The Last Time I Saw Her

by Alexandra Harrington

  The pause hung in the air. There it was. Even Max looked surprised by the statement. There was the truth: he hated her because he had to piece his life—the life the three of them used to share—back together. No, Charlotte corrected herself. He didn’t hate her because of that. Max was a good person, whether Charlotte wanted to admit it or not. He resented her because she didn’t have to do that same piecing back together. She had naively thought that the only person who got to hate her was Sophie. But that wasn’t how grief worked, really. It was more like water, seeping into everything. And you couldn’t help what it touched, where it flowed. Max was allowed to hate her not just because he loved Sophie, but because she’d left him behind, too.

  And they both couldn’t ignore the fact that a simple slip, or a split-second difference in timing, and things could have ended differently.

  “Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you love someone,” Max said quietly, focused on the patterned tablecloth on the dining room table. “Sometimes it doesn’t fix shit.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said feebly.

  “No, you aren’t.” He shook his head. “God. Not for anyone but yourself. By the way—there was nothing. Sean has all of ninety-six dollars in his bank account. As far as I’m concerned, this is the last thing we have in common.”

  “What, because we had so much in common before?” she asked bitterly.

  “Yeah, at least Sophie could tolerate us both before.”

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell,” Charlotte snapped. She grabbed the folder from the table and slid the door open with more force than necessary, sending it rattling down the tracks. She stormed out of the house, and Max made no move to stop her.

  eight

  june

  two years earlier

  All Charlotte remembered about the funeral service was shoulders. Shoulders in neat lines in each of the pews, and people gently touching her on the shoulder with quiet, uneasy smiles. Max and Sophie on either side of her, their shoulders pressed together because they never left her on her own. Charlotte always making an effort to keep her shoulders back. Straight. Don’t cry. Halfway through the service when she felt her shoulders sliding down, buckling a bit as she tried to keep a sob inside, Charlotte felt Sophie slip a hand inside hers, felt her press her shoulders into hers, and Charlotte felt a bit stronger.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Charlotte stared down at the scuffed porcelain mug in her hand. The service had just finished. “Nothing,” she said.

  Max raised his eyebrows, watching her from where he was standing. “Something’s wrong.”

  “My dad just died.”

  Sophie gave a tiny, bitter laugh and Max sighed. “Something other than that,” he said.

  Charlotte twisted up her mouth. Whatever. If anyone at this funeral got to be dramatic it was her. And Sean, but she didn’t know where he was.

  “Too much cream,” Charlotte admitted finally, holding the mug out to him. Max took it back and looked inside.

  “It’s not too bad,” he said.

  Sophie stretched up on to her tiptoes to look at the coffee. “Bleh,” she said.

  Max tried to give the mug to Sophie. “Do you want this?” Sophie shook her head. “Do you want me to get another one?” Max asked Charlotte.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Go,” Sophie said to Max, who turned away and took the coffee with him.

  Charlotte pushed herself back a bit farther onto the stage, sticking her legs straight out. The reception was at the Legion hall, just down the road from the old elementary school, where they always held the community lobster suppers. People were milling around the hall in the quiet, funereal sort of way, clutching coffees and teas and little pieces of shortbread. As Charlotte watched them she realized it actually didn’t look that different from when tables were laid out with goods and wares for the Sunday flea market. People kind of had the same demeanour. Her dad had loved the Sunday market.

  Charlotte tilted her head back and looked straight up at the speckled ceiling. Don’t cry. She didn’t know why she was so fixated on not crying. It was her dad’s funeral. Her dad, who was a fisherman and a chronic smoker and exceptionally good at Jeopardy. Who had been young and healthy until last year. Well, maybe not super healthy, hence the chain-smoking, but strong. Indestructible and constant. They buried him at the small cemetery down the Cape John Road and Charlotte couldn’t decide if she was happy or sad she’d have to drive by it every day. She thought, for a while at least, that she just might not look.

  She pictured the misty mornings when she was little, when he’d head off to work early and she’d get out of bed to say goodbye to him. “Be back at high tide,” he used to say to her. She would say something like, “Dad, I’m seven, I don’t know when high tide is,” and he’d explain he’d be back just before supper. Sean was in charge until then, he’d tell her. Usually her dad left so early that they were supposed to be asleep for almost half the time he was gone, but as soon as their dad left the house Charlotte was always awake. Mrs. Duncan, a tiny old lady from down the lane, would come check in on them and stay with them when she had time. Thinking about it later, Charlotte couldn’t believe she and her brother hadn’t burned the house down or stuck a fork in an electrical outlet or something. Even once Charlotte was old enough to understand how tides worked, and how they were usually at different times every week or so, her dad would still tell her he’d be back at high tide.

  Really, Charlotte knew the reason she so badly wanted not to cry was because if she started, she had no idea when she would be able to stop.

  “How’re you doing, CBR?” Sophie reached across and squeezed Charlotte’s knee.

  “I’m okay,” Charlotte lied, because it was the easiest thing to say. “I’m tired. And I don’t know where Sean is.”

  “Do you wanna go look for him?” Sophie asked.

  “Nah. He’ll turn up.”

  Someone had come to stand in front of them and cleared their throat.

  Simon Hale, Max’s father, looked down his very straight nose at them like he didn’t know what he should say.

  “Charlotte,” he began, sounding very much like the young kids from town whose parents had forced them to come up and tell Charlotte they were sorry her dad died, “Max and I are very sorry about your father. He was a good man.”

  Duh, Charlotte thought. It’s not like anyone turned up at a funeral to say the person sucked. Saying he was good was about as obvious as saying he was dead.

  “Uh, thanks,” Charlotte said, looking up to meet Simon’s eye, which was more than she could say for him.

  Simon Hale was tall, quiet, and serious. Half the people Charlotte and Sophie went to school with were in love with him. The other half were in love with Max. Simon had dark hair like his son and the same kind of floppy curls and wide shoulders. Charlotte had never seen a dad smile as rarely as Simon Hale.

  “I don’t know if he and I ever had a conversation that wasn’t about you or your brother,” Simon told her quietly.

  “Oh. Thanks,” Charlotte realized she was repeating herself. “I guess? Uh. Sorry. I know. I know he loved us.”

  Max appeared beside his father and held a new cup of coffee out to her. “This okay?” he asked.

  Charlotte took the mug and inspected it. The coffee was a sort of almond colour. Good. There was a commotion at the far end of the hall and Charlotte looked up to see Sean coming back through the doors, his top button undone and his hair messy. Charlotte didn’t know where he would have gotten booze but hey, it was their father’s funeral. The siblings made eye contact from across the old wooden floor and it was almost like they didn’t know each other. Charlotte felt like they were estranged parents at a kid’s recital but with less to celebrate. Charlotte realized her whole little group had turned around to look at Sean.

  “How’s that c
offee?” Sophie asked, turning back to her. Max swivelled back around to hear her answer. Simon stalked off, his duty done.

  Charlotte raised the mug in a tiny toast and silently called out to her dad. “Peachy,” she said.

  Charlotte could feel something close to her face. She weighed her options, keeping her eyes shut. It was either a ghost-slash-

  murderer (both?), a member of the family of squirrels that her dad said he’d gotten rid of last summer, or it was Sophie Thompson looking for attention. Charlotte took her chances and opened her eyes.

  Sophie was beside her, her face on Charlotte’s pillow and their noses almost touching. Sophie looked wide awake and expectant.

  “You promised that if you slept over you would actually sleep,” Charlotte mumbled, closing her eyes again.

  She could picture the glint Sophie got in her eyes when she was about to ask Charlotte to do something. Charlotte would protest, and then Sophie would get her way. It was a familiar routine.

  “Wanna go for a swim?” Sophie asked.

  “No, it’s like one a.m.”

  “Yes. High tide.”

  “It’s too dark.” Charlotte sniffed and snuggled her face down farther into the pillow.

  “There’s a full moon.”

  “Isn’t that a bad omen?”

  “Well, it’s not like today can get any worse,” Sophie reasoned.

  Charlotte opened her eyes again and looked at Sophie.

  “What?”

  Charlotte rolled over and faced the wall. Sophie made some grumbling noises and sat up.

  “What’s the temperature?” Charlotte asked the wall.

  There was a pause while Sophie checked her phone. “It’s sixteen.”

  “That’s not warm.”

  Sophie shrugged, sensing victory. “It’s not cold. Come on,” she said. “Max is with Leo and they really want to go. Max suggested it. Spend quality time together, you know.”

  “Don’t I get a one-time veto against your crazy ideas on today of all days?”

  “No. Today is why we need to do this.”

  “Ah, shit. Christ.” Sophie was swearing as the four of them tried a hopeless stumble down the rocky bank to the beach.

  “It’s almost like,” Max started, his hands shooting out in both directions for balance, “rock climbing in the dark is a bad idea.”

  “Wasn’t this your idea?” Charlotte asked as she stuck her foot out and tapped her flip-flop on a suspicious patch of tiny flat rocks to test her weight.

  “Hell, no. I’m doing this for you. Sophie told me you wanted to swim.”

  Charlotte sighed, hopping over a downed driftwood log and onto the beach. “I can’t believe she Parent Trapped us again.”

  “I wasn’t even given a choice,” Leo complained from behind Max as the boys clambered down onto the rocky shore. “Max was all: ‘we gotta go, Leo, Charlotte’s dad died, Leo, I know you signed up for a night of Twin Peaks, Leo.’ I mean, no offence, Charlie, but it’s like ten degrees out here.”

  “That’s what I said,” Charlotte agreed.

  “It’s sixteen,” Sophie called testily from ahead of them.

  Sophie was right; the tide was high and the waterline had come to eat up most of the rock and sand. Charlotte watched Sophie slip out of her flip-flops and dip a foot into the water. Even if Sophie was cold, she would never let them see. Never admit defeat. Charlotte stepped forward and joined her, the water swirling around their ankles. It was cold. It was only June, after all, and the Northumberland Strait was never warm until at least July. Still, it felt refreshing. Charlotte took a deep breath and couldn’t really remember the last time she’d done so. The white moon shimmered against the surface of the water like a silver lake on the ocean and Charlotte couldn’t help but think there were reflections of some things in everything else.

  Even though the water was freezing, they were able to splash around for about twenty minutes before Charlotte thought she could feel ice clinging to her eyelashes. She knew that wasn’t possible for June, but still. It felt like it. Max was the most chicken of all of them and only really came in to his hips. Sophie dunked her hair. It was invigorating to feel cold and clean and awake. To be in the same water she’d been in so many times with her dad, who’d help her jump waves and then carry her home. The ocean felt like a tribute to him, and it felt like he was everywhere.

  “Let’s go home,” Sophie finally said. Charlotte had been watching the waves move against the shore while Max and Leo sat back out of the water on a couple flat rocks, towels pulled tightly around their shoulders. “Warm up.”

  They all trooped behind Sophie as she led them back up the bank and over the hill to Charlotte’s house, dripping and shivering. The sky was so clear, all stars and far-off galaxies. That was one of Charlotte’s favourite things about River John—no city meant no light pollution to dim everything out there in space.

  They bumped their way back inside, trying to be quiet because Sean might be sleeping. Sophie was scrubbing her towel into her wet hair while Max pulled chairs up to the wood stove for the four of them. Charlotte was looking through one of the drawers by the fridge for a lighter when a gloomy-looking Sean appeared at the other end of the kitchen.

  “What’re you guys doing?” he grumbled. The moonlight through the window made him look like he was made of stone.

  “Sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you,” Charlotte said, pulling a lighter free from under a few pairs of tongs. “We went swimming.”

  “S’okay.”

  “Charlie?” She heard Max’s voice in the other room.

  Charlotte poked her head out of the kitchen doorway so she could see him. He was holding a white envelope.

  “It was on top of the fireplace,” Max said. “It’s for you.”

  Charlotte felt Sean step forward behind her. On the back of the envelope, Charlotte & Sean was written in straight letters. Charlotte recognized the handwriting. She crossed the room and grabbed it out of Max’s hand and tore the seal open, all in the space of a breath. She could feel Sean reading over her shoulder.

  Dear Sean, Dear Charlotte,

  This is not an emergency letter, or a sad letter, or a goodbye letter. It would only be an emergency if I knew you two didn’t have each other. And it’s not goodbye, either, because you know it’s not true. I’ll be just where you know to look for me. I’ll be around when you need me, somewhere out there in the water. Lord willing, we would have had a lot more time together, the three of us, but I’m sorry that this is how we have to leave things for now. There’s more I could say, but you already know it all. There’s lots we talked about near the end but I wanted you to have it in writing, too. You two were the biggest part of my life and I want you two to have the biggest life. Wherever you go, I hope you take River John and your family with you.

  Hell or high water,

  Dad

  nine

  Her fight with Max, at the very least, made Charlotte determined to prove him wrong. She wasn’t afraid of Sophie. Charlotte gathered herself out of bed the next morning and stopped at the Quik Mart on the way to grab a few Mars bars (Sophie’s favourite).

  Okay, maybe she was a little afraid.

  When she arrived, the bungalow was quiet. Any evidence of the party the other night was gone. An SUV Charlotte had never seen before sat in the driveway—a new ride that she guessed was wheelchair accessible.

  Maybe Sophie wasn’t home. She could leave the chocolate in the mailbox and Sophie could riddle out the meaning herself. Max’s harsh words—and true words, Charlotte reminded herself as she considered running in the opposite direction—tugged at a guilty part of her brain. She sighed. Didn’t exactly qualify as making an effort.

  On her right was a ramp she hadn’t noticed in the dark the night of the party. Sophie had built a new life. She’d had to. Charlotte knocked on the door to avoid
looking at the new wood against the old.

  Denzel barked a few times and there was movement from the inside of the house. After a minute, the door was pulled open. Sophie’s expression shifted from interested to less.

  “I got out of bed for this,” Sophie said, sounding like it was aimed more at herself or Denzel than at Charlotte. Sophie pushed herself back from the door, but the fact that she didn’t slam it in Charlotte’s face made her figure it was safe to come inside. Denzel padded over to her and Charlotte scratched between his ears.

  “What, did you leave something here on Friday?” Sophie asked. “Other than your dignity?”

  Charlotte mimed a fake laugh at the back of Sophie’s head and aimed a kick at Sophie’s Hunter boots beside the door. Sophie turned and raised an eyebrow when they smacked to the ground.

  The doorway opened into Sophie’s living room, which Charlotte had last seen flooded with their classmates. Charlotte folded her arms and leaned her hip against the edge of the sofa. Sophie was at the back of the room near the patio door, where the afternoon sun cast a golden halo around her hair. It was bizarre; Sophie had always towered over Charlotte.

  “I brought you chocolate,” Charlotte explained, stepping forward to place it on the coffee table between them like some sort of sacrificial offering.

  Sophie looked down at the gift for a half second before her eyes flicked away. “Well,” she mused sarcastically, “consider yourself forgiven.”

  Charlotte sighed and a silence fell between them. Thirty seconds in and they already had nothing to say to each other.

  “Tell me what I can do,” Charlotte finally said. “I need things to be okay between us.”

  “That doesn’t do anything for me,” Sophie said, looking out into the yard like she was plotting her escape. “Why would I want to do anything for you?”