by Gina Azzi
“Plan to stay for dinner one night. Whatever works for your schedule.” I grab her winter coat from the hook and hold it open for her. Where the hell did that come from? But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how much I want her to say yes.
She glances up at me, her blue eyes sparkling. “I hope you’re not cooking…”
I snort, shaking her coat until she slips into it. “I’m not that bad.”
“You’re not,” she agrees, pulling her hair out of the back of her coat. It’s different than she used to wear it. While the golden hue is the same, her hair now falls in soft waves instead of a straight curtain down her back. She pulls on a hat and I grin, drinking her in.
“What?” she asks.
I shake my head. “You’re cute, Charlie Adams.”
Her mouth parts slightly, confusion swirling in her eyes. She has no clue what the hell to do with my response. She recovers in the next instant, wrinkling her nose. “The cutest,” she agrees and I chuckle.
“So, dinner one night?” I ask again.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious…” My fingers brush over the soft wool of her scarf.
“Okay. We’ll figure out a day,” she says quickly, her eyes darting from mine.
“Okay.” I drop my hand and force myself to open the door. But I don’t want her to leave. Because this, right now, is nice. It’s easy and familiar, and I’m suddenly longing for pieces of what was and isn’t anymore. “Drive safe, Charlie.”
She nods, staring at me for a long beat. Her expression softens, and a small smile glances off her lips. Some mutual understanding seems to pass between us. She releases a shaky breath and rolls her eyes. “See you, Ev.”
4
Charlie
“Dude, that’s your babysitter?” Ollie’s friend stage whispers as I near the iron gate to his private school.
I stifle a laugh and glance around the expansive campus to pretend I didn’t hear as Ollie elbows him in the ribs.
Gorgeous, red brick historic buildings blend seamlessly with more modern aesthetics. The football field is pristine, the school’s mascot stamped into each end zone. Meticulously cared for quads, adorned with seasonal plants, wrap around the buildings like warm hugs. Bryn Madison Prep is absolutely nothing like the shitty public school Zoe and I graduated from.
There were no arched windows or gazebos to lunch in. There definitely weren’t mandatory uniforms and sports like rowing and fencing. For sure, I wasn’t considering university acceptances as a ten-year-old, either.
“Hey Ollie.” I grin at him as I pass the gate. Tugging my scarf tighter around my neck, I stick my tongue out at him. When I was in school, there was no outdoor play in below freezing temperatures, either. No one was that invested in “fortifying our spirits.”
“Hi Charlie.” He lifts his hand in a wave. In the next moment, he ducks his head, a blush working up his cheeks.
Tilting my head toward the teacher with a clipboard, I say, “Gather your things. I’m going to sign you out and we’ll head home.”
“Okay,” he agrees, running off, his friends chasing him. Their feet pound the cold ground, boots stomping, arms pumping, and wind whipping against their energetic pursuits.
Clad in pressed navy slacks and wool coats, scarves around their necks and hats on their heads, the kids look like future CEO’s, doctors, and investors in the making. But the pure joy on their faces when they tackle each other speaks to their true ages and that makes me smile.
“I’m here to sign out Ollie Holt,” I tell the woman with the clipboard. “I’m Charlie Adams.”
She scans a list before nodding. “Oh yes. Right here. You will be sitting for the Holts until the holiday break?”
I nod, swallowing back some of the ire that rises in my throat at her dismissive “sitting for the Holts” comment.
“Sign here, next to Oliver’s name.” She thrusts the clipboard at me, and I pick up the pen, scrawling my name.
“I’m all set,” Ollie announces his arrival.
Offering the woman a tight smile, I spin toward the man of the hour. “Let’s go.”
“Are we walking home?” Ollie asks, his eyebrows dipping low over his nose as he falls into step beside me.
“Yeah, man. My mom needed her car today.”
“What happened to your car?”
“I sold it before I moved to New York. Come on,” I say, laughing, “it’s like, three blocks.”
“Dad will get you a car if you need one,” he says easily, shrugging.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need one. We need to learn to rely on ourselves for what we need, not other people. It’s a little different when it’s your dad, but sometimes you need to sort things out on your own.”
Ollie glances up at me, his eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t your dad help you?”
“My dad died when I was in college,” I admit, wrinkling my nose. The back of my throat stings at the mention of my dad, which is ridiculous, because I actually like talking about him. Not talking about him makes me feel like I’m forgetting him, and even though he put my family through hell, he was my very best friend.
“Oh,” Ollie says quietly. “My mom left, too. I haven’t seen her since I was five.”
“That really sucks.”
His neck snaps up as I kind of, sort of, swear in front of him. But that will definitely be our little secret.
“I miss her,” he adds after a moment, as if deciding he can trust me with his confession.
“I’m sure you do. I miss my dad so much. I used to talk about him all the time after he passed, but it made other people uncomfortable so I stopped.”
“Me too. No one likes it when I talk about my mom. Especially my dad. He gets this look on his face like he does when I forget to make my bed. Like he’s not mad…but disappointed.”
Sympathy wells inside of me as I take in Ollie’s forlorn expression. I can only imagine how difficult it is for Evan to grapple with the hard truth that his ex-wife left him and Ollie for her next fix. But I can also empathize with how difficult it must be for Ollie to be curious about his mom and not have any of the answers. “Well, sometimes people deal with loss differently. Maybe it’s hard for your dad to talk about your mom because he doesn’t know what to say. But if you want to talk about her with me, you can.”
“Really?”
“Really. Sometimes, we need to teach people that it’s okay to be uncomfortable. It’s okay to talk about things that are hard and painful and awkward. Because if we never talk about them, they only become harder and more painful to even think about.”
He bites his bottom lip, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If I talk to you about my mom, will you talk to me about your dad?”
“For sure,” I agree easily, bumping my arm against his.
“My mom used to make me chicken noodle soup when I was sick.”
“My dad taught me how to hot wire a car.” I laugh.
“What’s that?”
“It’s how you start a car when you don’t have the key,” I admit, the memory of my dad teaching me how to do it in case I was ever “jammed up” warming my chest with memories of him.
“Isn’t that illegal?” Ollie asks skeptically.
“Only if you’re trying to steal the car.”
He stares at me for a full beat before he bursts out laughing.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I chuckle.
“No way.” He shakes his head. “Dad’s don’t teach you how to break the rules.”
I smile, not admitting that my dad was one hell of a rule breaker. His shenanigans would have made Evan, and apparently Ollie, too, break out in hives.
We turn the corner to his street.
“What are we going to do today, Charlie?”
“What do you want to do today?” I ask, fishing the house key out of my pocket.
He shrugs, waffling from foot to foot.
“Do you have to pee, or do you have an idea you’r
e too chicken to ask?” I unlock the front door and push inside, quickly turning off and resetting the alarm.
Ollie follows behind me, laughing. He kicks off his boots and hangs his coat in the hall closet. Stashing his mittens and hat, he turns toward me. “I remember how you always did crafts and scrapbooking and….art stuff.”
“I still do all that art stuff.” I hang my coat next to his.
“Well…”
“Spit it out, dude.”
“I was wondering if you could help me make my dad a Christmas present.”
“Totally.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“So?”
“You should ask some questions before you just agree to something.”
I snort. Man, he’s a skeptical kid. It’s almost comical the way he lifts his eyebrow, slanting his head quizzically. In some of his mannerisms, I see Evan’s lawyering ways peek through.
“Okay, counselor. What’s your idea?”
Ollie turns toward the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get an after-school snack, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“If it involves me getting up at the buttcrack of dawn or swimming in the Chicago River, I’m out.”
He laughs and I smile at the back of his head, relieved I can make him laugh after all our time apart.
Setting the table with two place settings, I roll my eyes at his folded napkins, even though my heart expands at his sweet gesture.
Ollie sets two Oreo cookies on each of our plates and pours us each a glass of milk.
“Shouldn’t I be doing this for you?” I ask, biting into a cookie.
He shrugs.
“I’m surprised you’re going to eat an Oreo and not a bran muffin,” I press.
He giggles, dipping his head again.
“Tell me your plan, Ollie.”
“I want you to help me paint a treasure map.”
“Say what?” I lean forward. “Where’s the treasure?”
“It’s an adventure, Charlie. The treasure is the experience,” he explains matter-of-factly.
“Okay, well, what’s the experience?”
“Do you know how to ice skate?”
“Yes…”
“So does my mom. She taught me, which everyone is surprised about since Dad played hockey in college.”
“Really? I had no idea your dad was a hockey player.”
Ollie nods.
“That’s cool. My dad taught me how to ski. And how to paint.”
“My mom never skied. I don’t remember a lot about her. Just that she used to make chicken noodle soup and oatmeal raisin cookies. And on Saturday mornings, when it was really early, Dad, Mom, and me used to go ice skating on Shawne Pond. We would skate until we were frozen. Then, we would go to Aly’s Pancake House for chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate.” Ollie’s eyes twinkle as he recalls memories from before. I wonder how much of them are true memories and how much are retellings of the same story over and over. But it doesn’t matter, does it? The most important thing is he’s hanging onto something that made him feel special, loved, part of a family. And he wants to recreate that feeling.
“I learned to skate on Havers Pond,” I offer.
“That’s a good pond, too.”
“It is. Do you still skate?”
His smile slips, and he shakes his head. “No. I mean, just at school for physical education.”
“You guys have an ice rink at school?” I ask, impressed.
“The pond is so much better.”
“Totally. Do you want to go skating at the pond?” Maybe Evan will let me take him?
“Yes!” He claps his hands together, his expression morphing to one of excitement. “That’s the adventure. After Mom left, we never went back to the pond. Or Aly’s Pancake House. I started going to Bryn Madison and playing soccer and taking swim lessons…”
“You’ve got a pretty strict schedule,” I say slowly, trying to gage where he’s going with all this, even though I have a pretty good idea. Ollie wants to create some magic between him and his dad again.
He watches me closely, wariness hugging his features. “I want to make an adventure.”
I smile instantly, and some of the fear in his eyes eases. “Keep talking, hot shot.”
“I want to take my dad skating at Shawne Pond. And to Aly’s to eat pancakes and drink hot chocolate. The two of us. We don’t ever do things like that. I mean, he comes to my soccer games and stuff, but we don’t ever just…hang out.”
I nod, my throat squeezing at the loneliness in his voice. It’s no secret that Evan works insane hours. I’m sure he’s doing his best to juggle all the things but recalling his panic over Kaylee’s schedule change makes me wonder if it’s all becoming too much. Are the balls starting to fall no matter how hard he tries to keep them in the air?
“Okay, tell me more about this treasure map. Is it like a scavenger hunt?”
Ollie wipes his napkin across his mouth. “Yes. I want to map it all out with riddles, so it’s like a game. And then, the treasure is the skating.”
“I love this idea.”
“You do?”
“It’s awesome. You know the best gifts are the ones from the heart, right?”
He rolls his eyes, but I can tell by the pink that tinges his cheeks that he’s pleased with my reaction. “I just never know what to get him. Uncle Eli usually takes me Christmas shopping, but he’s been so busy and Aunt Zoe’s having the baby…”
After he trails off, I read between the lines. Poor Ollie feels like he’s on his own.
“I got you, dude. We’re going to paint the best treasure map, Christmas experience ever. This is so much better than a tie.”
“Yeah!” he agrees, pumping his fist in the air. “Can we get started?”
“Let’s map it all out today. Then tomorrow, I’ll bring over supplies.”
“We’ll need a canvas.”
“True. We’ll sketch it all out this week.”
“And then paint it next week?”
“Yep. We need to leave it for two days to dry.”
“Hm.” Ollie frowns. “I don’t want my dad to see it.”
“What about the basement? Does he ever go down there?” I ask, knowing Evan has a woman who cleans and does the laundry. I can’t imagine any reason why he’d need to grab a mop or fold clothes.
“Not really.”
“I’ll tell him we’re working on something for my job interview and it’s between us…”
“Really?” Ollie’s excitement shines through along with relief that we’re going to be able to keep the surprise a secret.
“Yeah, no worries. Surprises are the best.” I finish my Oreos and pick up my glass of milk. “To making a new adventure.”
Ollie clinks his glass against mine and grins. “This is the best.”
5
Evan
“Hey, hey, where are you off to?” I ask Ollie as he skirts around the living room foyer, skidding to a stop in front of me. I drop my briefcase on the bench inside the front door and cross my arms over my chest, waiting.
He’s breathing heavily. He grasps the molding, lifting one finger to indicate he needs a minute.
My gaze narrows. “Where’s Charlie?”
A flash of panic flares across Ollie’s expression as he turns to look over his shoulder but in the next blink, it’s gone. “She’s coming. Sorry.”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Just working on something for her interviews.”
“Working on something? For her interviews?” What could Ollie help Charlie with for her interviews? Is this why she’s been avoiding me all week? Because of her interviews? “Okay,” I say slowly, but Ollie doesn’t offer more information.
“Now that you’re here, I need a ride.”
“A ride?”
Ollie widens his eyes at me.
What am I forgetting? A flicker of panic ripples through my chest as I rack my mind. I come up empty, my frustration
with myself flaring. After hours of staring at my computer screen and legal briefings, constantly interrupted by phone calls, I can barely keep my ten-year-old’s extracurricular schedule intact.
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
My heart sinks, my chest tightening. I clearly did, but what the hell did I forget?
“I’m sleeping at Keith’s tonight,” Ollie supplies.
“That’s right.” I snap my fingers, forcing a grin. “I didn’t forget. You need a ride to Keith’s.” I pull my car keys out from my pocket.
“It’s his birthday…”
Shit! I didn’t buy a gift.
“Here you go, Ollie.” Charlie enters the foyer, holding out a birthday gift bag with tufts of neon tissue paper. “Don’t forget the card you made.”
“Right. I’m just going to grab my bag.” Ollie takes the gift and races up the stairs.
I rock back on my heels, a little bit in shock.
Charlie got Keith a birthday gift? She’s only been sitting for him for a week, and she remembered a gift? Ollie is packed? He made a card?
“I hope you don’t mind.” She wrinkles her nose at me, her gaze flickering over my confused expression.
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “Not at all. Thank you, Charlie. I can’t believe I —”
“Don’t worry about it,” she cuts me off as Ollie bounds back down the stairs.
“I’m going to be late, Dad,” he tosses in my direction before wrapping an arm around Charlie’s waist. “Thanks for today.”
“Anytime, Ollie.” She grins down at my son, ruffling his hair. “Have fun at Keith’s party. Make sure no one puts your hand in warm water after you fall asleep.”
Ollie snickers and heads for the front door.
“If it’s cool, I just need to finish up something that Ollie and I were working on…” Charlie hooks her thumb toward the basement.
Huh?
“I’ll set the alarm and lock up on my way out,” she adds.
“No, it’s fine. Stay, I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I tell her, following Ollie out the door.
“How was school?” I ask him as I back out of the driveway.
