by Maggie Ryan
“Your famous cornbread? With the actual corn niblets, cheese, and jalapeños?” Charlie asked, her mouth already watering.
“Of course. Why bother making it if it’s not Mexican cornbread? Oh, and a bottle of wine that we won’t have to dilute with soda in order to drink it.”
Charlie laughed, remembering countless bottles of cheap wine they’d shared. “Sounds wonderful. I don’t have much to unpack, so I’ll be down in just a few.”
Once Martha left, Charlie emptied the contents of her duffel into the top two drawers of the dresser and hung the navy blazer and pants in the closet. She unloaded her laptop onto the desk and took her toiletry bag across the hall. The bathroom was just as pretty as the guestroom. Seeing the tray of paper hand towels, decorated with little blue and yellow flowers, the new bar of soap still in its pretty wrapper, and the little folded triangle on the toilet paper roll, Charlie had to grin. How in the hell Martha had been able to room with her, she truly didn’t know. Perhaps Martha’s tidiness was an innate characteristic that enabled her to be so perfectly suited for her job as an accountant. Everything lined up in a row, the answer just waiting to be tabulated.
As for herself, her life had never been neat and tidy, and yet there was just something about having a jumbled mess, a puzzle to solve, that she found fascinating. Giving her hands a quick wash, she left the bathroom and went downstairs to truly begin her vacation.
“God, that was even better than I remembered,” Charlie said as she sat back from the table.
“Thanks,” Martha said, standing to begin clearing the dishes.
“Here, I’ll do that. You cooked. I’ll wash,” Charlie offered.
“No, I’m just going to stick them in the dishwasher. How about you pour us another glass of wine?”
Charlie did so, and with the dishwasher humming, the two women took their wine into the living room. Settling in a large, overstuffed chair, Charlie took a sip of her wine. “You’ve done a great job, Martha. Everything is so pretty. You’ve really made a home for yourself.”
“Okay, now that we’ve established I’m a Martha Stewart wannabe, and you are the reincarnation of Emily Post, enough with the polite chit-chat. How the hell are you really, and don’t give me any of that ‘I’m fine, never better’ bullshit.”
Taken aback, Charlie could only stare across the coffee table. “Wow, where did that come from?”
Martha tucked her legs up beneath her and shook her head. “Honestly? Have you looked in a mirror lately? Have you gone all earth-mother? They make products now that could easily conceal those circles under your eyes, and what’s up with your hair?”
“Anything else?” Charlie asked, not sure if she’d been insulted or if Martha was the first person in ages to be brave enough to state the truth.
“You know I love you, right?”
That Charlie did know. Sighing, she sat back and nodded. “Yeah, even if you have a funny way of showing it. But, please, feel free to tell me what you really think.”
“All right, I will,” Martha said. “If you needed a loan, all you had to do was ask.”
“What? Why on earth would you think that? I do have a paying job, you know.”
Martha shrugged. “How could I not? I mean, have you seen what you’re wearing? Charlie, the grunge look might be making a reappearance, but, honey, it is definitely not a good look on you.”
When Charlie couldn’t come up with a single thing to say about the torn jeans or the bulky, oversized sweater she was wearing, Martha continued, “Look, I wouldn’t say anything except that I love you very much. And, Charlie, my job might not be as exciting as yours, but I do know how to add. What I’m seeing doesn’t add up. And, at the risk of you telling me to shove it, don’t tell me you are just peachy.”
“Why the fuck does everyone suddenly seem to think I’m on the brink of falling into some abyss of depression?” Charlie asked. “I’m a fucking grown ass woman, and if I don’t want to put on any fucking makeup, fix my fucking hair, or wear fucking clothes that don’t have fucking men drooling all over me, then I don’t see how in the fuck that is anybody’s fucking business but my own!”
“I think that must be some kind of record.”
“What?” Charlie wondered if the drive up from Texas had taken more out of her than she thought as she was having a tough time keeping up.
Martha took a sip of her wine and then set the glass on the table, lifting both of her hands, all ten fingers spread. “Let’s see, ‘why the fuck’, ‘what the fuck’, ‘fucking grown ass woman’, ‘fucking makeup’, ‘fucking hair’…” For each utterance of the f-word, Martha curled a finger into her palm. With the first hand now a fist, she shook her head and continued. “Then we have ‘fucking clothes’, ‘fucking men drooling’, ‘how in the fuck’, and, finally, ‘nobody’s fucking business’.” With all but the pinky finger of her second hand counted, she looked across the space, giving her head a tilt.
“Oh, fuck you,” Charlie said, defeated as Martha grinned and tucked her pinky finger in as well. “How on earth do you remember all that?”
“I’m very good with numbers and repetitive patterns,” Martha said as she stood and came to where Charlie was sitting, kneeling at her side. “I’m also a very good listener, and, sister, if there has ever been somebody who needs an ear, it’s you. I promise, I won’t judge, I won’t interrupt, I’ll try not to tell you how to live your life, but I also promise, you’re safe here with me. For God’s sakes, Charlie, talk to me before you are so deep in the abyss you’ve fallen into that you can’t find your way out.”
“What if I’m already too deep?” Charlie asked.
“Then, honey, I’ll just have to come in after you.” Martha gave her a hug and then sat back on her heels. “And, we both know I won’t give up until I’m satisfied all the columns align and we find the answer.”
Charlie upended the last of the second bottle of wine into her glass. Hours had past as she poured out all the emotions she’d kept bottled up inside. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine that made her feel light headed, or if it was the weight that seemed to lift from her with every confession she made. She divulged that sometimes her job had her so scared that she didn’t know if she could function. That she continued to take training, to push herself to the limit, so that no one would think she was weak. She admitted that sometimes all she wanted to do was cuddle up in bed and stay there for days. Leaving nothing out, she told Martha about the night of the sting and how she’d fallen apart in the bathroom, how she’d felt so filthy.
As Martha had promised, she didn’t judge Charlie for the anger or the guilt. She didn’t judge her for the countless nights Charlie had cried herself to sleep. When Charlie felt she couldn’t go on, Martha would open her arms and hold her until she felt stronger. Her friend did exactly what Charlie needed… she just listened.
“I keep telling myself that, with time, things will get better, you know?”
“Honey, if you’re waiting for some magic timer to buzz and make it all go away, I hate to say it, but you might as well wait for some leprechaun with a pot of gold to come riding in on a unicorn.”
Charlie shook her head. “No more wine for you.”
“I’m serious. Charlie, you used to have fun and now, hell, I had to beg you to come visit me. I know you’re a good agent. I know you want to serve your country, but, honey, at what price? Hell, when was the last time you just did something for fun?”
“I took some training—”
“Oh my God! You just proved my point. You took some training? Seriously? That’s all you’ve been doing for years. Face it, you’re Bill Murray.”
“I know you said I look like crap, but really? Gee, thanks.”
Martha giggled and shook her head. “You know what I mean. Like in that movie, Groundhog Day. You keep waking up and repeating the same day over and over again.” She reached over and tucked a curl behind Charlie’s ear. “It is time to kick the furry little sucker into the abyss and cli
mb out and move on.”
“What happened to the ‘don’t tell me how to live my life’ promise?” Charlie asked.
“I said I’d try not to, but we both know that isn’t going to happen,” Martha said, unapologetically. “And, evidently I’m not the only person to tell you this.”
“No one has ever called me Bill Murray,” Charlie countered, sipping her wine.
“I don’t mean that. I mean you said everybody was trying to tell you what a sad ass life you’re leading. Who did you mean?”
Charlie sighed. “First of all, I never said anything about leading a sad ass life. I am perfectly content with my life, thank you very much!”
“Sure you are,” Martha said with a grin. “You forget, girlfriend, I’ve seen you very contented and this…” she paused to wave her hand up and down in front of Charlie’s body, “this, is definitely not contentment.”
“I think you’re in the wrong field, Martha. You should have signed up to be an interrogator or something.”
“No, I don’t give a shit about what makes most people tick, but I do care about you. So, who was this guy?”
“How do you know it wasn’t a woman?”
“I’m also good at statistics. And, since I’d have to kill you if I found out that you finally opened up to some other woman instead of calling your best friend, I decided to go with the other half of the options available. So, come on, please tell me it’s someone you’re seeing.”
“No, not seeing,” Charlie said. “Just a guy I worked with on this last assignment. His name is Dillon and he’s with the FBI. One of the good guys.” She turned her head and gave Martha a long look. “He’s called a couple of times just to check in. In fact, he sort of reminds me of you. You know, like a dog with a bone?”
Martha grinned. “So, he cares about you, huh?”
Charlie shook her head. “Like I said, we were partnered on and off for the past six months.” She paused and smiled. “And before you get ready to play match-maker, I blew that chance when I refused to date him.”
“What? Why would you do that? Do you know how hard it is to find a good guy?”
It was Charlie’s turn to wave her hand in the air as if pushing away the question. “Job, temporary assignment, different career paths.” Catching her friend rolling her eyes, she sighed. “Yeah, I know, but he’s a good friend, and Dillon moves around as much as I do. Besides, he and his partner Lucy are a perfect team and in demand all over. They are a perfect match.”
“So? It’s not like he’s married to her is he? Wait, he isn’t, is he? This Dillon just lost his good guy status if you ask me,” Martha said. “Why would he ask you out if he’s with Lucy? That’s a pretty shitty thing to do!”
Charlie shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean, look at me. Why would he even think about asking Bill Murray out when Lucy is so beautiful? She has the silkiest hair, these incredibly soulful eyes, the sweetest smile, the patience of a saint, and the cutest little pointed ears. She’s just perfect.”
Martha’s eyes narrowed. “So, she’s what, a Vulcan?”
Charlie laughed. “No, she’s a German Shepherd. Dillon trains agents in the K-9 unit when he’s not out working cases himself.”
“God, I’d forgotten what a smartass you are,” Martha said, tossing a throw pillow at her. “But, back to the real point. You said he also talked to you? About what?”
Sighing, Charlie tucked her legs underneath her and hugged the pillow. “He told me that my life is pretty awful. That I work too hard, push myself too much, volunteer for any and all missions, yada yada yada.”
“And?”
“Well, he didn’t call me Bill Murray but he did seem to wonder if I’m really a girl—even though he saw me stark naked.” She gave a strangled laugh. “Hell, maybe you’re both right. Have I really forgotten what it’s like to just be a woman?”
Charlie leaned her head back against the sofa as exhaustion washed through her. She couldn’t remember not feeling tired. Was this how she wanted to feel for the rest of her life? Why bother getting out of bed if this was all she had to look forward to? Turning her head to look at Martha, she said, “If I admit that I need to reevaluate my life, will you let me go to bed?”
“No, but I’ll let you get some sleep if you promise that moving on includes meeting new people and not just a change of locale. You’re a young, healthy, beautiful, intelligent woman, Charlize Elena Fullerton. It is far too soon for you to say this is the best it’s going to be.”
“Make up your mind, Martha Louise Transom. First I’m a fashion plate for the grunge movement, then I’m Bill Murray, and now I’m gorgeous?”
Martha laughed. “I promise, you are all three, but, we’re going to be working on retiring the first two.”
“All right…”
“Starting tomorrow,” Martha qualified. “And you have to pinky swear.”
“Seriously? What are we, twelve?”
“No, as my best friend said, ‘we are grown ass women who are going to make the most out of our lives’.”
Charlie smiled. “You know, for an accountant, you sure do take a lot of liberties with adding a bunch of words I didn’t say.” When Martha just smiled, Charlie stuck out her hand, her pinky finger crooked. Martha hooked her pinkie and they shook. Martha then stood and pulled Charlie to her feet.
“I’d offer to help you clean up this mess, but I’d hate to tarnish your image, Ms. Stewart,” Charlie said as she kicked aside an empty chip bag, and saw several other crumpled bags and open containers of things she couldn’t honestly remember tasting. “God, did we really eat all that crap?”
“We did and don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up. You need to get some sleep. We’ve got a very busy day planned tomorrow.”
“Planned? I don’t remember planning anything,” Charlie said, as they walked to the stairs.
“Don’t you worry. Just consider me your personal vacation planner. I promise, you’re going to love it.”
Too tired to argue, Charlie just nodded. “Good night, Martha.”
“Good night. Oh, and Charlie?”
Charlie turned back to look down the staircase. “Yes?”
“I really am glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad too.” Charlie made it up another three steps before she turned around again. “Hey, what happened to blowing me away? All we did was talk about me.” Martha’s smile had Charlie’s lips turning up. “Wow, that good, huh?”
“Unbelievable, but I think I’ll save it. It can be the carrot I dangle in front of you while I kick your ass when you start to dig your heels in.”
Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. “I love you, you big goofball.”
“I love you, too. Now, go to bed.”
Chapter 4
“Seriously, Martha, I’m done.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to give in.
“Ohhh, is that your big tough ‘don’t mess with a federal agent’ look? Am I supposed to start cowering now and confessing to every unsolved crime?”
“I have been tweezed, plucked, trimmed, painted, waxed, poked, and prodded. I’ve been pounded, boiled, and dunked into an ice bath. I’m telling you, I am done, finished, through. So, exactly what part of finito don’t you understand?”
Martha extended her little finger and wagged it up and down. “Pinky swear, so lose the attitude, put your arms down, and go try this on.” Martha held out the hanger again, and when Charlie didn’t immediately reach for it, Martha added, “Didn’t your grandmother always tell you to make sure you have nice undies on?”
“I’m pretty damn sure she didn’t mean those kind of undies,” Charlie said.
“Aw, come on, Charlie.” The hanger swung back and forth, like a pendulum. “See the pretty little panties? The sexy as shit bra? Come on, girlfriend. You know you can’t wait to see how they look on.” Martha tilted her head. “Unless, of course, it’s been so long since you’ve actually worn something sexier than a sports bra and grannie panties that you
can’t remember there are actual hooks and lace involved? Wait, let me get my phone. I’m sure there must be some video on YouTube—”
“Give me those,” Charlie snapped, reaching out and snatching the hanger from Martha’s hand. Not because she wanted to try them on, but because she heard several customers giggling, obviously loving the ridiculous conversation. “I could so take you down,” she muttered as she whirled around and stomped towards the dressing room. “I’m getting a little tired of the stick. Where’s the damn carrot you promised?”
“Be a good girl and model for me, and I’ll not only take you to Starbucks, I’ll buy you a piece of carrot cake and we’ll talk,” Martha promised, leaning against the wall opposite the door that Charlie had practically slammed in her face. After a few muttered words, Charlie called out. “I don’t see why I have to get new underwear. It’s not like anyone is going to see it.”
“That just makes me want to cry,” Martha said. “Stop being a brat and show me.”
A few moments later the door unlocked, and Charlie allowed Martha into the dressing room. “Wow! You’ve got boobs!”
“Very funny. You’ve seen my boobs, my butt, my everything today,” Charlie retorted. “When you said spa day—”
“I meant every word,” Martha said, cutting her off. Placing her hands on Charlie’s shoulders, she turned her to face the full-length mirror. “You can’t tell me that you don’t look incredible.”
Charlie looked at her reflection, her determination to remain pissed slipping away. When Martha removed her hands, Charlie turned and then stared back over her shoulder. “Okay, fine. They look pretty good.”
“Pretty good? Girl, you look hotter than shit. How you can be so skinny and have such great tits and an ass I’d die for, I’ll never know.” She reached out and hugged her friend. “Seriously, Charlie, you look great. Now, wait here, I’ll go get the rest.”
