side.

“Hi Aunt Charley. Guess what?” she asks with eyes as big as plums.

“What?”

“I got picked for the lead part. I’m Annie.” Her face is lit up like Christmas and I couldn’t be more proud of her.

“Wow! That’s amazing. I knew you could do it.”

“You’ll be there, right? In May, for opening night?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. I can’t wait.”

She turns to Gwen. “Mom, can I watch TV in your room? Dad’s watching football.”

“Sure Honey,” Gwen says. I set Max down on his feet and he runs out of the room, yelling, “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.”

“Nice. Where’d he pick that up?” I ask.

“School,” Gwen replies while she continues to cut the potatoes.

“Anyway, Charley...”

I hear a knock on the door and a moment later I hear my mother’s voice. I inwardly cringe. “Smells wonderful in here. Hello Gwen,” she chimes as she sets two large reusable grocery bags on the counter and kisses Gwen’s cheek. “Hello Charlotte,” she says and pats me on the shoulder cautiously.

“Hi Mom,” Gwen says.

And I reply with a curt, “Hello Connie.”

“Can’t you just call me Mom?” she asks. Here we go, I think.

“Sure, when you start calling me Charley,” I retort, straining to smile, reminding myself to remain polite. It’s Thanksgiving.

“Fair enough,” she concedes. “Now where are my grandchildren?”

“Olivia’s upstairs and Max is in the family room with John,” Gwen says and my mother walks into the other room as I hear Max yelling out, “Grammy, Grammy.”

“At least someone’s excited to see her,” I say under my breath.