This Is Not How It Ends(31)

“This is a bad idea, ladies. I’ve been reading up on it. We have no idea the safety—”

“Philip, if you can’t be supportive, then at the very least shut up.” Rubbing my arm, Liberty continued. “Charlotte, relax, you’re not allergic anymore.”

With their eyes on me, I ate the almond. I waited for the tickle in my throat, the gasp of breath, but it didn’t come. Even Philip was in shock, the EpiPen hovering close by. I ate another one. And we burst into cheers.

Dinner became a celebration, and I was giddy with excitement. I could tell Philip still had his doubts about NAET, but he was willing to give Liberty partial credit. “Liberty,” he said, “you were lucky with this one, but I think her healing had something to do with my appearance in her life.” Unfazed by his reluctance to fully embrace the treatment, I basked in the glow of my hard work, making careful note of one other point: Philip was terrified the entire time. It didn’t make me happy to have scared him, but it warmed me to see how much he cared.

Later, we were alone at the same table, caressed by a warm breeze. “You look lovely tonight, Charley.”

“You’re biased.”

He said it again.

“It’s because I’m tan. And maybe I lost a few pounds.”

“It’s because you’re happy. The island air is rejuvenating.”

I felt the flush crawl up my neck. I had once believed, foolishly, that happiness was an overrated virtue. Life gave us flashes of joy, but pain endured.

That night, at the table by the shore, with Sunny pacing nearby, I stopped making excuses. He said it again: “Charley, you look beautifully happy.” I let it in. I stroked it with my fingers. It felt nice, soothing. “Thank you.” It still felt weird rolling off my tongue, but it was one of the exercises my mother had insisted from her deathbed that I practice. I said it again. “Thank you.”

Philip and I, we were blissfully in love, our life sewn together with a tight seam. Happiness wasn’t overrated. It was a gift meant to be cherished and held tight.



“I’m leaving this week, Charley.” It was early March, and we’d enjoyed this blissful window of time together.

Sunny turned away from the Gulf and dropped his head on my lap. I teased him: “What are you upset about? You love having me to yourself.”

Leaving was inevitable, I understood. Philip had a business to run and countless people relying on him, but we’d been having so much fun. “Dreadful,” I said, stroking Sunny’s fur. “The two of us. How will we ever occupy our days without your handsome daddy around?”

While I’d miss him, separation could never change us. Philip and I had endured his traveling before, and we knew how to make it work.

“I was getting used to having you around, you old bloke. And I’ll always want more time with you.”

He reached across the table for my hand. “We have our whole lives together, Charley. We, my darling, have nothing but time.”





CHAPTER 15

July 2018–August 2018, Present Day

Islamorada to Miami

Due to an emergency meeting in Miami, Philip had to postpone his Monday-morning trip to Saint Louis.

I was lying on Liberty’s acupuncture table with needles in my wrists while she sang “If I Were a Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof. She was no Zero Mostel, but she gave it her own unique flair. I hadn’t been feeling well since dinner at Morada Bay, and Liberty was treating me for the nausea when a text came in from Philip. How about Pete fetches you after work? Dinner in Miami?

Philip knew I loved our time in Miami, the rhythm and energy, and soon I was resting my head against the black leather of Pete’s SUV. My thoughts turned to Philip being seated here earlier and then dropped off at Panorama Tower, the tallest building in Miami at eighty-five floors. It was only fitting that the Stafford Group occupied the top three floors.

“Mr. Stafford has you checked into the Four Seasons,” Pete called out from the front seat. “I hope it’s a comfortable stay.”

It didn’t matter where we stayed, only that we were together. I’d packed with care, choosing the fine lace negligee he had sent for Valentine’s Day when he was in Los Angeles last year. The card had read, “Wear this tonight.” We’d FaceTimed for hours, he in some luxury suite overlooking Beverly Hills, me in my old apartment, before Mom got sick.

The memory tugged not because of the silky fabric in my bag, but the conversation we’d shared that night. Philip had gone to LA to host potential business prospects at the Porsche Experience Center. Hearing him describe the challenging terrain and steep slopes, all at intense speeds in those teeny cars, made me skittish. “Isn’t there anything you’re afraid of?” I had asked, touching his face on my phone’s screen.

“It was exhilarating, Charley. The best rush out there.”

Philip’s zeal for life on the edge made sense. He’d buried two parents and understood loss. He was the kind of person who lived each moment like the last. It’s why he’d tracked me down after that first dinner. It’s why he always held me a little harder before saying goodbye.

But I was curious about my new boyfriend, mesmerized by the experiences that made him who he was. “There has to be something,” I’d said. “Something you’re afraid of.”