by Vivian Wood
She glances at me, then away again. The silence stretches between us, nearly palpable.
Part of me really wants to know what is going on inside Larkin’s head, but the rest of me shuts it down. I have no business encouraging anything to happen between the two of us, not even friendship. I did that with a couple of the mothers from my grief group, answered their questions and listened to their stories.
Only to end up being labeled “full of angst and bitterness” when I didn’t return their inevitable affections.
And the thing is? They’re not wrong. Not at all.
Larkin gets up and goes inside for a minute, but leaves the door ajar. I look at the door and see a Siamese cat carefully sniffing around; when Larkin returns, she opens the door wide briefly, and I see that the cat only has one bright blue eye.
Larkin hands me a bundle of flannel, which turns out to be a blanket. I say thanks, and pull it gratefully around my shoulders. It’s very warm and incredibly soft to the touch; I immediately think that Sarah would like it.
Larkin sits back down as I glance up toward the windows above us. I’m pretty sure that if Sarah made any noise, I would hear it. After all, we are in the country. Aside from the sound of crickets every now and then, the world is silent.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Larkin says softly. “It’s none of my business.”
I look at her, and then shake my head.
“I overreacted. It’s not exactly a secret or anything.” I look down at my hands, folding them in my lap. “Sarah’s mom — my wife Britta — she died just after Sarah was born. It was a car accident.”
I can feel the horror coming off of Larkin in waves.
“Oh,” she says, her voice so low that I almost can’t hear her. “Oh, Charlie. I am so sorry.”
My guts twist as she reaches out to put her slim fingers on my wrist. Her touch is magic; I swear I feel a spark flit between us, the energy flowing just like it did with Britta.
Britta. What the fuck? I’m such a goddamn mess. I’m somehow drawing one woman closer to me while I’m mourning the other.
Suddenly I’m wretched again, as raw and miserable as I’ve ever been. I definitely don’t want Larkin to see how upset I am. I don’t want to have to explain anything I feel, to anyone.
“Yeah, well. Gotta sleep,” I croak out, standing abruptly and ripping the blanket off my shoulders.
I avoid Larkin’s gaze as I shove the blanket at her. I have to force myself not to run as I head inside. I feel the tears brimming as I close the door.
I go further inside before I allow the tears to overcome me, just for a minute.
Chapter Six
Larkin
I’m walking home from a full shift at the library a few days later, enjoying that there are pockets in my lemon-yellow dress. I ramble across the grass, feeling almost a little tipsy on the niceness of summer.
It’s late afternoon now, the sun warm enough that I’ve stripped off my cardigan and stuffed it in my oversized bag. Even the brisk breeze can’t take the edge off of how wonderful it is outside today.
To top it all off, a few volunteers have been setting up a stage area and some tables for the Midsummer Fete. Midsummer Fete is a town wide tradition that goes back to the 70s, and this afternoon is the perfect day for it.
“Larkin!” one stern-looking older lady in a white tracksuit and a matching visor barks at me. “Come here.”
Mrs. Peet was one of my mother’s good friends, and sometimes I think that I will permanently be twelve years old to her. My feet want to carry on, pretending I did not hear Mrs. Peet. But I don’t.
Instead I turn with a bright smile, the one I paste on at school board meetings and in the dentist’s waiting room.
“Hey, Mrs. Peet,” I say, shading my eyes as I walk over to her.
“I hear you have someone living on the other side of your house,” she says, not wasting any time getting to her point. “Quite a looker, too. What’s his deal?”
I pretend surprise. “Oh, Mr. Lawson? I don’t really know that much about him, honestly.”
Mrs. Peet surveys me coolly. “Hmf. Why haven’t we heard anything?”
My smile grows wider, the opposite of how I feel inside.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” I say.
“Have you asked him to come to the Midsummer Fete today?”
My heart pounds a little. Mrs. Peet is not the first lady in town to have asked me. She’s not even the fourth.
“I haven’t,” I answer slowly. “I’m not even sure if he’s around.”
“Disappointing.” She wrinkles her nose. “Later, my dear.”
When she turns her back on me, I make a face. “Can’t wait.”
I turn and continue on my way home, thinking about Charlie. The look on his face the other night when he balled up the blanket and shoved it at me, before heading inside…
It was fury, mixed with a deep sadness. It made my heart hurt for him, more than anything. I think I realized in that moment that Charlie is still healing, and he panics when his tender underbelly is exposed.
The only thing keeping him tethered to people and society seems to be Sarah; without her, I imagine he would be a crazy hermit living way out in the woods somewhere.
Charlie needs to be more fully integrated into society, but it needs to be slow and steady. Today is the perfect introduction to his neighbors, what with the Midsummer Fete happening on the spacious town square. There will be a local band playing, and there will be a bunch of food provided by the townspeople, potluck style.
Everyone will be milling around and talking. I’ll be there to introduce him to people and he can easily escape if he needs to.
I walk up to my mom’s big gray house, stepping into the shadows on Charlie’s side of the front porch. I knock a few times, and finally hear him inside, moving toward the door.
The door opens a crack and Charlie peers out, looming tall and looking… well, hungover. There are dark circles under his eyes, his usual day’s scruff has turned into three, he’s disheveled, and his hair is a bit of a mess. Plus, he smells like whiskey.
Sarah is nowhere to be seen.
“Yeah?” he asks, wincing at the daylight pouring through the doorway.
“Where’s Sarah?” I ask briskly.
He looks affronted. “She’s watching cartoons with headphones on. Why?”
I try to stand as tall as I can, because I can already feel the resistance coming off of him. I square my jaw.
“There’s a big party happening in the town square in about twenty minutes, and I think you guys should come,” I say as firmly as I can.
“Yeah, no,” he says, and starts closing the door on me.
I am faster than him though, and I manage to get my foot in the door before he can close it. I give him a hard smile.
“When is the last time that Sarah has been outside?” I ask.
Charlie’s eyes go to Sarah, although she’s out of my line of sight. He takes a breath, calculating.
“I don’t know,” he admits with a shrug. “It’s been a couple of days. I’ve been… busy.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but that is absolutely no way for a kid to live. Let her come out with me, at least. It’s gorgeous outside, and there will be food to eat and kids to play with.”
He crinkles up one side of his face as he thinks it over.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll come too, to keep an eye on her,” he says. “Just for a few minutes, though.”
“Want me to watch her while you shower?” I ask, pretending innocence. His facial hair might not drive anyone off, but his smell definitely will.
Charlie looks a little offended, but he opens the door wider and steps back. “Alright. Come in.”
“Is it alright if I watch her on my side of the house? I have to feed and walk the animals before we go,” I say as I walk in. “She’ll love it, trust me.”
His narrowed eyes and tensed jaw say that I’m very close to overstepping my boundaries. “Fine.
I’m going to shower.”
I find Sarah, who is dressed adorably in a blue dress and pink and blue polka dot leggings. She is indeed beyond excited to help me feed and walk all my four legged friends. She’s the happiest child alive when she’s petting Zack and Morris at the same while they chow down.
By the time he knocks on my front door, I can hear the band playing from the square. I pick Sarah up and carry her when I answer. Too bad I’m not quite prepared for Charlie, who waits for me to open it with one arm propped up on the door frame.
I gulp. He’s in all black, from his jeans to his black hoodie. His arms are nicely defined by the way they make his hoodie all tight in just the right places.
If this were another life, I would pounce on him, because he looks downright lickable.
“I brought a hoodie for Sarah,” he says, snapping me out of my thirst. He motions for me to hand her over.
“What? Oh… that’s a good idea,” I say, flushing.
I hand her over to her father. I’m a little dazed. I mean, I knew Charlie was good looking, but… he really got me there for a minute.
“Uhh… let me get my pies before we go,” I mumble. I need an excuse to get out of there, but also I do legitimately have three freshly-made marionberry pies to grab for the pot luck.
I run to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Muffin because I’m talking to myself the whole time.
You need to cool it, I tell myself sternly. You just got Charlie out of the house for a little while, no need to mess it up by being all… lusty. Besides, you know that he’s a bad idea.
And I’m right. If he wasn’t damaged from the death of his ex, maybe I could lust after him. But he’s too badly hurt, haunted by too many ghosts, echoing around him.
That doesn’t mean I can’t look… as long as he doesn’t see me longing for him. It’s okay to admire from afar.
I stack the pies up in their glass pie plates, feeling the coolness of the glass against my palms. The pies smell heavenly, the dark marionberries a type of blackberry in the pacific northwest. I carry them into the front of the house, grabbing my keys on the way out.
Charlie’s on the porch holding Sarah, who is telling him about feeding the dogs.
“I pet,” she says, looking delighted. “They eat.”
Charlie glances at me, then at the pies I hold. “For the pot luck?”
I smile. “Yup. I made them last night.”
“Ah,” he says, stepping off the front porch. “I thought I smelled something good cooking last night, but I didn’t really pay attention.”
I blush, even though he hasn’t really complimented me. We start walking across the open square, towards the stage. Above the stage, two volunteers hoist a colorful banner that says, “Midsummer Fete”.
There are already people arriving in twos and threes, putting their dishes down on the tables that are splayed out from the stage. It’s mostly couples and their children, and small groups of teenagers. The teenagers will sneak off and go party somewhere else soon, but the lure of free food is too great for them to miss.
“Bird!” Sarah says randomly, bouncing up and down excitedly. “Big Bird!”
“Do you like Sesame Street?” I ask her.
She thinks for a minute, her look of concentration adorable. “Yes!” she declares.
“She watches it every morning,” Charlie intones. “Don’t you?”
“Yes!” she says, nodding in agreement.
I can feel the curious eyes of many people on us as we sidle up it to the food tables. I set the pies down, uncovering them. Before I’m done, the older women are all over Charlie.
“Hi there,” Martha Stocksbury says, her fluorescent pink lipstick the same color as her track suit. “And who might this be?”
She tickles Sarah, who promptly hides her head against Charlie’s shoulder. I see a struggle occurring on Charlie’s face, his need to flee fighting with his desire for Sarah to meet some people.
“Hi, Martha!” I say, putting myself in between Charlie and her. “This is Charlie, who’s got his hands full. And this bashful little monkey is his daughter Sarah.”
Before Charlie can even say anything, a whole host of other ladies are saying hi and asking questions. I smile and field most of the questions as best as I can, feeling like a goalie during a sudden death match.
Eventually Sarah sees several kids around her age playing, and tugs on Charlie’s hoodie. “Daddy, I want!”
Charlie glances at them uncertainly, but I am certain that this is exactly the kind of socialization Sarah needs.
“Will you excuse us?” I ask Mrs. Bond, who is about as old and nice as it gets. “Sarah wants to play.”
“Of course, dear!” Mrs. Bond says, leaning on her walker.
I grab Charlie by the elbow, winking at him as I gently guide him over to where the parents stand in a loose half circle. Charlie kneels down and Sarah bounds out of his arms, running up to a little boy who is on all fours in the grass.
“Play?” she asks quizzically.
“Horse!” he says, making a sort of whinnying sound.
Sarah gets down and mimics what he is doing, and the two of them pretend to eat grass.
“Huh?” I say to Charlie, nudging him in the ribs.
He makes a noncommittal sound, watching Sarah like a hawk. It occurs to me that this may be the first time that she chose a new friend over him. I smother a smile.
I stand with Charlie for quite a while, watching Sarah play with four different kids. As the sun begins its descent, Sarah gets tired, going straight to her father for comfort. I suggest we grab one of the benches to sit on, and enjoy the last remnants of the fading afternoon.
Charlie leads the way to the bench furthest from the band. I smirk; it seems very much a him thing to not like the band.
So we sit, mostly quiet, watching the townspeople as the street lights flicker on. I’ve chattered enough for today, and I’m all talked out now. Sarah falls asleep leaning against my arm. I reach out my hand, hesitant at first, then stroke her hair.
It is softer than I think hair should be. It makes me smile. Charlie doesn’t object, so I relax and stroke her hair.
Then as we are sitting there, a single firework goes up, a shimmer of gold erupting with a loud bang. Charlie jerks to his feet, and I look at him. All the color has drained from his face.
“We have to go,” he says through clenched teeth, grabbing Sarah.
“What—” I start, but he’s already carrying her toward our house. I rush after him, and see his whole body jerk as another firework explodes behind us.
Oh… I think. He’s affected by the fireworks, somehow.
Sarah wakes and I can hear her start to cry. Charlie starts sprinting, and I do too. He runs right up to his door, bursting inside and dropping to his knees. I follow him, slamming his door closed.
“Daddy!” Sarah wails, struggling to get free.
He drops to all fours, caging Sarah in with his own body. I don’t know what to do, so I kneel next to him, placing a hand on his broad back. His hoodie is damp to the touch, and his whole body is shaking.
Sarah continues to fight against him, her two year old temper rising.
“Can you let me take her?” I murmur quietly.
After a long pause, he raises his top half slightly, which allows Sarah to wriggle free. She just lays down on the floor and cries for a minute or two. Charlie is shivering and sweating, experiencing something on his own, curled into himself.
“Everything is okay,” I tell them both, touching each of them gently. “Everything is fine. Nothing is wrong.”
The fireworks stop as suddenly as they started, and Sarah slowly cries herself out. Sarah is so sleepy that it seems natural to pick her up and carry her to the couch, tucking a blanket around her.
When I return to Charlie, he seems to have recovered somewhat, sprawling out on his back. He’s staring at the wall, as if he could bore a hole through it.
“Are you feeling better?” I a
sk, biting my lip as I stare down at him.
He turns his head to look at me, and I instantly see exactly what he doesn’t want me or anyone else to see. His expression is shattered and anguished, and tears shine in his eyes.
I desperately want to comfort him, but I’m not sure how or if he would even let me.
He merely nods, turning his head back to look at the wall. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Thank you. You can go.”
I glance at Sarah, who is fast asleep, then back to Charlie. My heart aches for him again, and again there is nothing that I can do or say that will make it better.
“I’m just next door,” I say, moving toward the door. “Anytime you need me, day or night.”
He just nods and exhales a shaky breath. I let myself out of the front door, uncertain that he even really heard me.
One thing is for sure: when I see Charlie, I see an exotic wounded animal, the lion with a thorn in his paw. And me being me, I want to help.
The problem is that I also find a deeply suffering man extremely attractive. There is something about knowing that there is a deep well of dark, dangerous water hidden beneath his exterior. And when I’m so close to him, I feel…
Well, I’m not entirely certain. But I have a niggling concern that I am too close to that black-blue water.
Chapter Seven
Charlie
I’m in my car with Sarah, talking on the Bluetooth connection as I drive to my dad’s house. Dad and Rosa have been begging me to bring Sarah over for the day, just to hang out.
Today I’m going to try it, just for a little while.
“No, it’s not—” I manage, before Britta’s mother Helen interrupts me.
“If you were going to move out here to the coast, why on earth would you move to Pacific Pines?” Helen asks, her voice getting even more nasal than usual. “We’ve got a ton of properties over here in Seaside that we could’ve rented you. You would be close enough for me to drop in! And I know the people on the school boards here, for when Sarah needs that…”
I grit my teeth. The idea of being close enough for Helen to drop in is honestly pretty terrifying. She’s the queen WASP, only her native habitat is the Oregon Coast. We never got along before Britta died, and now Helen just feels entitled to more access to her granddaughter than I feel like giving her.
