23. Sebastian
TWENTY-THREE
SEBASTIAN
It had been twenty-four hours and Charlie still hadn’t spoken to me. I sat in bed staring at the emails on my laptop screen. Nothing from her. Work was usually a worthy distraction from any vexing life issue, but tonight it wouldn’t hold up. I glanced up at the patched-up hole in the ceiling, hoping somehow she’d fall through again so I could at least talk to her. But I knew she wasn’t home. I wandered around the old, empty apartment. This was turning out to be the loneliest Friday night of my life. And to make matters worse, I was out of gin.
I didn’t normally drown my sorrows with alcohol, but New Elwood just seemed to bring the best out of me. And by best, of course, I meant worst.
I took a drive to the liquor store up the road and grabbed a bottle of whisky, maybe my only friend in the world. When I got back, I sat there for a moment and stared at the tattered sign—Radcliffe House Apartments—and felt a tightness in my chest.
On the way up to my floor, I passed by Albert’s door. He hadn’t said anything about the notice, but I was sure he was just as surprised as Charlie. A twinge went through my chest at the thought of the old man becoming homeless.
What was wrong with me? I was a real estate developer. I’d become accustomed to sending notices like these. It wasn’t personal. It was just good business. How had I let myself get involved with this place?
So I knocked to see if he was home and the door quickly swung open, the voice of a baseball sportscaster blaring from the TV. Albert stood there dressed in an old, threadbare T-shirt with a logo that read New Elwood Wine Festival 2003 , and his usual warm smile was absent. “You’re not kicking me out already, are you?”
I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. “No. I just wanted to apologize about the notice. I should’ve given you and Charlie a heads-up.”
“Yeah, you should have.” The man didn’t have tears in his eyes, but I could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled that he was losing his home. “You look like hell, Sebastian.”
I managed a small laugh and ran my fingers through my hair. “I feel like hell. Charlie won’t talk to me.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
I held up my paper-bag-covered whisky bottle. “So I got this to keep me company. Fancy a glass?”
Albert exhaled a reluctant sigh, then stepped aside. “Sure, come in.”
I’d never been in Albert’s apartment. It was homey with a couple book stacks on the coffee table, an empty bowl with popcorn seeds at the bottom, and a strong menthol, Bengay kind of odor in the air. “Nice place you got here.”
“Enjoy it now while it lasts,” he called, and I swallowed hard, following him to the kitchen. He retrieved a couple of lowball glasses from the cabinet and set them on the counter. I twisted the liquor top and poured us each a glass, mine slightly fuller than his.
“To Radcliffe House Apartments,” he said, and we clinked our raised glasses together.
I took a small sip but found myself distracted by the stained glass window over the sink. Bright yellow, blue, and green tiles fit together in the shape of a honeypot. I examined the window a little closer.
“Is that a fly trapped in that honeypot?” I asked.
My downstairs neighbor chuckled. “It sure is.”
“Huh, I’ve never seen a stained glass window design like that before.”
“That’s because it’s one of a kind,” he said, staring at the window. “Charlie picked it out at Piedmont Antiques when she was just a girl. I helped her dad install it as a gift for her mom.”
I could see it: Charlie as a young girl rummaging through a bunch of dead people’s stuff at an antique shop. Her love of old things must’ve started early.
Albert’s smile was fond. “Charlie’s mom really got a kick out of it. That was her favorite adage—you catch more flies with honey.”
“Guess Charlie never internalized that one.”
Albert barked a laugh. “She’s a tough cookie, all right.”
I smiled, thinking of how Charlie had a strong vinegar side. She was unapologetically herself, and she still managed to trap a hopeless fly like me. “That’s sweet.”
“It’s a cute story, actually. She and her dad were out back playing catch, getting her ready for softball season. That girl had a strong arm, and she threw a fast one right through the window. Charlie felt so bad about it that she ran off—gone for hours. Finally, we found her crying under the stairs. She was so worried that her parents were going to send her back to foster care because she broke the window. Damn near broke my heart when she said that. But her mom and dad, they just scooped her up in their arms and told her how much they loved her. They wanted her to know they would love her even if she broke all the windows in the house. So her dad took her out to find a replacement and came back with this. Still to this day, Charlie visits this window when she comes over here.”
Albert’s tale of Charlie choked me up a little. And it only brought home what this place represented to her. What the odd fly-and-honey window represented—real, unconditional love. I had my reasons for doing what I was doing. I couldn’t turn back now, but I still felt like an ass.
I sighed and took a sip. “She hates me, you know?” Albert maintained his silence, which only solidified the fact. “I don’t want her to lose her home, but c’mon, you know how much work this place needs. There are dozens of reasons this house needs to be put out to pasture. She just doesn’t understand that.”
“Sure, she does. She ain’t no dummy. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept she’s losing the only home she’s ever known.”
I took a big swig of my drink. Maybe if the alcohol kicked in I wouldn’t feel so much like a villain in her story. “You know, it wasn’t until last night that I learned she was adopted and spent her childhood here. If I had known…”
“What?” he asked, almost like he knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing.
I lowered my gaze to my nearly empty glass. “There just isn’t an easy way to do these things. It’s not personal.”
“Not for you. But for Charlie, it’s very personal. I told you the story about the window, but that’s just one of hundreds. She’s got so many memories wrapped up in these old walls. A woman like her doesn’t need to be living in an old house like this, but it’s her home—for better or for worse.”
Definitely for worse. Only it wouldn’t be her home much longer.
“Let me tell you something, son,” Albert went on. “When you get to be my age, you look back and realize that life moves so fast. Things are constantly changing, and you have to learn to roll with the punches. Be flexible. If you’re too rigid, you’ll miss out on the magic of life. That’s what happened with Charlie’s parents. They never wanted kids, too much trouble. Too expensive. And then Charlie came around. They had no idea how to be parents of a young girl like that, and they weren’t exactly spring chickens either. But they saw her light, her gumption, and they fell in love with her.”
My mind wandered to the woman that would wrap me around her finger, kicking and screaming. Who could blame anyone for falling for her?
Albert took a sip. “If they’d stuck to their guns about not being parents, they never would’ve known that deep love they had for their daughter.”
“They sound like really great people,” I offered.
“Yeah, they were. I miss ’em a lot.” He cast a wistful look around the kitchen, then at me. “I’m going to miss this place too.”
I could barely look him in the eye. “You must hate me too, huh?”
“Nah, I don’t hate you. I think Charlie and I deserved more than a demo notice plastered on our doors, but I don’t hate you.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, throwing back what was left of the whisky.
“You know, in a weird way, I should be thanking you,” Albert said.
“Thanking me? Why?”
“I’ve lived here my entire adult life. One of the town’s handymen. But I always wanted to head west, settle down in Utah or New Mexico. I should’ve retired and left a long time ago, but when Charlie’s parents passed I felt like I needed to stay, look after her. But that was just an excuse to stay in my comfort zone. So thanks to this notice, I’m finally doing it. I’m going to take that cash offer, pack up my things, book a flight to Albuquerque, and head out on my own great adventure out west.”
“What about Charlie?” I asked.
Albert gave a small smile. “She’s got a lot of support. A lot of people who love her. She’ll be all right without ole Albert.”
“Well in that case, I’m happy for you.” I clinked my glass to his. At least someone was getting their happy ending.
That night, I tossed and turned, plagued by guilt. Charlie’s memories felt vivid even to me. I heard her walk up the stairs around midnight, and I wanted to go to her, just to see her face, or have her scream at me from the other side of the door. Anything was better than the silence between our floors.
In the morning, I could hear her pacing. I was so in tune with the sound of her above me that I imagined I could tell her state of mind just by the sound of her feet hitting the old floorboards. This morning, she sounded troubled. Nervous. I picked up my phone to send her a message, but before I could type, the phone rang.