Charlie finally let me see inside again, she let the sixteen-year-old girl out that I used to know.
But she also let me see the broken woman she was now, and that was the woman I wanted more of.
I recognized, very distantly, that I was playing with fire. She was still very much married, and I would have been lying to myself if I said my intentions with her were completely innocent. But, it wasn’t that they were completely not innocent, either. I wanted to be there for her, to be someone she could talk to, someone she could lean on.
I wanted to make her realize that she deserved the world.
Past that, I knew I wanted more, but I wasn’t ready to admit those things to myself. Not just yet, maybe not ever.
A friend. That was all I wanted to be.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
When I turned the corner rounding into her classroom, I stopped mid-whistle, confusion sweeping over me at the sight of Mr. Henderson writing on the white board behind her desk.
“Ah! Good morning, Mr. Walker. How was your weekend?”
I surveyed the room, but there was no sign of Charlie, not even a purse or coat hung over the back of her chair.
“It was just fine, Mr. Henderson. And yours?”
“Oh, I’ve had better. Betty insisted on me cleaning out our fireplace. She’s so sure we’re going to get a bad snow storm here in the next few weeks.” He shook his head with a grin. “The old back doesn’t bend the way it used to.”
“Well, she’s probably right about the snow. I’m surprised we haven’t had anything more than an inch or two since I’ve been home.”
“It’s surely been cold enough to blizzard, hasn’t it?” He hung his hands on his hips with an even wider grin, which I returned as much as I could.
I was done talking about the weather.
“Is, uh… Is Mrs. Pierce running late or something?”
“Oh! Of course, you’re probably looking for her in her classroom, huh? That would make sense.” Mr. Henderson chuckled. “Poor thing, she’s ill. Called me right as my alarm went off this morning. I’m just filling in until the sub can get up here.”
“She’s sick?”
“Appears so,” he answered, and this time his face bent with concern. “Doesn’t surprise me, honestly. The woman hasn’t had a sick day off in the eight years she’s been teaching with us. Probably caught up with her.”
“She’s never called out sick?” I raised a brow, suspicion settling low and unwelcome in my stomach.
“Never.”
“Huh,” I mused. “Well, I picked up an extra coffee this morning. Would you like it?”
“Life saver!” He clapped his hands together before crossing the room to take the extra cup from my hand. “Much obliged, Mr. Walker. I’ll swing by your room later to discuss the spring concert?”
“Sure,” I answered distantly, but my wheels spun, wondering if Charlie was okay.
Maybe she really was sick, it wasn’t like people didn’t get colds or even the flu in late January. Still, the fact that she hadn’t called out sick in eight years and she just so happened to do so for the first time the Monday after we spent a late night together wasn’t lost on me.
My fingers itched to reach into my pocket for a cigarette as I walked the halls back to my classroom, but since I couldn’t find relief that way just yet, I pulled out my cell phone, instead. A friend would check on someone if they were sick, wouldn’t they?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I shot out a text to Charlie.
- Mr. Henderson told me someone’s under the weather this morning. Maybe you couldn’t handle that beer, after all. -
I sent it quickly, cringing a bit at my lame attempt at teasing her. If she really was sick, she might smile. But if she wasn’t, would bringing up that night only upset her? Was she regretting it, spending that long with me, opening up to me the way she did?
Was she feeling guilty?
The thought had crossed my mind. She’d asked me about a night that passed between us so long ago, and we’d been close enough to kiss, close enough to do so much more. But neither of us had crossed a line… had we?
There was no answer from Charlie before first period started, and when I checked my phone again at lunch, I was disappointed that her name hadn’t lit up my screen. By the end of the day, I’d given up.
I hoped, selfishly, that she really was sick. Maybe she was buried under the covers of her bed, doped up on cold medicine and not looking at her phone at all.
It was an awful thing to wish, but the alternative would have been worse. It would have meant she was avoiding me, the way the sickening lurch in my stomach wanted me to believe. Charlie had let me in, but was she closing me out again, before I even had the chance to get more than one foot through the door?
I could only wait to find out.
Charlie didn’t show on Tuesday.
I ate lunch alone that day, staring at the text I’d sent her and wondering how crazy it would be to show up on her doorstep with soup and a get well soon balloon. She never got sick, right? Maybe I could say the thoughtful gifts were from the entire faculty.
When her classroom was void of her again Wednesday, I nearly tore my hair out from frustration. I was driving myself crazy with the possibility of what might be going through her head, even though I technically didn’t know for sure anything even was. She was probably just sick. She was probably just resting and doing everything she could to get better, to get back to her kids. That was the kind of teacher she was.
It’s not always about you, I chastised myself as I left Westchester that afternoon. It was classic me to be so self-absorbed that I would make her illness about our night together. I spent that evening doing everything I could to push it out of my mind, blaring Arvo Part’s Da Pacem as loudly as I could as I finally unpacked the boxes littering my house. When my belongings were partly organized and I’d built up a sweat working around the house, I felt marginally better, settling in for a smoke by my sliding glass door as my thoughts calmed.
She was just sick. Everything was fine.
I called Blake to catch up, feeling guilty that it had taken me so long to get back in touch after ending our call so abruptly Friday night. But Blake was busy, too, and long conversations on the phone never were our thing. We talked for a long while, longer than we had since I left, before I finally felt tired enough to sleep, to actually sleep.
And finally, on Thursday morning, Charlie was back at Westchester.
A sigh of relief found me when I leaned against the door frame of her classroom and saw her standing there, back to me, dark hair smoothed into a high bun. She was writing the day’s agenda on the white board, and for a moment I just watched her, checking her profile for signs of weariness. Her eyes were bright, a small smile etched onto her face, and her cheeks held more color than I’d seen in all the other mornings since I’d been at Westchester.
“She’s alive,” I said in my best Dr. Frankenstein voice. I slipped my hands into my pockets as Charlie smiled, her eyes still on the board. “Welcome back, Tadpole.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice was soft, but not hoarse, and she didn’t turn to look at me as she continued writing.
“Feeling better?”
“Much,” she said. “Just needed a bit of rest, I suppose.”
“Did you have the flu?”
Charlie capped the marker she’d been writing with, turning to me then with a worried expression.
I saw it then, the lie, the one she’d been able to pull off until the moment her eyes met mine.
I’d always been able to tell when she was lying. Her eyes gave her away, the gentle crease of her forehead above her brows, the way her pupils dilated quickly as she moved them around the room.
“No, just a cold, I think.”
I nodded.
Westchester was particularly quiet that morning, and the silence surrounded us like a dark, wet blanket, suffocating in its heaviness. Charlie
cleared her throat, clasping her hands together at her waist, and I glanced down the hallway before moving into her classroom.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Her eyes widened as I moved into her space, and she took a step back, her hip hitting the silver ledge under the white board. “I’m fine.”
“You’re fine,” I repeated, moving in closer.
She was doing everything not to look at me — picking at lint on her skirt, moving markers around under the white board, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re sure you were sick, that this has nothing to do with Friday night?”
“I was sick,” she insisted, but her breath caught when my hand reached forward for her elbow. I held it softly, just enough to let her feel me as I stared down at her, willing her to return my gaze.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes fluttered, closing as a long exhale left her chest. Her tiny, cold hand wrapped around my wrist that held her, and she pulled me away. “Reese…”
“Charlie.”
And there it was, there she was, the girl I’d spent hours with on Friday night. Her eyes were wide and soft when she opened them again, the chocolate irises taking on a golden hue as they traveled their way up my chest, over my face, finally falling on my own eyes. She swallowed.
“I’m married.”
“I know.”
Charlie chewed her thumbnail, shaking her head like I hadn’t heard her. “No, truly, I’m married. And I know you don’t know him, but Cameron loves me. He does. And he needs me right now, we need each other. He opened up to me Friday night when I got home…”
Her words hit me like a sucker punch right to the chest. I felt my breath leave with them, a sickening tide rolling through at what they meant.
He opened up to her.
I wasn’t so blind as to not know that meant that he had her that night. She’d given me a piece of herself, shown me her scars, the ones hidden from everyone else — and yet he had taken her to bed. He had watched her melt for him, touched her fair skin, kissed her soft lips.
As her friend, I was happy for her.
As Reese Walker, the true version, I was enraged with jealousy.
“And I just… I really need to focus on him right now. On us.”
My throat was raw, dry, the act of swallowing damn near impossible, but I nodded despite the thickness I felt there. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she breathed, and all of the breath she’d been holding left her with that word.
“But hey, I’m here for you, okay? If you ever… I don’t know, if you ever need me, I guess. A friend to talk to, a distraction from work, or hell, even just a Wild Walker,” I said, and Charlie smirked, her lashes sweeping across her high cheeks. “Just say the word.”
“Thanks, Reese.”
I finally found the will to swallow as I stepped back, my hands finding my pockets once more. “Always. See you at lunch?”
Charlie smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I think I’m going to grab lunch on my own today, do some reading. But another time.”
She smiled, but that simple curve of her lips killed me.
Charlie was pushing me away.
I’d thought I was going at her pace, giving her the space to tell me what she wanted, when she wanted. But somehow, I’d crossed a line. Somehow, I’d lost her — before I’d even had the chance to have her at all.
She’s married, I reminded myself. What other way was there to have her, other than the friendship that already existed?
There wasn’t.
That was all there was to it.
“Sounds good,” I finally said, forcing a smile in return. “See you around, Charlie.”
I only hoped I actually would.
Charlie
Sundays were always my favorite day of the week.
Cameron and I usually spent our Saturdays being productive, working around the house or in the garden, volunteering in the community, attending work events for him or school events for me. But Sundays?
Sundays were always for us.
At first, in the beginning of our marriage, we almost never left the bed on Sunday. One of us would jump up long enough to use the bathroom or bring back a plate of food and water, but other than that, between the sheets we stayed. Of course, as the years went on, we began using the day to do other things, too.
We’d go shopping together, or binge watch movies from dawn until bedtime. We’d learn a new recipe together, or put on an old favorite album and dance in the kitchen. Whatever it was, no matter what, Sundays were always for me and Cameron.
I sighed contently, curling up into Cameron’s side as Sunday morning slowly made its way through our window. Jane and Edward were starting to rustle, but they could wait.
It had been a long week, even though I’d taken three days off. I’d faked sick for the first time in my life, taking those days just to be with myself — to reconnect. I’d had so many questions when I woke up that morning after happy hour, questions about how I’d acted with Reese, about what I’d felt with him, and, more pressingly, what I’d felt with Cameron when I’d gotten home. So, I took the first half of the week to think, to figure out what all of it meant.
Cameron had been worried at first, but I assured him I was fine. I think part of him knew, too, that I was feeling a bit lost, a bit out of touch. Spending those days in the garden, in my library, cleaning and going through items on our to-do list that I’d ignored for so long — it was exactly what I needed. And now, on Sunday morning, on the brink of a new week, I felt refreshed.
And warm. I was so warm with Cameron’s arm around me, my head on his chest, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on my shoulder.
For the first time in a long time, it seemed like everything would be okay.
“Can we dance today?” I asked, leaning up on one elbow to look at Cameron. It was a cloudy, gray day, the sun struggling to break through. The way it filtered through our window cast us both in a cool light, and it was one of those days I didn’t want to leave the bed at all.
“I have to work, sweetheart,” he said, but his voice was tender, his eyes soft. He swept my hair back from my face, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “But, tonight. Let me get this done and we can dance tonight.”
“Promise?”
“Would it make you happy?” he asked. “To dance with me tonight?”
“It would.”
Cameron gave me a lazy smile, leaning up long enough to kiss my nose. “Then we’ll dance.”
And that right there — that was why Sundays were my favorite.
I left Cameron to his work for the rest of the day, spending most of mine by the fire with a new book I’d picked up at the local bookstore the day before. I paused only long enough to fix us lunch, and to take Jane and Edward out of their cages for a while. I let them fly around our bedroom, all the doors and windows locked, and they’d always fly right back to me, chirping away their thanks for the chance to spread their wings. It always made me laugh to watch them fly, the two of them always intertwined in some way, zooming in and out of each other’s paths.
They were in love, and even given the chance to fly in opposite directions, to put space between them, they always chose to stay together.
When evening started to fall, I slipped inside my library to put my newly finished book on the shelf. My eyes caught on the copy of Anna Karenina, the sight of it making my stomach flip just as my phone buzzed in my pocket. My brother’s name and smiling face lit up the screen, and I smiled, dropping down into my reading chaise before answering.
“Well, isn’t this a nice Sunday surprise?”
“Hey, sis,” Graham said, and my heart sighed with happiness at the sound of his voice. “Got some time to catch up with your knucklehead brother who really sucks at making phone calls?”
We hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, not since he and Christina had been down for Christmas and New Year’s, and I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him until that ex
act moment I heard his voice again.
I chuckled, kicking my feet up on the cushion in front of me. “Always. Tell me everything. How have you been? How’s Christina?”
“I’ve been fine, and other than having to deal with my annoying ass, Christina seems to be surviving, too.”
“Barely, I’m sure.”
“Oh, she’s just skating by,” Graham agreed. “How’s school?”
“It’s good,” I said, eyes trailing over the books lining my shelves. “There’s a new teacher in town, which I’m sure you’ve heard about.”
“I did! He called me after the night he had dinner with you guys at Mom and Dad’s. That’s so crazy that he’s back in Mount Lebanon.” Graham paused. “Never thought I’d see that day.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Is he… is he okay? I mean, does he seem any different? Since everything happened?”
There were so many loaded questions behind the ones he asked, and for the first time since I left school Friday afternoon, I was forced to think about the one person I was trying not to.
Avoiding Reese had been easy when I’d just stayed home from school, but once I was back, it was impossible. I could still close my eyes and feel his hand on my elbow, see his eyes begging mine not to push him away.
But I’d spent all weekend with Cameron, and then the rest of the week with myself, reconnecting and dissecting every single thought and feeling. All of that led back to the fact that I couldn’t be close with Reese — not without feeling like I was doing something wrong. Besides, Cameron and I had talked that Saturday morning after happy hour, had agreed to spend more time together and work on getting back to the way we used to be.
Before.
Graham asking me if Reese was okay almost made me laugh, because the answer was too complicated to convey in one word. The truth was, I wasn’t really sure if he was okay — with being back in Mount Lebanon, with the loss of his family, with starting his new job.
With me.
It felt dangerous to be his friend, and so I hadn’t been. I’d let him in just marginally before I’d slammed the door again, putting that wall between us.
What He Doesn't Know (What He Doesn't Know Duet Book 1) Page 10
