All I Want (A Farmers' Market Story) (18 page)

“A few weeks ago it didn’t matter what I wanted,” she said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. Little more than pleading. “You thought it was a plausible solution for the both of us. I like you, Charlie. I’ve grown to...” She struggled with the words, the feelings, how they all mishmashed in her head. So many doubts undercutting so many feelings. “It isn’t the same as a few weeks ago.”

“Isn’t it? I know your father, Meg. I golfed with him. The fact of the matter is, I don’t know you at all.”

Which shouldn’t hurt, but it did. Because he knew all about her life
now
, the life that mattered. They’d been in each other’s pockets for weeks—how could he not
know her at all
?

She pressed her forehead to the cool of the window and closed her eyes.

Her parents hadn’t even
tried
that hard and they’d still ruined something.

CHAPTER TWENTY

W
HY
WAS
HE
BALKING
?
Charlie didn’t have a clue. His marriage proposal all those weeks ago in Moonrise hadn’t been made out of any foolish thoughts like love. It had been made because he thought it would offer them the best environment in which to raise the child they’d created.

He’d only ever suggested it because it was a solid plan, a route from A to B, and the one he’d always assumed he’d follow.

Now she was seeing it for what it was, and agreeing. And he didn’t know why he suddenly wanted nothing to do with it, why he could only wish she’d never uttered those words.

He should be agreeing. They should be driving to the license office right now. They could be married within the week.

But all he could think was
not to the likes of you
, and no matter how he tried to reason and rationalize himself out of the hurt—it pounded and echoed through him.

So he didn’t say anything. He left it at not knowing who the hell she was, because it hit him hard—how little he knew. It hit him hard that he wanted something she wouldn’t offer. It hit him hard that he wanted more than he’d thought he did.

He knew nothing about who she’d been or what made her parents her own personal demons. He only knew he’d been going along happily thinking that marriage of any kind was the end result he was going for, and finding...

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

The person he knew—the parts she was willing to show him—he liked that person. More than he could remember liking much of anyone. He liked her laugh and the way she never made him feel like a robot.

She brought something out in him he’d always known was there, but had struggled to show. Always. To everyone. Even his own family. He joked with her and he laughed with her and he comforted her and she...

Let him. Wanted him. Accepted him.

He didn’t want her marrying the likes of
him
.

But you should. That’s the whole point.

Charlie let out a breath, slowly, carefully, trying not to draw any attention in the heavy silence in the small space of the car. Heavy, oppressive silence that felt like cinder blocks pressing down on his chest and lungs.

The highway he’d driven to and fro to get to home most of his adult life seemed more interminable than it ever had, and there’d been a lot of interminable trips. But this one stretched long and painful.

When he finally crossed the limits of New Benton, it felt like the sky should be dark. Like sheer days had passed since they left, near sick with nerves and hope.

Such a stupid thing to feel defeated. To feel beat down. His child was
viable
. Perfect. Real and alive and next year he or she would be
in his arms
.

None of these other things mattered. Not really. What mattered was that child. And the fact Meg hadn’t had a chance to eat.

“We should get you some food,” he said, his voice rusty and forced.

“I have food at the house,” she replied, her voice sounding as ill-used as his.

He nodded. What else was there to do? Agree. Take her home. Marinate in his misery
and
stupidity. So he drove and he drove, and the fifteen minutes it usually took from the edge of town to her place felt like it was about fifteen hours of silent torture.

He should say something. He should do something. He should find the words for what was going on inside him.

But he didn’t want to, he found. The words were there, all the hurt, all the frustration, all the
need
, but he didn’t want to give it to her. Not when she couldn’t seem to give him jack shit.

He drove her home, and he didn’t make a move to get out when he stopped. He stared at the steering wheel.

“Thanks. For the ride,” she offered, pushing the door open and starting to step out.

“Anytime. Every time, really.”

She didn’t say anything and he didn’t dare look at her as she closed the door. All there was left to do was drive away.

But they couldn’t leave it like this. They...couldn’t. Something had to be said. Some conclusion had to be drawn from the situation. So, he pushed out of the car.

And stood there, because she was looking up at him with that wide-eyed terror thing going on. Like she was afraid of him, or at least his words, and he didn’t know what he’d done or what she was so afraid of.

That was the thing. The only possible reason for it was that she didn’t
want
him to know, and he didn’t know how to jump that hurdle.

“I should go.” Because he was stupid. Clueless. And nothing made him angrier than standing here in front of her not knowing how to
reach
her, how to give part of himself so she
could
reach.

She stared at him, the watery blue of her wide-eyed gaze just
eating away
at him. But what else could he do? What the hell was he supposed to
do
with all this hurt?

She just stared and didn’t offer a thing, and he wanted to rage. Pound his fists against something. But he was Charlie Wainwright, so his balled fists stayed at his sides. Because he wasn’t that kind of man.

What kind of man are you?

He had no idea most of the time, and every time he thought he might, he grabbed on to it and something swept it away again.

But no. He knew what he was. Who he was. Organized, responsible, dependable Charlie. He just needed a plan. Somewhere under all the stupid emotion there had to be a reasonable, rational course of action.

“I’ll be by tomorrow. To work.”

“Okay.”

He rolled his eyes. At her. At himself. At the whole damn thing, and he turned to go because they couldn’t seem to find words today, and maybe that was all they had. Crappy words and heavy silences.

“Charlie, I...”

She stepped forward and he held his breath. He wasn’t sure why or even what he was hoping for, he just needed...

She pulled the ultrasound picture out of her pocket and then took a few steps over to her truck. She pulled out a tool from the back of it that looked like pruners or wire cutters and carefully and precisely cut the line of pictures in half so there were two sets of pictures.

She held one out to him. “Here. We should both have them.”

He took his half of the pictures.
BABY CARMICHAEL
in capital letters across the top.

She’d cut it in half. As if they were two separates. If it wasn’t an image of his child, he would have crumpled it. He would have done a lot of things, because this impotent anger bubbling inside him needed an outlet.

But even in picture form, he wouldn’t take his anger out on his kid. Not ever.

“We’ll have to talk about last names at some point,” he said, because he was a dick.

“Yeah” was all she said, and she turned around and walked away. Into the house, the closing of the door a resounding
snap
amid the goat bleats and the quiet summer evening.

He was left standing in her yard, clutching a picture of his baby, not having a clue how he got here. It felt like every other breakup he’d ever had.

Except for the first time the pain was a living, breathing thing. He didn’t know what to do with that, so he got in his car and tried to drive away from it. It occurred to him he could keep driving. Out of New Benton, back to St. Louis and that apartment he’d only stepped foot in to get things.

The apartment he’d been thinking of letting his lease run out on because...

“Because you’re an idiot,” he muttered to himself, feeling like even more of one when muscle memory or something took over and instead of taking the highway back to the city he turned onto the road that led to the Wainwright Farm.

He didn’t want to be here. Around people. He kept telling himself that, even as he parked next to Dell’s cabin and walked up the walkway. He didn’t want to be around people. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He wanted to be alone.

He knocked on the door.

Mia answered, more color in her cheeks than she’d had for weeks. “Hi, Charlie. Come on in. Though try to be quiet. Lainey’s napping.”

Charlie managed a thin smile and stepped inside.

“So, you had the appointment this morning, yes?” Mia prodded, grinning from ear to ear as she walked toward the kitchen.

“Yes. Everything looked good.”

“Perfect.”

He stopped in the middle of the living room. His grandparents had lived here for a time, but he always thought of it as Mia and Dell’s. They’d spent the past few years building their family here, and suddenly he couldn’t be here and be normal. He couldn’t be around them and not feel something.

Though hell if he knew what that something was. “You know, I don’t know why I came here. I...I think I should head back to my apartment.”

Mia turned around to face him just as Dell entered from the kitchen. They both stared expectantly at him, and it hurt. He didn’t want to think why it hurt.

Because you want this.

No. He didn’t... He had to...

“What’s wrong?” Mia asked, taking a step toward him, a mix of compassion and worry in her eyes.

He noticed that he wasn’t the only one staring openmouthed at her question, Dell had the same expression on his face, but Mia just rolled her eyes.

“I may have
taken
the Wainwright name, but it doesn’t mean I have to play the weird
let’s pretend everything is fine when someone is hurting
game all you Wainwright
men
employ. When someone looks like they’ve been emotionally stabbed, you ask what’s wrong.”

“I have not been emotionally stabbed,” he said indignantly, even though that was
exactly
what it felt like.

“Oh, of course. You’re a big strong man and totally fine and it’s nothing to do with the fact you and Meg had the ultrasound this morning and now you’re here, alone, growling like a lion with a thorn in its paw.”

“Know a lot of lions?”

Mia merely raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t... “We had a fight, I guess. Meg and I.”
Fight
seemed the wrong word, but it tumbled out. What was he doing? He didn’t unload his problems on other people. He didn’t hope for
advice
.

He handled things on his own. He always had. “About what?” Mia asked gently.

Why was she asking him these things? People did not ask if he was all right.

“I couldn’t even tell you. Not really. Everything was fine, and then...” He’d been firmly put back in that place she’d put him in at the diner. The condescending
likes of you
.

He could have gotten over it, he could even have accepted it as something she didn’t mean, but he didn’t know her any better than she seemed to know him, and at the center of that was that she wouldn’t let him into this family history of hers, which made her run to the bathroom, which made the color drain from her face.

So what the hell was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to put that in words for Mia and Dell? Without falling apart?

He fished the ultrasound picture out of his pocket. Because this was what really mattered. “You know, it isn’t so important. This is the important thing.”

“Can I?” Mia asked, holding out her hand.

Charlie handed it to her and she looked at it, eyes immediately going misty. “Oh, isn’t it just amazing?” she asked in a watery voice.

“Why are
you
crying?” Dell asked helplessly.

“Oh, shut up,” Mia muttered without any heat, wiping her eyes. A cry sounded from the hall and Mia handed the picture back to Charlie. “I’ll go get her. You,” she said, pointing at Dell. “Do something.”

“Like what?”

“Support him, jackass.” Mia disappeared down the hall.

“She seems to be feeling better,” Charlie offered tonelessly.

“Yeah, the medicine really helped.”

They stared at each other in silence before turning away. Charlie shoved a hand into his pocket, still holding the picture with his other hand. “I’m fine.”

“Hey, let’s not straight-out
lie
.”

He stared at the ultrasound. “No, I really am. Because the important thing is the baby is healthy. Anything else is...” He blew out a breath. “I’ve never felt like this,” he muttered. Angry and hurt all over again. “I don’t get her at all. I don’t get
myself
.”

“By her I assume you mean Meg?”

“Yes, Meg. She’s so bright and funny and she gets...”
Me. She gets me. I thought she got me.
He didn’t know how to say that out loud, so he paced the small living room. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“And by this I assume you mean feelings.”

He stopped pacing, let out a painful breath. “Yes, I suppose that is what I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s the kicker.” Dell sighed gustily. “Look, it’s... In my experience, you’re going to be stubbornly miserable until you accept that you’ve got to get over yourself and change a little bit.”

“
I’m
not the problem.”

Dell laughed then, and Charlie couldn’t help bristling.
He
was usually laughing when Dell argued with
his
advice. He was the older brother, the life-together brother.
Not anymore.

“I’ll give you the possibility that Meg might
also
be the problem, but very rarely is it just one person.”

“Are you saying Mia was part of the problem when you two were pushing each other away?”

“No, Mia was perfect.” Dell grinned. “But she’s an exception.”

“You’re addled.”

“Likely, but listen. Love is—” Dell cleared his throat “—hard. It’s complicated. It’s a lot of give-and-take that is really damn uncomfortable—and that’s not even just in the beginning.”

“I didn’t say anything about love. I barely...”

Dell merely raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not about love,” Charlie repeated, and it didn’t escape him that he sounded desperate and panicked.

“You have my sympathy,” Dell said. He glanced at the hallway, where Mia reappeared, a sleepy Lainey curled around her. “But you’ll find that if you can get over yourself, nothing could possibly be more worth it.”