“What do you mean?”
“You’re not the same.” He turned his back to me. “You don’t feel the same.”
I drew the covers over my exposed chest. “Philip, that’s ridiculous.” But he was right. I was different, but he was different, too. I fought the urge to cry, to blame, and reached for him, but he pulled away.
“It’s normal, Philip. You can’t be expected . . .”
His eyes were bloodshot when he turned around. “Don’t pacify me, Charlotte. It’s unbecoming. A man should be able to make love to his woman.”
I reached for him, and he pushed me away.
“I’d really like for you to go.”
“Don’t do this, Philip.”
“Please go. I want to be alone.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do, Charlotte. More than I care to admit.”
The doctors had warned us. Philip had been able to bypass everything else, I thought he’d bury the difficult emotions, too. “I can’t expect you to want me anymore . . . not like this . . .”
“Don’t you dare say that.”
His face was close to mine. “Please just leave. Please, Charlotte . . .”
After that night, Philip and I never made love again. When he’d said I felt different, I took it to mean my sin had tarnished me, and the shame bubbled within me for days. What I later learned was that his broken body didn’t fit into mine anymore. That it was he who felt inadequate, he who felt guilty for not being able to give me what he thought I wanted. And that’s the thing. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was on cruise control with one mission in mind: to take care of Philip and love him through his last moments.
Pulling the sash on my bathrobe tighter, I left the room. There was only one time before that I’d ever felt so alone.
The dark memory of a long-ago morning swaddled me in angst. It was the day he left. My father. I was his little girl. The girl he loved better than any other. If anyone could stop him from walking away, it was me.
I had followed him down the front steps to the driveway, tripping over my Winnie the Pooh footed pajamas. He refused to look at me. “Charley, go back inside.”
I could tell he was crying, which didn’t stop me. “But Daddy,” I said, “you don’t have to cry. If you come back inside, we can have breakfast together. We can make pancakes.”
“Charley,” he said, this time rather sternly. “We’re not making breakfast today. I’m leaving. I have to go.”
To a seven-year-old, leaving was only temporary. As it should be. Forever was an infinite sadness children should never have to measure.
He was fitting his suitcase into the trunk. My mother was standing nearby, shouting at me. “Charlotte, come back inside.” She moved toward me, and I wriggled away. I would never understand the weight of those two dismissals. “Paul,” she said. “Look at your daughter. Look at her.”
Daddy refused.
I skipped over to the car and stood in front of him.
“Charley, you’re too young to understand. Please, child, please go to your mom.”
“But where are you going, Daddy? Who’s going to make the pancakes with me?” My voice was a threadlike whimper.
Daddy was losing his patience. I stood in front of him, making it difficult for him to get in his car and drive off. “Charley! Go in the house.”
“Daddy,” I cried. “You can’t leave.” He stepped away from me, and I dove on the ground, grabbing his legs. “Please don’t go, Daddy, please!”
I was bawling, broken tears sliding down my cheeks. He tried to pull away, which made me hold on tighter. I don’t remember much more. Only the way I held and grabbed and begged and how he finally broke free. And the ache. I would always remember the ache. The searing tear that could never be fixed, the useless effort to keep him from leaving. Because leaving wasn’t temporary. For a seven-year-old, it felt a lot like forever.
This early abandonment was how I came to bury my head in books. Through make-believe, I could numb my feelings by taking on the feelings of someone else. Stories were the remedy; within their pages, fathers didn’t really leave, broken families were a plot ploy. And now they could keep Philip from leaving. Foolishly I believed if I slipped inside this edited version of us, I could save him. By loving him and caring for him—final, desperate acts—maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t have to leave, and we could have that happy ending.
Days later, we were gathered around the dinner table with Liberty, Jimmy, and Ben; Sunny was panting nearby. Ben conspired with Liberty and had taken to preparing a variety of home-cooked meals and bringing them over. Tonight was brussels sprouts and coq au vin for me, a super-greens protein shake for Philip. Jimmy was in the middle of his final treatment for sugar. This meant plain chicken, cucumbers, and potato chips. Once that was complete, we’d move on to treating gluten, eggs, and peanuts, and Liberty was planning a celebration.
“Charley loves your coq au vin,” Philip said, rubbing his scalp as Ben dropped a spoonful in front of me. Suddenly, I felt nauseated. I pushed away the plate and helped myself to the brussels sprouts.
Jimmy reacted to the snub. “Remember Daddy taught you the recipe? You liked it.”
A question I couldn’t read lingered on Philip’s face. Ben was embarrassed, and he met none of our eyes, spreading butter feverishly on a dinner roll.
“Tomorrow I’ve rented a boat for all of us,” Philip announced. “I refuse to sit in this house any longer. You’re all invited.”
Liberty had been generous with my days off, though it meant she couldn’t join us.
“Can I come?” Jimmy asked.
Ben reminded him of school. “Another time, kiddo.”
“If it were up to me, Jimmy, you’d never have to go to school again. There’s far more important things to learn outside the classroom.”
Jimmy pleaded with his father. “Philip,” Ben said, “way to ruin years of lectures on the importance of education.”
“As I’ve said, there’s different forms of education, Goose.”
Jimmy sulked, and I echoed his emotion. “You don’t look pleased, Charley,” Philip remarked in my direction, his eyes prodding me.
I hesitated. “It’s a lovely idea.”
Ben offered to prepare sandwiches and snacks, while I soaked it all in. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck on a boat with the two of them—no lifeboat in sight—but I had brought this on, and I deserved every uncomfortable feeling.
“Don’t forget the tasty shakes,” Philip joked, his voice scratchy like the grainy powders used to prolong his life. Disappointed, Jimmy excused himself from the table and sat on the nearby couch with a sketch pad and pencils. Liberty soon followed, and their departures left an empty, awkward quiet.
“What’s gotten into you two?” Philip asked. “A day on the boat is exactly what we all need. Goose, wait till you see this one in her bikini. She’s splendid. Put on your happy faces. Tomorrow’s sure to be the best day ever.”
CHAPTER 35
October 2018
Islamorada had lost its sheen when I learned of Philip’s sentence. The golden sun that appeared each morning no longer signaled a beautiful spark of life, but became the symbol of a dwindling flame. Its shine burned my eyes, and I’d draw the blinds so I didn’t have to see. The choppy waters that once peacefully rose and fell along our property now clawed at me, the creepy tide ripping away dreams. The cycles taunted me with memories. The magic had disappeared.
But that day on the water with Ben and Philip, my fiancé gave us the first of his many gifts. We could dwell on what was about to be lost to us forever, or we could embrace the moment we were given. Regardless of what Philip’s body was telling him, no matter the limitations, he showed up—unencumbered, hysterically funny Philip. Ben and I had no choice but to comply.
Philip with a project, a beginning and an end, was happier and less agitated. The boat, with its sweeping sail, had a purpose, and for that afternoon, she was Philip’s pride. He orde
red us around, telling us where to sit, where to stand, and how to assist with the rudder. The air was breezy, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We took off to the north and anchored in a quiet cove where the waters were flat and you could see through to the bottom. It was as though the ocean air filled Philip’s veins and revived him. His skin absorbed the sun’s warmth; his eyes reflected the playful waters. Ben poured the wine, but it was Philip who insisted on champagne.
“I know it appears as though there’s literally nothing to celebrate these days,” Philip began, his slight fingers gripping the glass, “but I see it differently. I have my best mates and a brilliant ocean propping me up. What more could a man want?”
We clinked glasses, and the tinkling sound charted a course. Realization passed from Ben to me. This was destiny. However we’d arrived, we were here, and to honor and care for Philip was our responsibility.
The champagne was sweet, and I smiled up at Philip. I moved in closer so he could rest his arm around my waist. Ben photographed us with his phone. Then we challenged ourselves with a selfie.
The drinks flowed, and we devoured Ben’s homemade delicacies while Philip downed his pills and tablets with a smoothie. We breathed in the views and watched the passing boats. Philip probably shouldn’t have been drinking as much as he did. Eventually, he undressed to his bare ass and jumped in the water. His skeletal frame was shocking, though we pretended not to notice. “Come on, Charley, it’s your turn,” he hollered from the water.
“You’re crazy,” I shouted back. Ben was beside me and his eyes were bearing down.
“You too, Goose. Show us what you’ve got.”
“This is a very bad idea,” Ben muttered under his breath.
“I’m not skinny dipping,” I called out.
“Goose,” Philip said, “you’re my best friend. We share everything.”
“You’ve had a bit too much to drink, Skipper,” Ben replied.
“You have no idea how lovely it feels.” He was flapping his arms in the water, and the splashing sounds distracted me from the slur in his voice. He was shouting, singing rather, about being at one with nature. I couldn’t help but laugh through the devastating ache of his leaving us. “Idiot’s going to drown himself,” Ben said, stripping down to his boxers and cannonballing into the water. I looked away, catching Philip’s bloodshot eyes instead. He watched as I shimmied out of my shorts, revealing my bathing suit.
If there was anything Philip’s illness taught me, it was less thinking and more living. To stay young, you had to act young. Tossing my inhibitions aside, I welcomed the water against my skin—that moment, suspended in air when I was a part of the sky.
“Look at her, Goose. Spectacular, yes?” They were the words I heard as I crashed through the glassy water.
Both men were there to greet me as I rose to the surface. For some, I was the luckiest girl alive, but this particular triangle was perilous. Philip was alternating between splashing us and floating on his back, peering up at the sky. “Who said dying wasn’t great fun?”
The evil contradiction of that day was everywhere. There was the mild temperature of the water, the sky above, lit up like an eternal blue. The sun drenched our skin, and our lips tasted of salt. When the world was this beautiful, it was easy to forget that cruelty existed. The champagne dulled the sadness and replaced it with a joy I hadn’t felt in weeks.
“See how lovely this is, Charley,” Philip said in my direction. “Sitting home and playing Florence Nightingale is no way to carry on.”
I dug deep inside, but I couldn’t find the words to explain my vow to him. To us.
Ben answered for me. “Charlotte and I don’t view it as an obligation, Philip. Everything we do, whether it’s being here and getting piss drunk and jumping in the ocean, or sneaking vitamins into your food, or wiping the drool off your mouth . . . because you do drool when you sleep . . . I’ve seen it . . .” He laughed. “That’s what we do. That’s what the people who love you do. They show up. They take care. They love.”
Philip was drunk. His answer was a slur of bobbing words. “We all love each other.” And he wrapped his arms around our shoulders, pulling us close so our arms and legs were entangled. And though I could tell the difference between Ben’s and Philip’s bodies, and I could distinguish the mixed signals that crawled up my thigh, I felt a burst of affection for two people I loved. One who was forbidden to me, the other whose love would last a lifetime. And even that was hard to distinguish.
To prove our loyalty to Philip, we encouraged him to get out of the water. When he reached the deck, he proceeded to vomit all over the teak floors. Ben carried him to one of the cushions, covered him with a towel, and forced him to suck on ice. I dropped a floppy hat on his head to keep him cool while I rinsed off his cheeks and Ben wiped down the floors.
“With all the crap he’s ingesting, the alcohol can’t be good,” Ben said.
I wasn’t even his wife, and I’d already failed at it. I tried to focus on his earlier happiness, his laughter and contagious energy. Death would never control him, not when he grabbed life by the horns and shot cancer the middle finger. He would live out his fate on his terms. Did it matter if he was hungover for days?
I sat patiently beside Philip while Ben sailed the boat toward home. Philip half slept, half spouted terrible jokes. “Goose, if you spend your day in a well, can you say your day was well spent?” Then we listened to him garble on about whether or not fish drink water or if dolphins sleep. I was seated on the cushions, and Ben was in my direct line of vision. I marveled at the way he handled the rudder and the boom. Hours in the sun had darkened his skin. Other than Meghan, we are all Philip has, I reminded myself.
Philip jostled and shouted at Ben, “Let Charley sail. She’s going to have to learn.”
“No, Philip,” I said, moving closer. “I’ll stay here with you.”
He growled, flicking me away. “I don’t need a babysitter, Charley. Go to Goose and let him teach you to sail. There may be a day you need to do it on your own. I won’t always be here.”
Reluctantly, I got up and walked toward Ben. He didn’t look pleased. “Place both hands on the wheel,” he said. I stood in front of him. His hands came over mine, and we slowly guided the boat along the shore. He used words like aft and bow, tacking and jibing, but I didn’t absorb a thing. Only the breeze that floated through my damp hair and Philip’s eyes watching us.
“You’re a good friend, Goose.” Then Philip literally rolled over and passed out. I made a move to go to him, but something stopped me.
I stood there eyeing Philip, with Ben so close I could feel every inch of him. I heard him breathe me in, and an eerie sensation passed through me. As though Philip knew. As if he knew about me and Ben. The idea sent a prickle through my skin, and I broke out of Ben’s embrace and headed toward Philip, hunching over him until the ominous feeling passed. He sensed me near, and his hand slapped at my thigh, the one that was blushing from Ben’s nearness. Ben’s sadness was hard to miss. A string of losses. First Sari, then me, and now Philip. I asked myself, What was the point of all these feelings when they were so easily snatched away?
Ben and I managed to dock the boat and gather our belongings. Philip remained naked, and we helped him get dressed. Neither of us spoke as we dropped his polo over his shoulders and tugged on the zipper of his loose-fitting shorts. His arms flailed and his chin dropped. He was singing a song by the Bee Gees, “Tragedy,” but he’d inserted his own words. “. . . tragedy, when your zipper’s stuck and you want to fuck, tragedy . . .”
Ben and I held in our laughs, but Philip made them hard to contain. He mumbled again, something about Lucky Charms being magically fucking delicious, and I told Ben how surprised I was to meet this latest version of Philip. “Potty-mouthed Philip. It’s somewhat endearing.”
We returned the keys to the marina office, where the staff forgave us for the mess. At home, Ben carried Philip up the stairs and dropped him on our bed. “I’m sur
e he’ll sleep through the night.”
I pulled the blanket over his limp body and touched his forehead with my fingers. I caught Ben’s and my reflection in the mirror. We were windblown and covered in a spray of ocean. His nearness filled my nose, a whiff of leftover cologne I thought I had buried.
I turned off the lights, and we made our way to the kitchen. Ben tossed leftover sandwiches and pasta salad on the table. “Make sure you eat something, Charlotte.” He was referring to my thinner frame. It had been difficult to get food down.
Ben’s cell phone broke the quiet, and he told Jimmy he was on his way. I crossed my arms, exhausted from the drinks and sun, but it was more about fending off emotions. A man I loved was unconscious and dying in my bed, and another was walking out my front door, taking a piece of my heart.
“Thanks for helping me get him inside.” I tried to get him to look at me, but he refused.
“You’re going to need to hire someone at some point,” he said, bending over to pet Sunny while he talked. “You won’t be able to manage this alone.”
I nodded.
“I’ll help out however I can . . . You know that.”
“I know.”
Hours later I was beside Philip, listening to him snore. Despite the mess he’d made of himself, he seemed in good spirits, and while there was no mistaking how sick he was, his sleep was peaceful and deep. He’d loved today. I knew he did. I rubbed his bare head, the prickly dusting of new growth, and made sure it was warm. My finger followed the lines of his eyes.
Next to me, my phone dinged, and Ben’s name ignited the screen. Clicking on the message, I saw it was a photo, the one of the three of us on the boat. Our failed attempt at a selfie. Only, it was the perfect shot. The best day ever. Philip wedged between us, our faces smiling, no hint of cancer, no signs of betrayal. Just the three of us captured for eternity.
CHAPTER 36
November 2018
Days later, I officially took a leave of absence from the clinic to be with Philip. I was nearing thirty-three, and my future map was drawn in lines I couldn’t decipher. What I could see, though, was the outline of the life Philip wanted for me. He’d always been romantic and whimsical, but his mortality made him inspirational and motivational: do this, do that, hold your head high, push through the pain. I was tiring of his clichés about life and dying, sayings easy for him to leave behind when his days were numbered.
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