An Echo in Time

Chapter 3 BUMPER TO BUMPER

Chapter 3

B UMPER TO B UMPER

In the morning, Charli strips and stumbles into the shower. She managed to sleep without medicinal help, but it was her usual tossing and turning, grabbing her phone every couple of hours to take her mind off the endless hamster wheel of thoughts that gnaw at her.

Once Charli is dressed, she’s racing. There’s no time to eat, as she has to take Tiny for a walk. They step out into the madness of downtown Boston. Another dusting of snow came down around midnight, and people slip and slide over unsalted sidewalks.

Thirty minutes later, she drives to Arlington in bumper-to-bumper traffic. She used to take the Red Line and then switch to a bus but started driving when the T became unreliable. She taps her fingers on the wheel, hoping she’s not late again. As usual, she listens to an audiobook—Barbara Kingsolver’s latest, which deserves the Pulitzer—but her thoughts are elsewhere, so she keeps having to back up by thirty seconds. Eventually she waves the white flag and presses pause.

It’s strange not to wake up to Patrick, or at least to a text from him. Of course, Tiny’s probably happier this way. She’s definitely not going to race into something new. It will be nice to be single for a while and allow herself to regenerate.

Eventually her mind drifts to Viv and her spiritual guide and the family constellation therapy. Charli has often wondered how she and her family have been dealt such a bad hand. Though her father was dragged into the mire, it was her mother’s side that had all the problems. Georgina was a wreck who came from a long line of wrecks, people who’d done time, lost children, gone bankrupt, divorced often, died by suicide, and died young. Was it possible that there was a reason for their struggles? Something more than statistics or inherited genes?

Pulling into the parking lot always draws a sigh out of her, as if the mere sight of this nondescript building is enough to crush her spirit. But she’s made her choices. It was Charli herself, shortly after last year’s bookstore debacle, who said she wanted a job that paid well but required zero attention once she’d left for the day.

Charli tucks into her cubicle and resumes work on an advisory report for a local doughnut chain. She can barely get through a page without stopping to ponder what went wrong. Though it had all fallen apart, at least her father had done something with his life. He’d gone to Harvard, for God’s sake. Charli had crawled her way through UMass on the five-year plan. He’d grown an importing business from his tiny garage apartment in Newton to a company that he could have sold for $30 million at its peak. He started out importing toys, but expanded quickly, including clothing, electronics, and other consumer goods. Now all that’s left are a few articles in the Globe detailing its near demise before a competitor stepped in with an offer William had to accept.

Charli, on the other hand ...

She’d finally found some chutzpah two years ago and started to do something great, but she collapsed under pressure. Having always been a book person, Charli was rarely without one in her hand. Her friends made fun of her because she’d sneak a page in any time she could, even in the elevator. It was only natural that she work at Barnes he had a hundred employees counting on him. Each time he left, he would hug Charli and promise that he’d be back as soon as he could. Then he’d ask her to take care of her mom. No one ever asked if she was okay about losing her brother.

The days when he was gone were hell. Georgina would barely look Charli in the eyes. She’d drink or sleep all day, sometimes pop pills. Charli would tiptoe around, trying not to get in trouble, which she would often. The following four years were a nightmare.

Then Georgina asked for a divorce, which hit William unawares, like a fly ball striking a Red Sox fan mauling a hot dog up in the cheap seats at Fenway. There he was, being a devoted husband despite her deterioration, and she saw nothing but a monster in him. She was suddenly sure that he was cheating on her and lying to her.

She didn’t fight for custody—not a shred—which had crushed thirteen-year-old Charli. Not that Charli had any interest in even weekly visits with her mother, but the idea of not being wanted by her mother stung.

Neither William nor Charli had known that she’d been running around with other men, a fact that had come out only after the ink had dried on the divorce papers and Georgina had walked away with two homes and half the money. The whole tragedy had left William scratching his head in the aftermath. He took the blame and started his own decline. He stopped traveling as much, stopped going into the office. Charli had tried to be there for him, to lift him up, go sailing with him, but even those days had lost much of their joy.

Tiny’s wagging tail threatens to break a window as Charli drives them in her Honda across town to Beacon Hill. After her father opens the front door of his brownstone, Tiny barges in and throws his enormous paws up onto William’s shoulders. He lets it happen, smiles even, which is rare for him these days.

Then it’s Charli’s turn. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, sweetie.” He leans in for a kiss, and she notices his skin is pale. He’s dressed as gray and gloomy as the day outside. Sometimes she wants to shake him, to tell him to pull out of it.

As always, she’s come bearing flowers and a book. It’s her little way of trying to bring some light into his life.

“I don’t think you’ve read Pillars of the Earth , have you?”

He takes the hefty tome. “No, but I’ve heard you mention it.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

She remembers the first of the two times she’d read the story and how her apartment could have been on fire and she wouldn’t have noticed, and she hopes Pillars might cart her father away from his troubles in the same manner.

They walk through the house, following Tiny, who has raced to the back door in a desperate frenzy to get into the yard. Having sold the house where Charli grew up, which is only two blocks down, William has been living here for ten years.

Rugs with a footpath worn into them stretch out over dusty floors. Paintings of sailboats cutting through the sea hang crooked on the walls. Pictures of Charli and her dad standing on the deck or hoisting up the mainsail or sharing the steering wheel can be found on almost every wall. There were some great photos of her mom on the boat with them, too—times that were truly delightful, but like the charming and happy side of Georgina, they’re long gone now.

When Charli was a baby, as William started to make good money, he had caught the sailing bug and become obsessed. He’d bought a forty-five-foot Beneteau sailboat that he named Just What I Needed after the song by his favorite Boston band, the Cars. It’s the only artifact left of those abundant days before his company had gone under.

Charli finds a vase and gives the flowers some water; then they go out into the backyard. Tiny leaps into the snow as if he’s been penned up for years. William and Charli stand on the brick of the patio and watch the Great Dane come alive.

Her dad zips up his jacket and pulls on gloves, looks at her. “So ... what’s going on?” he finally says, his breath turning to fog.

“Oh, you know.” She tries to inject some happiness into her tone, but it’s so hard around him.

He pulls the furry hood of his jacket over his head. “How’s work?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . I don’t know . . . a paycheck.”

Their time together always starts out like this, like a car trying to warm up in the cold. She feels like she’s being reeled into the sadness and fights back. “You know, it’s fine. My boss is clueless, but what boss isn’t? It’s easy work, and I’m saving money. I’m glad to be doing something.”

“You’re a fighter, honey. Always have been.”

She raises her fists. They both know that her failed bookstore cut her off at the knees, and it’s taken a lot for her to come back to her normal self.

“Just like you,” she says, slipping an arm around him. She wishes it were true.

As he kisses the top of her head, Charli considers her role in how his life played out. Could she have done something differently? Does he still hold on to the blame of what happened with Georgina, especially considering how Charli had once rubbed it in his face?

She’ll never forget that day back in the summer of her junior year. As a teenager, she’d become difficult to raise for her single father. It was as if she’d listened to her mother berate her so much that she became the problem her mother always saw.

During a fight with her father over a Dave Matthews Band concert he wouldn’t let her attend, all Charli’s bottled-up frustration and rage had erupted at once. Without holding back, she’d admonished William for not sticking up for her more when her mother came down on her. She’d even gone into details, sharing with him information that he’d never known, like the day Georgina had smashed her dolls.

He’d died a little inside that day, assuming a nearly impossible burden she wished she could take back. No matter how many times she apologized, no matter how hard she tried afterward to carry their household, she will always know that she had knocked the life out of her father. No matter how much it hurts that he wasn’t there to protect her, she’ll never bring it up again.

A year after that big fight, William sat her down and told her that his company had filed for bankruptcy, and that he’d lost most of his money. When she pressed him for a reason, he’d claimed that the industry had changed. She’d later discovered that he’d simply stopped caring, stopped paying the bills, stopped showing up. How could she not own some of the responsibility for that too?

Here he was now, almost ten years into working for the man who bailed him out of bankruptcy, and it must be nearly unbearable to walk through those doors every day. William barely travels at all now and spends most of his time on the phone and computer. Though he is definitely making more than Charli, she imagines he doesn’t do much more than hide in that office and fixate on what could have been.

Charli takes a ball from her jacket pocket and plays fetch with Tiny while she and her dad chat about Ted Lasso and a few other shows that they both like.

Tiny won’t stop. Ten minutes in and he’s still retrieving the ball with gusto. A plane flies overhead, descending toward Logan Airport. They watch it quietly.

She hurls the ball all the way to the back wall. “Patrick and I are over.” It’s taken her this long to admit it, and her father knew better than to bring it up. If his hesitance to ever ask isn’t a telltale sign of her love life, then nothing is.

Her father groans. “I’m sorry.”

Charli hadn’t even introduced them yet, almost as if she knew the end was inevitable. “Yeah, what do you do? And thank you for not saying that the right guy will come along when you least expect it.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Whoever he was, he wasn’t good enough for you. I know that.”

She slips her arm around him again, buries her head in his shoulder. “I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too.” He abruptly changes direction. “Oh, I didn’t tell you, but I think I’m gonna sell the boat.”

Charli swivels her head to her father like a pinball flipper. “What? You love that boat.”

“Yeah, she was good to me, but it’s time. I’m getting older.”

“Dad, you’re fifty-five. There are people sailing out there in their nineties.”

He makes a sound that illustrates his disagreement. “It’s lost some of its luster as I get older.”

Charli’s concern widens as the impact of what he’s saying registers. Aside from her, that boat has been his everything. No matter how hard he worked, or how badly Georgina was torturing him, he became a new man once he stepped aboard, as if even the sight of her charged his soul.

“First you stop going to the Harvard Club, now this. What’s going on with you?”

“Everything’s good,” he says with his eyes on Tiny. He repeats himself in a whisper. “Everything’s good.”

She wants to fix him, but she’s tried fruitlessly since her mother left them. She’s done everything she can to bring him back to life, but he withers away, one day at a time. Come to think of it, she can’t help but wonder if she’s going in the same direction.

Her conversation with Viv pops up like a chipmunk from a hole in the driveway. Is there something larger at play? Why is it that all three of them—Charli, her mother, and father—are stuck in a tailspin?

William tosses the ball for Tiny and is apparently reading Charli’s mind. “How’s your mom, by the way?”

“What’s there to say? She’s asking for money again, thinks you’re storing it all in your account in Switzerland.”

“Yeah, she’s texting me too.”

Her mom took both the Cape house and the chalet in Stowe. Sold the chalet after she blew the millions she took in the divorce. And now she’s down to the Cape house and a few pennies and a black heart made of ashes.

Charli sighs. “Let’s not talk about Mom.” She looks up; the stars are showing through a break in the clouds. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s go open a good bottle of wine and cook together. And talk about how you’re not selling the Beneteau.”

“Honey, don’t bother,” he says firmly.

“I’m serious. Some of the best times I’ve had in my life were on that boat. Viv talks about sailing with you all the time. She’ll be furious. Dad, you tell anyone who will listen that Just What I Needed is a symbol of all the hard work you put in.”

“Yeah, I know ...” William scratches his chin. “But she’s a lot of hard work too. And they raised the slip fees again. You know the tough thing about being my age is you don’t know when you’re going to die. So you have to guess with your money. If you run out, you’re in some trouble. I’d like to leave you something if I can. At least leave you the house.”

“Don’t worry about me. You love being out there, working on her, hanging out with the other sailors at the marina. You even like fixing the head, which is odd and disgusting.”

She gets a smile out of him this time. “We’ll see.”

“No.” She pokes him in the side. “Don’t give me that ‘we’ll see.’ You’re not selling the boat. I’m not done sailing with you.”

He’s staring at Tiny.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“I know I’m preaching to the choir, but have you thought about seeing somebody, a therapist? Maybe trying some medicine?”

“Some things you have to face head-on. I’ll figure it out.”

Will he? “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m digging out of it.”

She wishes she could believe him.

After dinner, she hugs her dad tightly. He tries to smile as she walks out the door, but all she sees is a man who is giving up. She wants to ask him if he’s thought about hurting himself, but she can’t bring herself to do it.

The drive back to her place leaves her puzzling over what to do. Sure, she’s told Viv on occasions that she’s okay living with her own bleak view of the world, but maybe she’s not. She’s definitely not okay with her father’s decline.

What is she going to do about it, though?

The idea of calling Viv’s person reappears, and she tries to push it away, but the notion is stubborn. Is she that desperate? Yeah, maybe. She certainly can’t sit on the sidelines and let her father fall apart.

When she gets back to her apartment, she pulls out the phone. She’s on the couch with Tiny. He rests his head on her lap. He’s so big one of his legs is dangling all the way down to the floor.

Not allowing more time for debate, she dials the number Viv shared. A surge of adrenaline zaps Charli when the woman answers.

She stumbles over her words. “I’m calling ... I might ... a client of yours told me ...” Charli takes a breath. “My name is Charli Thurman. I’m Vivian’s friend.”

“Hi there,” Frances says warmly. “So glad I picked up. I was headed out the door. What can I do for you?”

Charli wonders where to begin. “My family is falling apart. Has been for almost as long as I can remember. My dad’s in real trouble. And when Viv mentioned what you did, it made me wonder if there’s some reason for it. I have to admit that I’m skeptical about everything, but something keeps telling me to call you. I’m in desperate territory.” She pets Tiny’s head. “Do you have any time to see me coming up?”

“Ugh, gosh, Charli. I am slammed right now and have a waiting list, which I’m happy to add you to. But I do have a spot for my family constellation workshop in Costa Rica during the first week of March if you’re itching to get started.”

That’s a month away. “Viv mentioned that, but I don’t think I can pull off a Costa Rica trip.”

“It’s only a few days. I’ve got a great group coming down, and it so happens that someone canceled, and a spot opened up.”

A tiny flicker of hope sparks but dies quickly. “That’s a long way to ... how do I even know it would work?”

“I can’t promise anything, but I suspect there’s a reason you found me.”

Charli laughs out loud. It’s a hopeful laugh, a desperate laugh. And a doubtful one too. As if repairing her family’s damage was so easy. “That is a big commitment.”

“You’re right, it is.”

Excuses shoot off like fireworks in Charli’s mind. It’s a big trip to try out some holistic thingy that she’d never even heard about until last night. Second, everything. Everything is why. Tiny. Work. Money. Leaving her father.

She finally says, “My life is complicated right now. I have this big dog and a new job without any vacation ...”

Frances lets Charli ramble.

Another thirty seconds into her excuses, Charli says, “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. I’m smiling.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because something tells me you should join us.”

“Why do you say that?” The other question: Why does Charli feel hopeful?

“I don’t know,” Frances says. “It’s a feeling. How about you don’t rule it out and tell me what’s going on?”

Charli rarely opens up to people, especially strangers, but for the next five minutes, she spills out the troubles of her life, including how she’s worried about her father and that she isn’t too different.

“So now you know,” she finishes. “I told you more than I’ve told anyone ever. You there?”

“Yes,” Frances says. “I’m thinking. I know it’s a big decision. But I might be able to help you if you can find a way down.”

Charli thinks of Viv challenging her. She wants to be spiritually open-minded; she’s certainly more so than Viv. But Costa Rica? She asks Frances a few questions, trying to understand more of what the therapy entails, including the cost and time commitment.

Charli isn’t broke, as she squirreled away most of what she was going to use to open the bookstore, but she’s trying to protect her savings so she has a cushion to fall back on if she ends up jobless again. At some point, she’d love to put more into her pitiful retirement account, but she’s not ready to take the risk of letting it go just yet.

Frances gives her a two-minute rundown, concluding by telling her that she’ll get a chance to participate in other people’s constellations as well.

Charli says, “But I don’t get it ... what is the end goal?”

“Every experience is different, but most people leave here with less weight on their shoulders. Your father could experience a new breath of life. Same with you and everyone else in your family constellation.”

Charli can’t deny the optimism rising up her spine. “God, I would love that. But I don’t even know if I should leave him right now.”

“You’ll know if you should come. Trust your intuition.”

“Intuition?” Charli says. “It’s my intuition that’s screwed up half of my life.”

“You have to make sure you’re listening to the right voice.”