Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) (18 page)

Charlotte gulped, thinking of her daughters sitting at a
dark table somewhere, wearing too much eye makeup and drinking virgin daiquiri
after virgin daiquiri.

“Mostly, I guess, my message to these kids is that you can
always decide you are someone else,” Ed continued. “You can always decide
what’s important to you. You can decide that you’re willing to put in some hard
work and show the world what you are made of. That’s what I tell the kids who
aren’t motivated.” He paused for a beat and then said, “For the kids who are
too motivated, who are perfectionists and scared to fail, I tell them that life
is for experimenting. For making mistakes. For messing up and trying again. And
that you can always start over.” 

Charlotte took a sip of her coffee and looked at his shoes. They
were nice. Polished. Had he dressed up for class? For her?

“It just gets me,” Ed went on, “because kids come in to my
class, and when they start middle school, they are eleven years old. I mean,
they are babies, really, just starting out in this life, but they are starting
to understand who they are. And they think that, for example, if they have
never played soccer before, then, that’s it. It’s too late.” He threw his hands
up in the air and spilled a little of his coffee but he kept talking. “It makes
me want to shake them by the shoulders and say, ‘You’re
eleven.’
But
they think they are over the hill already and that it’s too late. That’s why I try
to do something new every summer. I know I’m a crappy painter. But this is my
summer to learn how to paint. Just to prove it’s not too late.”

“I admire that.” Charlotte met his eyes then and a ripple of
something passed through her. “You should talk to my sister. She has me on a
program of transformation.”

“Does she now?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, laughing, “she most certainly does.”

“And what about yourself are you supposed to transform? Or are
you already finished with her program? Because you seem absolutely perfect to
me.”

She laughed and took a sip of her cocoa. She had forgotten
how much she loved fat and calories. Whipped cream really was quite delicious.

“I’m supposed to lose some weight, for starters. I visit a
personal trainer for a rather grueling session just about every day. I’m also supposed
to have more fun, which has mostly resulted in my becoming a klutz and a spaz, somehow.
Probably because I’m trying to be someone I’m not and I get all self-conscious
and weird and start to act like a goofball.”  

“Goodness.”

“There’s more. I’m also supposed to discover my life’s mission
by saying ‘yes’ to whatever opportunities happen along, employment or otherwise.
Oh, and I’m supposed to get laid.”  

“Well, there, your sister might be on to something,” Ed’s
laugh was deep and rollicking.

“No, no!” Charlotte said, turning toward him and laughing. “You’re
supposed to tell me how ridiculous she is.”

“The truth is, you
can
always transform yourself. And
you can always decide you don’t need to, too. That’s the beauty of being an
adult. Did you tell your sister that?”

“No. Not exactly. Maybe because I’m worried that I do need
to make some changes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, the longer I’m out here, the more I see that maybe my
clay has hardened in the wrong position.”

“That’s not good.”

“Yeah, like maybe I’m stuck, hard up, in a boring, pastoral
life. The wrong life.”

“That’s not good, either.” Ed drew his shoulders back, took
a sip of coffee, and said, “So the question becomes, are you truly stuck, or
are you just feeling kind of stuck, right now?”

Charlotte shrugged.

“Because we all have our moments when we’re really stuck and
then a lot more moments when we just feel that way, and all we need is a little
vacation or a maybe just a really good orgasm.”

“Special Ed! I hope this isn’t what you tell your students.”

“No. Of course not. But, you know, again, you’re an adult.”

She watched her feet move along on the pavement.

Ed continued. “So which is it? Are you really stuck, or is
this one of those this-too-shall-pass kinds of things. Because I have found,
for me, at least, that most things are in the latter category.”

She shrugged again.

 “Well,” he laughed. “You’re the only one who knows.”

And when she didn’t say anything more, he spoke again, his
tone lower and softer. “If you were one of my students, I would tell you that
you need to give yourself a break. Maybe work on seeing yourself in a better
light. One that’s more kind.”

She imagined then, being bathed in a kind light. What would
that look like? Candlelight, maybe. This was her favorite way of getting the
house ready for a dinner party. Instead of scouring the floors and the walls,
she dimmed the lights and lit some candles. And there was that wonderful
Instagram filter, the one that flooded all of your flaws with this diffuse glow
and then added timeless rounded corners to each edge.

 “But, hell,” Special Ed continued, “I hardly know you. And
you’re a married woman.” His chin dipped and he stared at the ground once
again.

She was silent a moment, then she stopped walking, turned to
him, and smiled. “You
are
special, Ed.”

“Oh boy.”

They laughed together, and they walked a bit more in
silence, and then he said in a small voice, “So there’s something I need to know
before I ask you out again. Because I’m an honorable man.”

“Sure.”

 “What’s the deal with your marriage? Are you trying to work
things out…or is it only a matter of time? Or what?”

“Well.” A laugh burst out of her. “I slept with him last
night.”

“Egad.”

“Did I just say that out loud?”

“You did.”

“Remember what I was saying about being a klutz and a spaz?”

He chuckled. “That complicates things. The fact that you are
still sleeping with your husband. Not the fact that you are a klutz and a
spaz.”

“I know.”

“I mean, you aren’t a klutz or a spaz or anything.”

“I get what you are trying to say, Ed.”

“So what happened?”

“Let’s see. What did happen? We went out to dinner, to talk
about the fact that he wants custody of the girls, while I get myself back
together. Apparently, I’ve fallen apart. This is what everyone is telling me.
And I sort of freaked out and there were margaritas available, and I guess I
was thirsty.”

 “Okay…”

“And then I guess we went back to my place. And so my kids
are now really confused. I feel like I’m losing them.”

“To Caleb.” 

“Not to him, really… But to, well, the world. Because I just
keep making mistake after mistake. And they are watching me make them. It’s
like I can feel my relationship with them starting to weaken. And that was the
one thing I had going for me. The one thing I felt like I was doing right.”

There was something about walking with someone that helped
her to talk, to speak her mind. Maybe it was because no one was staring at her,
measuring her words. She felt less self-conscious somehow when she wasn’t face
to face with someone, and so she continued. “You know when things go along and
you can feel things slipping, and the more they slip, the more momentum they
gain, and you just don’t know if you’re going to be able to stop yourself?”

He nodded. “You feel like you are on a slippery slope.”

“Very, very slippery.”

“Can you get off?”

“I’d like to go home, I really would. And now Caleb has left
for New York City, just this afternoon, but I refused to go along, and I don’t
know what that will mean. How the girls will react to that. I feel like I
dragged them here, in my haste to run away, and now, if we run away again, I
haven’t taught them anything. And I feel like they are losing respect for me.
And if I lose that…I’ve lost just about everything. I don’t know if I could go
on.”

“Well, you can
always
go on.”

“So what should I do?”

“Selfishly, I would stay stop sleeping with your husband.
But I don’t think you should consider me a neutered party.”

Her eyebrows popped.

“God! I mean
neutral
party.”

She guffawed.

“Also, please don’t think of me as a neutered party.”

Charlotte laughed again and slugged him alongside the arm.

“Because of course, I’d like to take you out again. I just
don’t think you should ever feel trapped, Charlotte. I think you should keep
your options open. Because sometimes, when people say they want you to change,
what they really mean is that they want you to live your life a certain way. Never
forget that you get to choose your way. Even if you have a family. A husband.
Kids. You still get to choose your way.” His voice drifted off at the end, and
Charlotte got a sense that it was a speech he had given many times before.

By now, they had made their way back to the college. Hers
was the only car in the lot. And when she looked at him just then, she recognized
the glassiness in his eyes. She remembered how Caleb would look at her that
way. His eyes would look so watery, so ripe, just before he would lead her
upstairs to bed. She felt a shifting inside her, a flutter in her chest, and she
wondered if Special Ed would kiss her now. She wondered if she would let him.

They stood there a moment. She put her hand to her throat.
He took another sip from the plastic cup and shoved a hand deep inside his
pocket.

 “Where is your car?” she asked, finally.

“It’s around back,”

“I didn’t know there was an ‘around back.’”

“There is.”

“Okay. Well…because I could drive you somewhere if you
needed it.”

“No, no.”

“Thanks a lot for the coffee. I had a really nice time,” she
said.

“So did I.”

“No, I mean, I had a really nice time.”

 “So did I.”

He kept standing there, looking at his feet, and she found
that she enjoyed even this, the height of awkwardness. It made her feel young
again. Pre-Caleb. In her life with Caleb, she always knew what was going to
happen. By now, she was kind of a sure thing. All he had to do was roll over in
bed and say, “Do you want to…?” and then she would say, “Do
you
want to…?”
and they would get after it. There was no wondering if it was going to happen.
It always happened. The game was done.

“If you weren’t married, I would kiss you right now.”

Oh, honorable Ed. Special, honorable Ed.

“I still kind of want to,” he continued. “But that would be
wrong. Even though you aren’t wearing a ring...” He moved in closer.

And she smiled then and she relaxed deep in the core of her,
and she decided to let him off the hook. “I was thinking….” she began, softly.
“There’s an Arts Festival in town.  I saw a flyer on the way into the college. Would
you like to go? Tomorrow?”

He took a step back. “I would love nothing more than to go.”

“I’m thinking we should just meet there. You know, so we can
avoid having to go through unnecessary nonsense.”

“Absolutely. Yes. Let’s do.”  

He grabbed for her hand then and he held it to his lips,
which were full and smooth and he gave her a kiss so gentle, so kind, and then
he walked backwards away from her, releasing her hand at the very last moment,
and then he turned and walked away. She glanced at the paved path for just a
moment, in the fading light, and when she looked up again, he was gone.

Charlotte swung her feet over the cottony expanse of her
bed, kicking off the down coverlet and stretching. Sunlight streamed through
the skylight, its golden puddle nearly the size of her bed.

She heard petite and clicky footfalls in the hall and then a
crisp rap at her door. “Charlotte.” Fiona’s whisper was hoarse. “Are you
awake?”

“Yes, yes. Come in.”

Fiona burst in, fully dressed, another amulet, bigger this
time, tucked tight into her cleavage.

“Kamal is coming today.”

“Oh, hooray! I finally get to meet Kamal.”

“Well…but I have so much to do. The house is in shambles.”

“No it’s not. It’s beautiful. Besides, we can help you do
what you need to do.” She would have time to knock out some chores before she
sneaked off to meet Ed. A few, at least.

“Kamal could arrive any minute. So I’ve called in a team.”

“A team of what?”

“The team of people who get things to look just so for
Kamal’s visits.”

“Goodness. Really?”

“He has very exacting standards. You have no idea…”  

Charlotte could see the tendons on Fiona’s neck. “Okay, what
can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Except…maybe you could take the girls out for the
day. I didn’t exactly tell Kamal you were staying with us.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I know.” Fiona chewed on the inside of her lip. 

“Is he going to have a problem with it? Should we pack our
stuff in the car? Find somewhere else to stay?”

“No, no. of course not. He’s just going to wish I had told
him. So I’ll tell him. Or maybe he’ll be gone again before he even notices.
That’s more likely, really.” Fiona pushed her hands through her hair. “He
doesn’t even know about Princess Tulip and Duchess Poi Poi. Isn’t that a riot?”

“He doesn’t know he has dogs?”

“They are my dogs, technically. Not his.”

“Fiona, should we find somewhere else to sleep tonight?”

She looked at her. “What, like with Caleb?”

“Well, no, Caleb is gone.”

“He left you? Again?” She shook her head and made a tsk sound.

“He left for a few days on business, that’s all. He’s coming
back. Besides, I was thinking, like, in a hotel.”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think that will be necessary.
But how about I let you know?”

Charlotte nodded and Fiona said, “But, for now, could you
just get yourself and the girls up and at ‘em?”

Charlotte hopped out of bed. “Of course. It will great to
spend the day with the girls. Probably just what I need.”

Charlotte tiptoed to Gracie’s room, then, and knocked softly.
When there was no answer, she swept the door open and padded over to the bed. Watching
Gracie rouse from slumber gave her a quiet sense of hope. It was like stepping
back in time, seeing her face puffy with sleep, the familiar way she yawned and
rolled her wrists in tight circles. Charlotte had a sudden urge to crawl under
the blankets and hold her the way she had when Gracie was a toddler, curling up
beside her and pressing Gracie’s head against her chest and hugging her little
face tight, tight, tight.

“Rise and shine,” Charlotte whispered. “We need to leave the
house for awhile.”  

“Wha? Why?”

“Long story, I think. And one I don’t know. But we need to
spend the day somewhere else.”

“Where are we going to go?” Gracie blinked her eyes a few
times.

“There’s an Arts Festival in town, and I want to take you
and Hannah. Just us. No cousins. No Aunt Fiona.”

“Okay, mom. Yeah, okay.” She smacked her lips together and
sat up. “That sounds fun.”

“I already planned on meeting a friend from art class there,
so we’ll all go together, and you can meet him.”

Gracie groaned.  “Is this, like, another date?”

“No, sweetie. Just a friend. He’s nice. I think you’ll like
him. He’s a middle school teacher here, actually.”

“And that’s going to make me like him?”

“Yes, actually, I think it will.”

Gracie looked up at the ceiling. “As long as it’s not a
date. Whatever.”

“I’m actually kind of curious to know what you think of this
guy. He’s kind of….curious.”

“Curious, as in ‘he wants to know a lot of stuff.’ Or
curious as in ‘peculiar?’” Gracie asked.

She thought for a moment. “Both, I think,” and she smiled.

“Does he know you’re bringing your kids along? On your
date?”

Oh, slippy, slippy slope, Charlotte thought, and then she said,
“He doesn’t and it isn’t. He’s a fan of Dad’s work, actually. He’s the only
half-normal person I’ve met in this town, and I think you’ll like him.”  

Then Charlotte turned to wake Hannah and to get dressed. Because
Fiona was distracted leading a team of women through the house with Swiffer
dusters and washing wands, Charlotte was able to wear whatever she pleased,
which, today, was a pair of running shoes with jeans and a plain yellow
t-shirt.  Despite the increase on the scale, her jeans slid on and rode loose
on her hips. Huh. How about that.

***

The four main streets in the downtown area had been blocked
off with white lattice barricades and the morning sun washed everything in
slanted lemon light. In the street, crisp white tents stood, evenly spaced, each
housing a different artist’s wares. Photography, ceramics, oil painting,
jewelry.

Charlotte and the girls had walked the mile or so from
Fiona’s house, and, as they did, Charlotte savored the simple sounds of morning
and of her daughters, their flip-flops smacking the soles of their feet. Their
laughter, which burbled and scattered, like the splash of a waterfall. She
could see Arturo’s now, half a block down. The silver chairs were still stacked
atop the tables on the patio. The twinkle lights had been extinguished for the
daytime crowd and everything looked clean and new. She saw Ed then, in a pair
of tailored jeans and a crisp white button down, rolled up at the sleeves. His
hands were buried deep in his pockets, and when he met her eyes, he raised his
hand in a wave and ambled forward.

“These are my daughters,” Charlotte said, “Hannah and Gracie.”
Ed smiled and then looked away for a beat. This was a man who understood the
introverted teenage girl, Charlotte thought. There weren’t many who did, and
she felt a rising in her chest.

Ed turned to her, then, and said, simply, “Hey.”  

“Hey,” she replied and smiled, noticing the chiseled lines
of his mouth then, and the copper flecks in his eyes.

Hannah sniffed the air. “Someone is baking something. Can we
go find out what it is?”

Charlotte slid her hand into her pocket and produced a twenty-dollar
bill, which she presented to Hannah. “You two are welcome to explore on your
own, but if you find anything especially delicious, bring us back a piece.”

The girls gave Ed a shy glance. They moved through the
gathering crowd together, talking and walking. Just before they turned the
corner at the end of the block, Gracie peeked back at them.

“My sister needed some time alone this morning, so…” Charlotte
said.

“No need for explanations. I’m glad you brought them.”  

“You know what? So am I.”

“They are beautiful. Just like you.”

She looked off in the direction they had gone.

“And they are calm, like you.”

“Calm?” Charlotte chuckled. “No one has called me that in
this town.”

“I know. You keep saying that bit about the klutz and the
spaz, but I’m not seeing it.”

“The moment I met you, I rammed into your easel and sent
your papers flying around the room.”

“That could happen to anyone. Plus, there’s nothing wrong
with being a bit nervous,” he said. “When Hannah and Gracie are nervous and act
a little awkward, do you think, ‘What a klutz. What a spaz?’”

“No. But they don’t act like that.”

“They have the same energy as you.”

“Do they?”

“Yes.”  

“And what energy is that?” she asked, knowing perfectly well
that she was fishing.

“A calm one. Sweet and kind and quiet.”

“That’s exactly how I would describe yours,” she said, and
she held her hand out to his. He squeezed it once and then released.  

Who did he remind her of just now? Who was it?

They strolled from one white tent to the next, first reading
its signboard, which announced the artist’s name, medium and hometown. A
textile artist from Santa Fe, New Mexico. A glassblower from Tucson, Arizona.  

“Do you know why I love coming to this festival each year?”
Ed asked. “Besides the art, of course.”

“Why?”

“Because it gives you a chance to see the artists, alongside
their work. And each artist looks precisely like his or her art. Kind of like
dogs look like their owners, but more profound.”

“Is that right?”

He nodded. “It’s true in every case. Take a look and see. It’s
as though the person in the tent is the only person in the world who could make
art that would look like that.”

In the very next booth was a middle-aged woman wearing a
faded tie-dyed dress with skin that precisely matched her pale blonde hair. She
sat amid dozens of pastel watercolors, hushed landscapes of greens and blues
and pinks. In the next booth stood a tall, thin man wearing a sun visor and a pressed
Polo shirt. He gestured to his landscape photographs, everything in sharp focus
with precise lines and crisp details.

“That is astonishing,” Charlotte said, and then they found
themselves in front of an angular red-haired man, broad-shouldered, wearing a
striped shirt with rhinestone buttons and a leather apron over his well-worn Wranglers.
He was, at that moment, painting with oil on a canvas, some five feet in
length. His palette showed a smattering of hundreds of colors. Some he had
mixed together; others stood alone.

Ed and Charlotte stood, entranced, as he worked on his
piece: two cowboys crossing a river on horseback, the water running through red
cliffs, spruce trees dotting the landscape in the distance. The artist’s hand
moved wildly back and forth. After a minute or two, he would dab and jab at a
series of colors on his palette and then his hand would fly back to the canvas,
where his vision would take shape, layer upon layer, right before their eyes. Charlotte
had never seen anyone paint so quickly.

“What if you make a mistake?” she blurted. The artist stopped
and looked at her, his eyes flashing. Then he stabbed his brush toward a dozen
or so areas on the canvas, one to another, fast. “Those were all mistakes.”

“They don’t look like mistakes.”

“That’s because you get to make layers. If you mess up once,
you can put something else on top. Sometimes the piece is better for it.”

Then the man kept painting, and the sun felt bright on her
skin and she felt strong in her legs and in her core and in her belly and in
her heart.

Gracie’s voice came up from behind them just then. “We couldn’t
find the cinnamon rolls. Strangest thing.”

“Yeah,” Hannah continued, “But we got some kettle corn.” They
held the bag out first to Ed, who gave them a warm smile and reached in for a
handful. “Maybe the bakery is over here somewhere. I smell it
again
.”

Ed shook his head. “I think what you’re smelling is the
cinnamon roasted nuts.” He pointed to a nearby booth.

“No, I don’t even like those,” Gracie said. “It’s something
bread-y.”

“We have to go find out where that’s coming from.”

They disappeared again, leaving Ed holding the cellophane
bag of popcorn.

“I think it’s you,” Charlotte said.

“What’s me?”

“The scent. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you smell like
freshly baked bread?”

He laughed.

“Is it some kind of cologne?”

“I’m not wearing any cologne. I thought about it today, but
I didn’t.”

“Huh. Well, it’s definitely you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

“I guess it’s just one of your layers, cowboy. A good one.”
Charlotte felt the charge between them. It was something she remembered from
the early days with Caleb. When she would move in close toward him, she would
it feel it, this electricity sparking through her body. It would crackle
almost, if they stood close enough together; something nearly erotic, a sort of
dance, just standing in conversation with one another.

Charlotte and Ed moved along in this way, appreciating one another
and the things they saw, feeling the air fizz and sputter between them.

***

A short while later, the girls rejoined them, and Ed said he
would let them have the rest of the day to themselves, and he waved to them,
and offered them back the kettle corn, which they insisted he keep. And so he
walked away, swinging the long cellophane bag and whistling.

Not knowing if it was yet safe to return to the Thunderdome,
Charlotte and her daughters stopped at a park near the college. The riverbank
here was steep with natural grasses and wildflowers, but there was a flat,
grassy area, too, and a playground. They sat, side by side, on the swings,
kicking against the sand underfoot and feeling their bodies twist, lazily, on
the chains.

“That man makes you happy,” Gracie said, looking toward her
mother.

“He’s a nice, normal guy,” Charlotte replied. “The kind of
guy we would be friends with in Missouri, probably.”  

“Yeah. It would be nice to have a friend like that out
here.”

“It really is.” She heard the old Gracie in there somewhere.
A softness, a caring for her mother.

“Do you think Dad could ever be your friend like that?”

Charlotte pushed on one foot in the sand and felt the swing
tug and lurch beneath her as the chain moved upward in its twist. She released
and let the swing spiral back around again before she answered. “We once were.
The best of friends.”

Hannah spoke now. “You never told us what happened, Mom…But
we figured it out, we think. We figured dad must have done something.”