This Is Not How It Ends(76)

Philip was drunk. His answer was a slur of bobbing words. “We all love each other.” And he wrapped his arms around our shoulders, pulling us close so our arms and legs were entangled. And though I could tell the difference between Ben’s and Philip’s bodies, and I could distinguish the mixed signals that crawled up my thigh, I felt a burst of affection for two people I loved. One who was forbidden to me, the other whose love would last a lifetime. And even that was hard to distinguish.

To prove our loyalty to Philip, we encouraged him to get out of the water. When he reached the deck, he proceeded to vomit all over the teak floors. Ben carried him to one of the cushions, covered him with a towel, and forced him to suck on ice. I dropped a floppy hat on his head to keep him cool while I rinsed off his cheeks and Ben wiped down the floors.

“With all the crap he’s ingesting, the alcohol can’t be good,” Ben said.

I wasn’t even his wife, and I’d already failed at it. I tried to focus on his earlier happiness, his laughter and contagious energy. Death would never control him, not when he grabbed life by the horns and shot cancer the middle finger. He would live out his fate on his terms. Did it matter if he was hungover for days?

I sat patiently beside Philip while Ben sailed the boat toward home. Philip half slept, half spouted terrible jokes. “Goose, if you spend your day in a well, can you say your day was well spent?” Then we listened to him garble on about whether or not fish drink water or if dolphins sleep. I was seated on the cushions, and Ben was in my direct line of vision. I marveled at the way he handled the rudder and the boom. Hours in the sun had darkened his skin. Other than Meghan, we are all Philip has, I reminded myself.

Philip jostled and shouted at Ben, “Let Charley sail. She’s going to have to learn.”

“No, Philip,” I said, moving closer. “I’ll stay here with you.”

He growled, flicking me away. “I don’t need a babysitter, Charley. Go to Goose and let him teach you to sail. There may be a day you need to do it on your own. I won’t always be here.”

Reluctantly, I got up and walked toward Ben. He didn’t look pleased. “Place both hands on the wheel,” he said. I stood in front of him. His hands came over mine, and we slowly guided the boat along the shore. He used words like aft and bow, tacking and jibing, but I didn’t absorb a thing. Only the breeze that floated through my damp hair and Philip’s eyes watching us.

“You’re a good friend, Goose.” Then Philip literally rolled over and passed out. I made a move to go to him, but something stopped me.

I stood there eyeing Philip, with Ben so close I could feel every inch of him. I heard him breathe me in, and an eerie sensation passed through me. As though Philip knew. As if he knew about me and Ben. The idea sent a prickle through my skin, and I broke out of Ben’s embrace and headed toward Philip, hunching over him until the ominous feeling passed. He sensed me near, and his hand slapped at my thigh, the one that was blushing from Ben’s nearness. Ben’s sadness was hard to miss. A string of losses. First Sari, then me, and now Philip. I asked myself, What was the point of all these feelings when they were so easily snatched away?

Ben and I managed to dock the boat and gather our belongings. Philip remained naked, and we helped him get dressed. Neither of us spoke as we dropped his polo over his shoulders and tugged on the zipper of his loose-fitting shorts. His arms flailed and his chin dropped. He was singing a song by the Bee Gees, “Tragedy,” but he’d inserted his own words. “. . . tragedy, when your zipper’s stuck and you want to fuck, tragedy . . .”

Ben and I held in our laughs, but Philip made them hard to contain. He mumbled again, something about Lucky Charms being magically fucking delicious, and I told Ben how surprised I was to meet this latest version of Philip. “Potty-mouthed Philip. It’s somewhat endearing.”

We returned the keys to the marina office, where the staff forgave us for the mess. At home, Ben carried Philip up the stairs and dropped him on our bed. “I’m sure he’ll sleep through the night.”

I pulled the blanket over his limp body and touched his forehead with my fingers. I caught Ben’s and my reflection in the mirror. We were windblown and covered in a spray of ocean. His nearness filled my nose, a whiff of leftover cologne I thought I had buried.

I turned off the lights, and we made our way to the kitchen. Ben tossed leftover sandwiches and pasta salad on the table. “Make sure you eat something, Charlotte.” He was referring to my thinner frame. It had been difficult to get food down.

Ben’s cell phone broke the quiet, and he told Jimmy he was on his way. I crossed my arms, exhausted from the drinks and sun, but it was more about fending off emotions. A man I loved was unconscious and dying in my bed, and another was walking out my front door, taking a piece of my heart.

“Thanks for helping me get him inside.” I tried to get him to look at me, but he refused.

“You’re going to need to hire someone at some point,” he said, bending over to pet Sunny while he talked. “You won’t be able to manage this alone.”

I nodded.

“I’ll help out however I can . . . You know that.”

“I know.”



Hours later I was beside Philip, listening to him snore. Despite the mess he’d made of himself, he seemed in good spirits, and while there was no mistaking how sick he was, his sleep was peaceful and deep. He’d loved today. I knew he did. I rubbed his bare head, the prickly dusting of new growth, and made sure it was warm. My finger followed the lines of his eyes.