‘I needed you to keep her safe, and you didn’t.’
He grunted with the force of that blow.
‘You never wanted her.’
He blinked. ‘That’s not—’
‘Don’t tell me it isn’t true!’ She lurched to her feet, took a few steps away, spun. Her eyes were both dull and wild. ‘You told me to get an abortion.’
‘Things changed. I changed. The minute I saw her I …’ His voice broke. He reached out, needing her to take his hand, then take everything back.
She did not.
He was never sure how he’d ended up on that plane to DC.
All he knew was that they should be coming together. Instead, they were falling apart.
Hannah
Washington DC. September, 1991
Charley didn’t show up in a week or so like he’d said he would.
Hannah didn’t notice right away because she’d started work at You, and while she’d been working at a magazine for a while now, every magazine was different, and she had a lot to figure out.
Add to that Heath’s continuing deterioration, faster than seemed possible for a week, and Hannah wasn’t thinking about Charley. Probably a first since she’d met him. When she did realize he hadn’t shown up, hadn’t called, she called him.
Straight to voicemail.
He’d probably gotten a great assignment and left the country. No reason to be worried. He wasn’t hers to worry over. No reason to be annoyed that he hadn’t let her know, for exactly the same reason.
She waited a few more days, and then she got both worried and annoyed, especially when his phone continued to go straight to voicemail whenever she called and Heath’s calls did the same.
‘Call your old boss,’ Heath ordered. ‘It’s making me twitchy.’
She called Ray Cantrell.
‘Oh, God, Hannah, don’t you know?’ Ray’s voice was hoarse.
Hannah’s hands began to shake. Where had Charley gone this time? What violent mess had he walked straight into? Had someone finally taken offense to having a camera thrust in their face and bashed Charley’s head in?
She tried to remember what part of the planet was on fire this week and could not. Her life was on fire and she didn’t bother to watch the news.
‘What happened to him? Is he …?’ She couldn’t choke out dead or hurt. She managed, ‘OK?’
Heath, on the couch trying not to throw up after his latest chemo treatment, spread his hands and mouthed, What the fuck?
Hannah shook her head. He’d have to wait. She couldn’t focus on anything but this.
‘I don’t think he’ll ever be OK again.’ Ray took a deep breath.
It was the longest intake of air Hannah had ever heard.
‘His daughter drowned.’
Hannah’s lips opened but no sound came out.
‘It was on his watch. He’s in bad shape, Hannah. Really bad. So is Frankie. I don’t know if … I don’t know how they’ll survive this.’
Hannah lifted her gaze to her brother. She could relate.
Heath was so thin now the bones of his face stood out starkly enough to make him seem skeletal in certain light. His hair was beginning to fall out. His hands had lesions. None of his classy clothes fit. He spent his days in sweatpants and shirts she’d purchased in much smaller sizes than usual, and still they hung on him.
She wasn’t sure how she’d survive if he died. But to lose a child …
Hannah’s head spun.
‘The funeral?’
Heath made a small, choked sound and tears started to flow over the prominent bones of his cheeks.
She mouthed Not Charley and he laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
The tears ran down the side of his face, forgotten, soaking into the pillowcase. Sometimes she found him just like that, the tears dried into salty tracks on his skin, the pillow damp. She’d do and say everything she could think of to cheer him up – Mel Brooks movie marathons, Mel Brooks trivia contests, cutting photographs out of magazines and gluing Jennifer Aniston’s clothes on Sharon Stone and Pamela Anderson’s clothes on everyone. She was usually able to make him laugh. Eventually.
She doubted anything was going to make him laugh now; the idea of trying made her sick.
‘The funeral is tomorrow,’ Ray continued. ‘Frankie’s a mess. Charley said they had to sedate her. He’s on indefinite compassionate leave.’
‘Of course. If you hear from him …’ She paused. What could she say? Absolutely nothing. ‘Never mind. Thanks for telling me, Ray.’
They said quick goodbyes and hung up.
‘What happened?’ Heath asked.
‘Charley’s daughter drowned.’
‘Oh, shit.’ Heath didn’t open his eyes. The words were not heated but despairing.
He said most everything in that tone these days and it scared her.
‘He’s on leave. His wife’s having a difficult time.’
Heath opened his eyes. ‘You think Mom will have a hard time when I die?’
‘You’re not—’
‘I am, Hannah. Probably soon. And the only one who’s going to be devastated by it is you.’
‘That’s not true! What about Charley?’
‘Charley’s got enough devastation right now. He’s got enough devastation forever.’
Heath was right. Hannah wished that she could see Charley, do something, anything, to help him. Let him talk to her if he wanted to or just be silent if he’d rather. But she’d probably never see him again.
Taking photos of a dying man would be the least of Charley’s concerns, and probably not the best of ideas, considering. Wouldn’t more death only make things worse? When didn’t it?
She bought a card. She had to do something. It took her ages to find the right one. While they did have a section devoted to Death of a Child – ugh! – the offerings there made her shudder. She finally selected a card with a cloud-filled sky – hokey but better than the one of the ocean – and a blank interior where she wrote: We are so sorry. Contact us if you need ANYTHING. Love, Heath and Hannah.
Her days returned to their pattern. Work at You, interspersed with doctor appointments and treatments for Heath. Movies to distract him. Cards. Games.
The nights had their pattern too. Wakefulness despite her exhaustion. Cleaning up after Heath, who only seemed to puke these days right after she’d fallen asleep. Thinking of Charley. Knowing he did not think of her.
Another week passed, then another.
Heath’s morale had been down since Charley had stopped coming around. Hannah’s was too, but she couldn’t allow it to show. In fact, she seemed to get more and more upbeat with every day. Pretty soon she’d be talking as high and as fast as Alvin and the Chipmunks as she danced around the room.
‘Your cancer could go into remission. It happened to that guy at the coffee shop.’ Now that Hannah worked at You she frequented many of the places Heath once had.
‘That would only mean waiting and wondering what the Fickle Wheel of AIDS fate has in store for me next.’
‘Heath! Have some hope.’
‘There is no hope, sis. Even if my cancer goes into remission, I have AIDS. That isn’t ever going away.’
‘Every day brings them one step closer to a cure.’
Heath rolled his eyes. She did sound like a commercial.
The second week of October Hannah stepped out of the elevator and found Charley standing in the hall.
He’d lost weight and his face appeared gaunt. His hair was overgrown, messy, and the gray that had only just begun to thread here and there seemed more pronounced. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, his clothes rumpled. He looked like hell.
Hannah threw her arms around his neck. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He stiffened and she stepped back, mortified. They weren’t hugging friends. What had she been thinking?
‘Sorry,’ she repeated.
He rubbed his jaw, the scritch of the stubble splitting the si
lence between them. ‘I knocked but no one answered.’
Hannah frowned, pulling out her key. ‘Heath’s here.’
‘I didn’t want to wake him so I didn’t knock again.’
Unease made her fingers tremble so she didn’t get the key in the lock right away.
Charley’s hand covered hers. ‘Let me.’
His fingers didn’t seem any steadier, and she wondered about that – lack of sleep, had he been drinking, perhaps a few drugs? – but he did manage to get the key in the lock.
Heath lay on the couch, eyes closed, TV babbling. He didn’t look any better than Charley.
Hannah dropped her purse and her briefcase right where she stood and flew across the room. ‘Heath?’
He didn’t move.
She couldn’t breathe, which made it damn hard to decipher if he was.
Charley’s hand appeared again, his fingertips – shaking like a frightened dog – pressed to Heath’s neck.
‘Can’t a guy get a nap?’ Heath’s eyes opened. They lit up at the sight of Charley. ‘Hey, man. Great to see you.’
‘You too.’ Charley sat in the chair next to Heath’s. ‘Sorry I haven’t been around.’
Heath’s and Hannah’s gazes met over Charley’s head – just a quick flick then away. Charley seemed to want to pretend that nothing catastrophic had happened.
‘No problem,’ Heath said.
And apparently they were going to let him.
Heath smiled. His teeth appeared too big for his mouth. The smile that had charmed hundreds become both ghostly and ghastly. ‘You’re here now.’ He picked up the TV controller. ‘The playoffs are on. Braves and the Pirates.’
‘Excellent.’ Charley sat back.
‘Let’s order pizza.’
‘Is this a party?’ Hannah asked. ‘I should have brought ice cream.’
Sadness flickered over Charley’s face before he doused it with a bright smile that reminded her of the creepy clown in the mini-series It that Heath had insisted they watch. He loved that crap. She’d had nightmares for a month.
‘Definitely a party,’ Charley said. ‘I missed you guys.’
Hannah was one of the guys. She knew that. She’d always known it. Better than nothing.
‘How long can you stay?’
Charley’s smile faltered again. ‘I’m on leave. I can stay indefinitely.’
Heath and Hannah exchanged another glance. She wanted to ask about his wife – but they weren’t that kind of friends either.
‘I’m here to work on your essay.’
‘Oh, Charley,’ Hannah blurted. ‘Do you think that’s a good—?’
‘What do you want on your pizza?’ Charley asked.
Several hours later the game was over; the pizza was gone. Charley had nixed going for ice cream with more force than was necessary for the question. She hadn’t asked.
Heath had fallen asleep, Hannah was about to.
Charley didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.
‘I … uh … didn’t even think of it. I’ll take a walk and book a room at the first place I see.’
‘You’ll stay here.’ Charley seemed too zoned-out to be walking around DC at midnight.
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Why not? Carol is at a conference in LA. She won’t be back until next week, and even if she was in town, she hasn’t slept here since summer. It’s stupid for you to pay for a hotel.’
He hesitated and she stood. ‘Not taking no for an answer. I’ll grab some fresh sheets and towels.’
Hannah scurried from the room before he could argue. She half-expected him to have walked out by the time she returned but he sat where she’d left him, staring at Heath with an expression she recognized. He wanted to photograph him.
So why wasn’t he?
His camera bag rested inside the door next to his overnight bag. But usually he had a camera if not in his hands, then hanging from his shoulder, or perched on the table at his side. Tonight, nothing.
‘You OK?’ She wished instantly that she’d said something, anything, else.
‘Of course not.’ He left the room.
Charley was still sleeping or pretending to when Hannah went to work the next morning. She hadn’t slept a wink.
When she arrived home that evening, Charley was still there. He seemed to have forgotten her faux pas. He and Heath had had a great day from the sound of things.
‘We lunched, then we strolled along the Mall.’
In DC ‘the Mall’ didn’t mean the place where they kept the Nordstrom’s, but the place where they kept the national monuments and memorials – Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Vietnam.
She couldn’t remember the last time Heath had walked anywhere but into a doctor’s office or a treatment center.
‘I hope you didn’t walk too far.’
‘Hush, Mommy. I feel great.’
His cheeks did have a bit of color. Maybe it was a fever.
She resisted the urge to kiss his forehead. He’d only call her ‘Mommy’ again and that kind of creeped her out.
‘Did you take any pictures?’ she asked.
A photo of an obvious AIDS patient standing in front of any of the founding fathers’ monuments would be both powerful and classic.
Charley’s gaze flicked to his camera bag, exactly where he’d left it the night before. It had not been opened.
Heath shook his head and frowned behind Charley’s back.
Later, when Charley had gone to bed, she asked, ‘What’s going on?’
‘From what I can tell, he doesn’t want to use his cameras.’
‘Charley always wants to use his cameras.’
‘Since he’s been here has he seemed very Charley to you?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He’s off, weird, not himself.’
‘Should he be, considering?’
‘I don’t know.’ Heath rubbed his eyes. ‘I’d like to help him, but I don’t know how.’
‘Maybe just being here is helping. Otherwise, why did he come?’
Having Charley in the next bedroom created an intimacy Hannah hadn’t realized she’d been pining for. Having him at home with Heath all day not only alleviated some of Hannah’s stress but alleviated a lot of Heath’s boredom.
What Charley was doing there, besides avoiding his life, neither Heath nor Hannah could figure out. He certainly wasn’t working on the essay.
They stuck to the unspoken rule of not mentioning his daughter, his wife, his home, his job. That unopened camera bag.
She heard him, sometimes, talking in the dark of the night. Was he dreaming, on the phone, nattering to himself? She didn’t know and she couldn’t ask.
‘He’ll have to go home eventually,’ Heath said one morning at the beginning of the second week.
Charley had yet to emerge from his room. He also slept a lot. A disturbing trait in a man who had previously rarely seemed to sleep at all.
‘Will he?’ Hannah asked.
Heath leaned over the breakfast table, where he was taking itty-bitty bites of toast, and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. ‘Can you imagine not showing up for the holidays after your child has died?’
‘The holidays are pretty far away.’
Heath pointed his finger at Hannah, made a twirl around gesture, which she did. Since starting to work at You Hannah had upped her fashion game. As she had no fashion game, that meant Heath dressed her every morning like a doll. Today he’d chosen pleated gray trousers and a blouse the shade of fog. Her black belt matched her flats. A black beaded bracelet finished off the ensemble.
‘He seems in no hurry to go.’ Heath gave her outfit a nod of approval. ‘I’m not kicking him out. Are you?’
Hannah chewed her lip and peered at the closed door of Charley’s room. They probably should, but she couldn’t.
‘Nothing’s going to bring her back,’ Hannah said. ‘Not even Christmas.’
�
��Hannah.’ Heath shook his head. ‘Sometimes I don’t even know you.’
‘What possible good can it do for Charley and Francesca to sit alone in their house and try not to think of how it would have been if Lisa were there?’
‘More good than it’ll do either of them to be alone thinking the same damn thing.’
Still Hannah had no idea how to encourage Charley to go home without it seeming like they didn’t want him there.
Charley stayed on.
Ray called a few times, trying to entice him back to work.
Charley could not be enticed. His camera bag never moved from its position near the front door.
He flew home once, returned the next day, slept for twenty hours straight.
Hannah heard him on the phone the following week.
‘Frankie, I’ve gotta work. It’s the only thing that …’
Hannah remembered how he’d always called her ‘Fancy’ before in a voice that had made Hannah yearn.
‘Why would you quit your job?’ He went silent, listening, but he let out several sharp, annoyed breaths. ‘You’re a photojournalist.’ Another pause. ‘Anyone can take artsy pictures and sell them at the local festival. Don’t you want to make a difference?’
Hannah shouldn’t be listening to this, but she was frozen in the hall. Heath was asleep in his room, door closed. Charley hadn’t closed his. Should she close it for him?
She crept closer to do just that and suddenly it opened wide. He appeared so angry she took a step back. ‘Sorry, I …’
His head came up. He blinked at her as if he didn’t know her.
‘Hannah.’ Charley shoved his hand through his still overly long hair. ‘I suppose you heard.’
‘I didn’t mean to. I was going to close your door.’
‘My fault. I can’t remember the simplest things lately. Nothing’s important. Everything seems so …’
She waited, but he seemed to have lost the thought.
‘Pointless?’
‘Huh?’ He focused on her again.
‘Everything seems pointless.’
‘Yeah. Right. Exactly. Life is pointless without …’
She took his hand and he paused. She should have waited until he finished. Life was pointless without who? Or perhaps what?
Just Once Page 24
