Chapter 8 Charlie
CHARLIE
The first animal I ever rescued was a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest. It was the spring after Dad died.
Mom was gone so much, she didn’t realize I was skipping school to take care of it until my teacher called after three days of me being absent.
She let me skip two more days, though, and she even called in sick.
We saved the bird, though. And I’ve never been the same since.
—from the journal of Charlie Savage
Iclosed the binder and waited for Ben to say he’d changed his mind and this was too much. He’d moved onto the couch beside me so it would be easier to follow along as I flipped through the lists, charts, images, and diagrams that took me more hours than I wanted to admit putting together.
I sank deeper into his overstuffed couch. Bennett’s house was comfortable—soft couches, beanbag chairs, snacks at the ready, soft lighting coming in through the windows, the sound of wind rustling through the trees. If I lived here, I don’t know if I’d ever want to leave.
But it wasn’t just the house; it was Bennett. He had a gift for putting people at ease, for making you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world, and that you were best friends after one conversation.
Bennett stared at me in assessment. “This is impressive.”
“Oh.” I waved a hand, trying to play it off like my binder was nothing, and not something I was obsessive about. “I make one of these for all the dogs I foster. The families need to feel confident and successful, and the dogs need to feel safe and understood.”
“Huh.” It was nearly impossible to actually see the smile spreading across his face, with his wild mane of facial hair, but Bennett’s eyes were the smiling kind. “Yeah, I’m not smart enough to pull together a binder like this.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. It’s how I show my love for the animals.”
“I’m basically an animal.” He fluffed out his beard from under his chin. “If you made a binder about me, what would it say?”
“That you’re afraid of bare skin.”
“What?” He choked out a surprised laugh, and I replayed the words back through my mind. Oh no.
“On your face,” I clarified loudly, motioning toward my own chin and cheeks to represent his facial hair.
“I happen to very much enjoy bare skin.”
My face was so hot, we could use it to sanitize drinking water. A small, embarrassed giggle erupted from me. Oh my gosh. Why did Bennett bring out the most awkward sides of me? I powered on as if I hadn’t said something weird. “I would list your strengths. Kindness. Loyalty. Cooking.”
His smirk softened, but that was almost worse for my emotional state.
“And that you’re a terrible tease, but a fantastic non-decorative pillow.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“No one does—it only makes sense in my head,” I said with a teasing sigh. “I don’t know your favorite foods, medical history, sleep and exercise schedule, or if you prefer your back or head scratched.”
“Both,” he said, “and you almost forgot the most important thing.” He ran a slow hand down his chest and stomach.
I grabbed a pillow from behind my back and smacked him in the face with it. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“No binder would be complete without reference to my touchable torso.”
I groaned and hit him with the pillow again. He laughed and tugged it out of my hands, then tossed it onto the beanbag chair.
“I thought we agreed to never mention that day again,” I said.
“You floated the idea, but I rejected it for your own good. Real friends tell you when your ideas are bad.”
“Oh? And how is it good to bring up?”
“Because every time I do, a fire is lit behind your eyes.” His expression turned serious. “I worry about that fire going out.”
I knew exactly what he meant, but it was easy to sass Bennett, to playfully hit him with a pillow or put him in his place. He took my indignation in stride. In fact, I suspected he enjoyed it. Greg’s tolerance of behaviors was small, at best.
“Besides, who wouldn’t want to talk about these abs?” He started to lift the hem of his shirt.
“Me.” I put a hand on his to stop him. “I would love to never talk about them again.”
He winced playfully. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Have you considered that you might be the one with a fear of bare skin?”
A burst of laughter shot out of me, loud enough to disturb Hansel, who was curled at my feet. He lifted his head like a drunk little puppy and then whined to be picked up. I tugged him close to my chest and kissed him between the ears. I needed to soak in Hansel snuggles while I had the chance.
Bennett studied me with an unreadable expression. “I’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
“I know you will.”
The moment felt emotionally charged and heavy.
I was grateful when Rosie stumbled into the room looking like she’d just woken up from a two-day nap.
“Caffeine. Stat,” she mumbled. Then she spotted me, and her eyes cleared.
“Oh good. You’re still here.” She yawned wide enough for her jaw to crack and squeezed onto the couch between me and Bennett, half on each of us.
“There are four other places in this room you could sit,” Bennett told her.
“But none where I could hug you at the same time.” She threw her arms around our necks and hugged us tight. “I love you both so much.”
Bennett caught my eye over Rosie’s head, and we shared an amused smile. I missed Rosie in the kind of way that hurt my heart if I thought too much about it.
Bennett stood, and Rosie tilted into where he’d been.
He ruffled her hair as he headed toward the kitchen, and she didn’t bat an eye as her hair wildly haloed her head.
I’d always loved their relationship. That certain belonging and comfort they had with each other. It was such an elusive feeling for me.
“What time is your thing?” Rosie scratched Hansel’s ears and cooed at him.
“My thing?” Hansel licked my chin, and I sank even deeper into the couch. If I pretended I never had to leave, I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him.
“The interview.”
My stomach dropped as I sat up so abruptly, Hansel fell down into my lap with a startled yip. “I totally lost track of time!” I grabbed my phone from my purse and saw a missed call and text from Greg. “It’s in thirty minutes.”
Greg: Can’t break away from work today. You’ll have to do the interview without me.
I pressed call, and Greg answered just before it went to voicemail. “I’m heading into a meeting. What’s up?”
What’s up? I clenched my jaw, and Hansel bailed into Rosie’s lap. “Greg, they don’t want to meet with just me. I need you there too. Can you find a quiet room and log in? We don’t have to be in the same room together, but we both have to be on the call.”
“Do it without me. Talk me up.” He chuckled.
“They want to see both of us,” I pressed. “This means a lot to me, Greg. Can you step out of your meeting for fifteen minutes?”
“No.” Someone said something to him, and his muffled voice responded back. “I’ve got to go.”
I kept the phone to my ear, even after the thick silence let me know he’d ended the call.
Rosie released a weighted sigh.
“He’s just so busy with important things …” My words faded away at her somber frown.
“This is important to you, and he’s blowing it off,” she said.
My eyes watered, and I stared down at Hansel as I blinked away the tears. Well, Married in the Wild was off the table. I’d have to come up with another way to help Mom.
Or maybe I needed to listen to Greg, who insisted this was Mom’s problem and not mine.
But weren’t families supposed to be there for each other?
To support one another? Rosie and her brothers had each other’s backs, no matter what.
I’d always loved that about them. And I’d sometimes been jealous of it too.
It could be lonely being in a family of two, especially when my mom had to work as much as she did.
But then I’d met Greg and felt like I had a person who was just for me.
The one who would look for me in a crowded room, and bypass everyone else to get to me.
The one who would save a seat for me at the table and have my favorite drink ready.
The one who would cut a quick look to me when someone said something ridiculous, and we’d have an entire conversation about it without even speaking.
He’d remembered me when no one else did.
But lately, he’d been forgetting to save me a seat. And ordering me diet sodas even after I reminded him I didn’t like the taste. Sometimes it seemed he didn’t even see me arrive anymore, and I had to break my way into his conversations to receive a simple head nod.
My needle-thin fracture of doubt spread outward—the one that started the night I’d rescued Molly. Greg always wanted to be the smartest, most self-assured person in the room, but I’d needed him to step back and trust me to take care of the situation.
Another branch had cracked outward at his insistence I give up Hansel.
Then another when I’d agreed to move to Juneau.
And now, he wasn’t coming to this interview.
None of my friends liked him. They’d stopped talking trash about him after I’d asked them not to. I loved him so much, but did he love me the same way?
How could so many people I love not love him?
I dropped my face into my hands, overwhelmed with every fissure of doubt that spread deeper and faster than I could patch with excuses. Clouds covered the sun, and the room dimmed, matching my depressed mood perfectly.
What if this feeling was more than the cracks? More than the wrong drink and arrogance and the missed appointment today? What if it was the question ringing so loud in my brain, it was hard to hear any other thought?
Am I happy?
I was getting married in two weeks. I should at least know the answer to that.
Rosie’s arms went around me, and then Bennett’s went around both of us and I was in the middle of a Forrester sandwich as tears streamed down my face.
“We love you,” Rosie said fervently.
“So much,” Bennett agreed, his beard bristling my forehead as he spoke.
“I wish you were my family,” I said wistfully enough that it might have embarrassed me, if the crying wasn’t embarrassing enough already.
“Done,” Bennett said. “You’re officially adopted.”
“A Forrester forever,” Rosie agreed.
I laughed, but it was weak. They were lovely and wonderful, and I wished with my whole heart it was true. But I wasn’t a part of their family, and I never would be. I sighed, and they released me.
Rosie’s face was doing the thing where a million thoughts flitted across her expression.
The human version of a computer running a stream of numbers, calculating something down the screen.
She put her palms on my cheeks and held me still as she studied me.
“With a little make-up, no one will know you’ve been crying. ”
“What?”
Rosie approached Bennett and studied him closely instead of answering me.
He ran a self-conscious hand across his overgrown beard. “I know it’s gotten out of control—”
“It’s absolutely perfect,” she said, clapping her hands. She raced to the coat rack and grabbed a hat, bringing it back for him. “With this on, and some bad lighting, no one will even know.”
She looked back and forth between us, the worry lines in her forehead smoothing out as I felt my own growing. I knew a Rosie scheme from a mile away.
“They won’t know what?” Bennett asked, sounding as cautious as I felt.
Rosie paused, her hand on the drapes as she experimented with closing them, then opening them all the way. “That you’re not Greg, of course.”