This Is Not How It Ends

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

“Holy fuck, he’s hot,” Claudia whispered as he approached.

  “Ben.” I sucked in my breath as he leaned in to kiss both my cheeks. Philip joined my side, and he was the one who introduced Ben to Claudia. He was the one who went on and on about how “these two were destined to meet.”

  Ben smiled at Claudia, appraising her with his eyes. I hated myself for every thought that invaded my headspace. I took a swig of wine and pursed my eyes shut so as not to see the way they admired each other through pleasantries. When I opened them, Ben was glaring at me.

  “A toast,” Philip said, holding his glass up. “A toast to new friends. And to love.” When he said this, a single arm draped across my back. “And may I wake up each morning to this beautiful gift beside me.” Before I considered the irony, we took a collective drink.

  Our table at Morada Bay was waiting for us, and Ben was unusually friendly. Gone was the worry about his staff handling matters for the night. He was at ease, and nowhere was the moody brooder I described earlier. Claudia was smitten and it showed. The conversation drifted from their childhoods in New Jersey to Ben’s cooking secrets (Claudia loved to cook) and finally, Claudia’s work. Ben was mesmerized. Not only was she attractive, but when she spoke of her cases, anyone would be impressed.

  The closer the two became, the closer I moved toward Philip. Our hands were joined on the table, and I studied the diamond. Claudia followed my gaze, asking if we had set a date. I nudged Philip. “Hopefully soon,” I said. “Get those contracts done quicker.”

  “Charlotte,” she said, “you’re going to make a beautiful bride. You should hear the way Philip raves about you. He’s the ultimate romantic.”

  “Don’t give away all my secrets, Claudia.”

  “It’s hard to be apart, yes?” she said.

  Philip’s arm felt like a weight against my shoulders. “Claudia, darling,” he joked, “don’t get her started. I’m already in the doghouse for this year’s travel.”

  Ben was looking at me, and I refused to look back. “I keep myself busy,” I said. “You get used to it.”

  “That’s not something I’d ever want to get used to,” she said, oblivious to her mistake.

  The food that I couldn’t bring myself to eat arrived at the table. While I was present, I was far, far away. I was back on Little Palm Island, resting in a hammock without a care in the world. Philip loved, and Ben listened. There was a distinction I was just beginning to understand.

  I had no right being angry or jealous, when Ben was doing what he had to do. But I was. And I didn’t like myself for it. My fork twirled the food around the plate, and it was a struggle to reach my mouth. Ben was alternating between me and Claudia, and I was focused on Philip. He had hardly touched his food either. “You’re not eating.”

  “Not really hungry tonight, darling. But I will be later.” I let him pull me closer so the two of us became one. And while we were finally in the same place physically, emotionally, we were miles apart.

  Whenever uncomfortable subjects arose, whether on purpose or not, the best thing to do was discuss the weather. “Ben,” said Philip, “what do you hear about these upcoming storms they’re predicting?”

  Ben kept an eye out for hurricanes and tropical storms like the rest of us, but his worry centered on the restaurant and its fragile foundation. Pierre’s was structurally more sound, but there was very little sustaining the beach café’s breezy framework that gave the area its open, island vibe. A strong storm had the potential to destroy his livelihood.

  “I don’t have a good feeling,” he said. “They’re predicting a busy month.”

  “Do you have precautions in place for the property?” Philip asked.

  The conversation concerned me. I had heard about the dangerous storms that churned through the southern corridor, and Liberty’s tale of the skeletons washed on the shore stayed with me for some time. I had no idea how to prepare for a hurricane or a storm surge. My body tensed, and Philip could tell. “Don’t worry, Charley, the house is elevated for this very reason. It’s up to code with the proper storm shutters.”

  “Aren’t most of the Keys in an evacuation zone?” Claudia asked.

  “We are,” Ben replied. “And it’s hell getting out of here in a storm. If it’s anything like Irma—”

  I ground my toes into the sand. I couldn’t think of anything worse than Philip being away while I was forced to secure the house and get Sunny and me out. Alone.

  “Darling, relax.” He gently squeezed. “Everything’s going to be fine. Even in an emergency, you know I have men to help with the house and take you and Sunny to safety.” He looked squarely at Ben. “And my good friend over here won’t let anything happen to you. Right, Ben?”

  Ben nodded. And rather than feeling comforted, I felt worse.

  It occurred to me that I was the moody Judy at the table. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it under control. I didn’t want to be alone for an impending storm, and I didn’t want Ben—of all people—being forced to take care of me. The idea frightened me because I knew there was more than a storm barreling through the Lesser Antilles. A squall was forcing its way through me, circling close, and it made its presence known with the skies opening and a hard rain pouring down. The earth was reacting to our table, a mix of temperaments and temperatures. Scores of guests ran for cover, and Ben was in the thick of it, assisting with umbrellas, while the automatic awning rolled itself out. Claudia followed Philip, who stopped to assist an elderly couple, and I remained seated, drenched, unable to move.

  Ben was the closest. “Get up, Charlotte.”

  I shrugged him off. “I’m fine.”

  Philip was literally carrying the older woman to shelter, yelling back for me from beneath the awning, “C’mon, Charley,” but my feet were planted in the sand. My jumpsuit was drenched. It was white and see-through and I didn’t care. Ben averted his eyes, ripped the tablecloth from off the table, and placed it around my shoulders. “Don’t be so stubborn.”

  It was hard to see with the rain storming down and even harder to make sense of what was happening within me. Sure, I blamed Philip, but relationships were two-way streets, and everything leading to this point was within my control. Ben took my hand and pulled me up from the chair. Shivering, I followed him to where Philip was tending to the woman and her husband, joking about the fickle weather. We were pinned together. Philip’s shoulder jutted into mine, but it was Ben’s nearness that pressed against my back. Claudia was wedged nearby. The rain on her face gave her a fresh, dewy complexion.

  I heard her whisper in Ben’s ear. “I hope I see you again.”

  His response drifted through my ears. “You will.”

  CHAPTER 24

  September 2018

  After our dinner with Claudia and Ben, it rained for two weeks straight, and I took it as a bad sign. The gods were weeping. For me. For us. The wedding plans were far from my reach, our future grim. The strain took its toll and fights erupted.

  I fell in love with Philip knowing full well what I was getting myself into. We met on a plane; if that didn’t come to define who he was and how our love would eventually unfold, then what would? And every time I’d be angry and we’d bicker, he’d send a handwritten letter or dozens of my favorite flowers. Sometimes there was an expensive piece of clothing: I hope you’ll wear this when I get back. His words were beautiful and simple, and the love was ever present. The problem was that Philip wasn’t. Even when he was right beside me, we were far apart. We weren’t discussing the things central to our lives. Big things. We were coasting as though there was always tomorrow, letting the present slip us by. Guilt was creeping up inside of me. It didn’t feel good to be engaged to one man and longing for another, and the excuses were becoming tired. I had a choice. There was always a choice.

  By then, Claudia and Ben were casually dating. She’d come down from Miami on the weekends and stay at the Moorings. I’d see them at the restaurant and smile, remarking on the matching baseball hats they
recently purchased at a Dolphins game, envying the way they shared private jokes. Ben had every right to date someone else. I only wished it didn’t bother me so much. At times, I wondered who I was mad at. Philip or Ben. Or myself.

  When Claudia wasn’t around, Ben and I would revert to our casual friendship. I’d babysit for Jimmy when Carla couldn’t, and the three of us would sometimes go to the beach or a movie when the days were particularly hot. Jimmy was in the throes of his NAET treatments, and it was hard for Ben, or Carla, to keep up with the schedule and rules, so I became the warden, carefully monitoring everything he touched or tasted. I also became an emergency contact at Jimmy’s school. Ben tossed the document my way on a night we were barbecuing by his pool.

  “Can you just sign this?”

  “What is it?”

  “Emergency contact form.” Ben had written my name next to his. For relationship it read Aunt. There was my mobile number and the line left blank for my signature, which certified that I would adhere to the rules and regulations governing the school.

  “What does this even mean?” I asked.

  He smiled at me. They were few and far between, but sometimes there was a rare glimpse of the person who tangled me up inside. “I don’t know. There’s carpool line rules, I think.”

  I scribbled my name, joining me to Ben, and sat back in the lounge chair, watching Jimmy horse around in the pool.

  Philip called, and I picked up. “Hey.”

  “How’s my girl?”

  “Fine.” I was in a one-piece red bathing suit with a matching floppy hat, and I thought about snapping a picture and sending it to him, but I didn’t want Ben to see. I’d been thinking about what to say to Philip, ways we might be able to fix things, but when I heard his voice, the list of concerns vanished. The push and pull confused me. He said the traveling was almost complete. He promised things would be better. I believed him. Until I watched Ben and Claudia, and I wished for more. When he was here and present, our situation seemed manageable. When he was away and absent, the cracks revealed themselves. I couldn’t keep up with the transient emotions.

  He prattled on about Montreal and the view from his window. He described the things he’d be doing to me, and I fell madly under his spell. Closing my eyes, I envisioned us together and his breath beside me, instead of miles away. But when we hung up, it was Ben’s eyes peering into mine. Ben feeding me dessert with a cherry on top because he knew I loved the taste. Ben who unknowingly filled the space Philip left behind.

  Dusk approached, and a line of clouds covered the sky. Jimmy said good night and headed to his room.

  “I’ll be in in a minute,” Ben said.

  “You come, too,” Jimmy called out in my direction.

  I waited for Ben to leave Jimmy’s room, and then I entered. I sat on the floor next to the bed, and Jimmy told me what he was thankful for. It was something we’d started a while ago when his despair was as deep as the ocean. “Instead of focusing on the bad stuff,” I’d said, “let’s focus on the good. Because you know you have a lot of good, right, Jimmy?”

  The first few times we’d played this exercise, he clammed up. He couldn’t think of one single thing that made him happy. Not one single thing he was grateful for. They were there, he just needed a guide. Soon he was naming things. The sunset. Throwing a baseball with his dad. Sunny’s wet nose. A girl at school named Dani.

  And I made sure Ben played the game as well, to give Jimmy the things I couldn’t evoke: namely, the memory of his mother. That’s when I noticed the easel with a fresh piece of paper. I got up. “Jimmy! You did it! You started.”

  There, beside the easel, was a photo of Jimmy with his mom. He was sitting on her lap and both her arms were wrapped around him. Their faces touched; Jimmy had her nose and lips. They looked so happy. I ached for the woman who wasn’t able to see her young boy grow up.

  The lines on the paper were faint, but they were real, and I knew they weren’t there the day before. When Liberty had suggested pushing Jimmy to paint, I’d argued. “What Jimmy really needs is a therapist.”

  “Jimmy needs love,” she said. “He’s getting it from Ben, he’s getting it from you. He’s getting it from all of us. He needs to paint, though. It’s the best way for him to work through his emotions.”

  I had slowly begun the conversation about painting again. At first, I asked questions about the pieces in his room. Short answers became longer, and he began to open up, peeling the layers away. His talent was obvious. The goal was to get him to paint as though it were entirely his decision. Liberty had said, “Let him find his way. Not you. Not Ben. Not me. It’ll empower him.”

  I almost cried when I saw that he’d picked it up again.

  “I don’t think I’m very good at it anymore.”

  “That’s baloney,” I said. “Utterly impossible. You’re very talented, Jimmy.”

  “It’s hard,” he said.

  I walked over to the bed and sat back down. “I know. But paint. Paint until it hurts. Take all those emotions inside and put them on the page. And eventually, I can almost guarantee it, it won’t hurt as much.”

  “You think so?” he asked.

  “I know so.”

  “Thanks, Charley.” It was the first time he’d called me that, and I tried not to make a big deal of it.

  “Now tell me something you’re grateful for today. Just today. Right now. This minute.”

  He looked up and our eyes met. “I’m grateful for you.”

  It started to drizzle when Ben walked me home. We could have easily turned around and made the short trip in his car, but we had begun to rely upon our walks, the stolen time when we could share our days and worries, the in-between where we belonged to no one else.

  “Someone’s deep in thought.”

  The rain felt fresh and peaceful, and I was savoring the exchange with Jimmy, but what I didn’t know was that Ben was standing at the door, witness to the entire conversation.

  “You have an incredible way, Charlotte. I’ve seen a big change in Jimmy when he’s around you. He’s really grown attached to you. We both have.” And when he noticed I didn’t respond right away, he added, “I don’t mean any disrespect by that. Ours is an unusual friendship. But you should know you’ve been a great help to us.”

  Whenever Ben connected our dots too close, I reminded him of someone else. “How are things with Claudia?”

  “I like her,” he said. “She’s easygoing. Having her in Miami simplifies things. There’s no pressure. We see each other enough without added stress . . .”

  “As long as she’s good with it,” I said, pointing out how all relationships, not only Philip’s and mine, faced compromise. Playfully, I teased, “But what do you want, Ben?”

  He laughed, and the rain fell harder, drenching us in a slick wet. Soon we were running toward the house, skipping through puddles, splashing each other with a thin mist. By now we were both muddied, giggling like two kids prancing on an open playground.

  We climbed the steps, gasping for air, our clothes and hair soaked through. My phone beeped, and it was a text from Philip. I have a surprise for you. FaceTime me.

  “Philip has a surprise for me,” I shared with Ben.

  I dialed his number, his face ignited the screen, and what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

  “Philip.” I stopped laughing. “What happened to your hair?!”

  His fingers stretched across the shiny bare scalp. “Don’t you like it?”

  He was smiling, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he was now bald, the blue of his eyes dazzling and flirty.

  Ben grabbed the phone. “You don’t look half-bad for an old man. Maybe I’ll shave mine, too.”

  “I think I like it,” I heard myself say. “Kind of sexy.”

  “I lost a bet,” he informed us. “But my luck might rival yours. You two look atrocious. What on earth is going on down there?”

  “Rainstorm,” Ben answered. “But your princess is safely home, and your l
ord is on his way to his.” We laughed together. Philip loved nothing more than seeing us happy, seeing the people he loved most enjoying life.

  Noting the nasty weather in the background, Philip said, “Don’t be a wanker, Goose.” Ever so endearing, our Philip. “Sleep in the guest room.”

  Ben didn’t miss a beat. “Uh, I have a minor at home, Philip. Jimmy, your godson.”

  “Oh right,” he quipped. “Wait for the weather to subside before heading back, Goose. I have a rare bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. It’s best to drink on a cold, rainy night. Enjoy it while you wait. You have the rainy part covered.”

  The bourbon cost a fortune, and we told him he was crazy. “The bottle will be waiting for you when you get back,” I said. “We’ll have it together.”

  “Good night, Philip.” We said it in unison. Then we blew him kisses, which he pretended to catch in his hand.

  “I love you, Charley. I love you, Goose.”

  CHAPTER 25

  September 2018

  The tropical disturbance in the Lesser Antilles had grown into a major hurricane. The local news predicted Kelsie’s eye could hit the Florida Keys as a Category 2 storm. As with most predictions, the cone of uncertainty was wide. The impending threat was almost as scary as my feelings for someone else.

  Ben. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking of beginnings and endings and how the cards would stack.

  When Philip called that night, I was visibly shaken.

  “I’m scared, Philip. I’m scared we won’t make it if you keep traveling the way you do.”

  “What’s gotten into you, Charley? I’m not one of those young lads who needs a business trip merely to get away from his woman. You trust me, don’t you?”

  The question burned my cheeks.

  “I’ve never given you any reason to worry. I’m committed to you, only you—you know that, don’t you?”

  I pursed my eyes closed and told myself to focus. The problem was with me. Not him.

  “I trust you implicitly.”