19. Charlie
I’ll admit it; it’s better than I could ever have expected. I don’t really know what I expected. All I know is that it’s been just under a week since Troy and I decided to give our relationship another try, and I feel like I’m sixteen again.
Of course, Troy is treating me like a queen. He always has, though. From the very first time he spoke to me in Milly’s bedroom, he’s always made me feel like I was the only person in the room. Back then, his friends always competed for his attention. Now, it’s just me and Troy, and things feel even better than before.
Earlier this morning, we sat in his kitchen drinking coffee and eating eggs Benedict. I’ll be honest: I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never actually tasted it, and it was delicious. If that’s the standard Troy cooks at, I can only imagine his restaurant is going to be booked out every night.
“What have you got planned today?” he says, taking the dishes to the sink.
“It’s Wednesday. I’m going over to help Dad.”
“Oh,” he replies flatly. It’s a strange reply, but understandable, I suppose. They never did see eye to eye.
“You should come with me. He’d love to see you,” I say sarcastically.
“I think I’d prefer to gouge my eyeballs out with this fork.” He waves a fork around, and I burst into laughter.
“Oh, come on. He’s not that bad,” I say, standing up and straightening my skirt.
“Have you told him about us yet?” Troy asks. He’s smirking, and there’s a twinkle in his eye.
“No,” I concede, “but I’m biding my time.”
“Oh yes?” he says teasingly. “Until when? The wedding?”
My eyes fly wide open, and Troy suddenly looks bashful. “I’m kidding.”
I see his face bloom bright red, and all I can do is laugh. Moving over to him, I wrap my arms around him. He bends his head and gives me a soft, tender kiss that sends tingles all the way to my toes.
“I’ve got to go.”
“You sure?” he growls, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips.
“Not really,” I say with a deep sigh.
He wraps his arms tighter around my body. I feel safe and protected, like nothing in the world could ever hurt me again. I don’t want to go. In fact, the way I’m feeling, I never want to leave his side again. But needs must, and I have responsibilities.
I wiggle out of his embrace, reach up on my tiptoes, and lightly kiss his cheek. As I turn and walk away, I call over my shoulder. “I’ll pick up some bridal magazines on my way back.”
I’m at the front door when I hear him say, “You’re hilarious.” Which just sets me off laughing.
* * *
I find Dad where I usually find him. Sitting in his easy chair, reading the paper.
“You’re late,” he says without looking up from his paper.
“‘ Hi, Charlie, how are you?’” I say sarcastically. “‘Great, Dad. How are you?’ ‘Just as grumpy as usual, Charlie. Thanks for asking.’”
He cocks an eye over his paper and smirks. “You’re still late.”
“I do have a life, you know. I have a car and a mortgage to pay for, which means I have to work.” A part of me wants to add that he wouldn’t know much about that, but I bite my tongue. I’m in too good of a mood to let him get to me. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’ve been ready for a half hour,” he quips back.
“Oh, cry me a river.” I roll my eyes and gather his things.
We do the usual shopping, or I should say, I do the usual shopping while Dad stands at the counter and talks to Mr. Shore. I’m far quicker this time because I’m not hiding behind the cereal shelf trying to avoid running into Troy.
At the counter, Mr. Shore smiles widely at me. “I hear you’re working hard these days, Charlie?”
There’s something in his tone that puts my guard up, and I’m suddenly wary. “Oh, you know me, Mr. Shore. I’m always working hard.”
“I’ll bet Troy’s new restaurant is keeping you on your toes,” he replies amicably.
I feel my blood run cold, and my father turns his head slowly to look at me.
“Yes, yes, it is,” I say, feeling my heart thumping in my chest and my throat slowly closing over. “You’ve got to get work where you can find it.”
As terrified as I am that Mr. Shore has just opened a can of worms of epic proportions—like, Super-worms—I’m curious as to how he knows such information.
“Nothing is secret in this town, right?” I try to keep my tone light. “I suppose Milly’s been in here, telling you all about the work I’m doing.”
Mr. Shore is still scanning Dad’s groceries, and without looking at me, he shakes his head. “Oh, no. I didn’t hear anything from Milly. It was actually Mr. Clayton. You know, from the hardware store.”
And then it falls into place. I’ve been on the phone to Mr. Clayton, ordering shelves, brackets, and screws. It’s all getting delivered to the restaurant, so he’s clearly put the two things together.
“Oh, right,” I say, shoveling the groceries into the bag.
“When’s Troy’s opening night?” the shopkeeper continues, even though I really wish he wouldn’t. “No one seems to know.”
“It’ll be a few weeks out. There’s still quite a bit of work to be done.”
“I’m excited.” Mr. Shore grins. “I’m looking forward to some fine dining. It’s about time we had something like that around here.”
“Yes. Yes, I agree,” I say, now grabbing a bag in each hand. “Well, it was good to see you, Mr. Shore.” And without giving Dad a single glance, I hurry out of the store and head to the car.
I’m amazed that Dad does not say one word as we head back to the house. I know something’s coming. I can sense the tension between us. While there’s silence, it’s not at all comfortable.
You are a grown woman, you know. You are now entitled to live your own life.
I am, aren’t I? If Dad doesn’t like Troy, that’s not my problem. Besides, I’ve done nothing but look after this man for my entire life. Surely, I have a right to be happy, whether my father agrees with my choices or not. Filled with my newfound indignant spirit, my nerves lessen, and I ready myself to defend my right to a happy life with someone I never stopped loving.
When we get back to the house, I cart the grocery bags into the kitchen and begin emptying them into his cupboards. Dad strolls into the kitchen and leans himself up against the counter.
“Is it just the restaurant?” he asks.
I don’t stop what I’m doing. “Is what just the restaurant?” I reply, pretending I don’t know what he’s trying to get at.
“Your connection to that Heaton boy,” he says brusquely.
“‘That Heaton boy’ is now a man of nearly thirty years old, Dad.”
“Stop deflecting,” he counters. “Are you just working for him, or is it more than that?”
“Why do you care?” I say, stuffing the last of his canned goods into the cupboard.
“I’m just looking out for you, is all.”
I don’t know where it comes from, but anger wells up and rushes through me like a flooding river. Spinning on my heels, I turn to glare at him.
“Right. You’re just looking out for me. So, when Eddy Crowley—you know, the guy you nearly tripped over yourself to welcome into the house—treated me like crap, slept with women behind my back, and then stalked me afterward, where was your concern then, Dad? Oh, yes. I remember. You told me that I was too much for him. That I was overpowering and controlling, and that’s the reason he jumped into another woman’s bed. Do you remember that?”
Dad looks taken aback at my attack, which is no surprise. I rarely say what’s on my mind, even when he’s driving me crazy. I don’t quite understand what’s gotten into me now. Maybe I want to defend the only man who has treated me like I’m someone worth having around.
“I was only trying to make you feel better,” Dad says unconvincingly.
“By telling me that a guy cheating on me is my fault?” I cry.
He shrugs. “Well, maybe I could have handled that a little better.”
“You think?” I spit.
Dad shifts from one foot to the other. “Charlie, you know I love you. It was hard for me, seeing you in so much pain.”
“Right.” I nod, now seething at his ridiculous reasoning. “So you just hurt me more instead.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he whines. “I’ve only ever tried to protect you.”
“When, Dad? Please tell me—when have you ever been there to protect me?”
“That’s the reason the Heaton boy left in the first place.”
I frown, now confused by his words. “What?”
Dad narrows his eyes and stands a little taller. “He didn’t tell you?”
“I have no idea what on Earth you are talking about.”
“Huh. Go figure,” Dad says, now looking like he has the upper hand again. “I’ve been waiting for you to come charging in here to give me a piece of your mind, but the boy doesn’t even have the guts to tell you the truth.”
“What are you talking about?” I yell.
Dad fixes me with a steady gaze. “I told that boy he had two choices. I told him to either clean up his act if he wanted to be with you, or he needed to leave. If he didn’t, we would. I told him we’d move, and he’d never find you. I’d make sure of it.”
My jaw has fallen open, and all I can do now is stare at my father in astonishment.
“The boy didn’t even try. He didn’t fight for you. He just up and left.”
My lungs are empty of air, and I know I should breathe, but I can’t. It’s like I’m paralyzed from head to toe. I can’t even move my hands. I’m just frozen to the spot.
“And now that he’s back,” Dad continues, “he’s picked up right where he left off. He left you here to fend for yourself while he got his freedom. So you see, Charlie. I do care about you. Who’s to say he isn’t going to do the same thing again?”
I can’t listen to this anymore. My heart can’t stand to hear another word. My throat is tightening, and any minute now, I’m going to collapse into a fit of sobbing. I refuse to let my dad see that.
“I’ve got to go,” I croak.
Running from the kitchen, I grab my keys and fly out of the front door. I manage to get the keys into the ignition before the first tears start. I reverse and tear out onto the main road. My throat is in agony trying to hold the emotion back, and suddenly, I can’t hold it in any longer.
Great sobs wrench from my chest, and I wail loudly as I drive back into town. Pretty soon, I can’t see where I’m going; for fear of crashing the car, I skid to a stop by the sidewalk strip. With the engine still running and music playing on the radio, I grab the steering wheel for support and let all the anger, the pain, the grief I’ve been holding on to for all these years pour out of me.
At the same time, my dad’s words echo in my head.
The boy didn’t even try. He didn’t fight for you. He just up and left.
A part of me wants to believe that Dad was lying, but I’ve seen Dad when he lies. I spent my entire childhood with a drunk who lied and made excuse after excuse for his behavior and the way he was.
But he wasn’t lying. And that’s what hurts the most.
All this time, Troy has lied. He told me that he felt there was something calling him. Something he could never find in Cherryville. But that isn’t the truth.
I thought he loved me. I thought he loved me more than anything else in the world. That’s what he always told me. Clearly, that wasn’t true, either. And now, he’s back looking for a second chance.
Well, he can shove that second chance where the sun doesn’t shine.