by Anne Jolin
My life sometimes scared me, but it was exciting.
I shook my head and gave in, singing along with the rest of the office, and trying, for all that I had learned, to enjoy the moment.
The cast finished their performance and we all clapped—or, well, Kevin hooted and hollered, and the rest of us clapped.
After their bow, the woman who’d been playing Baby handed me my Burberry jacket I’d left in the coat check, and the man who’d been playing Johnny passed me a card before they all filed from the office, no doubt to return for some much-needed rest before tonight’s show. I knew from the posters they’d be in town for the rest of the week.
Sliding open the envelope, I read the message.
Sorry we missed the finale.
-Beau
“Oh my.” Kevin whistled. “That man.”
He wasn’t wrong about that.
“Yeah.”
My hand covered my mouth, likely to cover the smile that now somewhat permanently adorned my face when anything to do with Beau Callaway surfaced. That being said, it was also joined by the twist and turn of butterflies in my gut, some good and some not.
Grand gestures plagued me with nerves.
I am an independent woman with severe co-dependence tendencies. I do not believe in needing people. I believe in wanting them, and that is far more dangerous. Need is a stable emotion. You need food, so you eat. You need water, so you drink… but want, want is unstable. You want cigarettes, so you smoke, even though you know it kills you. You want to wake up to your car in the morning, so you drive home, even though you know you had one glass too many. You want to believe him, so you do, even though you know that lipstick on his collar isn't yours. It takes practiced restraint to decline the things we want over the things we need. To want someone badly enough is to forgo the basic instinct of self-preservation.
It's a trade off.
You can't protect two people at once.
I was worried that with a man like Beau, with a man that headed all error and was nothing but perfect. I’d want to want him so much that I’d self-destruct in the process, because no woman in her right mind would protect herself over a man like that.
She would protect him.
Because while being single wasn’t all bad, it wasn’t all good either.
It had its perks, and if you were lucky, you'd be able to see them for a year, maybe two, before the panic sets in. Your unavoidable relationship clock would start to tick and you’d begin to wonder how long it would take your neighbours to find your body if you died. Morbid, I know, but nothing sends women into a tailspin faster than the prospect of dying alone in a house full of nothing but cats. Truthfully, I thought cats got a bad rep. They were independent, and affectionate when they wanted to be. Though, I supposed all of that was besides the point I was making.
In a way, I loved being unattached. I was able to fill the holes in me with the affection of multiple men, not necessarily always at the same time, and it stopped the bleeding.
I was a functioning addict.
The high of male adoration kept my stride steady until, well, it didn't. Like they say, what goes up must come down, and the down is an ugly bitch. In Beau’s case, I was worried the down of falling for a man like that might kill me.
“You’re going to need to change this”—Kevin gestured a finger up and down my outfit—”style of yours if you’re going to be the first lady of the ‘Couv.”
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”
“You can try and make me, but mmm…” He closed his eyes. “I’m so team Beau.”
“What?” I shrieked at him.
“Well, there are three teams, and right now, I’m team Beau,” he stated matter-of-factly.
My headed started to spin. “There aren’t three teams.”
Kevin waved his hand in the air like I didn’t know what I was talking about. “Mm-hm.”
“I have to go thank Beau.” I scowled at him.
He made the universal rawr motion with his hands in the shape of claws. “Mm-hm. I bet you do.”
I ignored his asinine comments and took the card to my office.
Three teams.
No, there only ever was and would ever be one team.
Team Charleston.
Team me.
Searching the mess of files on my desk, I lifted and moved them to the side before I eventually located my iPhone and pulled up an iMessage to Beau.
Me: You’re crazy.
Delivered.
Me: Thank you. (kiss emoji)
Delivered.
His response was almost immediate.
Beau: Crazy for you. You’re welcome. x
I tossed the phone onto my desk, the card in my purse, and returned to sort out the Weizmann fundraiser situation with Tom.
Singing along to Adele on the radio, I pulled up outside my building and shifted the Rover into park. My unease from earlier had worn off after a few exchanged text messages with Beau and the fact that Tom and I found a way to settle with Mr. Weizmann on his desired stage requirements.
The workday was done, and I was coming home to change and then meet Leighton. We were going for dinner and a glass of wine at Chill Winston in Gastown.
If I was lucky, we could avoid talking about me at all and focus on her budding relationship with Morgan, the lawyer she’d met in the elevator at work.
Yes, we were well into the colder months and they were still together.
I was happy for her.
Well, I was happy for her so long as she was happy.
I also knew there was no chance I’d get away with not discussing what was happening in my life.
Leighton, of course, was a romantic after all. Thus, she rarely forgot about matters of the heart.
I folded out from behind the wheel, with my shoes on, as I seemingly had to do more and more due to the mess that was the current state of my building, and walked around to grab the items from the passenger side.
Emma wanted an answer for the colour scheme on Caroline Clarke’s party and had sent nearly a dozen concept boards home with me so I could make a decision by Friday.
She was little but ruthless.
Opening the door, I slung my purse over one shoulder and began to pile the concept boards onto one arm. Somewhat sure they would fall if I didn’t add my second arm to assist, I used my hip to shut the car door and started up the stairs to the front entrance.
“Charlie.”
I was fumbling to get a free hand to enter my access code when his voice arrested my progress.
No.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Dean at the base of the stairs. He was wearing a different plaid today, this one red, and he wore black jeans that were equally as worn as the last pair I’d seen him in.
I noted briefly that though he had aged, he was still very good-looking.
He also looked determined.
No. No. No.
My heart started to pound and my stomach dropped so low I wondered if it had been lost all together.
“Charlie, we need to talk,” he said, and I visibly winced.
He noticed, but he didn’t stop.
I felt pressure on my chest so tight I thought I’d completely stopped breathing from the pain.
I couldn’t trust my own heart.
That was what twenty-eight, almost twenty-nine years on this earth had proved, and I genuinely believed it would lead me astray.
And I knew it would where Dean Porter, my first love, was concerned.
I didn’t have the courage to speak. My lips physically wouldn’t form the words to tell him no.
He took a step up, and I backed up into the front door.
There was nowhere to go.
I could try to make it inside, but he was faster than me. Last Tuesday had proved that.
My mind reeled at the loss of an escape.
“Daddy!”
Dean’s face paled.
I searched for the voice and my eyes flew to the minivan at the
curb.
Jumping down from the backseat was a little girl with caramel-coloured hair, just like his, and a backpack across her right shoulder.
No.
She looked about ten.
That meant…
No.
“Charlie,” he begged, and my eyes welled up of their own accord without my consent.
He has a daughter.
The little girl collided with one of his legs and wrapped her arms around him.
Is he married?
I could feel my body shifting into panic.
My breathing was so erratic it was bordering on hyperventilating.
Dean looked down at his daughter and started to move, but he was stopped when she tugged at the hem of his shirt. She asked him something, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat in my throat.
There were fight people and there were flight people in life. I was most definitely the latter, and this was my only chance to flee.
I turned my back to them and, with shaky hands, tried to punch in my access code.
Access denied.
“Charlie, wait.”
Shit.
I prayed silently that I could get it together and punched the code in again for the second time.
The little light went green and I yanked the door open. One of the concept boards fell, but I didn’t stop to pick it up. I couldn’t.
He couldn’t follow me with his daughter there, or so I’d hoped. But I wasn’t willing to take the chance of waiting to find out. Instead, I bypassed the elevator and ran into the stairwell.
I ran up all three flights in knee-high heeled boots, like some descendant of Wonder Woman, but I didn’t cry until I hit the hallway to my apartment.
Then the tears fell in rapid succession. It still amazed me I had any left to give, but this was too much, so, without fail, they came.
Dean had been gone almost ten years.
He had a daughter.
His daughter looked about ten years old.
He’d abandoned me for another woman?
He didn’t come back when Henry died, not even for his funeral.
He never loved me?
It took me three tries to get my key in the keyhole with my tears blurring my vision. Finally inside, I slammed the door shut and slid down it until my butt hit the floor.
I couldn’t breathe.
Making slow fists, I dug my nails into my palms before stretching my fingers wide and repeating the motion.
Then again.
Then again.
I demanded my chest to breathe.
“Breathe, dammit!” I shouted into the hallway.
“Breathe!” The last plea was a whisper.
This woman was the worst of me, the human part of me, and I’d grown to hate her in these moments.
I hated that she made me so fragile.
“Henry Jon Smith was both a beloved son and brother…” the pastor of our church began to speak, but I could barely hear him. All I heard was the wind.
We stood gathered under the willow tree on the beach.
Henry loved this old tree.
He loved this beach.
He loved life too much, too much to have left it behind.
He loved me too much to have left me behind.
My tears splashed into the sand and I felt Mom’s hand slip into mine.
I looked down the beach in hope, but I saw nothing but the waves.
My hope had been in vain.
I thought maybe he’d have come back today.
That someone who loved me couldn’t possibly let me bury my brother alone.
He never came.
He stayed gone.
They both did.
Leighton’s text tone sounded from the remnants of the mess I’d dropped on the floor. Leaning forward, I kicked a few things around before dragging my purse towards me.
I’d suddenly become exhausted.
The sound of the whistle tone went off again, and I sighed when I finally located my iPhone with the screen undamaged from its fall to the floor.
Leighton: I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.
Leighton: (martini glass emoji)
I needed to leave the house, but I wasn’t ready to see him again.
Unzipping my boots, I kicked them to the side and crawled onto my knees then my feet. I padded barefoot to my living room windows and looked down. My unit faced the front and thus looked over the spot where I usually parked my SUV, and subsequently, it also looked over the entrance to the building.
I scanned from left to right, right to left, and then did it again.
Dean was gone.
His daughter was gone.
I saw no construction trucks parked anywhere on the road.
I typed out a response to Leighton.
Me: See you soon.
Walking to my bedroom, I ditched the sweater dress and coat I had on, for my ripped black jeans and a low cut but loose fitting white sweater. Stopping in the bathroom, I assessed the damage to my makeup.
It was bad.
There was no way she wouldn’t notice.
I did my best to fix it with concealer and powder. Adding some more mascara for good measure.
Satisfied this was the best I could do in the short period of time, I found my tasselled Steve Madden ankle boots on the floor—well, one under the bed—and zipped them up.
It took a minute to find the jacket I was looking for, but I eventually found it hanging behind the bedroom door. It was a forest green Michael Kors with black leather sleeves and gold buttons.
I loved it.
Scooping up my purse, which was still across the hardwood floor in the entryway, I shoved some of its contents back inside and locked up.
True to form, at exactly ten minutes from the time of her last text message, my best friend was waiting at the curb in her silver Lexus.
I looked both ways as I walked out of the building, but saw no first love or his daughter.
Fate seemed to laugh at my relief.
Walking across the sidewalk, I pulled open her passenger door. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she said back, looking at something on the screen of her phone. “Do you think we’re going to do seven or ten days in Mexico over the holidays?” she asked, still plugging away mercilessly.
Every year since I’d known her, we’d survived the holidays together, kind of like a team. It was hard on me with Henry not being there, and she didn’t have much in the way of family. So, on Boxing Day, we’d pack up and disappear somewhere hot until the New Year rolled in. Kevin occasionally joined us when he wasn’t shacked up some gorgeous man, and we never complained about the additional company.
In short, Kevin was a riot.
“Um. I’m not sure,” I answered, sliding into the seat. “It’ll depend on the event schedule.”
Smith & Co Productions was always busy around the holidays with work parties and other themed events. That being said, it was only the end of October, and I didn’t know where we’d be in terms of scheduling for the end of December.
Hence why we usually booked last minute. That, and the deals didn’t hurt our credit cards either.
“Morgan wants to know.” She smiled at the screen.
I buckled up, setting my purse between my legs. “Oh.” I laughed. “He can’t come. Girls trip.”
“I know. I know.” She looked up at me and stopped dead. “Char, are you okay?” Leighton leaned over the console of her car and tilted my chin up to face her.
I guess I hadn’t done a good enough job.
Her green eyes inspected me.
I shook my head in her hands and my bottom lip trembled. “Dean was outside when I got home.”
“Jesus.” She winced. “What did he say?”
“Nothing really.” She dropped her hand and I ran my fingers through my hair. “He said we needed to talk, and then…”
“And then what?”
It pained me to think it, but to say it out loud was a special kind of hell.
“His daughter showed up.”
“What?!” she screeched, and the shrill sound of it ricocheted inside the car.
“She looks like she’s ten.” I rested my forehead on her dash.
Leighton wasn’t stupid; she did the math in her head. “But that means…”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say anything?” She sounded as shocked as I felt.
“No.” I shook my head against the dash. “I ran inside.”
“Jesus,” Leighton repeated. “You need a drink.”
She said it, even though she knew I had a self-imposed limit of three.
I never got drunk, ever.
But three sometimes felt good, really good.
“You haven’t even heard about my date last night.” I laughed into the dash.
Turning on her blinker, she pulled me upright by the back of my coat. “What happened last night?”
“Maverick ripped the door off the bathroom stall while I was about to go pee.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“We were evacuated from the show due to gunshots.”
She made a startled sound in the back of her throat.
“Turned out to be unrelated gang activity.”
Leighton rolled her eyes. “‘Cause that makes this story way less insane.”
“Beau kissed me.”
She clapped her hands.
“And this morning, he sent the cast of the Dirty Dancing show to perform the finale in my office, because we missed it.” I shook my head. “‘Cause of the gunshots and all.”
Her mouth hung open again. “No shit.”
“Definitely shit.” I put my head back down on her dash. “And then Dean.”
“And then Dean,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” I said.
Leighton drove, and I filled her in with more detail on the events of last night, and today, and tonight, as she did.
By the time we arrived, I was overwhelmed and it showed.
My flight instincts were still on high alert and my response was to emotionally shut down.
I was fading, fast.
We were sat at a small table in the back of Chill Winston.
“I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay.” Leighton told the waitress. “Whatever’s good.”
The redhead nodded and turned to me, but Leighton spoke on my behalf. “She’ll have a whiskey, neat.”
The waitress left and Leighton leaned her petite forearms onto the table. “I think you better tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” She tilted her head to the side and pulled her perfect eyebrows together. “And I don’t mean the dates and dancing office parties. I mean what’s going on upstairs. You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”
