The Words We Leave Unspoken(44)

Charley is shouting at me and I’ve had enough of her selfishness. I’m too tired for this. I shout back.

“I can invite whoever I want. It’s my house. I don’t have to ask your permission, Charley. It’s not my fault that you’re so fucked up.”

The minute the words slip from my mouth, I want to take them back. But it’s too late. Charley’s glaring eyes grow wide in shock, cementing the guilt in the pit of my stomach.

“Girls, what’s going on?” my mother asks as she stomps into the room, looking back and forth between the two of us.

“Oh I’m fucked up now? Here we go!” Charley scoffs without missing a beat, as if my mother’s sudden presence and her question do not exist.

“Charlotte, watch your mouth,” my mother demands.

“Mother, stay out of it,” Charley says, her eyes still directed at me, tiny slits spitting fire.

“I will not stay out of it. I am your mother.”

Charley looks toward her then and says venomously, “Really? You could have fooled me. You want to know why I’m such a mess?” Charley looks back at me.

“Because my mother threw my father out and then pretended as if I didn’t exist. Nothing like losing both your parents in one day. How’s that for fucked up?”

I hear my mother suck in a breath from across the room.

“Charley, you’re being unfair,” I say, looking at the defeat in my mother’s eyes. Charley knows exactly which button to push when it comes to our mother.

“I’m being unfair am I? I’ll tell you what’s unfair, Gwen. The fact that you lie to John. Every. Single. Day. You can’t even tell your husband the truth and you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that I’m fucked up.”

I flinch at her words. She starts to walk out of the room toward the front door. I follow her.

“Just walk out Charley, you’re so good at that,” I yell after her.

“Learned it from the best,” she mumbles as she grabs her coat and purse and walks out the door, slamming it so hard that the walls rattle.

I am left shaking in anger yet instantly feeling guilty for allowing our fight to get so out of control. I could have easily apologized and smoothed everything over like I always do but instead something had snapped inside me. Tears start to fall down my cheeks and I suddenly feel exhausted, so exhausted that standing on my feet is almost too much to bear. Within seconds my head begins to spin and my breath feels labored, as if I can’t get enough air. I move to sit down in the chair just a few steps away but I don’t make it that far. I feel my knees buckle as I reach out with my hands, but all I feel is the cold tile against my cheek before everything is black and I am lost in a sea of nothingness.





Chapter 25





Charley


I slam the front door with every ounce of anger I feel and run to my car. The cold sea air is a shock to my heated body, tapping down the inferno flaring inside me. I climb into my car, throw it in reverse and back out of the driveway without another thought. My need to get far away from my family, from Grey, fueling my escape. I only make it as far as Tony’s Tavern, on the edge of Main Street in the historical downtown Seaport. A local favorite dating back to the year before I was born.

I pull open the heavy wooden door and make my way through the dim-lit room to the bar where I plop down on a red vinyl barstool that has seen better days. The bar smells like stale beer and cigarette smoke even though no one has been allowed to smoke in here since 2005, but years of heavy smoking cling to the walls as a reminder of the past.

Tony, who has also seen better days, approaches me from behind the old mahogany bar. He has lost all his hair on his head but his gray beard and mustache grow as wild as his protruding belly.

“Well if it isn’t Charlotte Brant. Something tells me you could use a drink?” he says with a wink as he wipes down the bar in front of me.

“Vodka tonic,” I say, setting my purse down on the stool beside me. And then add, “Make it a double.”

Without a reply, Tony sets an ice-filled glass on the bar and reaches for the good stuff on the back shelf. He pours until it nearly touches the rim, adds a splash of tonic and a lime wedge and slides the glass closer to me.

“Thanks,” I say and then bring the glass to my lips.

Tony only nods and then moves on to the only other patrons desperate enough to be here on Thanksgiving. Three lonely men spaced out evenly along the bar. For a moment I imagine why these men are here, alone on Thanksgiving, and I feel a hint of guilt for abandoning my own family when I should feel lucky to have them, to have somewhere else to be for the holiday. But I’m still too angry to feel grateful. I’m angry at Gwen for inviting Grey and not warning me. I’m angry at Grey for showing up and pushing the issue of us when I can hardly stand to be in the same room with him. I’m angry at the pang of longing that hit me as I watched Grey in the backyard with Olivia and Max, catching me off guard. I’m angry at my mother for being the reminder of all the things I try so hard to forget. Overall, I’m just tired of feeling like there’s a gaping hole inside me that I can’t seem to fill.

I guzzle my drink down and order another, followed by yet another, burying my self-pity and my anger with each gulp. Welcoming the fuzzy, blurred edge of my reality.

In the vague silence of the bar, a song begins to play from the jukebox, louder and more obvious than the faded background music that was playing before. A song that I instantly recognize, a song that carries me back to a time long ago, back to a certain someone from long ago. I turn in my stool to the jukebox and nearly choke on my drink. Standing like a breath of fresh air, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a warm smile spread across his face is Ben.