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The silence that falls is weighted with sadness, and all I want to do is erase all the bad. I speak before I have time to think through what I’m saying. “I’ll buy you the ring if you want it.”
She sits up, stunned, and then her expression softens. She smiles while touching my cheek, and whispers, “You would, too, wouldn’t you?”
I lean into her hand. “Anything for you.”
She falls gently against me and places her head on my shoulder. “You’re too good to me.” She takes a deep breath and exhales. “I don’t want the ring. His mother sent it back to me with Jim’s funeral announcement. I gave it to Rachel to add to the sale a month ago. As much as it hurts to see it here as another one of his possessions up for sale, I don’t want it anymore. I have the memories, and the memories are less tainted than the jewelry.”
She closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she says, “When I look around at all of this stuff, all I see is a life that never was. Empty promises in the life I shared with him.” She points at a table. “That picture frame held our engagement photo. I served our first meal in our apartment on those dishes. That crystal vase held the flowers he had auto-delivered on a weekly basis to our house, not for me, but to make an impression. It was a life I never wanted and never adjusted to. It’s a life that felt hopeful at one point, but it was forced. I see that now. These things were his and Cherry’s, never mine. The only thing I was ever allowed to contribute is that cheap painting. It’s all I could afford, but I loved it all the same. Cherry hung it in the guest bedroom. I used to read in that bedroom, just so I could look up and see it.”
I knew that piece stood out. I glance over at the painting one more time, and it makes me smile. It’s a painting I would be drawn to if I saw it for sale somewhere other than this auction.
She sighs, looking at me. “I’ll hold on to my memories. I’m ready to let this stuff go.”
I squeeze her hand. “I think you’re a smart and wonderful woman. You know that?”
She sits up and laughs. “Yeah,” she says, polishing her nails like she’s told how awesome she is all the time. “That’s why you love me so much.”
“Just one of the many reasons.” That statement is truer than she allows herself to realize. I chuckle to myself, and as I look into her bright eyes, I see the Charlie I’ve wholeheartedly fallen for return—the happy, snarky, and beautiful woman that she is.
Chapter 21
Charlie A.
Charlie looks so relaxed as she sits on Jim’s couch—her former couch—and her mood has shifted compared to when I first arrived. She doesn’t look sad, but seems contemplative.
“I talked to Jim’s sister, Kelsey, today. She stopped by earlier.”
“You were close?”
“I thought so, but things have changed. I’ve changed. We chatted for a few minutes, but it was strained. I think I’m the outcast now, a little stain on the image of perfection they had of him.”
“Own it, Charlie. Stay true to yourself.”
That makes her smile, mischievousness sneaking in. “You’re right. I’ve always been the outcast in their eyes. I should be proud they couldn’t change me.” She angles her body toward me and says, “You never told me about your first love, black sheep.” She pokes me in the chest for extra emphasis on her little pun.
“You’re a clever one.” I sit forward, reaching to ruffle her hair, but she ducks away too fast. So instead, I ask, “You want to stay here and see how this all plays out sales-wise? Or, I can buy you dinner?”
She stands. “You know the way to my heart, big boy. Let’s go.” She takes my hand and pulls me up with her.
After sneaking out the back, we don’t go far, because there’s a bar across the street she wants to go into.
“You meant a liquid dinner, right?” When she starts to laugh, I’m reminded of the part in my book I wrote this morning.
“I’m cool with whatever you want.”
“Two Jack and Cokes, barkeep,” she calls, as we slide onto stools at the bar.
“You trying to get me drunk?”
“Absolutely. I’m trying to get us both drunk.”
“Both of us drunk turns into—”
“Debaucherous behavior?” Her eyes and sly smile give away her devilish mood.
I chuckle. “I’ll give you debaucherous, though we both know I totally won the bet on that word.”
The drinks are set in front of us, and I pass my credit card over.
She toasts. “I think I love the word more now that I know it’s wrong. It’s an outcast, like us. To outcasts and black sheep, Mr. Adams.” She hits her glass against mine, making the liquid slosh.
