This Is Not How It Ends(59)

Dinner was blue cheese–encrusted hamburgers and rosemary-flavored fries, and Jimmy devoured his minus the cheese, with extra ketchup. Ben poured me a glass of Ellman’s Jemma, and we sipped quietly. The house was brightly lit, though the world outside was dark and unusually quiet. I was nervous and jittery, having never experienced the expectation of a hurricane. In Missouri, there was little time to plan for tornadoes, which made the surprise attack alarming. The hours leading up to the hit were nerve-racking. My mind wandered, jumping from my father’s confession, to Philip and Ben, to a potential natural disaster.

Claudia called, and Ben took the phone into the other room.

When he returned, he seemed preoccupied.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with his change in demeanor, so I did nothing. And after hours of games and puzzles and flipping through the channels of hurricane coverage, Jimmy stood up. “I’m going to my room.”

“Hey,” Ben said. “Come here and give your old man the proper good night.”

Jimmy sauntered over, and the pair bumped fists two times, and then Ben pulled him close. “I love you, kid. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

The wine slipped down my throat, and I remembered Ben’s room was a few short steps from mine. And Philip was gone. Philip was far away. And my father probably never loved my mother the way she would have wanted.

“Good night, Charley,” said Jimmy. He surprised me by bending down to kiss my cheek. “I’m here if you need me,” he said, patting my shoulder with a reassuring grin. His sweetness took my heart with him as he disappeared down the hall. “Don’t be sad,” he added.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I said to Ben.

“Wait. Can we talk?”

He found my eyes and made it impossible for me to turn away.

“Claudia’s upset.”

“What happened?”

“She asked about love. She asked if I could ever love her.”

“Ben . . . I don’t think I can offer you advice on love.”

“She said it, and I didn’t say it back.”

“Oh. That’s not good,” I said.

“I couldn’t say it back,” he said, “because I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

I waved him off and headed toward the bar, as though those words didn’t bury themselves deep beneath my skin. He caught up to me and grabbed me by the arm. “I said I love you.”

Everything about him weakened everything inside of me. His honesty, his fingers touching me. I couldn’t fight it much longer.

“You don’t love me, Ben. You can’t love me.”

“I want to,” he said. “I want to love you.”

His hair was thick and messy, and the buttons at the top of his shirt revealed his smooth chest, and I had to stop myself from looking, from imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers up and down his skin.

Reaching for the bottle of cabernet, I whispered, “We can’t, Ben.”

“We’re alone all the time . . . He practically pushes us together . . . What kind of life is this for any of us?”

“Ben, stop.”

“I can’t stop, Charlotte. Fuck . . . Philip . . . I just wish he was here . . . I would’ve never let this happen.”

The wine opener slipped through my fingers, and he caught hold of it. Philip being gone ruined both of us.

“I don’t need to be drunk to tell you how I feel,” he said. He was beautiful to look at. I felt my eyes pool with tears. I didn’t know how to say no to him.

“Just tell me how you feel. We’ve shared everything else. Be honest with yourself and tell me.”

There was nothing honest about the way I felt for him. Nothing. I’d been fighting it for some time now. Illogical and wrong, the ultimate betrayal. Philip didn’t deserve this, and I wasn’t searching for it. I’d analyzed it over and over again. Was this our Endless Love? Was this merely another case of wanting what we couldn’t have? Or had Philip and I run our course? Two people bound by a lack of togetherness, a separateness that made us stick? I didn’t know.

Ben was breaking me down. Chiseling away at the heart I’d trusted to someone else.

I loved Philip. I promised everything to him. I didn’t love Ben. I couldn’t love Ben.

“Tell me you don’t think about this . . . about us . . .”

“I think about you every single day, Ben.”

“Then why are you fighting me?”

“Because it’s wrong. We’re wrong.”

“You feel it, too,” he said. “I know I’m right.”

I opened my mouth in protest, and he covered it with his finger. “Listen to me, Charlotte. I want you. All of you. I never thought I’d have another chance. Never thought I’d feel anything like this again. I’ll be here for you. I’ll give you that family you want. I’ll fill you up with so many babies, you’ll never be alone.”

I was breaking apart, piece by piece, falling in love with every word, every breath, every sound. “Don’t do this,” I said, a lone tear sliding down my cheek.

“I’m doing it. You can’t stop me. You know why?” He took a breath. “Because you want the same things,” he said. “I see it. I see it right there in your eyes.”