This Is Not How It Ends

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  Inside I was whispering, I love you, too, Ben. I love you, too.

  I walked toward the bedroom, and he didn’t try to stop me. Sunny followed, putting a barrier between us. When I reached the door, storms raging near and far, I pretended he didn’t just profess his love to me, and I asked about the imminent storm instead.

  He was slow to respond. “The wind and rains will pick up. We’ll lose power. Don’t go outside. The weather may seem calm, but it could be the eye, the most lethal part of the storm. It’ll trick you into thinking you’re safe.”

  We were at my door, and he gave me the Ben face, the one that felt like hands caressing my body. “If you need me,” he said. “I’m just down the hall. And there’s a flashlight beside your bed.”

  “Thanks for everything,” I said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. And for listening. And for understanding that I can’t talk about love right now . . . It hurts too much.”

  His eyes lingered longer than they should. “I’d do anything for you, Charlotte.”

  Hours later, all hell broke loose. Trees banged against the exterior, their sounds like jackhammers pounding at the ceiling. The rain smacked against the rooftop, and the whistling sounds of the wind creeping off the shore woke me from a restless sleep.

  The room was black, and I knew at once we’d lost power. Minutes passed before my eyes adjusted and I could see Sunny pacing back and forth on the floor. I patted the bed for him to come up. He obeyed, nuzzling into me. Ben was in the room next to mine, and I wondered if he was awake, tossing and turning, sorry for his confession. The house shook, and I pulled the covers tighter. My hands trembled, the howling a frightening spray of noise. Worst-case scenarios spiraled through my mind.

  Sunny cried and nudged me with his wet nose. I knew what it meant. Shit.

  Literally.

  I’d die if my dog had an accident on Ben’s pristine floors. I moved close to his face and told him he had to hold it in. But that face. Those puppy-dog eyes that were no longer puppy, but full-grown dog. “Oh Sunny, you can’t do this to me, buddy. You can’t.”

  My hands stroked his fur lovingly, and I listened to his panting sounds. He jumped from the bed, sniffing loudly, circling a spot on the floor. Shit. I knew I should let him do his business, and Ben would never know. I’d clean it up, flush it down the toilet, but Sunny’s eyes told me he couldn’t hold it. He knew he got in trouble from Philip when he had accidents. He’d rather hold it in and have his head pop off than endure Philip’s reprimand.

  The winds quieted down, and the rain slowed to a mild drizzle. Sunny was pleading with me, and I decided I could get him outside and back if I timed it correctly. After grabbing a sweatshirt and the flashlight, I found Sunny’s leash, and we tiptoed through the dark house. I was counting the minutes between feeder bands, so I knew how much time we’d have until the next squall. The last one was about three minutes.

  “Let’s make this fast,” I told Sunny as we headed out the front door. I carried an umbrella and decided to forgo the leash. It’d be quicker, I believed, if he found a spot on his own and returned. Islamorada was quiet. The trees didn’t breathe. The streetlamps were dark, and the only light was the moon, which faded in and out beneath a range of fast-moving clouds.

  My instincts were on heightened alert. Every sound, every branch that cracked in the wind. “Sunny,” I called out. “Sunny, let’s go.”

  I scanned the surroundings for a change in the air.

  “Sunny, here boy.”

  Nothing.

  Slowly, I took a step down the stairs. “Sunny. Here. Now.”

  Nothing.

  I pulled the sweatshirt tighter and called out Sunny’s name. My heart thundered in my throat while fear gripped me in its fist. “C’mon, Sunny.”

  I knew the minute I stepped on the drive that we’d made a mistake. The winds were shifting, and there was a whipping noise swirling eerily close. Sunny was pacing beneath a tree, baying at something in the branches. “C’mon boy, we’ve gotta get back inside.” I wasn’t sure he’d done his business, but I knew we had to return. I grabbed his collar and tugged. He fought me and cocked his head as though he heard something that I couldn’t.

  Without warning, a gust shot through the air, and a branch cracked my arm. That’s when Ben appeared, shirtless, ruffled from sleep. “What the hell were you thinking, Charlotte? I told you not to go outside!”

  A burning pain ripped through my arm, a bright red staining the hole in my sweatshirt.

  “Get inside,” he said, grabbing me with one hand and taking hold of Sunny’s leash and securing it to his collar with the other.

  He left me on his pristine couch and went looking for a towel. The house was lit up with candles, and I could make out the concern that lined Ben’s face. He shined the flashlight against my sleeve, pushing it up to get a better look. “That wound is deep,” he said, jumping off the couch and rummaging through nearby drawers. Sunny was at my side, his sorry eyes poking out from beneath the soggy fur. He licked the blood, but Ben shooed him away.

  Ever so gently, he rubbed ointment on the cut, and the pain faded beneath his touch. He wrapped my arm tightly, asked if I was okay, and gave me a final reprimand. “It could’ve been worse, Charlotte.”

  “I’m fine, Ben.”

  Outside, the sounds of the whistling wind didn’t frighten me, but Ben’s soft hands lovingly stroking my damp hair had me on edge. I was suddenly aware of his bare chest, the flimsy pajama bottoms between us. He scooted closer, and his arm came down around me. It was subtle, unexpected, and the pain disappeared. “You scared me, Charley.”

  Every fiber in my body was awake. His skin against mine, velvet against naked flesh. I stretched my body and turned to him. “You called me Charley.”

  The flashlight between us highlighted more than our faces. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” he began, stroking the hair that fell down my shoulders. I’d stared at him a dozen times, but never this close. Never this vulnerable. Never this deep, where I could see his soul pouring into mine.

  There was no hiding what I was feeling in that moment. I might have been out of sorts, but I knew what I knew, and I knew I loved Ben. I’d loved Ben for weeks now. I didn’t want to love Ben. I knew loving Ben was not going to be easy.

  What happened next—I could come up with a dozen reasons why we weren’t to blame. Here we were, Ben and me, facing the pull of nature’s elements, a tidal wave of feelings that made us self-destruct. He was wind; I was rain. Together, we were the perfect storm.

  But there were no excuses to be had when I slipped my ring off and dropped it on the table.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I reached for his cheek first, the betrayal dwarfed by a different sensation. His skin was smooth; he leaned into the curve of my hand. “Charley.”

  The other hand found the other cheek, and I forced him to find my eyes.

  “I love you, too.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I said I love you, too.”

  He was soaking it in, his face showing all the signs of confusion.

  “We’ll tell him when he gets back.” He was quiet. My words were beginning to sink in. “He’ll have to understand. I know he loves me, but I’m not sure it’s enough.”

  Right there I should’ve stopped myself. It was no one’s fault but mine. The decision, that too was mine, and its consequences would be terms I’d have to live with. And yet, I wasn’t afraid. I knew what I had to do. And when Philip returned, I was going to tell him. I couldn’t marry him. I loved him, but I couldn’t be his wife.

  “Please kiss me, Ben.”

  He was in my face, and his breath tickled my skin. “If I touch you, Charley, it won’t be a single kiss. I’m going to do to you the things I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

  Before he could say anything else, my mouth was covering his and my lips spread open. There was an urgency that had his hands trailing down my back an
d beneath my shirt. He stopped, but it was only to lift me up and carry me to his bedroom. His room was modern and masculine, and he dropped me on the bed, careful of my arm.

  I kissed him, pulling him on top of me, forgetting I belonged to someone else.

  There was no denying I had imagined what it would be like to make love to Ben. The imaginary dalliance consisted of rough hands and urgent kisses. Uninhibited desire set free, as though we were running out of time.

  It was nothing like that.

  Ben told me to slow down, laying me against the pillows and stroking my hair. “Look at me.” I stared into his eyes as he undressed me as though he were preparing a meal. First my shirt. Tender. Exact. Slowly, he slid my pajama bottoms off. They were dirty and still a little damp. I was naked beside him, and the way he looked at me dug deep beneath my skin. I reached for him, and he pulled back.

  His lips, one by one, traced the lines of my hips and thighs, and I felt the throbbing ache that made it impossible to stop what was happening between us. He reached my breasts, and I arched my back, grabbing hold of his hair, urging him on, begging, “Please.”

  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he breathed. “I’ll take my time.”

  He kissed me again, his body pressing into mine. Ripe with desire, I needed to touch him. I tugged at his bottoms until he slid out of his pants. He let out a groan. We were skin to skin, heart to heart.

  He held my eyes in his. “Do you want this, Charley?” I answered by opening my legs and letting him in. There were no words, just two people sealed together by fate.

  I forgot that I was engaged to someone else.

  I forgot that I was a cheater.

  I forgot everything else but this person who completed me and made me less alone.

  Tomorrow, tomorrow I was telling Philip we were over.

  CHAPTER 27

  September 2018

  I woke up in a state of groggy confusion. My arm hurt, and when I rolled over, I saw Ben there beside me, and everything became clear. His face in peaceful sleep relieved me of any doubt. I remembered how he loved me, the way his body had moved into mine, and how two halves had become whole.

  Tickling his lips, then his chin and cheeks, I touched him until he stirred awake, and we faced each other. His palm stroked my skin, and I felt myself coming alive. The pervasive quiet meant the storm had passed. The only sounds were his breaths letting me know what it meant to be beside me.

  Settling me in his arms, he kissed the top of my head. Sunny popped up, hoping to join us on the bed. His tail wagged, and I wondered if he understood.

  A dusty gold rippled off the water. The light slowly crept across the room, and I caught Ben’s face. There was a calmness that wasn’t there the day before, as though a door had opened, and warmth flooded in.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about Philip. I’m thinking about what this will do to all of us.”

  Explaining how those words made me feel was impossible. I tried not to compare the two men I thought I loved, but their differences were striking. I could blame Philip for not slowing down, for closing me out, but it was me who had changed. I must’ve looked troubled, because Ben asked, “Are you sorry?”

  “I’m not. I love him. For all the reasons we first fell for each other, but we haven’t been on the same page in a while. I always thought we wanted similar things, but I’m not sure we do.” It was hard to believe I was discussing Philip’s and my relationship like this. “Are you?” I asked. “Are you sorry?”

  “I never meant to hurt either one of them,” he said, referring to both Philip and Claudia.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, wiping leftover sleep from his eyes. “Last night was my doing.”

  “I had a hand in it . . . or two . . .”

  I felt strangely free even though I had a well to dig through. This would crush Philip. I was contemplating our issues, and there were big ones: the subject of kids, his emotional absence. Even though he’d promised he’d slow down, would he grow to resent me? Was it really what he wanted? I hated that I would cause him pain, but he hadn’t thought of mine.

  Ben rubbed his hands over my belly and teased me with his lips.

  I reached for my phone and turned it on. Immediately it rang, and the sound startled me. Ben backed down. Beautiful Ben. His body was magical. His eyes a spell I fell quickly under.

  “Hello?” It was a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Is this Mrs. Stafford?”

  I cleared my throat. “This is Charlotte Myers.”

  “Philip Stafford’s wife?”

  I sat up. “I’m his girlfriend . . . his fiancée . . .” A surge of fear snaked down my body. “Who is this?” I glanced at my phone, and a dozen messages lit the screen.

  “My name is Regina Watson. I’m calling from Mount Sinai Medical Center. We’ve been trying to reach you, but it seems there are outages from the storm in your area. Your fiancé was brought in last night.”

  Philip was here. In Miami?

  The room began to spin, and when I reached for something to steady me, it was Ben’s arm, which made the stirring worse. I was sucked into a vortex of impending doom—something worse than any hurricane.

  The fear rose in my throat and came out as a croak. “I don’t understand. Philip’s in Houston . . . What’s happened to Philip?”

  CHAPTER 28

  September 2018

  I distanced myself from Ben and tossed the phone aside. Sheets tangled my legs, and it was an effort to disengage. He tugged at the twisted fabric and kicked it to the floor. His body was bare and beautiful; I couldn’t look.

  “Charley, what’s wrong with Philip?”

  I was leaning over the bed, reaching with my good arm for my underwear, my T-shirt, my sweats. My fingers trembled, one by one, as I tried to get dressed. My chest was heavy with worry, sinking in self-loathing. I thought I might throw up. “Charley?”

  “I don’t know.” My voice was low and broken. He was watching me as I threw his clothes at him, all the feelings left to puddle around us. “Please, please get dressed.”

  “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, his voice echoing my worry.

  It occurred to me that I was miles from the hospital. I had no idea of the condition of the roads, or how Philip had made it in last night. I told him not to take a chance. I told him to stay put.

  “Charley . . .”

  My voice wavered, and tears flooded my eyes. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. “He flew here last night. I didn’t know this because my father . . . Oh God . . . I shut my phone off so I didn’t have to . . . They were trying to reach me . . .” My hands covered my face, and I hid my shame. “We were together while Philip was collapsing on the tarmac.”

  The ringing of the phone dispelled the painful admission, and I saw it was Elise. “Charlotte, Meghan and I have been trying to reach you for hours. Did you know Philip flew in last night? They chartered a plane. They got lucky . . .” Lucky.

  Elise was in Coral Gables. I heard her shuffling around her kitchen, worried sick, though her demeanor had hardly changed. It was how she’d successfully managed Philip all these years.

  “Elise.” I was openly crying now. “What do you know? Why are they keeping him?”

  I was relying on what the woman told me earlier being a mistake. That she’d called the wrong person. That Philip wasn’t in danger. It was the moment when the bargaining began. When life fractured in two, and you frantically tried to fit it back together.

  “They were deplaning,” she said. “He came down the stairs, lost his footing, and fell. He banged his head, and they think he may have a concussion. They’re keeping him sedated to bring down the swelling, and then they’ll run some more tests.” Her voice dropped, and she sounded less certain. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  I closed my eyes and succumbed to the unknown. The fear snaked through me, and I swallowed it back.
Breathe. Breathe. But I couldn’t. Philip fell. Philip never fell. Or tripped. Ever. He was coordinated and athletic. When he walked, it was graceful, decisive. People like him were never unbalanced.

  I gripped the phone tighter in my hand. “Elise, I’m really scared.”

  Her flat, take-charge attitude did little to soothe me. “Meghan’s flying in. You won’t be alone. The airport’s opened. She’ll meet you at the hospital. I’ll try to get there, but I have to wait for the flooding to subside.”

  I trusted her—I always had, though I knew it would be some time before I felt steady again. It was my fault. Our fault. I did this.

  I had a difficult time imagining Philip lying in a pool of his own blood with people fawning over him. No one told me such, but my imagination had a way of detailing what this scene looked like. Philip would hate random strangers seeing him like that. Fear of falling. I rewound the tape in my brain to a less scary version.

  “Charlotte, I understand you’re upset. As soon as the doctors know something, you’ll be the first to hear. Now go get yourself ready. Philip will be waiting for you. I’ll be in touch.”

  She hung up, and I felt the dizziness at once, a nausea that swept up my stomach. Sunny tried to lick my tears, and I buried my face in his fur. By now, Ben was fully clothed, resting an arm around my shoulder. It was subtle, but I backed away. I couldn’t be touched, especially not by him. Standing, I paced the floor. “I need to go to Philip. He’s never needed me before. He’s always taken care of everything . . . Oh my God, Ben, look what I’ve done to him.”

  If he were yesterday’s Ben, my friend, he’d reassure me, the comforting way he always knew how. But he was not my friend anymore. He would never be my friend again. We’d crossed a line, and we couldn’t go back.

  Like strangers, we stood apart. He switched on his cell phone and searched for updates on the power, road closures, anything to distract us from what we’d just done. Beeps indicated they’d tried to reach him, too. I felt him all over me; I smelled him on my skin and in my hair. It would be some time before I removed the traces of him from my body.