Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
I t was the morning after Estelle’s surprise visit. Chuck woke up at six thirty with a nervous energy. It felt as though he’d dreamed about sinking ships and dark water, about screaming French women and lost souls. Trying to dig his way out of it, he did his stretching routine, then showered, got dressed, and went to the dining room for oatmeal and coffee. A few of his friends were already there, up and chatting about their families, about Christmas “just around the corner.” A massive Christmas tree sat in the center of the dining room, its star scraping the ceiling. It reminded Chuck of that film Christmas Vacation. Although when he’d said that to Bethany once, she’d said, “That movie is not funny at all! It’s an insult to Christmas!”
But Chuck found it difficult to slide into conversation with his friends. His voice sounded false.
“Your family will come get you for Christmas, won’t they?” Dan asked as he spooned oatmeal from his bowl.
“They won’t give me a moment to myself,” Chuck tried to joke.
A few people at his table didn’t laugh. Chuck immediately regretted his joke. After all, not everyone had the tremendous family he had. Not everyone had people to spend Christmas with.
Some people couldn’t even afford the retirement facility in the first place. His heart ached for those lost souls.
In his pocket, he had the print-out of Vivian and Travis’s wedding announcement, and he took it out frequently over coffee, looking at those youthful faces. Back in the eighties, Chuck had been in his fifties; he’d thought he was old. But there was still so much joy and heartache awaiting him. Decades of it.
“What’s that, Chuck?” Dan asked.
Chuck folded the newspaper clipping and put it back in his pocket. “Nothing much. Just something I don’t want to forget.” He tapped his forehead. It was common for older people to forget things easily. But Chuck—mercifully or not—remembered almost everything.
Dan laughed. “I have to write everything down, too! That’s old age for you.”
Chuck smiled. It was nice to pretend. He wondered if Dan was pretending, too.
Two hours after breakfast, Oriana and Meghan swung by with more Christmas decorations for Chuck’s suite—plus a platter of homemade cookies, which Oriana and her daughter, Alexis, had baked yesterday evening. Apparently, toddler Benny had helped, too, and spilled flour and sugar all over the kitchen floor. Oriana showed pictures of the wreckage, and Chuck laughed appreciatively. “He’s a boy after my own heart,” he said.
By that, Chuck meant he makes messes, like me.
“We made lemon bars! Your favorite!” Oriana said, unfurling the plastic wrap from the top of the platter. “And Christmas cut-outs and buckeyes and peanut butter blossoms.” She smiled, pleased with herself.
Meghan had already started stringing lights and tinsel around Chuck’s room. Chuck remained in his chair, nibbling a lemon bar and watching his daughter's work. Because it mattered to him and to them, he pestered them about their careers—Oriana’s art deals and Meghan’s trading, a job he’d taught her himself. They talked about the difficulties of working for themselves, which Chuck understood well, having been a longtime entrepreneur and business owner.
Suddenly, Chuck asked a question that seemed to come out of nowhere. He hadn’t even realized he was going to ask it until it flew out of his mouth.
“Do you remember that I wasn’t around very much when you were little?”
Meghan dropped the tinsel and turned to face him. Oriana was trying to open a cardboard box and furrowed her brow.
“You know the story,” Chuck offered. His face was getting hotter by the second. “You know that I was trying to live two lives at once.”
Meghan’s cheek twitched. It was clear that neither of them wanted to discuss this.
“I’m just curious if you remember me not being around,” he said, backing himself in a corner. “Do you resent me for it?”
Oriana’s shoulders sagged. She looked frightened, as though she thought he’d lost his mind.
“Dad, we don’t blame you,” Oriana breathed, reaching for his hand.
Meghan hurried up to the other side of the armchair. “It was a long time ago.”
“But we have so many memories of you,” Oriana said. “You taught us everything we know.”
“Your mother taught you the important things,” Chuck reminded them. “She taught you to be honest and kind.” He folded his lips and muttered, “I hope I taught you to care about more than just money. It’s all I used to care about. And I think I poisoned half the Colemans because of it.”
Meghan bent down beside him. She was the calmer of his two daughters; she didn’t fly off the handle the way Oriana sometimes did.
“Don’t talk yourself into that narrative,” she said softly. “You taught us how to love. You taught us how to pass that love onto our families. You are a strong and wonderful father. Please, don’t forget that.”
Chuck’s heart shattered. He fell silent and allowed his daughters to continue their work, decorating his little suite with more Christmas flair than any man could ever need. Frequently, he spotted them exchanging worried glances. He knew they’d have numerous conversations later, telling each other he’d just gotten so old.
For lunch, Roland and Grant swung by the retirement facility. It was a surprise, although Chuck worried it was all because of his “panic moment.” Maybe his daughters had called his sons to come make sure their father was all right. But his sons brought no air of worry. Instead, the five of them sat in the dining room and swapped old stories, sharing food and laughing together as snow swirled outside.
Toward the end of lunch, Grant was in heavy conversation with Meghan, and Oriana got up to use the bathroom. It left Chuck “alone” with Roland, his eldest.
He still remembered the exhilarating magic of holding his firstborn in his arms for the first time.
He blinked tears out of his eyes.
“Did Estelle mention she stopped by a few times?” Chuck asked.
“She did,” Roland said. “She’s heavily researching her next novel. It seems like you’ve seen her more than me.” He laughed. “I love it when she gets so immersed. Chasing a story is like magic for her.”
Chuck tilted his head. He wondered how much of the story Estelle had told Roland. Had she asked him, Why is your father so obsessed with this shipwreck?
But she was obsessed, too.
Midafternoon, Roland, Grant, Meghan, and Oriana left the retirement facility, citing things they had to take care of at home and at the store and online and elsewhere. When you’re young, there’s so much to do , Chuck thought. They hugged their father and promised they’d be back soon. Chuck waved goodbye and headed back to his room, worried that the immensity of the Christmas decorations would depress him.
Chuck took the long way back to his suite. He waved to Claire, who was wheeling a guy even older than Chuck through the halls. He even stopped at the front desk to wish everyone a happy afternoon. But the woman behind the counter—one with another ridiculous Santa hat—spoke to him in an overly bubbly voice, one that reminded him that people younger than him no longer respected him, not now that he was so gosh-darn old. It depressed him.
Chuck walked toward the room with the large television to see what was on. Like always, at this time of the year, they were showing Christmas films. He didn’t recognize this one, but the main character was beautiful, and the love interest was handsome, and there was no doubt they’d get together by the end of the movie. Life isn’t really like that, he wanted to remind everyone watching the film. But we all knew that, didn’t we? We were all in our eighties and nineties. We’d lived our lives. We’d said goodbye to our houses. Many of us had buried our spouses. Our “Christmas romances” were long behind us.
Suddenly, he spotted Vivian Knight. As ever, she was in her wheelchair, tucked off in the corner but pointed toward the television. Chuck’s heart seized. He touched the photograph of her he had in his pocket and steeled himself for disappointment. But he had to try to make a connection. Slowly, he walked behind the sofas and big cushioned chairs, making his way over to Vivian. Once there, he pulled up a chair to sit directly beside her. Not five feet to his left was a woman in her eighties—a woman wearing a beautiful maroon dress, her hair styled in glossy white curls. Chuck felt her sidelong glance.
Who was she? Chuck didn’t recognize her.
But he was here to talk to Vivian.
“Hi, Vivian,” he said quietly, not wanting to bother anyone watching the film. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I remember you.” He pulled the photo the rest of the way out of his pocket and spread it out across his thigh.
Vivian still didn’t look at him. It felt akin to being ignored by a much younger woman.
Chuck knew she wasn’t all there. But he still felt embarrassed.
“My daughter-in-law printed this photo out for me,” he said, lifting it so Vivian could “see” it. “It’s you and Travis on your wedding day in the eighties! Look at you. You must be nineteen years old?” His heart felt on the verge of breaking. He turned to look at Vivian’s eyes.
His stupid hope was that she would see the photograph and immediately be able to speak again. He’d hoped she would say, “Oh, my love, Travis!” and then launch into an explanation about Roger Albright and her mother and what had happened since that fateful night in 1982.
It was a night that had brought together so many lost souls.
But it did seem as though Vivian was looking at the photograph. Her brow was furrowed, and she had her hands stretched over her thighs. She looked painfully beautiful and tragic.
“This is your husband,” Chuck continued softly. “Where is he? Who brought you here, Vivian?”
Why are you all alone? You’re too young to be all alone!
Suddenly, the woman in the maroon dress turned to look at him. Her eyes were like a cat’s. Slowly, he set his photograph back on his lap and looked at her. Vivian didn’t seem to notice. She continued to watch the television ahead of her as though nothing had happened.
Chuck thought he was going to burst into tears.
As quickly as his bones could take him, he got to his feet and stumbled toward the hall. He touched the wall and gasped for breath.
“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice rang out.
Chuck wanted to escape it. He wanted to go to his suite, close the door behind him, and block out the world. The world was a cruel and unusual place. It had destroyed Vivian’s youth and vitality. It had killed her memory. It had taken Travis away.
“Chuck?”
At the sound of his name, Chuck froze. The woman in the maroon dress circled him and faced him. Her face was etched with worry.
Why did she know his name? Why didn’t he know hers?
Noting his confusion, the woman touched her chest and said, “It’s Sylvia Morrow.”
Chuck’s heart lifted. “Sylvia. Of course.” He’d met her twenty years ago during a coastal hike—he was seventy-something, and she in her sixties. At the time, she’d been married to Sil Morrow. She’d told him she liked going on hikes by herself. She’d told him, I don’t have to pretend to be anyone but myself or to think anything that I don’t want to think or make conversation if I don’t feel like it. It’s just me and the birds.
But right now, Chuck saw no wedding band on her finger. Divorce? Death?
Anything might have happened over the past twenty years.
“It’s good to see you,” Chuck stuttered, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“It’s because I got old,” Sylvia said with a cackle.
“We’re lucky,” Chuck said. “Some people never got the chance to get old.”
Sylvia nodded. “I think about that all the time.” Her eyes danced. “Do you know Mrs. Knight?”
Chuck still had the photograph of Vivian and Travis in his hand. He held it up and showed it to Sylvia because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Sylvia took it and looked at it for a long time. “She was such a beautiful girl.”
Chuck was sure that Sylvia had been, too. But looks mattered so little. They went away so quickly.
“I knew her husband,” Chuck explained stupidly. “And I met her back in the eighties when she was a teenager. It’s broken my heart to see her in that chair every day. I can’t imagine what happened.” He swallowed. “She hit her head when she was younger. She was in a coma briefly. I can’t help but wonder if that has something to do with why she can’t talk.”
Sylvia grimaced. “Those kinds of things have a way of catching up to us, don’t they?”
Chuck sighed.
Sylvia reached out and touched his shoulder. It felt so soft and gentle. Chuck blinked to keep from crying. What’s gotten into me? Why am I such a sap?
“Chuck? Do you like tea?” Sylvia asked.
Chuck felt the corners of his lips pull up. “I do.”
“Would you like to have some tea with me?”
It was the only thing in the world Chuck wanted to do right then.