Chapter Eighteen #2
Charlie’s eyes flew open as a dazzling display of Christmas lights lit up the interior of the theater, reds and golds and blues and greens twinkling at her as the music reached a crescendo.
A prickling chill ran up both her arms, something pinched tight behind her eyes, and suddenly, without warning, Charlie burst into tears.
She tightened her hand around the mic stand to keep it from shaking, feeling the tears stream down her cheeks and drip off her chin. No… Not now! Of all the emotions she’d stuffed away, this pain…this heartbreak had been shoved the deepest.
Charlie realized she hadn’t let herself cry for a long, long time.
Not when Gram had fallen and been admitted to the hospital.
Not when she’d learned about Frank. Not even after her fight with Julian.
She’d always managed to hold the tears at bay.
To keep herself from feeling too much. Because those tears had been reserved for Tom.
But now, staring out at the dazzling brilliance of all that color, Charlie couldn’t stop the tears because this was what she’d been missing these last two years.
She’d locked so many parts of herself away to try to protect herself from the devastation of Tom’s loss that she’d packed all the color away with it.
All the things that filled her with joy.
And as the music faded behind her, Charlie realized with sudden clarity that she didn’t want that anymore.
She didn’t want this colorless, music-less, joyless existence.
She wanted to feel, to breathe, to just sit with the emotion, knowing it wouldn’t drag her under because she had something else to hold on to—the world she’d started to rediscover at Glendale with Julian and the residents.
“I think that’s a good time to break for a quick dinner,” the conductor said, clearly trying to give Charlie a moment. “Then we’ll run it all again.”
There were nods of agreement.
The conductor checked his watch. “See everyone back here in a half hour.”
The musicians jumped up, and a crowd of people surged through the side doors. Charlie waited for the stage to empty, frozen in that spot, the Christmas lights beating down on her, the mic stand rigid in her hands.
“Hey, stranger.”
Charlie let out a strangled breath as she turned to see Alicia making her way across the stage. She surged into her arms. “What are you doing here?” They’d planned to meet up while she was in the city, but they hadn’t settled on a time or a place yet.
“Damien confirmed the rehearsal time, so I figured I’d just pop by.”
Charlie felt a fresh batch of tears along her eyelashes. “God, it’s good to see you.”
“You, too. Everything okay?”
Charlie laughed despite herself, pulling away and swiping tears from her cheeks. “I think I’m having a moment.”
Alicia tilted her head. “Moments are allowed.” She sank down on the edge of the stage.
Charlie sat beside her, feeling the polished wood beneath her fingers.
“You know, it’s okay if you don’t want to do this right now,” Alicia said. “Or at all.”
Charlie gave her a watery smile. “I think I’ve spent so long trying not to feel Tom’s loss, that standing up here, it sort of scared me when I didn’t feel him at all. If that makes sense?”
Alicia took her hand and squeezed.
“But I also think I’ve realized that it’s not a matter of Tom not being here with me, but that I’m not supposed to be here. I put all this pressure on myself to get back onstage, to honor his memory and the dreams he had for us, but this isn’t my dream. Not anymore.”
“Dreams change,” Alicia said, shrugging. “That’s not a bad thing.”
Charlie nodded, feeling as if she was free-falling. “I found a place where the music finally sings to me again, and it’s not here.”
She didn’t want to run from her grief anymore. She wanted to let the feelings out of the box. All of them. Even the ones that scared her. Because she wanted to build something new with the residents at Glendale and with Julian, and she needed all of herself to do that.
“I’m happy for you,” Alicia said. “Truly. And Tom would understand. In fact, I think he’d probably ask what the hell are you still doing here?” Alicia climbed to her feet, reaching for Charlie’s hand. “Don’t you have a Christmas choir to direct?”
Charlie let Alicia pull her up, choking on a sob. It was time to let go of Tom’s dream and the stage and this guilt she felt. She was allowed to want something new.
She was allowed to keep living.
Alicia hugged her again. “You want me to make your excuses?”
“No,” Charlie said. “I signed that contract. I should tell Damien.”
“Okay. But call me and let me know how the performance goes tomorrow. And how other things go.”
“I will,” Charlie promised. If she could make it back before the performance between the bouts of snow. If Julian even wanted her back. She gave Alicia one more quick squeeze, then hurried out stage left.
She made her way down the hall to Damien’s office.
He waved her in. “All good?” he asked.
She sucked in a breath. Held it. Let it out. “Actually, no.”
He looked startled. “Oh?”
“I’m really sorry to do this, Damien, and let me say again that I truly appreciate the opportunity. Really I do. But I can’t do this performance. There’s somewhere else I need to be.”
“Your choir?” he asked.
She nodded. “I know it’s last minute. It might be hard to fill the slot.”
He waved her off. “We’ll pull your song if we have to. Or maybe we’ll get Annette and Eleanor to do a duet.”
“The crowd will eat that up,” Charlie said, smiling at the idea. “Thank you, Damien. I know you probably don’t understand, but this experience today has meant a lot to me.”
He laughed a little uncertainly. “I guess I’m glad for that. And hey, maybe we’ll get the chance to work together again someday.”
“Maybe.” Charlie turned to go, but something held her back: an idea, flickering at the back of her mind. “Actually,” she said, “if you really mean that, I have something I’d love to pitch.”