Naturally, Charlie

by S. L. Scott

  “Okay.”

  I take a cab to the church, not wanting to be later than I already am. When I walk into the cathedral, I see a sign with the name Lackey and a guest book. I don’t stop. I need to be there for Charlie, so I walk through the doors and see row after row of empty pews except for one.

  Charlie.

  My breath catches as I realize no one else is here. No one came to say good-bye to Veronica, except for us. I expected to see family, but didn’t know her well enough to know if she had any. I expected to see friends, people who knew her, but maybe she didn’t have any of those either. All of her neighbors are no-shows, except for the kindest man I know.

  I take a deep breath and walk up the aisle. His head is bowed when I scoot onto the pew and sit beside him. He looks up, and our eyes meet. No words are exchanged as I slip my hand into his and weave our fingers together just like old times. I’m relieved when he doesn’t move his hand away, but instead gives a very light squeeze.

  The minister steps up to the podium and clears his throat before he starts into the eulogy. Charlie has his head down most of the time, but looks up at the minister every few minutes. He glances at me once, as if he doesn’t believe I’m really here. At least that’s how it feels to me.

  He holds my hand tighter and during the short service, I realize that I don’t want him to ever let it go. The feelings he’s always stirred inside me flicker and spark back to life. I have my friend again, and I think I want to hold onto him forever.

  The service is short and sweet, and not near enough is said about a woman who had such a vibrant attitude in life. It’s clear the minister didn’t know her, so I’m sure this ended up being a standard presentation.

  We remain seated for a while after the minister leaves, taking in the loss of our friend, a friend I didn’t have enough time with. I close my eyes, drop my head, and say a prayer for her, knowing in my heart that she’s with her Johnny again.

  As the minutes tick by, I wonder if Charlie might want some more time alone, so I stand. He does, too, following me into the lobby. I stop near the front doors of the church and glance around before looking back at him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say for lack of anything better coming to mind. He puts his hands in his pockets and just looks at me. “Veronica was a lovely lady.”

  “Yes, she was. Too bad more people didn’t know her.” He pauses and looks out the window at the traffic when a cab honks its horn, cutting off a Porsche as it drives past.

  I touch his arm, because ever since our hands fell away from each other just moments ago, I miss it. “No one but us?”

  He shakes his head. “She had no family in the city, and I couldn’t find any distant relative information when the landlord let me into her apartment.” His eyes take in my hand on his arm, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he covers my hand with his own. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”

  “Justin told Rachel, but I wish you would have told me instead.”

  He drops his hand and walks to the basket full of programs, taking one. His back is to me. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t.” Turning around, he says, “I couldn’t, Charlie. I’m sorry.”

  “No, no apologies necessary. I understand.”

  As he looks at me, I see a glint of determination in his grey eyes. Grey eyes equal sad, confused, or mad. I want to see the blue like when he smiles back at me. I want to hear him laugh again. I’ve missed his views on life, his sarcastic side, and his humor. I’ve missed his face and his arms wrapped around me, the way his breath hits the back of my head when we nap, and him. I just miss all of him.

  Our eyes meet once again, and the urge to run into his arms and hug away the pain I’ve caused begins to overwhelm me. I step forward just as he turns away.

  “I should go,” he says, bending to pick up a messenger’s bag that’s on the floor. “I have a few things I need to settle with the arrangements and the cemetery.”

  Stepping back, I grip my hands tightly together, holding myself back. “Yes, um, I should go, too. I need to get back to work.” I step backward toward the door, raising my chin and gathering myself together. “I really am sorry about Veronica. She was a wonderful woman.”

  He nods and looks down at his shoes. “We’d become close over this past year. I hope she liked the service and flowers.”

  Pushing the door ajar, the cold air hits me hard. “Can I ask you something, Charlie?”

  “Anything.”

  I don’t know if this is appropriate or not, and I have a strong suspicion already, but I need to ask. “Did you do all of this for her?”

  He looks puzzled before he rubs his neck, as if the question makes him uncomfortable. “Yes. I wanted her to have the service she deserved.”

  “She did. I think she’d like it.” I push the door open and start to walk out, but stop, not wanting to leave. I still want to know everything going on in his life, whether I have a right to or not anymore. “By the way, how’s the book?”

  He pulls the strap of the bag over his head and says, “Actually, I picked up my official copy from my publisher this morning.”

  “So it’s coming out soon?” I want to ask so much more, but limit myself to this topic.

  Chuckling lightly, he pulls the book from the bag and offers it to me. “You can have it, if you like.”

  “No.” I shake my head in protest. “I couldn’t. It’s your copy.”

  “I can get more. Anyway, I have a book signing tomorrow, so I can get lots more.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’d like you to have it, Charlie.”

  I take the book and run my hand over the cover before holding it to my chest. “Thank you.” Feeling our time is done, I add, “I should go, and I know you said you have stuff to do.”

  I glance over my shoulder toward the street, then look back. “Take care of yourself.” I want to tell him that he looks good, healthy. I can’t judge his happiness, but he’s living, his life has gone on after me. I remain quiet, though I’m not sure if I should offer more. We’re caught in this weird state of middle ground.

  “You, too, Charlie.” My name crosses his lips sounding more like a good-bye.

  I walk home from the funeral, in no mood to return to work. My heart isn’t in it today. It’s with Veronica and Charlie. I tuck the book into my handbag to protect it and pull my coat tighter around me as the late winter wind whips my hair into a frenzy. I wrap my scarf around my neck, bundling to keep warm. But in some weird way, this feels good, justified under the circumstances. The harsh winds make the sadness feel as real on the outside as it is on the inside.

  After entering my apartment, I start a pot of coffee before I even take my coat off. I’m frozen to the bone, and I’m sniffling with a runny nose. I draw a warm bath, and five minutes later I’m soaking in bubbles, drinking my coffee, and starting to warm up.

  The only thing I want to do after soaking is curl up on the couch and watch movies. It reminds me of Charlie and makes me miss him even more. Maybe seeing him this afternoon did that, and this is just compounding the feeling. I close my eyes and let the memories of snuggling with Charlie warm my heart.

  The sound of an infomercial wakes me, shouting for me to buy, buy, buy. It’s after four in the afternoon, and I bring my hand to my head. I’m hot and sweating. My head is stuffy, and my nose is clogged. After three loud and dramatic sneezes, I accept the fact that I’ve gone and caught myself a cold.

  Needing some meds to clear my head and to unstuff my nose, I get dressed in sweats and an ultra-warm sweater, pull on my coat, scarf and hat, and head to the nearest pharmacy. I text Rachel and let her know I’m canceling for the night. After purchasing a bagful of medicines, all claiming to cure the common cold and relieve me of these symptoms, I make one last stop. I order hot and sour soup, and lo mein noodles from my favorite Chinese restaurant. I’m craving comfort food. I wish I had someone to take care of me, but since I don’t have that, I’ll settle for the Chinese food
.

  The food takes longer than I expect, and I’m tortured by the sight of couples coming and going, laughing, smiling, holding hands, and kissing.

  I miss that.

  I miss laughing like that.

  I miss smiling like that.

  I miss holding hands with someone.

  I miss Charlie.

  I miss him so much.

  Just as tears threaten to fall, my order number is called. I grab it and dash out the door. Being sick has made me tired and overemotional. As if being sick weren’t bad enough, seeing Charlie was great, but it dredged up all of those old feelings, leaving me feeling vulnerable and turning me into a sentimental fool.

  I return home and slip on my favorite flannel pajamas. After eating my dinner on the isle of denial—otherwise known as my bed—my purse beckons me. I walk into the living room and grab it, bringing it back to the bedroom. The book inside draws my attention, my curiosity piquing. I pull it out and set it on my nightstand. I shouldn’t read it, I tell myself. I feel bad enough about how everything with Charlie has turned out. The last thing I need right now is hearing his voice in my head as I read the words he wrote. I roll over, ignore it, and fall asleep.

  Chapter 33

  The next morning, I’m feeling better, but not by much. By late afternoon, I’ve taken three naps and only left my bed to pay for the pizza I ordered and to refill my water glass twice. Too scared to check my appearance in the mirror, already knowing how horrible I must look, I do what I haven’t done in a while—I avoid.

  My phone beeps with a text message. I’m in no mood to deal with people, so I leave it. An hour later, I see Charlie’s book and reach for it. I take it in hand, admiring the nice cover, and set it on the blanket next to me. I stare at it for several minutes, rereading the title several times. My Everything. The pull of his printed words draws me in, making me want to open the cover and read more.

  Resisting the temptation, I trudge into the bathroom. Lethargy has set in from lounging around for the last twenty-four hours. As I grab some toilet paper to blow my nose, the spool flies off the holder and lands in my toilet.

  “Damn it!”

  Using the handle of the plunger to retrieve it, I’m struck with déjà vu.

  Toothbrush.

  Toilet.

  Fishing it out.

  All too familiar indeed. My life was so off-kilter there for a while, then it seemed to hop back on track when—

  Charlie!

  The thought occurs like a lightning strike. He’s gone from my life, and a string of these irritating events are happening once again.

  Dropping my keys down that grate outside work three months ago, the bird poop that fell on the side of my head on Christmas day, and the time I tripped in Central Park on nothing but my own feet. Yep, I’m out of whack again.

  I dump the soggy toilet roll in the trash then rush to my purse to grab the orange rabbit’s foot. After climbing back in bed, I glare at the book again, fighting the urge to pick it up. I reach out and my finger finds its way to the cover, and drags across his name.

  Charlie Adams.

  Charlie Adams.

  And a third time. Charlie Adams.

  “Damn it, I have no willpower.” I pick the book up and start reading. The dedication page is simple with three words: To My Destiny.

  A sudden lump in my throat makes me gasp for air.

  Destiny.

  I turn to chapter one, interested to see what kind of book he wrote with a dedication like that.

  My Everything ~

  I want to say I fell in love at first sight. That would be the romantic version, but that’s not the truth. I fell in love with the woman who would become my sun, my beacon, my compass, my everything when I sat next to her at a funeral and saw the depths of sadness and true beauty for the first time.

  My breathing is staggered, and my heart is pounding as I read until I reach the end of the first chapter. This isn’t a book of New York observations. I flip through it, recognizing different passages with each word,setting and scenario. This is a book of us observations. Us. He’s writing about us. This can’t be. I’m being silly. This isn’t us. This is fiction. We’re real . . . or were.

  I turn to the end, needing to know what becomes of these star-crossed lovers he so eloquently writes about. These lovers. Lovahs. I can hear Charlie in his bad British accent saying the word, and I giggle, remembering how happy I was that day. Even when things were sad, he gave me hope, comfort. He made me happy every day I was with him. He was the light in the dark. He was my light. My sun. My beacon.

  My Everything ~

  I kissed her, exposing my past, giving her my present, and offering her a future we could share together—a kiss that would span more than a lifetime. A kiss that told her she was my forever and a day.

  The book falls from my hands as I lie back, closing my eyes, his words engulfing me in warmth and love, hope, and a future. My compass.

  I hold the rabbit’s foot in front of my face, our own past and present flashing before my eyes.

  Conner.

  Lucky rabbit’s foot.

  Charlie.

  Love.

  Lucky.

  Destiny.

  Love.

  Love.

  Love.

  Oh my God!

  Charlie gave it to me.

  Charlie is in love with me.

  Something inside my brain finally clicks in sync with my heart.

  I’m in love with Charlie.

  My Everything.

  He’s my everything, too.

  I’m in love with Charlie!

  Glancing at the time, I grab my phone ready to call Charlie, but I see a text message from Rachel instead: Charlie has a book signing at seven. Barnes and Noble, 82nd and Broadway. She knows. She knows that, deep down, I’m in love with Charlie.

  I run through the apartment, slipping on my wellies, coat, scarf, and hat, grabbing my keys, my wallet, and the book, and then run out the door to hail a cab.

  When I get inside, I give the driver the address. Glancing at my watch, I see the signing has already begun. “Hurry, please.”

  When the cab pulls up to the curb outside the bookstore, I’m stunned in place. Before me is a six-by-six-foot poster of Charlie’s face filling one entire window. God, what a glorious face it is, too. Guess he’s not my secret anymore. My heart begins racing, and I jump into action to get to that man, my man, as soon as possible.

  I pay the cab driver and jump out only to be confronted with a line that is out the door. As I scan over the crowd, I notice it’s all women in line. Oh, except for three guys toward the end—one very tall, one very effeminate, and the other very metrosexual. Judging by this crowd, it makes me question if they are here to support Charlie’s book or to try and score a date with the author.

  Walking toward the front of the line, I reach for the door. A very terse woman with small glasses stops me.

  “If you’re here for the signing, the book is sold out, and the line has closed.”

  “I’m friends with the author,” I say, giving her a smile and trying to win her over with kindness.

  “Mmhm, and I’m sure that all of these people who showed up on time for the signing can claim the same. I’m sorry, but the line has closed. Mr. Adams has been here over an hour, and we don’t want him to have to sleep here.”

  I read the tag on her shirt. “Nancy.” I smile, trying to stay calm. With my most professional, direct tone, I say, “It’s imperative that I speak with Charlie.”

  “I’m sure it is, but it won’t be here tonight. Please step away from the line or I’ll call security.”

  I look over her shoulder and see him through the glass. He’s surrounded by people with clipboards and books, as well as a giggling woman who keeps flipping her hair behind her shoulder. She’s a flirter. Her body language says it all. He gives her his attention, but his smile is one of politeness only.

  I turn back to Nancy and hold the book up. “I’ve alre
ady got a copy. I just want him to sign it for me.”

  A scowl covers her face. “Well, in that case,” she says with a tight smile. I think she’s going to let me in. That is until her tone drops and her beady eyes stare me down. “This line is for customers only.” She turns her back to me, ending the discussion.

  Stubbornness flames inside my chest. I walk away from the main entrance and around the corner all super-spy, ninja-like hoping the gatekeeper doesn’t spot me. Taking off into a sprint to the side entrance, I yank on the handle, but it just jolts. Damn it! It’s locked.

  Defeated, I walk across the street, letting my imagination get the best of me. I’m sure he’s being flattered and offered a phone number. Jealousy flares, and I back away from the door, a plan forming. I buy myself a coffee and sit at a table near the window to watch as the line begins to dwindle. When only five people remain, I stand and make my move. I watch him through the bookstore window as I cross the street again. I notice him looking around a few times, and although he always smiles to the person standing in front of him, I see he’s disappointed. I just hope he’s reacting that way because I’m not there.

  Hope can be a dangerous emotion, and it can hurt me as much as help me. But without action, hope has no chance, so I’m going for it. I’m getting my everything.

  I cross the street and head toward the side entrance, the one that was locked earlier. It’s a risk, because he might leave through the front, but I’m willing to take it. I’ve already made several mistakes today that have cost me.

  The first is leaving the house dressed like a homeless person, because honestly, there is no excuse for that other than I needed to see him. Maybe he’ll see the charm in my pajamas.

  The second mistake is that I left without my phone, forgetting to grab it from my bed because I was in such a hurry. Calling him would have saved me the hassle of standing on a dark side street.