Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) (17 page)

Maxwell sighed. “Uncle Caleb loves you. He told me.”

“He did?”

“He did. He’s nice. I really like his bagels.”

Maxwell folded his legs underneath him and bounced on the
chair. “Oh, pretty. I think those girls of ours are all done.”

And there they were. Two perfect strangers standing before her,
each with purple-red highlights and chunky angled bangs and face-framing layers
that Fiona had cut in with a razor. She had done their makeup, too. Black
liquid eyeliner in a cat’s eye and pancake foundation and pink lacquered lips.
The girls puckered and smooched their hands, then blew kisses out to Charlotte.
It occurred to her, just then, that there are times you can actually feel the
earth shift beneath your feet, when you know things will never be the same,
even from the way they were ten minutes before. When you know something has
rolled out that could never be rolled back.

“So, Mom, what do you think?” Hannah stood in front of her
and pulled herself tall. She grabbed for her sister’s hand and they stood
together. Their legs were long and skinny and their knees curved inward in a
way that made Charlotte think of a knock-kneed foal.

“You look…older.”

“I told you that’s what she’d say.” Gracie nudged Hannah
with the back of her hand.

“I know we look older,” Hannah continued. “We’re wearing
makeup. But what do you
think
? Do you like it?”

“You both look beautiful,” Charlotte said, and she wished that
Caleb was here to freak out a bit. To tell them to wash their faces. He had
played the role of overprotective father, so she could be the kind and
supportive mother. Keeping them looking like young girls had been his job.  

“Ready to go, Char?” Aunt Fiona asked, tapping Charlotte on
the shoulder. “Unless you want a turn after all?”

Charlotte smiled and shook her head, then followed them to
the parking lot, where she slid into the third row of Fiona’s Range Rover.
Gracie sat in the front and flung her hair from side to side while she chatted
and whispered with Fiona. In the middle seat, Hannah sucked in her cheeks and
snapped photographs of herself with her phone.

The boys, one on each side of her, leaned in to rest on her
arms. Their sugar rush was a memory and they had crashed hard in their nylon
Power Rangers casings, leaving her to sit and ruminate on the notion that
something as simple as a child’s haircut could change your relationship with
her forever.

“Do you know what I think would be nice?” Charlotte asked.

Gracie circled her lips three times with the lip gloss wand,
then checked her reflection in a rhinestone-bedazzled compact. “What’s that?”

 “I was thinking it might be nice to go home. Don’t you miss
those nice Missouri summers? Don’t you miss your friends?”  

 “No way,” Hannah said, “This is the best summer ever.”  

“No it isn’t…” Gracie glared at her sister, and then flicked
her eyes back toward Charlotte. “With all this stuff going on between you and
Dad. But I do love hanging out with Aunt Fiona. And Mad and Max. And since
Dad’s here, it would be dumb to go home.”

“You know what, Mom?” Hannah asked.

“What?”

“Aunt Fiona said we could move here.” Hannah studied her
mother’s face. “If we wanted to. She said you could do whatever you want, and
we could stay here, with Fiona, until we all get on our feet.”

 “No way,” Gracie said, sliding her glossy lips together. “Not
unless Dad moved here, too.”

Charlotte put a hand on her stomach. “Nobody’s moving
anywhere, but you’re having a good time with her? With Aunt Fiona? ”

“Yeah.” Hannah raised her chin. “She keeps telling us how
she always wanted a daughter. Daughters. And how she’s secretly pretending to
adopt us for the summer.”

Charlotte’s stomach twisted. “Should I stay home tonight?”

“Don’t you have a painting class?” Hannah asked.

“I do.”

“Why would you skip it? We have a girls’ night planned with
Aunt Fiona anyway. Consuela is coming over to take care of the boys and we’re
going out for mocktails.”

“Mocktails?”

“Yeah. They are virgin drinks, Mom. Don’t worry,” Hannah
said.

“I know perfectly well what they are, but I still don’t
think that’s appropriate.”

Gracie elbowed her sister. “I
told
you not to tell
her.”

“No, it’s okay. Whatever. You’re right. I should go to
class.”

***

Caleb was right in the middle of a scene. His fingers raced
across the keyboard and his heart surged with frustration at this woman, this
character, who kept failing, over and over again, to recognize her own beauty,
her own worth, and who kept running from herself and from her life. How he
longed to reach into the setting and thump her on the forehead.

Caleb pushed away from his desk. His scalp ached on the
sides. Had he been pulling on his hair again? He had to stop doing that.

Whenever he was writing a rough draft, he would sink so deeply
into the character that Charlotte would threaten to call a therapist. When his
protagonist was a workaholic businessman, he would come home all curt and bossy.
When his protagonist was a handyman, he would come home and start ripping out
drywall.

“Why can’t you ever write about a hopeless romantic?” Charlotte
had asked him from time to time, and then she would do something
Charlotte-ish…she would wrap her arms around him, maybe, or kiss at the top of
his head. How many other clues had she dropped, over the years, that she wasn’t
satisfied with him?

And so now, for the first time in his career, Caleb found
himself writing from the perspective of a woman, a bored but amazing female,
just so he could get inside her head. Just so he could figure out how the story
might end.

His cell phone rattled, and he startled. He had set his new
publicist’s ringtone to be particularly jangly, so he could get himself in the
proper mindset to speak with her.  

“Caleb.” Stephanie always sounded breathless, like she had
just run up a flight of stairs or escaped an aggressive lover. Talking to her
was like slicing through something. Chop and then chop again, punching each
word.  

“Stephanie,” Caleb retorted, matching her tone and pace.

“Fantastic news. Are you sitting?”

“I am.”

“Fantastic. We are moving up your book launch. By three weeks.”

“Oh.” He grabbed the back of his neck. “You can do that?”

“We can. Apparently.”

“Why?”

“Marcus will explain in greater detail. It’s in regard to
the timing of a book by another house. We want yours to launch first.”

“Oh,” he said again. “That’s great.”

“Yes.”

“So you need to be here. In New York.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

He waited for her to continue, because he knew she would.

“I understand you are dealing with personal matters, so I have
consolidated your public appearances. You need to hit NYC this week. Then Los
Angeles the following. Then your book launch is here in New York on July
fifteenth. Then we’ll go from there.”

What would it be like to be married to someone like her, he
wondered. So mechanical and precise, nearly robotic.

“So get on a plane. I’m still waiting to confirm, but you
will be appearing on
Good Morning, New York
tomorrow. Your call is at
four a.m. Be prepared, of course, to speak about each of your titles.”

“Okay.”

“Are you packing your bag yet, Caleb?”

“Just about. I’ll call you from the airport.”

He lay the phone down and flopped backward on the couch.
Then he took a deep breath, pinched hard at the skin on the top of his nose,
just between his eyes, and dialed the number he knew so well. His stomach gave
a little twist when she answered the phone.

“Jellybean, I need to leave town,” he began. “They’ve moved
up the release.”

“Why?”

“Not sure. I still need to talk to Chaps.” This was
Charlotte’s secret name for his agent, Marcus, because she said he smelled like
aged leather. That Charlotte and her nose. “But Stephanie has booked a slew of
media appearances, so I can’t put it off.”

“Okay then,” Charlotte said. “Good luck and have a good
time.”

His throat tightened. “I’m calling to ask you to come with
me.”

He could hear his nephews scrabbling in the background, but
nothing from Charlotte. Not her breathing. Not a moan or a sigh. Nothing.  

Finally, a small voice. Not her rah-rah voice, but the true,
kind Charlotte voice, the one she used when she was speaking her mind, to him
and him alone. “No, Caleb.”

He shuddered, deep in the center of himself. He could feel a
trembling there, and then a tightness behind his eyes. He opened his mouth to
speak after a moment, but his throat felt closed off. When he spoke, it came out
in a choking, halting blurt. “Okay, I won’t go, then. I won’t go without you.”

“Caleb, you have to go. And I want you to go. I need some
space, some time away from you. That’s what I asked you for in the first
place.” Then, in a louder voice, she said, “I think this was meant to be…you
being called away. You have to go.”

The worst part was that this was something Fiona would have
said, not Charlotte. It wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t meant to be this way at
all.  

***

Charlotte arrived to class early that afternoon. She thought
perhaps Caleb would be there, waiting for her, with more gerbera daisies,
mounds of them this time, and a bloated, tear-stained face. He would tell her
he couldn’t leave this town without her, and she would tell him that he must.

But he wasn’t there. She chewed at her lip and wondered if
she should have gone with him after all. She had never been to New York in the
summertime. She had never been to New York in the…anytime.

Special Ed was already there, in a black button-down and indigo
blue jeans. She smiled at him, tucked her hair behind her ear, and settled at
the easel next to him. She stood close to breathe him in, but he was wearing
cologne, and now he smelled like someone else, like any other man wearing
cologne. Like cowboy sweat mixed with perfume. Most decidedly not bread.

She shook her head at him but continued to smile. She
thought of Caleb, who was probably already on his way to the airport. Or he was
packing. This would be his first publicity trip that he packed for himself,
without all of her checklists.

“Psst,” Special Ed was leaning toward her. “Do you want to
get that cup of coffee tonight?”

“Oh.” She rubbed her palms on her jeans. The girls would be
out late. Caleb was… not here. “Okay.”  What else was she going to do?

Rachael had come in then, and during the entire duration of
the class, had narrowed her eyes at Charlotte only once. Toward the end, she
had even flashed her what looked to be a sympathetic smile, like you might give
to someone if you’d just flattened their puppy. As soon as class was over,
Rachael cut to the door and was gone. Charlotte clenched inside. Caleb had said
she was star struck. What if Caleb and Rachael… What if she was going with him
to New York instead?

“Are you ready?” Special Ed was asking. “For coffee?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Let’s do it.” Charlotte shook her head and
forced on a smile.

“I know the perfect place. We can take a walk by the river,
and then the coffee shop is right there. A little ways down. Does that sound
okay to you? It’s a nice walk.”

“It sounds perfect,” she said and she followed him out the
door and along the paved path toward the river. They were quiet for a bit as
they walked together, and Charlotte was surprised at how comfortable even the
silence was between them. At how good this felt, with the way her mind had been
racing, to simply stroll along with this simple, kind, and beautiful man. 

“So,” Ed asked. “Do you know the visiting professor? I saw
you talking. The other night.”

“Caleb MacDougall?”

“Yes. The author.”  

She paused. How to phrase this? “I do. He’s my ex.”

“Your ex-husband?”

“Not technically.”

“Oh, your ex-boyfriend,” he said, brightening.

“No. Technically, he’s my husband. Still. I mean, if you want
to get technical about it.”

“Oh.” His voice dropped. “You’re married.”

“Separated. Actually. Technically,” she said, though she
knew it wasn’t true. They hadn’t filed any paperwork at all. But she would. What
if Caleb and Rachael, right now…. Her stomach pressed in on itself.

Ed’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his feet as he
walked. “He’s a good author. I mean, I’m not a big reader, by any means, but he
has written some engaging books. One of the English teachers on our faculty has
been attending his workshops. He says the one he taught the other night was spectacular.”

She wondered then if Rachael had been in attendance. She
hadn’t even known when the workshops were scheduled. Caleb hadn’t even called
to tell her about them.

“But you probably know all about that. Since he’s your
husband.”

“I don’t know all about that, actually. But I do know his
books well. I do his editing and his proofreading.”

Ed was quiet and she looked down at his feet, scraping along
on the path. His pace was slower than hers and she pulled herself back,
reminding herself to take a breath. To enjoy the moment, the cool evening air, the
sound of the water rushing over rocks in the river nearby.  

“Is he your children’s father?”

Wow. Special Ed thought she really got around. She grinned. “Yes.
He is my children’s father. Both of them.”

“For the record, I did check for a ring on your finger before
I asked you for coffee. Just so you know.”

She nodded and smiled.

“So I am out in public with a woman who has a famous husband.”
Ed looked around then, swiveling his head from side to side. “Is there
paparazzi around?”

She laughed. “No paparazzi. Wow. You must think he’s pretty
good.”

He was quiet then for a beat. Charlotte had never been out with
a man whom she had to tell to relax before. It was oddly empowering to be the
calm one. “He’s not
that
well-known. And I’m so glad to be out with you.
You’re nice to talk with. Already.”

When they arrived at the coffee shop, she ordered a hot chocolate
with whipped cream, vowing not to tell Leopold. When they both had their paper
cups in hand, they pushed out the door again and meandered back along the path.
 

“So, Charlotte, what brought you out here, to our fair
mountain town?” Ed asked. The question sounded stiff, as though he had been
rehearsing the line while they stood waiting for their drinks.

“I came out to visit my sister.”

“Oh. And your husband. He is visiting your sister, too?”

“No. He followed me, actually.”

“I see.”

“I’m kind of on a path of change, Special Ed.”

He slowed his pace and said, low, “Is that name going to
stick? Because I think I might prefer just, you know, Ed, or, really, anything
besides ‘Special Ed.’”

She laughed. “Sorry, Ed. I’m here because...well, there are few
things I need to get straight before I go any further in my life, and I guess I
came out here to do that.” It struck Charlotte just then that this was
completely untrue. She hadn’t come out here with the intention of changing
anything. She had come out to rest, to relax, to get a change of scenery.
“Maybe it’s a mid life thing,” she said.

“You aren’t mid life.”

“Well…”

“Unless you plan to kick it when you’re sixty.”

“Just how young do you think I am?”

“You’re as young as you feel.” 

“Oh brother,” she said, laughing. “I do have a
thirteen-year-old kid, if that gives you any indication.”

Ed was silent for a moment. He took a swill of coffee. “It’s
just, that’s kind of my thing,” he said, finally.

“What’s your thing? Mid-life crises?”

“No. Change. At any time of life. I feel like that’s what
I’m always talking to my students about. What I’d like them to leave my class
understanding.”

“And you’re a math teacher?”

He laughed. “I know. But, really, as a teacher, you are with
these kids for a chunk of time every single day, and you get to know them, and
they are at such a vulnerable time in their lives. A time when they’re really
trying to figure things out. It’s like they’re putty. Or modeling clay. You’ve
got to get certain things shaped before they harden.”