This Is Not How It Ends(85)

“Yes!” I said. “Really terrific.”

Ben sheepishly hid his face, reluctant to look up.

Claudia jabbered on about her apartment and their neighborhood while Ben and I met in a private memory. “We’re not moving in together right away . . . I’ll find an apartment near his . . .” And then she stroked Ben’s arm in a proprietary way that jostled me awake. Burying Philip left me for dead, but seeing her hand on Ben’s flesh reminded me I was not. And it hurt. Being alive again hurt.

My quiet could be misinterpreted for many things, one of which neither of them needed to know. I couldn’t be any less happy, but I told them I was. I told them it was great news. Exciting. I couldn’t help myself. Losing a mother and husband to the same cancer numbed my trust in happy endings.

Claudia beamed. She really was a pretty woman, and I suppose that’s what hopefulness does to a person. All that innocence, all that happiness, it colors things, yet I’d seen how brightness could change, how the luster could fade to dreary gray.

I caught Ben eyeing my arm. The inch-long scar revealed itself from beneath my sleeve, and I reached for it with my other hand, covering the memory.

Claudia must’ve noticed the shadow that spread across my face, because she stopped talking. “I am so sorry,” she said. “Here I am talking about . . . shoot . . . Ben and I, we’re just excited to share the news with you.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “It’s nice to hear good news.”

“Ben told me you and Philip made it official.” The sympathy trickled from her brown eyes.

“We did.”

“That must’ve been really beautiful. And difficult.”

Her expression was sincere, and I admired her flawless complexion and perfectly rounded nose. The memories stabbed at me. Charlotte Stafford. It was the greatest oxymoron of all time. Life meets death. It strapped me in sorrow.

The waiter dropped off my salad, and before I could answer, Ben asked for extra anchovies. The only way to stop the tears from building was to clench my lips and divert the pain. But Ben kept staring, and I needed an escape. Pushing the untouched plate away, I stood up from the table. “I think I need to go . . .”

Claudia’s cheeks looked pinched. “But you didn’t touch your salad . . .”

“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready . . .”

She eyed Ben as though he could coerce me to stay, and when he didn’t budge, she said, “Oh, Charlotte, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on like that . . . We understand . . . We’ll catch up with you before we leave.” Ben mumbled a goodbye, but I was thinking about something else. She said we. Her and Ben. Claudia and Ben.





CHAPTER 40

December 2018

I was so shaken from seeing Claudia and Ben, I called Liberty on the way home and begged her to come over. I’d hidden my feelings for so long—the grief, the guilt—I was determined to be strong, but I was unraveling. The sound of Philip’s voice was becoming harder and harder to recall, and if an hour went by that I didn’t think about him—some funny anecdote of his—I panicked. Then there were minutes, like today, when I was the widow on a lounge chair and his absence hit me like a brick.

When Liberty arrived, I was on the couch under a blanket. I left the door open because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back up. My body trembled, feet and hands icy cold. She found me curled in a ball, in the fetal position, Sunny by my side.

“What’s going on, Charlotte?”

She didn’t wait for my answer. She pulled me toward her and hugged me close. It had been so long since someone had held me; my body craved human touch. I sank into her and let her stroke my hair the way my mother once did. She smelled of lavender oil, and I inhaled.

“I’m so tired of crying,” I said.

“Shhhh. It’s okay, honey. Let it all out.”

The tears slid down my cheeks, and I was helpless to stop them.

She leaned back on the couch and took me with her. I was a child again, letting her console me, being lapped in the gentle strokes of her fingers. “You’ve had a lot to overcome, Charlotte.”

Sunny sniffed the salt, jumping up on the couch. He slathered my face, and I let him. “Maybe marrying him this way wasn’t the best idea, Charlotte.”

There was sympathy and doubt laced through her voice, and I sat up and grabbed a tissue from my bag. “It’s not like I can get a divorce, Lib. It’s done. Besides, I loved Philip. I love him. We would have married eventually.”

She was eyeing me with the same look she gave to parents whose kids failed their treatment—when they swore up and down they didn’t eat or touch anything containing vitamin A. “That’s not why you married him, Charlotte. It was an admirable move for someone you loved, but you know and I know that it wasn’t going to change anything.”

I blew my nose in the tissue so she couldn’t see the blush that crept up my face. “What are you implying?”

She took her time before continuing. “Ben. It wasn’t going to change the way you felt about Ben.”

The tears were a defense, and my body stiffened. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Liberty.”

“You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to yourself. You and Ben. It was always obvious.”