What He Doesn't Know (What He Doesn't Know Duet Book 1)

by Kandi Steiner

  “You want to talk, Charlie? Fine. Let’s talk.” He stepped into me, lowering his voice so that only I could hear him. Not that it mattered — everyone else was still arguing about the snow day, anyway. “Why don’t you look me in the eyes, right now, right here, and tell me that you feel nothing for me. That’s what you wanted to talk about last time we had a conversation, right? So, here. Hammer it home.”

  He took another step, his chest brushing mine, his eyes hard where they watched me over the bridge of his nose.

  “Tell me that kiss only made you feel guilty. Tell me it only made you realize you’re completely happy in your marriage and Cameron is who you want and I mean nothing to you. Tell me that night was a mistake. That’s your favorite word for it, right? So, go ahead. Tell me.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  His eyes flicked between mine, his jaw set, brows furrowed in a deep resolve.

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said after a moment, taking only a small step back. “You can’t.”

  “I love him, Reese,” I whispered, the words cutting me like a dull razor blade as they left my lips. I knew they penetrated him just the same.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you love me, too.”

  A loud roar of laughter broke out around us, and Reese held my eyes with his own for a long moment before he turned and rejoined Jennifer at their table. He smiled brightly at her once he’d sat back down, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t nailed me to the spot with the truth of his words.

  He glanced at me briefly when I didn’t move, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat once before he tore his eyes away and focused on Jennifer again. She reached forward to cover his hand with hers, laughing at something he’d said, and it was that laugh that snapped me back to reality.

  I blinked, hastily pouring the fresh coffee into my Thermos before I turned and left the room.

  That night, it snowed nine inches, and Mr. Henderson called the first snow day of the year.

  Charlie

  Something strange happens when you spend too much time alone.

  The relaxation you feel from those first few hours of solitary morphs somewhere along the way, transforming into awareness of your subconscious, awareness of the thoughts you didn’t even know you were hiding from. Time blurs, stretching and sprinting all at once, exposing the loneliness in your soul along the way.

  Though Mr. Henderson had called a snow day for Westchester not only on Tuesday, but on Wednesday, too — Cameron still had to go to work. They’d let him work from home for the first couple of hours Tuesday morning, but then he had to go in. And on Wednesday, they didn’t even let him start the morning at home.

  The roads were bad enough that I didn’t want to chance driving on them, not even to go to Mom’s, so I just stayed at home with Jane. Alone.

  There was a brief moment on Tuesday morning when I was grateful I got to stay under the warm, cozy sheets of our bed when Cameron left for work. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in that late, and when Cameron was out the door, I sighed contently and burrowed under the covers more.

  I only slept for another thirty minutes, and that half hour was spent dreaming of Reese.

  We were back at his house on that last night before he moved to New York, only this time, he kissed me. The dream felt so real, like he was in that room with me still when I woke. When I came all the way to, I realized my hand was under my boy shorts, my fingers wet.

  I got out of bed then, and so began my two days of being completely alone with my thoughts.

  When I was younger, I used to sit in my dad’s office and watch one of the little trinkets on his desk while he worked. It was a row of silver balls hanging from a bar, and Dad would pull the end one back, letting it smack the side of the ball next to it. This would set up a chain reaction in which the ball on the opposite end would swing out and back again, and so it would go, on and on and on all afternoon.

  Dad said it was “Newton’s Cradle,” a sort of moving art that was meant to bring comfort and serenity. He loved that it was reliable, that it was always there, always moving, always making the same sounds.

  One afternoon, my old cat, Heathcliff, jumped up onto Dad’s desk while he was working. Dad had shooed him off, and in Heathcliff’s haste to get off the desk, he’d slipped on papers and run straight into Newton’s Cradle, throwing everything off balance. The balls clacked too fast before losing their rhythm altogether and then crashing to the ground.

  But when Dad picked them back up, he pulled one ball at the far end back, and once he let it go, everything returned to normal.

  That’s exactly how I felt those two days I spent alone in the home I’d built with Cameron.

  I was always reliable. I was the “yes” girl. I was the hostess, the soft-spoken, compliant friend, coworker, daughter, and wife. And I was perfectly content being in a routine, providing comfort to those around me by being the one constant they could rely on.

  Reese had thrown me.

  He had swung into my life unannounced, just like Heathcliff, throwing everything off balance in the process. And though I was back in my rhythm again, swinging along like nothing had happened, the truth was I would never be the same. Now that I knew what it was like to swing recklessly, to feel his hands slipping between the crevices of normality — I didn’t know how to just go back to what I’d been before.

  I was spiraling.

  Reese’s questions spun in my head like cotton candy, thickening and thickening with every pass, leaving behind a sticky residue I couldn’t escape. Was he right? Was I miserable? I surely wasn’t happy. But did that mean he could be the one to change that? Did I not owe it to Cameron to try to find that happiness again with him?

  But I had already tried. And he’d found happiness in someone else.

  Why had that gone away so quickly, so easily, for him? For us?

  The more time I spent alone, the more I questioned everything. I’d driven myself so insane Wednesday that by the time Cameron got home, I’d convinced myself I hated him. I’d stared at him from across our dining room table with murder in my eyes, debating seriously about telling him right then and there that I wanted a divorce. But then he stood, bringing his plate with him, and sat in the chair next to me instead of the one across. He pulled me close, kissed my lips, and told me he’d missed me while he’d been at work that day.

  It was like that kiss had snapped me out of the spell being alone had put me in, and I was right back to sitting uncomfortably in my home of confusion.

  By the time Thursday morning rolled around, I was so desperate to get out of the house and away from my thoughts that I went into work a full hour before I needed to. I spent the morning cleaning up my classroom, drawing a new picture on the white board, and adjusting my lesson plans for the week.

  And I thought things were going to be fine.

  I slipped right back into my routine, thankful for the distraction and familiarity of teaching, and I convinced myself that what I’d felt over the snow days was simply cabin fever.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  Reese and I would be friends again someday, once we’d both had some time and space, and Cameron and I would work together on our marriage. He was already trying harder, and what I’d done was behind us.

  Everything would be fine.

  But just like before, I was a methodically swinging pendulum, and one little touch was all it would take to send me spiraling again.

  Jeremiah wasn’t at school the morning we came back from the snow days.

  I’d just assumed his parents had decided to keep him out an extra day out of caution, as some parents did once the roads were deemed drivable. I didn’t even bat an eye at him being gone that Thursday we returned to school, but when I saw him bright and early Friday morning, his little eyes puffy and swollen, his shoulders hunched over his desk, I knew something was wrong.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said, leaning down on one knee so I was at his level. He was the firs
t one in the classroom, the rest of the kids still conversation in the halls waiting for the first bell to ring. “You okay?”

  He shook his head, eyes on where his little boots were swinging snow onto the carpet under his chair. He had his hands tucked under his thighs and he hadn’t taken off his coat or hat yet. Both were a little damp from the cold.

  “Why don’t we take these off and get you warmed up?” I asked, tugging at this coat.

  Jeremiah allowed me to help him out of it, along with his hat, and I ruffled up his dark hair before smoothing it out and tucking it behind his ears. He still wouldn’t look at me, and my heart ached for him.

  “You can talk to me, you know,” I whispered. “I know I’m an icky adult, but I’m a pretty good listener.”

  “You’re not icky, Mrs. Pierce,” he said softly.

  I waited for him to continue, hoping he might tell me what was on his mind, but he wouldn’t. I pulled an apple juice from my mini fridge and a little snack pack of powdered donuts that I kept for emergencies just like this one. But Jeremiah wouldn’t eat or drink, either.

  He was like that all day.

  Though Jeremiah was always kind of quiet, he was even more so that Friday, and he wouldn’t participate in any of the group activities. He stayed silent, working in his notebook when instructed, just getting through the day the best he could. When lunch and recess rolled around, he begged me to let him stay in the classroom.

  “Only if you eat,” I told him. “If Miss Robin brings you back a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, will you eat that? And drink some milk?”

  He looked devastated that he had to eat, but he nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Jeremiah made it through half a sandwich and took a few sips of milk before I allowed him to lie his head down on his desk for the rest of recess. I watched him resting there, his little eyes finally at peace for the first time since that morning, and couldn’t help but think of my Jeremiah.

  I wondered if he would have had bad days, too. How would I have helped him? Would he have come to me when he was sad, or would it have been Cameron who would have comforted him?

  I wondered if he’d know how to write his name by now, and if he’d still be okay with me holding his hand to cross the street. Would he be into little race cars, or Disney characters, or maybe science — the way Jeremiah in my class was?

  Would he like to ride his bike, or would he prefer video games?

  My thoughts ran wild with questions like that until the end of the school day.

  It made me think of the nightmares I’d sometimes have where I’d wake up screaming.

  Cameron was always there when I woke up, soothing me, holding me, telling me it was okay. But in my dream, and in reality, both — it was a lie. The dream was always me holding Jeremiah and Derrick in my arms at the hospital, happy and content, both of them alive and breathing and nuzzling into me with their warmth. But then the doors would fly open and nurses would rush in, ripping them from my arms as alarms went off. My body always felt heavy then. I couldn’t reach out for them, couldn’t scream — not until I woke up in my own bed, anyway.

  I never told Cameron what the dream was. Then again, he never asked.

  I wondered if he ever dreamed about them, too.

  Fridays were always a rush out at the car loop, the energy of the weekend buzzing through the students and teachers, both. But I held back that day, helping Jeremiah pack up his bag before slowly walking him out to the loop with his hand in mine.

  “I hope you have a good weekend,” I told him when I noticed his mom’s car at the front of the line.

  “I won’t.”

  I frowned, bending to his level. I motioned discreetly to his mother in the car, hoping she’d join me.

  “Why do you say that, Jeremiah? You’ve always told me you love Fridays because you get to stay up past your bedtime and watch movies with your mom and dad.”

  “We don’t have anywhere to watch movies anymore.”

  His little lip quivered just as his mom reached us, and he buried his face in her side. I stood as she hugged him into her, and that’s when I realized her face was just as worn, her eyes just as puffy and tired as his.

  “Did he have a rough day?” she asked, and her voice was thick and raw, like she’d been crying for weeks. “Oh, I wondered if it was too soon to have him back, but we just wanted him to escape it all for a while and have a little fun.”

  “It was a tough day, but he made it. What happened, is everything okay, Laura?”

  Her brows bent together. “He didn’t tell you?”

  When I shook my head in response, she bent to kiss Jeremiah’s forehead, asking him to go wait in the car while she talked with me. We both turned to watch him, and once he was settled into the back seat, Laura spoke.

  “Our house burned down on Tuesday night.”

  My eyes were still on Jeremiah in the car, but my heart had fallen through my stomach to the ground at Laura’s words. I covered my mouth with one shaky hand, eyes filling with tears as I turned to face her.

  “All of it?”

  Her lip trembled, and she nodded as tears gathered in her eyes, too. “We lost everything. We’ve been staying at my parents’ house, but it’s across town, and there isn’t much room for all of us.” She choked out a sob. “We were with them the night it happened, thank God. It was Jeremiah’s birthday, so we had cake and presents at their house.”

  It happened on his birthday.

  Bile rose in my throat.

  “It was an accident. My husband had gone back to the house to get a gift we’d left behind, and smoke was coming from the garage when he pulled up. He opened the door and saw the flames, called 9-1-1, but the roads were still pretty bad. It took them so long to get out there.” She sniffed, rubbing her raw nose with the back of her coat sleeve. “We have propane in there, you know? And gasoline we use for the chainsaws. Rob sells firewood every winter. The insurance company is claiming arson after the fire brigade said they can’t deem it accidental.”

  “You’re kidding. They can’t do that, can they?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re fighting it, but it’s not looking good. If they think we did this on purpose, they don’t have to cover it. It’s considered arson fraud.” Her eyes welled up more then as she looked at me with absolute hopelessness. “Why on earth would we ever do that? Why would we set fire to everything we own, everything we know and love?”

  I didn’t know what else to do but reach over and pull Laura into my arms. She was taller than me and at least fifty pounds heavier, but I held her anyway, rocking her as she cried.

  I felt as helpless as she did.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she said after a moment, pulling back from my hold. “We have to find a new home. And tuition payments for Westchester are coming up soon.” Laura shook her head. “I don’t know how we’re going to swing it. We worked so hard to get him here, and now he might not even be able to stay. And he’s devastated. He won’t play, he won’t eat.”

  “He ate a little at lunch today,” I said, trying to ease her, but I was falling apart on the inside, too. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure the insurance company will come around. And if you guys need somewhere bigger to stay, please let me know. My house is…” Empty. Sad. “I have plenty of room.”

  “Oh, you’re so kind, Mrs. Pierce,” she said, squeezing the top of my arm. “I appreciate that. We’re just taking it one day at a time for now. Jeremiah has been so excited for the spring concert, so we are hoping to just use that as our little ray of happiness right now.” She forced a smile before excusing herself, and I just stood there on the sidewalk, watching until she was buckled in and pulling away.

  Jeremiah stared out the window the entire time, his eyes as heavy as my heart.

  He’d lost everything, and now I might lose him, too.

  What if he couldn’t come back to Westchester in the fall?

  It started slow at first, my heartbeat picking up speed, bu
t by the time I’d reached my classroom, it was a race car with two flat tires, beating haphazardly against my rib cage. I couldn’t calm my breaths, my hands shaking terribly as I pulled on my coat and scrambled for my phone.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Cameron answered.

  “I need you to come home. Please. I’m leaving now, and I need you to…” I forced a few breaths, my chest aching. I didn’t know if I could even drive, but I had to. I had to get home. I had to get to Cameron. “Something happened and I need… I need…”

  “Charlie, it’s okay. I’m already home. I got off early. I’m here. Can you drive?”

  No.

  I slipped on hardened snow as I crossed the parking lot too fast toward my car, catching my balance with another strained breath. “Yes, I can drive. I’m on my way. Just please don’t leave.”

  “Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t want me to come get you?”

  I pushed the start button on my SUV and threw it into drive. “I’m on my way. I’m on my way. Please don’t leave, Cam.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  And though hearing him say that should have comforted me, it only made me cry harder.

  “Cameron?”

  I dropped my bag by the door, not even stripping out of my coat before I was flying up the stairs. The panic attack that had been slowly creeping in as I left school had assaulted me more and more with every mile, and I couldn’t catch a steady breath as I searched for Cameron.

  He wasn’t in the bedroom or the library. I called his name again, heading for the study.

  Nothing.

  Panic flared like a wild flame and I screamed his name again, running my hands back through my hair. Darkness invaded my vision from the edges, creeping inward like a poisonous ink until I had to lean against the banister not to fall to the floor.

  “Charlie?”

  He emerged from the bedroom with a towel around his waist. I hadn’t even checked our bathroom, and I didn’t care as I ran with what little vision I had left down the hall toward him. He caught me in his arms easily, whispering into my hair as he moved me to our bed and sat us both down. My chest burned with the need for oxygen, but I couldn’t get a big enough breath. I couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t do anything other than let Cameron rock me in his arms.