20. Troy
It’s been two days, and Charlie’s silence is killing me. It doesn’t make any sense, but after numerous calls and heaven knows how many messages, she still won’t speak to me.
What the heck is going on?
The first day I didn’t hear from her, I figured she was just busy. I know she has other clients, and I’m not the be-all and end-all. It still felt strange, though, and I knew something was off. We’d spent every day until then together since the day I showed her the restaurant. I know that hasn’t just been because of the job I’ve asked her to do, either.
Those evenings we’ve spent cuddled up on the sofa have nothing to do with colors or fabrics. From her expressions, the fact she seems so happy with me, and the easiness that has crept back into our relationship, I know she cares about me.
I’m head over heels in love with her, but I haven’t told her that yet. Like I said to my family the other night at dinner, I want to take this slowly. Well, actually, that’s not at all true. If I thought marrying her tomorrow was a possibility, I’d do it.
I even messed up the other morning and mentioned a wedding. Charlie laughed it off, but I felt like such an idiot. Here I am telling my family I don’t want to scare her to death, and then I mention getting married. Idiot. I’m taking things slow for her sake. She needs to know that being with me isn’t a risk. That I’m not going to suddenly disappear like I did last time. So I’m holding back as much as I can.
When she left on Wednesday to go and help her dad, I jumped into the truck and headed to the restaurant. Several deliveries were arriving, and I needed to be there. By the time I got home, her BMW was sitting in the driveway.
I sent her a text, inviting her to come over for dinner. Usually, she replies pretty quickly, but after an hour, my inbox was still empty. I sent another text, asking if she was okay. Still nothing. I was tempted to go around and knock on her door, but my gut told me to leave it alone. Maybe something had happened between her and Mr. Woods, and she needed some time to herself.
Yesterday morning, my inbox remained empty. We’ve fallen into the habit of exchanging good morning texts, even though we live next door. But there was nothing. No reply to the texts I’d sent the evening before, either. Something was wrong. After getting dressed, I went over to her house. The car was in the driveway, so I knew she was home.
But after standing on her doorstep for five minutes, knocking loudly on the door, I gave up. I returned to my house, starting to get worried. Maybe something had happened to her. My mind went to all the most macabre places I could imagine.
Maybe she’s slipped in the shower and cracked her head. She could be lying there unconscious and nobody knows. Maybe she’s fallen down the stairs and hurt herself. Maybe she’s fallen asleep in her bath and drowned. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It was driving me nuts.
I was pacing up and down the kitchen, phone in hand, and on the verge of calling Milly to see if she had heard from Charlie when I heard a car door slam. By the time I reached the front door, all I saw was her BMW speeding away.
So, not unconscious on the bathroom floor, then.
I sent her several more messages after that, but she didn’t reply to one of them. In fact, I noticed she hadn’t even read them. I tried calling a couple of times, but—surprise, surprise—she didn’t pick up. I still left a voicemail in the hope that she might listen to it and realize how worried I was. I was still waiting for her to call back last night, but it didn’t happen.
This morning, I woke to another empty inbox. I lay in bed for ages, just thinking. The same thoughts I’ve already gone over and over returned.
Did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong? Was it the mention of the wedding?No. It couldn’t have been that. Charlie left my house on Wednesday morning laughing and joking about it.
Eventually, I got up and dressed, but even now, as I sip my coffee, my mind will not rest. I wonder if I’ve done something else that I’ve overlooked. But try as I might, after examining every single interaction we’ve had, I can’t pinpoint one thing I might have said or done to upset her.
In fact, I’ve been especially careful not to do so. I’ve been so determined to win her back, to make her feel comfortable with me again, that I’ve gone above and beyond to tread lightly.
Could it be that? Could she have perceived your behavior as disingenuous?
Maybe. If she would give me a chance to talk to her, I’d know the answer. I would be given an opportunity to explain why I’m being so careful. But surely, Charlie knows me well enough by now to understand. She’s no fool. While it’s a possibility, it just doesn’t sit right. It doesn’t feel like that’s the reason.
None of this is making any sense. Everything was going so well. What could possibly have happened to cause this sudden turn in her treatment of me?
When I leave the house to head to the restaurant, Charlie’s car isn’t in the driveway. I stand in my own driveway for a long moment, just looking at her house. Maybe I should write her a note. But then I shake my head. What’s the point? If she’s not going to respond to messages and phone calls, what makes me think she’ll respond to a handwritten note?
Jumping into the truck, I begin to realize that whatever we had might be over before it’s even begun. I heave a sigh, and feeling the weight of my heavy, broken heart, I start the truck and back out onto the main road.
I usually arrive at the restaurant with a spring in my step. I’m usually excited about getting started and ticking another thing off my to-do list. But not today. In fact, I can barely motivate myself to do anything. Sitting in the back office, glaring at the computer screen, my whole being feels heavy, like I’m being crushed by some invisible force. There has to be something I can do.
Checking my phone for the seven millionth time, I scroll through my contacts until I stop at Milly. For a second, I hesitate, but then I just call her. If Charlie won’t tell me what’s going on, maybe Milly will.
My little sister arrives at the restaurant forty minutes later. She’s on her lunch break and only has a half hour, so I’ve already made her a beef and cheese panini.
Even as she walks in, I know she knows something. Her usual hyperactivity seems to have left the building, and she has this dreadfully sad expression on her face.
“Hey,” she says unenthusiastically, dropping into the chair beside me.
“I made you some lunch,” I say, nodding to the panini on the plate.
Milly shrugs. “I’m not really hungry.”
“You need to eat, Titch.”
“I don’t feel like eating,” she replies.
I give her a long look. “What’s going on?”
She drops her eyes and shrugs again. “Nothing,” she lies.
“Right. I can see that.”
A long silence hangs in the air between us. Whatever has her upset, she doesn’t want to talk about it, and I’m nearly a hundred percent certain it has something to do with Charlie and me.
“What did I do wrong?” I ask eventually, unable to tolerate not knowing any longer.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Troy,” Milly sighs.
“Sure I did. I must have. Charlie hasn’t spoken to me for nearly three days. She won’t answer my calls or texts. It’s like she’s fallen off the planet.”
Milly doesn’t say anything to that, which tells me I’m right. What I don’t understand is why she isn’t either agreeing or telling me the reason. We’ve always been pretty close. As much as we tease each other, nothing could come between us. In school, no one would dare speak a bad word to her for fear of having to face the consequences.
But after all her desperation to get me and Charlie back together, her reticence to tell me what’s wrong doesn’t make any sense to me. If there was anyone on this planet who would want to tell me how to fix the situation, it would be Milly.
“Are you really not going to tell me what I’ve done wrong?”
“I’ve already told you,” she replies adamantly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why won’t Charlie speak to me? Why is she ignoring me and behaving like I have?”
Milly takes a huge breath in and then sighs like the world is on her shoulders. She looks at me for a long moment, and then she says, “It’s not my place, Troy.”
“What isn’t your place?”
“To tell you what’s wrong. You need to speak to Charlie yourself.”
“How am I supposed to do that if she won’t talk to me?” I bark in frustration. “I’ve tried. I even went to her house. She was in but refused to answer the door. She had me worried sick that something terrible had happened to her.”
“She’s fine”—Milly tilts her head—“kind of. I mean, nothing physical has happened to her.”
“But she’s clearly not fine in any other way,” I deduce.
“She’s hurting, Troy.”
“Because?” I press impatiently.
“I’ve told you. It’s not my place to tell you. You have to ask her yourself.”
I jump up from the chair and thread my fingers through my hair. “This is ridiculous.” I’m irritated at this silliness, but I have a funny feeling Charlie is behind Milly’s silence, so I can’t blame her. “And if she won’t talk to me?”
Milly looks up at me. “You lost her once. Are you really going to let that happen again?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Then maybe”—Milly stands and takes a step back—“you need to show her you’re not willing to give up. I’m sorry, Troy. Truly I am. In fact, I’m gutted for you both. I really thought this was going to work out. Maybe it still will. Who knows?” Thumbing behind her, she says, “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the store.”
I nod. “I know.” Our conversation has resolved nothing, and I’m as frustrated now as I was before. The only thing I’ve discovered is that Charlie’s behavior is because of something I’ve done. I just can’t figure out what that is.
The restaurant keeps me busy for a little longer. Partly because there’s still stuff I have to do, partly because I don’t want to go home and have to sit fifty feet away from the woman I’m madly in love with, suffering from being unable to see her.
Two hours later, I’m driving home, and the heavens open. The raindrops bounce off the hood and windshield of my car, forcing me to put the wipers on at full speed. It’s so heavy that the cars in front slow down, adjusting to the sudden change in conditions.
I park the truck and run to the house, but even in that short time, I get nearly soaked to the skin. I can’t help but notice that Charlie’s car is back in her driveway.
Milly’s words come back to me as I’m flicking water off my hands and head.
You need to show her you’re not willing to give up.
My sister’s right. This situation isn’t going to rectify itself. I need to do something. I grab a coat from the hooks behind the front door, and with only a second’s hesitation, I walk back out into the downpour. My nerves kick in, and suddenly, the rain isn’t that important anymore. I need to find out what is going on. I need to fix this.