To escape the freezing cold, she hopped on a bus that drove through Wall Street. She smiled when she saw the statue of “Fearless Girl” facing the charging bull. I wish that were how I faced my challenges—fearlessly, thought Charlotte. She got off at Central Park South and start walking. Suddenly she found herself on Columbus Circle near the Time Warner Center. Crossing the street she walked up to enter the Museum Art and Design building and looked up at Robert’s Restaurant where she and Aaron had shared that magical night a lifetime ago. Thinking back to that dinner and how bright her future had seemed then, she now felt disheartenment. Time was marching on, in six months she was going to be forty, she didn’t have a plan for her future, and she couldn’t think of another option except to keep looking for a decent apartment she could afford in the City.
She had a strange feeling someone was following her. She picked up her walking tempo and so did the person behind her. Unexpectedly, a familiar voice behind her asked, “Charlie, is that you? Please stop and talk to me—please.”
Charlotte closed her eyes while images and decisions swirled in her mind, she thought of running through Central Park on Sundays with Aaron, eating breakfast at their favorite neighborhood restaurant, shopping for clothes in Paris, snuggling together in bed on a cold winter’s day. Her gait slowed. Should I give him another chance? She remembered the grief-stricken Aaron begging for her forgiveness, promising to continue the management control classes forever, asking for one more chance
“Charlie, I’ve missed you so much, I dream about that perfect life we had together. I wish I hadn’t screwed things up. I just finished another anger-management meeting at the Times Warner building and I found myself walking over here. I’m going to meetings three times a week now. I’m so much better. Do you remember that night when we had dinner here when everything was so perfect?”
She unconsciously nodded. Charlotte’s heart stopped as she listened to Aaron’s plea. She was afraid to turn around and see Aaron. She was afraid she would run into his arms and unconditionally forgive him. She could move back into his perfect apartment and resume their perfect lives. Then vividly she saw visions of being hit, her head pounded against the floor, the shock of seeing her naked bruised and battered body in the cold light of the bathroom. Thoughts started rushing through her mind: Do I do the smart thing—walk away and never look back or should I stop and have a meaningful discussion with him? Could I tell if he is more in control? Shouldn’t I think about Ashley? Should I move back to Phoenix? That would be tough, but I could do it—I’m stronger now, at least I think I am.
“Please stop and talk to me. Can we get a cup of Starbucks and talk? Please Charlie—just stop and talk to me.”
A favorite saying of her mother’s came to mind—Live with no excuses and love with no regrets. Now that saying made sense to her. Charlotte took a deep breath; suddenly her dilemma was resolved. Decision was made. She turned around to face Aaron. Her head was clear and she was positive the option she chose would made her happy.
The End
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to thank my family, especially my husband, Jim, for his understanding while I ignored him and spent numerous hours on the computer. My friends have always been so supportive and helpful; I love and appreciate each one of them (you know who you are). Also a special thanks to all who read my first book, The Party at Sinatra’s House and encouraged me to continue writing.
Again, my dear friend, Carole Cottam, gave me great fashion advice on how to dress my characters, especially Judith, the wealthy, trendsetting icon. Carole also read and edited the some of the book’s chapters before I submitted my novel to agents. Thank you for your fashionable expertise.
I congratulate Ireland’s author, Denyse Woods, the actual winner of the 2016 Florida Keys Flash Fiction Contest. Her five-hundred-word short story, “Wallpaper” is a very colorful, descriptive essay. I hope her ten-day stay in Hemingway’s writing studio was as fulfilling as my fictional Alexis Strong Caldwell’s and she, too, will soon have a bestselling novel.
I am very thankful that Hurricane Irma didn’t destroy Hemingway’s house in the Keys. Thanks to the heroic efforts of David Gonzales, the actual curator of the Hemingway Home and Museum, and his dedicated staff who stayed in the basement of the house throughout the hurricane to protect the property and the famous cats.
The Girl in Hemingway's Studio Page 30
