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If I’m gonna go out, I wanna go out with that smile being the last thing I see.
Tears sprang from Charlie’s eyes. Page after page, chapter after chapter, she consumed the work. The full moon beamed brightly into her room, then moved across it. Her legs fell asleep, and she stood and stretched.
The story was good. Great, in fact, but so much different from what Mack had described a few weeks back, when she said the novel was a thriller about a young, single mom drug dealer. The main character was still a drug dealer, but the story was more… personal. Deep. A heartbreaking account of a woman who made bad and good choices. A story of loss and love and redemption and forgiveness.
Her eyes officially turned to dust, and Charlie hopped off the bed to search for eye drops in the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, grabbed a snack, and returned to her room. The moon had now moved over to the other side of the house. The sun would break through the night sky in a few short hours. But she wasn’t tired.
What have I done? There’s no way this is my reality. After all this time, after what we’ve worked for, she’s gonna leave?
I’m too stubborn to admit that it was my fault. Like a crooked lawyer in a cheap suit, I throw any fact I can scrape up at the wall to justify my action. “It was for her!” “It was for us!” “I was trying to change our lives!”
She glares at me with the strength of a thousand poisonous dart pens and calls me on my bullshit.
I shake my head. I refuse to accept this is over.
And just like that, she pulls on her sunglasses, grabs her purse, and her red stiletto heels stomp across my heart on her way out the door.
Charlie lay back on her bed. Lost in the beautiful story, her pain from earlier tonight… yesterday… whatever time it was… dulled. She reread the letter from Mack and threw her arms over her head.Ugh.Now what? Hints of Charlie’s life were in the novel, but they were written so seamlessly that they could’ve been about anyone.
The bed creaked as she rolled over to her side and checked the time. Only one hour left before she had to get ready for work.Oof.But no way would she not finish this book tonight. She rested her head in her hands and continued.
I look at the house for possibly the last time. Crooked roots, backyard beginnings, chandelier endings. The home that we shared with love. The bonds wemade, the family we raised. Do I have regrets? Of course. Some. But everything I did led us to this moment.
This is what I know. I will die for this woman. Melodramatic, perhaps. Truthful, absolutely. Because without her, what is there? She is my whole. She is my spirit. She is my home.
She is my forever.
THIRTY-THREE
MACK’S DRINK SPECIAL: DEFEATED DARK BLUES DECAF
Mack flipped the oversized pillow to the cool side and cuddled it. Sobbing for this long left her eyes crusty with day-old tears, her lips dry, and her body sore. Add that to a lack of food and a giant cup of anxiety, and she was totally depleted.
Forty-eight hours.
Forty-eight hours since Charlie fled the condo. Did Ben give her the manuscript? Did she read it? Mack picked up her phone and put it down. No new messages. Maybe she could just reach out and ask?—
Nope. She could not call Charlie. The timeline from here on out had to be up to her. Mack refused to break this promise, like the billion other promises she’d broken before. She knew nothing about relationships and certainly didn’t know how to handle a breakup. But a baseline would probably be to honor her no-contact commitment.
She dug her thumbs into her throbbing temples. What if Ben never gave her the manuscript? She was pretty sure she had put the letter in there. She double—triple—checked it, but maybe it fell out while walking to her car.
Or… what if Charlie took the letter and threw it into the fire? What if the torn shreds of paper flew out, the embers fell on her hammock, and it caught on fire? Was Charlie the type of person who made sure the fire alarms worked and?—
Stop. Enough.
Mack’s hip bone burned from lying in the same position the last two days, and she rolled to the other side. The room was darker today. Her parents’ analog clock screamed from the living room. Plotting contingency plans for worst-case scenarios no longer provided the same level of comfort it had in the past.
Because thiswastheworst-case scenario. Charlie was gone.
A light knock rapped on the door, and her mom cracked it open. “Honey? Can I bring you a sandwich or protein shake?”
Mack mustered all existing energy to respond, “No.”
“Dad said he could pick up teriyaki or sushi?”
Her throat hurt. Her eyes hurt. Everything hurt. She returned to facing the wall.
“Mackey… this isn’t good. You’ve been here all day. Can I at least come in and open the patio door or bring you water or something?” After several moments of silence, her mom inhaled sharply. “I know it hurts, baby, but I’m scared you’re going to get dehydrated or sick or something, and?—”
