This Is Not How It Ends

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  Panic began to settle in, and I had no control over my worry. “What if something happens? What if I can’t leave?” I dialed Philip’s number, and it went straight to voice mail. I hung up and dialed again just to hear the flurry of his voice. Alive Philip. Conscious Philip. Dahling Philip.

  Ben grasped my shoulders. “Charley, you need to calm down.”

  His eyes were a dark green stained with my imprint.

  “I’ll take Sunny out and check on the streets. We may not even be able to get you out of here today.”

  His doubt sucked the air from my chest. “No!” I broke away, stepping back from him. “I need to get to him. I need to go today. Now.”

  He forced me still, gripping me tight, pulling me toward him so I couldn’t break free. The pain in my arm throbbed. “Whatever it is, we’re going to get through it. Philip’s going to get through this.” He lowered his head to mine. “I’ll be here for you. You won’t go through this alone. He’s my friend, too.”

  I wished he hadn’t said that. He couldn’t be more wrong. He’d betrayed Philip in the worst conceivable way, and just because he wasn’t the one wearing a ring on his finger didn’t lessen the deception.

  Ben and Sunny exited first. When it was safe for me to leave the bedroom, I tiptoed past Jimmy’s door and lowered myself onto the couch. The chaos outside had me jumpy. Trees were uprooted, thrown against the house. Branches and debris were scattered along the sand. Leaves filled the pool like fall in Kansas City, and the sky was coated in a thick puff of gray clouds.

  I jumped at the sound of the front door as Ben made his way outside. Simultaneously, Jimmy stepped into the room. His hair was flattened from sleep, and he rubbed his eyes.

  “Hi, Charley.”

  “Hey, Jimmy.” My throat felt lined with sand. “Did you sleep all right?”

  He nodded, heading toward the kitchen in a T-shirt and flannel bottoms that dragged along the floor. “Don’t open the fridge,” I called out. “The power . . . we have to keep things cold.”

  He picked through the cabinets and poured himself a bowl of modified cereal—nut-free, gluten-free, and most likely flavorless. He scooted next to me on the sofa and scooped a handful into his mouth. He didn’t notice that I was shaking.

  I needed to get control of myself, and conversing with Jimmy helped. “You don’t have that many more tests to pass,” I began. “Liberty said you’re in the home stretch.” I reached across and brushed the hair off his face. “We’re going to celebrate in a big way.”

  “What happened to your arm?” he asked.

  I reached for the bandage. “I didn’t listen to your father.”

  Unmoved, he continued eating, changing the subject. “Do you love him?”

  It amused me how he could casually eat his dry, tasteless cereal and simultaneously ask such an important question. I disguised my surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you love my dad?” he asked again.

  My presence had to confuse him, and perhaps he saw something else. “Your dad is special to both me and Philip.”

  He nodded, and I could tell he hoped for a different response. I looked back and forth from his speckled face to the front door. I was anxious to know how bad the damage was outside. I was anxious to know how my fiancé was managing in the hospital, when he hated being told what he could or couldn’t do. Hours ago, I would’ve said yes, I loved Ben a lot. And not just as a friend. Now my guilt was leaking through, and I couldn’t plug the holes.

  “Dad doesn’t like people sleeping over,” he said. “He likes his space.”

  I again glanced over my shoulder, nervously awaiting Ben’s return. “Lots of grown-ups do, Jimmy, but Philip’s away, and your dad didn’t want me alone during the storm.”

  He was tugging on his pajama bottoms, the ones with the Miami Hurricanes’ logo. “Last night was fun.”

  I could tell how hard it was for him to say those words, and for a brief moment, his honesty allayed my worry. “I liked being here, too.”

  The door opened, and Ben and Sunny returned. I expected to feel differently when I saw him, that his tousled hair wouldn’t speak to me, and his chest and hands weren’t touching me under my clothes. The lights flickered, and a brief humming sound brought the house to life. Jimmy skipped off to his room and his dormant PS4 game. Laurie Jennings resumed reporting, announcing closures in the area and status updates on the airport.

  My cell phone rang, and it was Elise. “They’ve put him in a room, Charlotte. I know you want to get to him, but please be careful. The roads are bad. Philip would want you to be safe.”

  I was watching it live on Channel 10. It was a mess out there, but not enough to stop me from going to Philip.

  “Let me drive you,” Ben said.

  “No,” I insisted. “I’ll go by myself.”

  “You don’t know the roads as well as I do, and have you not noticed the blood seeping through your bandage?” I looked down at the bright-red splotch. “You probably need stiches.”

  “Well, good thing I’m going to a hospital.” I couldn’t imagine being alone with him. “I’ll call an Uber.”

  “Charley,” he sighed. “I doubt Ubers are working. Let me take you.”

  I didn’t want to need Ben right now, but I did. My hands were trembling, and besides the drive, I needed him to take Sunny for a few days.

  “What about Jimmy?” I asked.

  “I’ve already called Carla. Her house has no power. She’s ecstatic to come over for the afternoon.”

  This was Ben’s gift. He cornered me, boxed me in, so I couldn’t get out. He might as well have been holding me against a wall with my arms pinned up above my head, leaning in for a kiss. I shook my head to banish the image and the forbidden sensations.

  Our phones rang at the same time. There was talk of Morada Bay’s damage on his end, and it was Liberty on mine. She detailed the island chatter: restaurants serving meals, Xfinity outages, the important stuff. “Thank goodness you’re all okay.” Then she lowered her voice, “How was it sleeping at hunky Ben’s house?”

  “Philip’s in the hospital.” And then I broke down. Hearing myself tell the story made it frightening and real. “I should’ve been there for him. We should’ve been together.” Revulsion mixed with regret. All the pieces stacked together in one pile of blame. I was sick over what I’d done. What we’d done.

  Liberty offered to join me, but I refused. “Ben’s going to take me.” She assured me whatever I needed, she’d give, and I knew she would, and I thanked her, but she couldn’t give me the thing I needed most: to turn back time.

  CHAPTER 29

  September 2018

  The streets of Islamorada mirrored my soul. Water swelled, edging along the sidewalk, while branches and leaves dispersed in its wake. Ben was beside me, steering the car cautiously toward Miami. The city slowly came to life, but I was too dazed to notice. Residents gathered to survey the damage, and shop owners took inventory of their losses. One could hear the collective sigh of relief that the storm hadn’t been worse, though Hurricane Kelsie blew through more than just the island. I had my own brokenness, too.

  Ben started to say something, and I thrust out my hand. “I can’t. Not now.”

  We had an hour and a half to get to the hospital, which would likely be over two because of the traffic, downed lights, and fallen debris. Ben took Card Sound Road, and I didn’t argue. He was doing what he could to get me there fast.

  I texted Elise. Any news?

  Before she responded, my phone rang. It was Philip.

  His voice was thick with sleep. “Charley.” It was a groggy breath of air, but I heard the accent. My eyes filled with tears. He sounded faint and far away.

  “Hang on, honey. I’m coming. I’m on my way.”

  “I’m sorry,” he started again, every word a struggle. “I tried my best to make it back for you . . .”

  “I told you to stay put!”

  A cough escaped him.

  “Phili
p . . .”

  “Charley . . . everything I did was for you. Try to understand that . . . I have to go. Just know that, know how very much I love you.”

  He wasn’t making any sense. “I love you, too.”

  Ben handed me a tissue, and I dabbed at my eyes. We were approaching Card Sound Bridge. The view used to be one of my favorites, the stretch of ocean surrounded by islands of green. I closed my eyes and leaned against the window. Ben turned the radio up a notch.

  Sleep came in short, jerking intervals. The pressure on my arm made it impossible to get comfortable, and I twisted in the other direction. Ben was focused on the road. Two hands on the wheel. Two strong hands that had covered my body only hours ago. I knew what they felt like. I knew the shape of his fingers and the smell of his skin. He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. It was heartbreaking to see the distance between us.

  Dave Matthews was playing on the radio. He was asking if this was real or if we were dreaming. Ben reached a hand out to me, and this time, I didn’t pull away. He didn’t consider how much it was going to hurt to let me go. Everything had changed, and when I got out of his car, we’d have to take our feelings with us.

  “We should talk about it,” he said.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “This is it, Charley. If not now, when?”

  How could I listen? How could I let his words in when they weren’t mine to keep?

  “I need to know,” he began. “What if there was no phone call? What if Philip was on his way back?” He paused. “What would’ve happened to us?”

  My voice was dull, washed out. “But he’s not.”

  “You’re not answering the question.”

  I soaked in the faint line of stubble crossing his cheeks. “What-if doesn’t matter anymore,” I said.

  “It matters.”

  “Ben, please. It won’t do either of us any good.”

  He let go of my hand and ran it through his hair, releasing a long, deep sigh. Dozens of thoughts filled my mind, all the things I couldn’t say. The feelings rose to the surface, scratching along my heart and throat. He couldn’t see them. He had no idea they were there. Perhaps through their power he’d feel them, without me having to say a word.

  I had been prepared to leave Philip. Waking up in Ben’s arms, I admitted, I had fallen for him. I had been falling for some time. These realizations were a string of confessions tethered to my heart. Wordless emotions that held my secrets and protected those I loved. Protected me. But this was something bigger than both of us. This was a sign I couldn’t ignore.

  “We were lonely, Ben. And hurt. Maybe fear does that to people, they act on impulse.”

  He didn’t try to fight me. He took it all in. Each of my lies. Each denouncement of what we’d shared in that bed. It was a lot more than sex, and we both knew it, but what did it matter when Philip was lying in a hospital?

  I felt the car slow down, and he pulled off the narrow road. “You can’t stop here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Don’t do this, Charley.” He looked as though he might break into pieces.

  “Ben, please.”

  The pain in his eyes pulled me in, desires our lips couldn’t say.

  He shuffled in his seat and gripped the wheel.

  “Living without her, I didn’t have a choice. But you, Charley . . . I know how it feels to lose someone. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  I watched a man who I loved hand over his heart.

  “Philip needs me.”

  He clenched the wheel. “So do I.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek, and I wiped it off, wiped his feelings off. “I’m sorry.”

  “Fine,” he said, jerking the car into gear. “If this is what you want, if this is what you need . . . I’ll give it to you. But let’s make one thing clear, Charley. This is not how it ends. This is definitely not how it’s going to end.”

  CHAPTER 30

  September 2018

  By the time we reached the hospital, I could tell Ben wanted me out of the car as much as I wanted out. His goodbye and request for me to keep him posted were barely audible. I didn’t look back after closing the door. I couldn’t. If I did, he’d see the tears lining my cheeks. He’d see that I loved him, too, and that getting out of that car and getting out of that bed weren’t choices. My heart was pulled in two.

  The tears continued through hospital security and followed me to the elevator.

  As I stepped through the threshold of room 823, reality hit like a freight train. Ben. Philip. It occurred to me I hadn’t showered, that Ben was on me and in me. Shame crawled down my shoulders, planting itself inside. He was asleep, and I was unprepared for his condition. Doubling back, I thought perhaps I was in the wrong room. A lot had changed since he last left.

  The man in the bed was sick. Like bad sick. Skinny. I scanned the chart, his fingers, anything to prove to me this was Philip. My Philip. His head was bandaged in white gauze. There was a purple bruise staining his left cheek. His eyes opened and he found me.

  “It’s you.”

  Tears streamed down my face. “It’s me.”

  “Do I look that awful?”

  Fear forced a laugh to escape. “Yes, Philip. That awful.”

  I reached for his hand. It was cold and lifeless.

  His frailty alarmed me. He knew it, too, and his eyes shifted from side to side.

  “Come on, Charley,” he coddled. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  He was wrong. It was worse. There was something very wrong with Philip. Something very bad that made him fall. Something sinister that had him vomiting all over himself in Miami, and it was the reason he’d lost so much weight.

  I had no interest in smiling—none—but I did it. For him. And the pretending hurt, but it masked my worry.

  “What did the doctor say?” I asked.

  “I took a nasty fall, darling.”

  “Overstating the obvious, Philip. A promising sign.”

  Tubes and wires connected him to machines that beeped and pulsated. Wiry arms appeared from beneath the hospital garb. Small and helpless were words I’d never before used to describe Philip, but he looked terribly slight, and it was then that I realized the hue of his skin. Philip was a pale Brit, and even weekends in the Florida sunshine didn’t turn him brown. People like him turned pink, and on a long day, they became lobster red. Philip’s skin wasn’t tanned, and it wasn’t a blush of pink. It was yellow. And he was scratching at it excessively.

  “What’s the matter, Charley? You look terribly frightened.”

  My legs buckled. I wasn’t imagining things. There was a tint to his skin that sucked the air out of me.

  “I’ll be back.”

  I raced down the hallway, hating everything about this place. The smell of antiseptic and infection crawled up my nose, fueling the abruptness that landed on a heavy-set woman behind the nurse’s station. “I need to speak to my fiancé’s doctor.”

  “Did you press the call button, ma’am?” she asked, barely looking up from a stack of papers. “If it’s an emergency, all you have to do is press the call button in his room.” I clenched my fist and sneered under my breath. This is a fucking emergency.

  “I need to speak to Philip Stafford’s doctor. He’s a patient. Room 823.”

  Footsteps came up from behind me. “That would be me.”

  The man approaching the desk didn’t seem old enough to be a doctor, and I told him so.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think, Ms. . . . and you’re bleeding.” He pointed to my arm.

  I covered the bandage with my hand. “Charlotte. Charlotte Myers.” He was shorter than I, and I hoped what he lacked in stature was made up for in medical expertise. His hair was doing the thing that all the teenagers’ hair does: a pronounced peak at the very top. “Can we talk for a minute about Philip?”

  “I was just about to go in and see him . . . You’re the girlfriend?”

  “Fiancée.”
I went to touch the ring, stroke it with my fingertips, only the ring wasn’t there. My finger was bare. It was at Ben’s. I’d taken it off before giving him the courtesy of screwing someone’s fiancée. Philip’s fiancée. “Fuck.”

  “Ms. Myers, was it something I said?”

  I stuffed my naked hand in my pocket and shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

  He was holding a thick file in his hand, and it was then I noticed his name sewn across the left breast of the white coat. Marc Leeman, MD, Oncology. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

  “Philip’s going to die, isn’t he?”

  He maneuvered me through the hallway to an empty examination room. “Why don’t we sit down.” Turning, Dr. Leeman called out for one of the nurses. “Josie, do you mind taking a look at this young woman’s arm?”

  The pungent smell of disinfectant filled the air, and I took a seat on the examination table while constructing a story that didn’t include the death of someone I loved. Josie tended to my arm, and I was oblivious to her, eyes trained on the doctor. He took his time, but I was way ahead of him.

  “It’s pancreatic cancer,” I told him.

  His expression was unchanged.

  “Miss Myers, I’m not sure you understand—”

  “Oh, I understand!” I shouted at him. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  He flipped through the folder’s contents, and I’m certain he gave the nurse, Josie, a baffled look.

  I wouldn’t cry. I refused to cry in front of this little man. Not now. No. I’d save my tears for the hell I was about to go through. I bit my lip to make it stop quivering, knowing the world was a cruel fucking place.

  “My mother died . . .” I stopped while Josie tugged on my skin with her instruments. “She died from pancreatic cancer. There were signs . . .” I dropped my head and his followed. “I didn’t want to see it . . . He was tired . . . I knew something was wrong. But not this. Something else maybe. Then I saw his skin . . . Have they located the tumor? The head of the pancreas?”

  “Miss Myers, you need to know—”