This Is Not How It Ends(24)

By then I was full-on weeping. Tears were everywhere, streaking my cheeks, sliding out of my nose. Martha carried the dog into the other room, toting the supplies Philip had left by the door. I could hear its cries from down the hall. Philip dropped down beside me and took me in his arms. Resistance was not an option. My body had gone limp, and he was the only thing keeping me from flattening against the cold, hard floor.

He cradled me, rocking me back and forth. “Charley, I’m here. It’s okay, my love. You’re not alone. You’re never alone . . .”

Seeing the woman he loved battered and broken had to be difficult. “It won’t always be like this.” He reached for my hair and stroked it lovingly with his fingertips. The gesture made me cry harder. His presence loosened the coils that had held me together. Now they were unraveling.

Cupping my chin, he forced me to face him.

“We will get through this, Charley. Together.”

I leaned in to find his lips, savoring the peppermint toothpaste, tasting memories spanning miles and months. If I inhaled hard enough, his strength would revive me.

And like most things Philip offered, it did. Succumbing, I let him hold me hard, providing a promise I didn’t yet fully understand.

Wresting myself from Philip, I rose from the ground in search of Martha and the four-legged problem I would have to deal with. They were playing on the flowery rug, and the puppy was wagging his tail ferociously. When he saw me, he dropped the pull toy and crashed into my feet and ankles. He licked and nibbled and tried to catch my eyes. He was smart. He knew if we made eye contact, I’d be his prisoner. Sort of like what Philip had done to me.

Martha said, “He’s sweet, Charlotte. Look at this face.”

I knew what that dog signified. Philip’s prescience gutted me. Mom moaned from the adjacent room, and Martha stood up. “I’ll go to her.” I didn’t know if I was relieved or scared. The window by my bed was open, the pink curtains spread wide, revealing a heavenly sky. A ray of sun pierced the gray clouds, beaming through the open space and ricocheting off the mirror. Light fanned out across the room, and the puppy tried to catch it in his playful jaws. For a second, I admired his spunk.

Philip stood nearby, hesitating to intervene.

“Martha,” I called out. “Wait. I’ll go.”

Swooping down, I took the puppy in my hands and headed toward my mother. The puppy wiggled, and his sharp teeth clamped down on my fingers.

Entering her room was a nostalgic trip through childhood—a blend of fabric softener and Calvin Klein’s Eternity. As a child, it had shielded me from nightmares and creepy monsters living under the bed. As an adult, it weakened me, and I inhaled, to ingrain her scent into memory. My mother’s smell would forever tempt and torture, as she slowly slipped away, echoing all that I had lost.

Her head lay flat against the pillow. Hospice had brought in one of their beds, allowing her to lower herself down with the flip of a switch. Against the pale sheets and blanket, she looked tired and small. Mom had shrunk to half her size. Her eyes followed me to the side of her bed, where I took a seat, the puppy in my arms. At once, he leaped from my hands and perched himself atop her belly. He was golden brown, with large chocolate eyes that drew her in.

It had been weeks since I’d seen Mom happy, but her eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth turned up. Philip stood beside me and watched as the puppy circled around, collapsing against her in a compact ball. The exhaustion set in, and he let out a sweet sigh. Mom stroked his fur, while warmth flooded her face. It wasn’t the burst of sunshine sneaking through her window brightening the room. It was something else.

My fingers found the puppy’s head, and I rubbed the soft ears. Mom rested her palm on mine, and I knew the puppy was officially mine. I also knew his name. Sunny. I’d name him Sunny.





CHAPTER 11

July 2018, Present Day

Morada Bay; Islamorada, Florida

The sun’s rays cast a burst of light upon us as we approached the restaurant.

The flicker reminded me of the first time Philip brought me to Morada Bay. It was January, and temperatures had been mild, though I hardly noticed. I had adjusted to the climate with a wardrobe of flowery sundresses and tops with thin straps. The balmy weather turned the once-pale hue of my skin a buttery brown, and my hair fell longer and lighter. For months at a time, the inclement KC weather had concealed parts of me beneath turtlenecks and bulky jackets. By shedding my winter clothes, I’d shed a second skin—equal parts physical and emotional. Liberty insisted they went hand in hand. She said, “It’s the vitamin D. But love does that, too.”

That afternoon, we’d parked in the circular drive and walked beneath the trees toward a stunning beach. Philip led me through the property, eagerly pointing things out—the brightly colored tables edged against the rocky shoreline, the swaying palms framing the picturesque Gulf. This had surprised me, since he was a man who had frequented some of the finest restaurants. Dropping his anchor on a remote, modest island made little sense, but when I had stepped on the golden sand that first day, I understood natural beauty, the contrast between high-end and natural high. When he spoke of this part of the country, it was as though he were describing a lover: luscious, exquisite, something to be savored over time.

Morada Bay’s two restaurants shared a beach, though one side was for shorts and flip-flops, and the other, Pierre’s, was a roomy plantation house reserved for formal dining. We preferred the former. That first night, we’d sat at the table that would become ours—me without shoes, sinking my pink-polished toes in the sand. Philip had fed me cedar-planked Scottish salmon, and we’d shared a bottle—or two—of Far Niente. The food was everything he had promised. “Of course, I’m partial, Charley. I know the chef.”