Wake Me When It's Over
Page 31
The man ran to a dark-colored car at the curb, its wheels trimmed in blue lights. He flung open the door, assailing the night with plaintive lyrics, until he closed himself in. The car sped away, and the squeal of the tires matched Carla’s scream.
“Diablo,” she shrieked, fleeing the wooden bench. The plastic bag she carried was heavy with her life, and the quickness of her retreat thwarted by the weight of the clothes she wore. After walking several blocks north, she leaned against a concrete berm. The last two swallows of dark liquid returned her heart to a duller pace, and she threw the empty bottle onto the gravel behind her. “Diablo,” she muttered again as she shuffled into the receding darkness of the corridor.
Chapter 1
Charlie was awakened by a familiar sound outside her window, and she slipped out of bed to stand at the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching a shipping barge glide through the silver waters of the Detroit River. The peach-hued sunrise colored the façade of a dozen modern high-rises on the Canadian side of the river. She observed the enormous vessel for a while, imagining it carried mounds of sculpted steel, rows of windshield glass, gigantic towers of treaded rubber, engine and plastic components, perhaps even the shiny, new finished products. She got back into bed, pulling her knees and covers up to her chest.
People told her she had everything. This high-end building, along the city’s expanding riverfront, was supposed to be her nesting place— a symbol of her success and freedom from the expectations of others. But, that was before she knew there could be no space for nesting without Mandy. In two weeks, they would wake up together in a new home. Mandy’s excitement at the prospect of their shared life was contagious, and Charlie had begun to think her personal fulfillment could, finally, match her professional accomplishments. But, she was also aware of her own subtle resistance. It had been building with tiny complaints, minute flashes of doubts, and the recasting of priorities. She had sabotaged her happiness before, and didn’t want to repeat the mistake, so she had stopped by her mother’s apartment for a chat about the upcoming move.
“How’s the packing going?” Ernestine had asked as they sat with cups of tea at the dining table.
“I hate it.”
“Hate’s a strong word.”
Charlie scrunched her face in defense. “Mandy has us on a schedule. We’re rotating between our two houses. So far, we’ve packed up both living rooms, and my kitchen. I hadn’t realized I’d accumulated so much.”
“We all have a lot of stuff. A major life event like moving gives you an opportunity to sort, and purge, and organize.”
“I remember watching you pack up Daddy’s office. It was a whole year after he died, and you were sitting on the carpet in front of his desk, in the middle of the night, putting things in boxes and crying.”
“I never knew you saw that.”
Ernestine cupped her mug of tea and sipped a few times, while Charlie used her finger to make a series of circles on a napkin. John Mack, invited by their vivid memories, momentarily took his place again at the head of the table.
“I kept a big box of your father’s things that felt important to me at the time. But, I also gave a lot away— his papers to the law library, photographs to your uncle, and his suits to charity.”
“I’m glad you kept the desk for me. I love using it.”
“He would be so proud of you, Charlene.”
“I’m not so sure. He never appreciated whining, and Mandy says lately I’ve been doing nothing but.”
“Are you afraid?”
Charlie had tilted her head, manipulating in her mind imaginary Post-it notes on an imaginary white board. It was her technique for solving puzzles. The green notes were facts: She loved Mandy. She’d never been happier. She’d put her condominium on the market, and Mandy had sold her apartment. They had a house closing in two weeks, and a deposit paid with a moving company. She then lined up a row of red notes— the questions: Would she lose her independence? What if Mandy didn’t really love her? What if this new lifestyle wouldn’t make her happy?
“You’re right. I am afraid,” she had admitted to her mother.
That admission had been a week ago, and she was still holding onto doubts. She’d always shunned the labels: lesbian, bisexual, and hadn’t made a choice because the lines were never sharply drawn. But Mandy presented a bright, clear line. She could continue her life punctuated by an emptiness she couldn’t explain, or she could embrace the chance for a whole life. Charlie again slipped out of bed and moved to her river view. Now the sun splashed the Windsor skyline in brazen hopefulness. “What’s wrong with you?” she said to her reflection in the window. “This is a no-brainer.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my Bywater Books family:
Marianne K. Martin, Salem West, Ann McMan, Kelly Smith, Nancy Squires, and Elizabeth Andersen
and to Veronica Flaggs, AJ Head, Renee Bess and Marcia White.
And, thanks to Detroit for my roots, tenacity and swagger.
Bywater Books
Copyright © 2018 Cheryl A. Head
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61294-116-5
Bywater Books First Edition: May 2018
Cover designer: Ann McMan, TreeHouse Studio
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This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events described by the author are fictitious. No resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, is intended.
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