He didn’t look baffled this time. I could tell by his expression that he knew exactly what it was. He took it when I held it out to him. “I gave this to your mother.” I’d never heard his voice sound so small. “Where did you get it?”
After months of planning the conversation in my head, none of it came out as I hoped it would. But the story was complete, and just as ugly as when it had played out for real.
After a long moment, he finally spoke. “Love affairs at seventeen are about intensity, not longevity.”
I couldn’t stop the pissed-off groan that escaped me. I didn’t want the romantic spiel he’d given me in the past. Protecting my feelings wasn’t an issue any more, and I told him so.
He nodded, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to be truthful with me. “Olivia wasn’t always cold, Charli,” he said. “I adored her at one time – completely loved her.”
I shook my head, unable to believe him. “That’s not the woman I met. The woman I met was an utter bitch.”
His eyes drifted to the box in his hand. “She never used to be,” he said quietly. “Things changed once she fell pregnant. She was so focused on her ballet that not even a baby in her belly slowed her down. It was a nightmare.”
Tears started rolling down my cheeks the instant his voice got shaky. I was forcing him to revisit a place he’d left a long time ago, but he did it.
According to Alex, she wasn’t prepared to give up nine months of her life to have a baby, but had no choice because abortion was out of the question. “She was too far along when we found out,” he explained. “So Olivia decided adoption was the best option. She came up with the not-so-brilliant plan of carrying on as if she wasn’t pregnant.”
“It’s hard to hide a bump in your belly,” I pointed out.
He looked across at me. “Not if you don’t eat.”
I suddenly felt ill, but swallowed hard and kept it together.
“I spent months and months doing all I could just to get my daughter here safely.” He choked out the words. “She wouldn’t eat and she wouldn’t stop her gruelling dance sessions. She didn’t make a single concession for the little life struggling to grow inside her.”
I dabbed my eyes with my fingertips, futilely attempting to stem the crying. Alex’s eyes never left mine, but he no longer seemed to be looking at me.
“There was nothing I could do, Charli,” he said weakly. “I loved her, and then I resented her, and then I lost respect for her.” He brought his forearm to his face, swiping his sleeve across his eyes. “And in the end, I felt nothing for her.”
I infinitesimally nodded. “I get it.”
“Are you sure you get it?” he asked, regaining the strength in his voice. “Be sure you get it, Charlotte,” he demanded. “Be sure that you understand how hard I fought for you. Be sure you know about the times I got down on my knees and begged her to eat something, or pleaded with her to stop training for hours on end.”
“I get it, Alex,” I cried. “I know.”
If he’d left it there I wouldn’t have argued, but I’d opened a floodgate and my father wasn’t finished talking.
“One day she told me that she didn’t care whether you lived or died,” he remembered. “That was it for me.”
“Olivia said there were complications, and that she was advised against having more children.”
He gave a hard, humourless laugh. “The only complication Olivia had was you. And the only person who told her not to have more children was me,” he growled. “Probably while I was trying to force feed her a bowl of cereal.”
I frowned at him. “Cereal?”
“It’s the only thing I could get her to eat. It’s no wonder you like it so much.”
I had no control over the giggle that crossed my lips. I’d spent weeks searching for some minute detail to align myself to her, and he’d given it to me. We both liked cereal.
“She hates me, Alex,” I said, quickly composing myself. “She blames me for her life going wrong.”
With his free hand, he reached across the table. “You listen to me,” he ordered. “I couldn’t care less how Olivia feels about you. You were never hers. You were mine all along.”
The hole in my heart that had been plaguing me since the first night I’d met my mother healed in an instant. The man who’d protected me and loved me my whole life had fought for me even before I was born. That was all I need to know about the story of me.
I felt exhausted, but had one more burning question. “She knew we lived here,” I blurted. “Did she come here?”
He grimaced. “She really went to town on you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.” And he’d never know the half of it.
Alex reached across to Jack and smoothed his hair. “Olivia showed up here the day after my mother’s funeral. You were three.”
The story got worse. At a time when Alex was most vulnerable, she weaselled her way back in. “I’d just lost my mother, I was alone with this little kid and Olivia came knocking.” He sounded annoyed with himself, as if being gullible was a crime. “I think she was in a bad place, too. Perhaps she thought I could do something about that.”
Olivia was an opportunist. It didn’t surprise me that she’d run to Alex when the chips were down. I wondered how long she stuck around once she worked out he had nothing to give her.
“Did she stay long?”
“Two days.” He shook his head. “Nothing had changed. She barely even spoke to you, and when she did it was awkward. I told her to leave and never come back – and she never did.”
“Just like that?”
“Not exactly like that,” he conceded. “She let fly at me first, accusing me of being a terrible father, a good-for-nothing failure and every other nasty thing she could think of.” That was the venom-tongued Olivia I knew. It was almost a relief to hear him say it. “That’s when I decided to stick with the lie that my mother had started,” he said bleakly. “I figured I couldn’t fail you as badly if you didn’t know I was your dad. The whole world was saved from knowing what a dud hand you’d been dealt in the parenting department.”
“I never felt that way.” I drummed my finger on the table with every word spoken, making sure he understood. “Never.”
“Things were very different in the beginning, Charli. You were made out of love. It wasn’t some casual –”
I cut him off, unwilling to let him finish the ugly sentence. “I know.”
“How do you know?” he asked. “It doesn’t sound like she painted a very pretty picture.”
I flipped open the locket, showing him the picture inside. “You can’t fake that,” I told him. “The kids in that picture are happy.”
He snapped the locket closed and finally smiled. “I really did love her,” he declared. “But I loved you more.”
I smiled back. “Will you tell me about the box?”
Alex picked it up and opened the lid, chuckling as he grabbed the typed card. “I typed this on my mum’s typewriter. My handwriting sucked, even then.” He raised the card to his face and read it out. “They’re always close. All you have to do it look for them.”
“She said it was about stars,” I prompted.
“I used to promise her things,” he explained. “Anything to get her to fly right and look after the baby in her belly.”
His story didn’t vary much from hers, but the meaning behind it was very different. “I’d already worked out by that point that there was no future for us, but I still held the tiniest amount of hope that she’d sort herself out and come good.” I almost laughed at the irony. I’d spent weeks doing the same thing. “I told her that stars were promises wrapped up in light, and that they’d always remain and stay true,” he explained. “All she had to do was look for them.”
“Do you think she did?” I asked.
Alex flipped the box over, studying the back of it. “No, she had no magic in her heart,” he replied. “Olivia wasn’t into looking for stars. She was too busy
trying to be one.” He looked up at me, half-smiling. “She must’ve spent all these years thinking I gave her an empty box.”
I frowned. “You did.”
Using both hands and some effort, he pulled the back panel off the box. As it broke open, something flew out and tumbled across the table. Before I saw what it was, Alex picked it up. It was a charm bracelet, and every charm on it was a star.
“I never lied to her,” he said, dangling it in front of me. “I gave her stars. All she had to do was care enough to look for them.”
78. LOVELY
Adam
My parents returned home in the early New Year, which meant The Lost Boys were out of a job. With no French diplomats to protect, hiding out in the bushes gave way to much less covert forms of surveillance. Their constant presence annoyed me, but it infuriated my daughter.
An afternoon tea party at the beach should’ve been an escape, but Mason appeared at the base of the walking trail shortly after we arrived. Bridget was sitting a short distance from us, pouring pretend cups of tea for her heinous guest of honour, Treasure.
She jumped to her feet when she spotted him. “You can’t play here,” she scolded.
The littlest Lost Boy bravely continued his slow wander toward her. “Are you having a party?”
Bridget glanced down at the spread in front of her. “Yes,” she confirmed. “A lovely one.”
Charli hooked her arm through mine and leaned in close. “This is how it starts, Adam,” she murmured from the corner of her mouth. “Your daughter is being wooed.”
“Tell him to leave my girl alone, Charlotte.”
“I think you have a few years before you need to start panicking,” she replied.
She was probably right. Bridget wasn’t exactly welcoming him with open arms. She sat down and continued pouring tea, leaving Mason hanging at the edge of the blanket.
“Do you like cake, Mason?” she asked irrelevantly.
“Yes,” he replied. “Do you like pterodactyls?”
Her shoulders lifted. “I haven’t tasted any before.”
Mason laughed so hard that he clutched his belly and dropped to the sand. “You can’t eat them, silly. They’re distinct.”
Charli glanced at me, grinning.
I smiled back. “He truly is related to Wade.”
“He’s five, Adam,” she replied laughing. “Cut him some slack.”
Bridget was forgiving too. After testing the friendship waters with a few more inane questions, she finally gave Mason permission to join her tea party.
Bridget passed him a cup.
“It’s pink,” he complained.
“Pink is lovely,” she retorted.
“Why do you always say lovely?”
With a teacup in each hand, Bridget threw out her arms. “Because the whole world is lovely,” she announced theatrically. “Look at it.”
In that moment, I realised everything was golden. We’d endured a hellish last few months in New York – and my kid had come out of it still maintaining that the whole world was lovely.
“You are a bit crazy, Bridget,” concluded Mason.
She thrust her cup forward as if making a toast. “Yes I am,” she agreed. “Crazy lovely.”
***
Determined to make the most of the summer months, entire afternoons were whittled away at the beach. Most of the time it was quiet and relaxing, but this day was shaping up to be a little different, and it had nothing to do with the arrival of Mason.
Charli and I both turned at the sound of a blood-curdling shriek coming from further up the beach. A few seconds later, Nancy, the butt-ugly Pomeranian came scurrying into view, with Jasmine Davis in hot pursuit.
“Stop her!” she screamed. “Her leash broke.”
The kindest thing would’ve been to let the dog go. By my reckoning, Nancy had to be pushing three hundred in dog years. If she’d waited all that time to make a run for it, she deserved to be free.
I leaned closer to Charli. “Furry mutiny,” I mumbled, making her giggle.
Nancy ran out of steam just as she reached us, panting like she was about to keel over. Her owner caught up a minute later, acting exactly the same way.
“Don’t move,” Jasmine ordered, arms outstretched.
I didn’t like her chances of cornering her dog. Nancy was weighing up her options, and from where we sat, an ocean escape looked likely.
“Daddy,” called Bridget, pointing. “Look at that lovely dog wearing a dress.”
Clothes really did make the man – or in this case, the mutt. The ridiculous pink hoodie was designed to hide the fact that most of its fur was missing.
“I hate that ugly dog,” grumbled Mason. “It really stinks.”
Perhaps offended, Nancy got her second wind and took off running again.
“Mason, help aunty Jasmine,” she cried, darting after her. “We have to catch her.”
Called to duty, the Lost Boy jumped up and gave chase. Bridget abandoned her tea party, wandered over to us and piled on to my lap. “They won’t catch that dog,” she insisted.
“She’ll slow down eventually,” Charli assured her.
“No Mama.” Bridget shook her head. “She’s a sea dog.”
As if on cue, Nancy proved her right by running into the low breaking waves. Jasmine must’ve really wanted her back. After warning Mason to stand back, she jumped in after her.
“You wouldn’t see that in Manhattan,” announced Charli in between giggles.
Jasmine eventually staggered out of the surf with her mangy mutt in her arms. She was spluttering, Nancy was exhausted and both of them looked like bedraggled monsters.
Bridget saw fit to welcome them back with cheers and a round of applause. “Happy, happy day for the sea hag!” she yelled.
It wasn’t the first time I’d put my hand over my daughter’s mouth to stop her speaking, but it was the first time I’d ever stifled a laugh while doing it. Charli wasn’t as polite. She laid back in the sand, giving in to a fit of hysterics.
“Welcome to your new perfect life, Adam,” she said, barely composing herself. “Never a dull moment.”
Despite the madness, life was perfect. We were finally on track, and none of us were interested in looking back.
79. DÉNOUEMENT
Charli
Chances are, Jean-Luc wasn’t speaking literally when he encouraged me to pen my own dénouement, but six months after returning to the Cove, I decided to write one in the notebook, and return it to its rightful owner.
I added my entry while standing at the counter of the post office with Bridget at my feet. Her constant bumping meant my handwriting wasn’t as neat as it could’ve been, but the story was spectacular:
Charlotte and Adam – a dénouement
Far from what they once were, but not yet what they’re going to be.
It was the closest I hoped we’d ever get to an ending. I wanted our story to continue forever, and as straight-laced as Jean-Luc was, I knew he’d appreciate the deeper meaning behind the words.
I sealed the parcel and handed it to postmistress Val. She glanced down at my belly. “How much longer do you have to go now, Charli?”
Bridget chimed in. “Three days.”
“Not quite,” I corrected with a smile. “Ten weeks.”
“It’s a girl baby,” added Bridget.
“And how do you know?” asked Val, leaning over the counter to look at her.
Bridget cupped her hands to her mouth. “Magic,” she whispered.
The uppity postmistress might not have been sold on her left-of-centre explanation, but I was.
Absolutely nothing is impossible to willing hearts.
THE END
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