This Is Not How It Ends(57)

For a brief moment I felt his lips against my cheek, and I was reminded why I chose this man and why I’d said yes.

But then Hurricane Kelsie strengthened off the coast of Florida.

Philip and his promises were left to drown in the high seas and billowing winds.

I warned him the airlines were canceling flights in and out of Miami. I begged him to give himself extra time to get home. The airports were jammed with passengers, and soon ours would close. I even went as far as to suggest he stay put, the risk of him flying into bad weather far worse.

“Charley, I promise. I’ll get to you. I always do.”

I was anxious and unsure. “Stay where you are,” I decided. “It’s not safe to travel, Philip.”

Ben called to check on me, and the fear in my voice was palpable. “I’m coming over,” he said.

“No,” I argued. “Philip has people to help out. You have your restaurants and Jimmy to worry about.”

“I said I’m coming over.”



Kelsie gained traction, and the likelihood of a hit was increasing. In every model, Islamorada was within the cone. The storm was hovering at Category 2 status, and all guests to the Keys were mandated to evacuate. If Kelsie shifted to a Category 3, residents would soon follow.

Ben scoured our cabinets and took inventory of our supplies. “The windows are up to code, but I don’t like the idea of you staying here alone. You need water and canned goods, and the stores are sold out at this point. What the hell were you waiting for?”

I was embarrassed to say “Philip.”

“What the hell, Charlotte?” He shook his head, and I was sure I was the dumbest human being in the Keys. I didn’t need his scolding.

“Worst-case scenario,” he said, “you’ll stay with us.”

“I’ll go to Liberty’s,” I argued.

“Liberty volunteers at the shelter during hurricanes. The point is to not be alone.”

I stammered.

“Like I said, you’ll stay with us.”



Frantic calls to Philip went unanswered. Phone service was spotty; there were already reports of damaged lines. Every channel on the news had thrill-seeking storm chasers reporting increasing island winds. The ticker at the bottom of the screen scrolled. All flights have been canceled in and out of the Keys and Miami airports.

I reached for my phone and dialed Philip. No answer.

I dialed again. Voice mail.

Without thinking, I packed a bag with clothes and necessities, grabbed Sunny’s leash, and entered the garage. A trail of cars crept up US 1 heading out of town, though I drove in the opposite direction toward Ben’s house. The distance separating us was short, a fact I was reminded of quite often.

The air was an eerie calm. Heavy gray clouds hung low, bound to pull apart as the blustery winds picked up. In the car, Sunny panted on the seat beside me. Animals could feel the changes in barometric pressure before people, and his ears perked up as he hung out the window.

The trees that framed the road were beginning to dance in the wind, and faint splashes of rain tapped against the front window. I reached across the seat and patted Sunny on the head. “We’re almost there, buddy.”

When we pulled into Ben’s driveway, I felt a relief I hadn’t felt in hours. Maybe longer. He popped his head out the front door, his mobile pressed to his ear, and pointed toward the garage. Steering the car into the narrow space, I grabbed our belongings and entered the house through a connecting door.

That’s when my phone rang. I was sure it was Philip and immediately picked up, but it was too late when I noticed the number, the one that had haunted me for weeks.

“Hello, Charley.”

I didn’t immediately answer. I stepped inside Ben’s living room and dropped on the couch, a cold shiver snaking up my back. The house was chilly, my body shook, and I was as nervous as a seven-year-old.

“Please don’t hang up,” he said.

Silence.

“Charley.” His voice was foreign to me, but the nickname, I’d never forget.

“Listen. You don’t have to answer. Just please don’t hang up.” He seemed to catch his breath. He was clearly nervous, too, and I almost felt sorry for him. “I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to come right out and say it.”

I tightened my grip on the phone, having no idea what he was about to reveal. Was it the overdue apology? The I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you? This wasn’t an accident that could have been prevented. This was a deliberate move. A tear so deep and wide there was no excuse.

“It wasn’t you,” he finally said. “It wasn’t your mom. Oh, Charley . . .” I imagined him dropping his head in his hands, the remorse too much for him to take. And that’s when he blurted, “I’m gay.”

This got my attention. This got me to take note. “I was so ashamed. I was so afraid. I ran. From myself. From you. Oh, Charley, it was never you . . . I hated myself. I hated who I had become . . .”

My heart quickened. I didn’t know if it was a release or a deeper anguish. I felt the feelings climb through me. “But you left us . . .”

“. . . I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t parent you when I was confused and alone . . .” He had to be holding his head in shame, his response a distant whisper. “We were so young when we married. Twenty. I had no idea who I was . . . There’s no excuse. I thought it would be better for you . . . easier . . . without me.”