Chapter Thirty

THE MEETING INLA with Donna Cole went very well.

And by “very well,” I mean: I sat nervously in an original Mies van der Rohe chrome-and-leather chair next to Logan while an icon of modern filmmaking rhapsodized for an hour about a surprise screenplay I barely knew I’d written—and then offered me six figures to buy the rights.

Thatkind of “very well.”

Her office was bigger than my family’s entire apartment, by the way. And she had a Georgia O’Keeffe painting—an original painting, not a poster from a museum store—on the wall behind her desk. And she was terrifying.

Terrifying in the most fantastic way.

I didn’t wind up seeing Charlie, though. Donna Cole is an exceptionally busy woman, and the only hole in her schedule happened to be just when Charlie was headed to the Biltmore hotel to receive a screenwriting award.

Another one. He was gonna need a bigger drawer.

Oh, well. So much for the crown braid, mani-pedi, and new moisturizer I’d invested in before leaving town. Not to mention the three different outfits I’d panic-bought—settling on a crisp blue shirtdress and some sandals that actually fit—for nothing.

His loss, I guess.

At the end of the meeting, as Donna was dismissing us, she gave a pretend pout: “I can’t believe Charlie Yates picked getting another award over seeing me.”

“Lunacy,” Logan agreed, as Donna air-kissed him goodbye.

Then she turned her attention to me, and said, “Don’t ever let Charlie write anything again without you.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, feeling like a liar.

Her assistant was waiting for her, but Donna stopped us at the door.

“I almost forgot,” she said.

Logan and I turned back.

“It’s not official, but we’ve got Jack Stapleton attached to star.”

“Jack Stapleton?” I asked. “Attached? To star?”

Logan was smiling like this wasn’t news to him.

“That was all Charlie,” Donna said.

“But,” I said, and this I’d learned from Charlie himself, “I thought only casting directors chose the actors for movies.”

Donna gave a nod like Of course as she said, “Unless the writer and the star happen to be in cahoots.”

“Are they?”

“Jack will do anything for Charlie,” Donna said, nodding at Logan for confirmation. “Didn’t he just go to a hospital in Texas to serenade an old man?”

Logan did not meet my eyes.

Donna was still trying to remember the details. “The man was very sick—just out of the ICU. And Charlie couldn’t stop worrying about him, so Jack offered to pop in randomly—like he’s famous for.”

I looked at Logan.

He looked at Donna.

“And then,” Donna went on, squinting at Logan, like he would probably know, “didn’t he take the nurses aside afterward to say, ‘Please take extra-special care of my dear friend’?”

Finally, Logan glanced my way. “Something like that,” Logan answered. “Yeah.”

THE SECOND WEwere in Logan’s car, I said, “Was she talking about my dad just now?”

Logan pretended to be busy with his seat belt.

“The old man in Texas? That had to be my dad, right?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Logan said, starting the car.

“Logan,” I said, dropping my voice. “You were my friend first.”

Logan considered that as we pulled out of the garage. “Fine. Yes. He asked Jack to pop in and make it look random.”

“Jack Stapleton didn’t pop in. He can’t pop in anywhere. It was total mayhem. One of the nurses fainted.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“The point is, you’re making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal when it definitely was a big deal.”

Logan nodded for a minute, and then he said, “Charlie wanted to look after you, but you sent him away.”

“This is my fault now?”

“Look,” Logan said. “Charlie agreed with you. He didn’t think you should have to see his face, either. So he worked from behind the scenes.”

“Worked to do what?”

Logan steeled himself to break a confidence. “To do nice things for you.”

“Like what? What kind of nice things?”

“You know,” Logan said. “Like upgrading your dad’s room.”

Now I turned to really look at him. “They said we won that upgrade! They were celebrating their ten-thousandth surgery.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“He told the hospital to lie to us? And they just did it?”

“He also made a sizable donation.”

This was an outrage. “He tricked us into being upgraded? I thought we’d won that VIP room randomly—like decent people.”

“Also,” Logan went on, “all those fancy lunches every day.”

“That was Charlie? That wasn’t just… life on the VIP wing?”

Logan shook his head. “That was all Charlie. He got a hotel room after you told him to get out of your sight, and he stayed close by until he knew your dad was okay.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Why do you think?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“He also did the whole thing with the plants.”

“The plants?” I demanded, like now this had gone too far.

“Why are you so mad about this? Those plant studies are real. Charlie can recite the statistics all day.”

“It wasn’t his place to do that stuff.”

“It wasn’t his place?”

“Yes,” I said, doubling down. “That’s totally inappropriate behavior. Would you secretly upgrade a work colleague’s father to a VIP room?”

“If I were in love with her, I would.”

I blinked. “He’s not in love with me,” I said. “He told me he wasn’t.”

But as we pulled up to the Biltmore valet, Logan just said, “I can’t believe you fell for that, either.”

I THOUGHT LOGANwas just dropping me off at the Biltmore, but as I got out—still a little dazed—he handed his keys to the valet.

“You’re—coming in?” I asked.

Logan nodded. “I’m headed to the ballroom.”

I frowned. “What’s in the ballroom?”

Logan met my eyes. “Charlie.”

“Oh,” I said. “This is where the awards ceremony is?”

Logan nodded.

“Did you know Charlie would be here tonight when you booked a room for me in this hotel?”

Logan nodded again.

“Are you tricking me into going to the ceremony?” I asked.

“Not unless you want me to,” Logan said.

“I don’t want you to,” I said.

“Even after finding out about the VIP upgrade?”

“I didn’t ask him to do that,” I said. “I asked him to leave me alone.”

“You should come with me,” Logan said, gesturing at the ballroom. “It would mean a lot to Charlie.”

I flared my nostrils. “Charlie doesn’t care about me—or awards. Don’t you know he keeps them all in a drawer?”

“Yeah. But that’s only because he smashed the glass-front antique he used to keep them in.”

“What do you mean, smashed it?”

“He pushed it over, and it shattered,” Logan said. “On the night his wife left him.”

I took that in.

“He does care about those awards,” Logan said. “And he cares about you, too, by the way.”

But it all felt like too much. “I’m going to pass.”

Logan nodded, like Fair enough. Then he said, “I’m going to send you a three-minute video now, and I want you to watch it right away.”

Logan had a checkered past with sending videos. “What kind of video?”

“A video that I wanted to send sooner.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“I don’t actually have permission to send it even now,” Logan said.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

Logan ignored me. “It’s got some information on it I think you should have. I’ve been hesitating, with your dad being sick. I know you’re going through a lot. But I think you’d rather know than not know.”

“I’d rather know than not know what?”

“It’s a video for you. To you. From Charlie.”

“For me?”

“It’s a video he sent me to send to you—but not yet. Only later.”

“Only later when?”

“Later…” Logan said—and then finished: “After he’s dead.”

Dead? “Logan!” I said, like What the hell? “What are you talking about?”

“Just watch it,” Logan said. “Go up to your room right now and watch it. And when you’re done, I suspect you’ll have a change of heart. I suspect you’ll want to see Charlie, after all. If I’m right, come down to the ballroom. I’ll save you a seat.”

WHAT ELSE COULDI do? I went up to watch it.

I sat at my hotel room desk, opened my laptop, double-clicked the file. And there, on my screen, appeared a video of Charlie. The second I saw it, I knew from his beat-up face exactly when he’d filmed it: it was the night he’d had that bar brawl and come home completely pummeled. The same day he’d gotten that mysterious phone call he’d never explained. He was seated, hunched, on the side of his bed, filming into his phone, rumpled as ever, and exactly as many sheets to the wind as I remembered.

“Emma,” Charlie said into the phone. “If you’re seeing this right now—if Logan sent it to you to watch—then I’m…” Charlie shook his head, like he couldn’t believe the words. “It sounds like the worst kind of bad movie dialogue… but if you’re watching this, then I’m already dead.”

He nodded, like he was letting the idea sink in. “I don’t know why it’s so weird to say that. Everybody winds up dead eventually. What’s actually weird is the way we all think we’re gonna last forever.” Charlie looked up at the ceiling like he was blinking back tears. “I would have liked some more time, though. To be honest. I barely found you. I just found you. Right?” Charlie closed his eyes and made a fist in his hair before going on. “So… it’s late. And you just cleaned up my face and tried to tuck me into bed. But I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep until I say this.” Charlie took a deep breath. “At my well checkup this week… I got a positive screening for metastasized lung cancer.”

Charlie grabbed a fistful of hair and squeezed his eyes closed for a second.

“There are more tests to do and questions to answer,” he went on. “But I’ve been down this road before. And no matter how I turn it around in my mind, the only good place for you… is as far as possible from me.”

He looked away, sucked in a deep breath, held it, then pushed it back out—and as he did, he started coughing.

Hold on—was that why he’d been coughing so much? Not allergies—but lung cancer?

“You’re not going to believe this,” Charlie went on, “but I knew on that first day that I was going to fall for you. You hadn’t been yelling at Logan in my front yard for even sixty seconds before I knew. I felt it. I called it! It was so predictable.”

He took a minute to rub his eyes. Then he went on, “I like you like crazy, Emma. I didn’t even know it was possible to like another person this much.” He shook his head. “And up until today, I wanted nothing more than to make you like me, too.” He frowned, like he was thinking. “Maybe this is my punishment. Maybe you were right about self-fulfilling prophecies. All I know is, I really don’t want to die. And the reason I don’t want to die is because I just want more time with you.”

Charlie paused to cough again.

Then he went on. “That’s the only thing I want. That’s the only thing I can think about wanting. But guess what? I’m going to rise above that. I’m not going to ruin your life. For once, I’m going to put someone else first.” He grabbed another fistful of hair. “I can’t believe your life. You’ve spent ten years taking care of your dad—and you gave up everything to do it. All this time, you’ve kept a lid on that Spindletop of talent you’ve got. It’s so wrong that it happened.”

Charlie slid down to sit beside the bed.

“I lied to you today,” he went on. “And I’m going to keep lying to you. I’ll never tell you about any of this. I’m going to push you away for your own good while I’m still strong enough to do it. And you know why—and you know I’m right. If I don’t, you’ll take care of me just like you did with your dad—and I refuse to be another thing that stops you. You need somebody in your life who lifts you up—not drags you down. Trust me on this. I’ve been through it all before. It’s shitty, I know. But every option I have is shitty. At least this one sets you free.”

Charlie stopped talking, and put his head in his hand, but the camera kept filming.

When he looked up again, he peered straight into the lens.

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” he said then. “I would write a hundred happy endings for us if I could.”

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