This Is Not How It Ends(21)

“Did you read my note?”

“It’s a text, Philip. No one calls it a note. Yes, I read it.”

“You didn’t answer.”

I disappeared in his voice, burying my earlier misgivings.

“I miss you,” I said, sounding shrill and unrecognizable. “I miss us.”

“I love you,” he said, the tenderness velvet against my skin.

“We haven’t discussed a wedding since you proposed . . .”

“Ah, darling, dates are semantics. Don’t you trust me? Setting a date doesn’t change what we have.”

I shivered. In part because that was what he did to me. And the tingle spread through my veins. Still. Even now. And the other part was because he didn’t get it. Not after our talk last night, not even after I’d reminded him that we couldn’t have a wedding without a groom, we couldn’t build a home without his presence. He didn’t understand that when I’d said I missed him, I missed him. Even when he was home, it was as though he were somewhere else, and I couldn’t break through.

Then he’d say something like this. Something so honest and sincere it edged away my doubts. Philip loved me, and I loved Philip. I trusted him when the world had proven unreliable and turned its back. He picked up the pieces. And they were large, sharp pieces that needed to be strung together again. The sorrow and despair had made it a challenge, but he pulled me through. He always did. And this rough patch was a small sacrifice for the genuine happiness we’d shared.

“Why don’t we skip dinner?” I said. “Stay home. Just the two of us.” My voice lowered when I added, “I’ll let you do that thing you love to do . . .”

His breaths were heavy, and my body warmed. “Charley, darling, what I’d give to be beside you right this minute.”

Sounds crept through the phone. A series of beeps. “Philip? Where are you?”

Either he didn’t hear, or he didn’t understand the question. “You’ll let me do that thing . . . ?”

The sensations climbed through me, and when I’d convinced myself he’d postpone dinner with Goose, he cut me off. “I’ve got to run, my lovely. Save that plan for after dinner.”





CHAPTER 10

June 2016–October 2017, Back Then

Kansas City, Missouri; and Some Trips around the World

Philip and I, despite our hidden wounds, fell madly for each other.

The age gap, all ten years, did little to divide us. Shared pain, buried deep, was the menace that posed the most significant threat. With school closed, I was able to join him across the globe. He even flew my mother with me on a jaunt to Paris, spoiling us with a week of museums and shopping. He never minded having her around, and it touched me in ways I couldn’t explain, but he knew, because he knew me.

When fall arrived and school resumed, we were apart more than together. I knew this because I counted the days in my calendar. Philip’s visits were always in red, the color signifying passionate love. The time was marked by an endless balancing act: coordinating holiday schedules and calculating time zones. Travel arrangements were tricky, but I was able to meet him in San Francisco, Boston, and eventually New York City, where we stayed in a lovely suite overlooking the park. Because it was my very first time, he treated me to the complete tour: the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Times Square, Central Park in a horse-drawn carriage, and some of the finest restaurants in the world. We saw Hamilton and Beautiful and walked hand in hand through the museums. Philip treasured art and gave me a meaningful explanation of the beautiful, rare works of MoMA. On the final day, we visited the 9/11 Memorial. It was a wonderful trip, but Philip and I, we could be anywhere, and it wouldn’t matter. We were deeply in love.

When we couldn’t be together, our days were marked by late-night phone calls and a husky voice upon an early dawn. When we FaceTimed, he’d hold the camera so I was right there alongside him. And through it all, we remained connected. A deep thread pulling us together with Philip on one end, traveling the globe, and me, on the other, in my Murphy bed in downtown Kansas City.

So when Philip asked me to skip a few days of school for a quick weekend in Cabo, I tried my best to talk him out of it. I preferred not to miss classes when it wasn’t a holiday. Substitutes disrupted continuity, compromising the kids and the flow of material. By then it was April, and we were approaching our year anniversary. He thought it would be a good time to celebrate. “We can rendezvous in Cabo and then again in May.” I liked that he remembered, so I agreed.

Philip and I lounged lazily on the beach that first day. I was sunburned and drank too many mixed drinks with pretty umbrellas. “Don’t close your eyes,” he said, tickling my arm. “You’ll miss the view.”

Watching the sun drop into the ocean, burying its fiery hue in the slapping water, was a reminder that a perfect afternoon was coming to an end, and I was fighting it.

Philip’s phone rang, and since it was Elise, the assistant who knew not to bother him unless it was absolutely necessary, he answered.

“Don’t close your eyes,” I teased, rolling onto my stomach and resting my head in my hands.

His tone was sharp. “Put her through.”

He reached for me, in that pure, blissful moment before succumbing to sleep, and I could tell at once by the persistence of his hand that something was wrong. Suddenly, there was Mom’s voice in my ear. “Honey, I would never bother you unless it was important . . .”