The Redemption (Charlotte Bloom Book 2) (2 page)

“It wasn’t real? Oh, honey, is that what you’re telling yourself?”

“It was stupid and irresponsible. It was a rebound. It was—”

“Love.” Amara looked at me as she said it. “It was soul-shattering, once-in-a-lifetime L-O-V-E. But… if you say it was just a vacation fling—”

“Fuck it. I’ll go on the date with that actor friend of yours.”

I had to stop talking about Alec. More importantly, I needed Amara to stop talking about love, because I already knew I loved Alec. I tormented myself endlessly thinking of loving Alec.

Thinking of
how damn much
I loved Alec.

“Don’t change the subject, missy.”

“It’s time to move on, Mar. I
have
to move on. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Amara looked at me. Her eyes were narrowed, trying to gauge my seriousness.

“OK. If you’re sure, I’ll give Charlie your number,” she sighed, resigned.

Maybe I’d be OK. Who knows… maybe I’d like Charlie.

Our food came, and I devoured my fettuccine, trying to forget the last five minutes ever happened. Or, while I was wishing for things… I wished the last five
months
had never happened.

***

I walked up the steps to Harry’s small house in Tujunga Village. As I rang the doorbell, I made sure my hair was tamed and my jacket was straightened. I was the opposite of comfortable here, in his domain. Since returning from Wales, I had envisioned our old life together from time to time, and it was strange to remember my life with him. I’d spent eight years with the man, yet we’d become like strangers during and after our divorce.

Almost a year ago, I’d gone with Amara to a psychic at her suggestion. She had needed assurance that everything would be OK with her and Sam (it had been) and I had had the fateful reading that would forever change my life. Lainey, the psychic, had told me that Harry and I would separate because my destiny was not with him, but with another man. At the time, I’d been bewildered. I’d been in denial. In an attempt to prove her wrong, I’d tried to have a baby with Harry, which had only exacerbated our problem.

Harry’s door opened.

“Hey, Charlotte. Come in.”

“Thanks,” I said politely, as I closed the door behind me.

I looked around as I stepped into his new house. It was the first time I’d seen it. “It looks nice,” I mumbled, shocked to see that it was already decorated and lived-in. My small apartment was still totally bare. I hadn’t even unpacked the kitchen. My pots and pans were still being stored in worn-out boxes. It wasn't that I didn’t have the money to rent a house like Harry’s. Our divorce had been amicable, and we’d split and sold most of our assets. The profits from the house sale went straight into a retirement account for me, per a suggestion from my retired father. The rest was sitting in savings, padded by my measly paychecks. It was just that I had wanted something… cozier. Admittedly, I had needed something temporary. A house seemed too big for me right now.

“Look, thanks for coming. I know it’s probably weird being here,” he said, with his hands in his pockets. I stared at him for a minute. I couldn’t believe that this man had been my number one.

“It’s fine.”

“You look… well, you’ve looked better.” He came over and sat me down on the new leather couch. I hated leather couches.

I ran my fingers through my curly, red hair. Normally, it was long and sleek. Today, or the last few months, rather, I’d given up. I wasn’t wearing any makeup, which was pretty unusual for me. I never wore a face full of makeup or anything, but I always put on mascara, blush, and lip gloss. My pale skin had only gotten paler, and I was wearing baggy jeans and an old t-shirt. I was a skeleton of what I’d previously been. I had dark circles under my eyes, which seemed much more prominent set as they were against my paler-than-pale skin. My hazel eyes were lifeless and unsmiling most of the time. I didn’t recognize myself.

“It’s been a hard transition.”

“What, the divorce? Or… Alec?”

I cringed. I’d told Harry everything the day I’d returned. He had met me at Amara’s apartment and I had spilled the beans to both of them.

The story went like this: Harry had left me at Amara’s wedding, and I had flipped out. I’d gone to Lainey’s to demand a solution, but she hadn't been there. I’d gone to Bloomingdales and gotten enough clothes for a week abroad. On the advice of Amara’s cousin, I’d decided I needed to find my happiness again. When I arrived at LAX I had told myself I’d book the first flight out to Europe, which had happened to be Swansea, in Wales. That had in turn led me to Parc-Le-Bouveret, due to a lucky encounter with Tommy, the cab driver. To sum up a very long and detailed story: I met and fell in love with Alec Baxter, the groom at Parc-Le-Bouveret. I think that had been the hardest part for Harry to hear.

“If you’re going to be like that, I’m going to leave.”

“I’m sorry. I guess it just hurts to know that I'm over here mourning our almost-seven-year marriage, while you’re mourning some guy you met the day after we decided to separate.”

“I told you. Nothing happened until my last day.”

It was true. I had spent the first few weeks in Wales alone. Yes, I’d gotten to know Alec, but nothing had happened until the last two nights: the night he’d kissed me, and the night we’d made love.

“It still hurts,” Harry said. His soulful eyes darkened with sadness. I guess we were both sad for different reasons.

“Don’t think I didn’t love you. I loved you with such ferocity that I was willing to do anything to save our marriage. I tried, Harry. It didn’t work. You even said so. Complacency took the place of happiness a long time ago. We’re better off.”

“I know.”

“So… why did you want to see me?”

“I want you to know that you have my blessing.”

“What?”

“I said before that it hurts to see you so saddened by some guy you knew for six weeks, but if he makes you happy, you have my blessing.”

“Oh.”

“I overheard Sam talking to Amara the other day, about setting you up with that guy. Charlie.”

“Right. Charlie. The actor.”

Was I really discussing my potential dating prospects with my ex-husband?

“I just wanted to sit you down and tell you that it’s OK if you want to start dating. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, thank you.”

To be honest—and maybe this made me a horrible person—I hadn’t even considered Harry’s feelings.

“Do you think you’ll go back?”

“Where?”

“Wales. Do you think you’ll go back to Alec?”

“I honestly don’t know. It was kind of like the first time you taste a really good meal. It’s so delicious. Your mouth waters with every bite. But when you try and recreate it at home, it’s not the same. I’m afraid of that. I’m afraid I ruined everything by leaving.”

“I’m sorry I demanded that you come home. I didn’t… I didn’t realize he made you so happy.”

“Well, what’s done is done.”

“You should go back, Charlotte.”

I stood up, enraged.
He
of all people had the audacity to pretend to know how I felt, how much it hurt to think about going back.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m punishing myself all day, every day over here. I know I should go back. But do you know what?
Why should I?
My life there was exactly what I needed at the time. It was this perfect slice of heaven. I’ve never been happier. And I’d rather have that forever than possibly something less than perfect, something I could ruin by going back. We hardly even know each other. Alec and I… it was just a vacation fling. I’d prefer to keep it perfect in my head forever.”

“Your reasoning makes no sense. You’re scared to go back because… it
might
not
be the same?”

“I don’t deserve him, Harry. Not after I ignored him for three months. He’s been nothing but wonderful, even though he hasn’t spoken to me directly since I left. I’m an awful person.”

“So you’re just going to wallow in your misery, then?”

“I guess so,” I said defiantly. “It’s easier than admitting the truth,” I said, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes.

“Which is?”

“I miss him. I miss him so fucking much,” I whispered, collapsing onto the floor.

I put my hands up to my face and cried. I felt Harry rub my back.

“I still love you, you know. We may not be in love anymore, but I will always care about you.

“I know. I love you too, Harry. I’m sorry for everything.”

***

The next morning, I walked over to the red suitcase, the one I hadn’t opened since returning from Wales. I knelt down in front of it, my bare knees on the frigid, tiled kitchen floor, and unzipped it. Maybe it was my imagination but, I swear, the minute I opened it I could smell Alec all over again: his cedary, soapy smell that didn’t come from any kind of artificial fragrance. It was his natural scent... and it drove me crazy. On top of my clothes was a bouquet of lilies. They sat there, smashed and dried out.

Alec hadn’t taken his eyes off of me since he'd walked in. I walked over to him and he dropped the lilies on the ground before turning to leave. I panicked.

“Alec, wait!” I grabbed his arm and he spun around, his eyes angry.

“So, you’re leaving? Why?”

“It’s complicated,” I said, bending down to pick the lilies up off of the floor. “How did you know lilies were my favorite flower?”

“I didn’t. They just reminded me of you.”

I took the dried lilies and walked over to an old picture in a frame. It was something completely insignificant now; something Harry had gotten me on a date at one point. It was a generic picture of the Oregon coastline, and as much as I loved what it signified (where I had grown up and gone to college), it didn’t mean as much as these lilies now meant to me. I slowly removed the glass from the frame, slid out the picture, and laid the lilies flat, smashing them against the glass as I closed it. I turned it over and looked at it. Perfect. The black cardboard was a nice backdrop for the cream and now-browned lilies. I grabbed a nail and hammer from my small toolbox under the sink. I leaned against the side of my bed and placed the nail above my bed, right in the center. I hung the framed lilies.
There.

Now I had some art.

***

I emailed Katie back the next day at work. I didn’t know how to respon
d
t
o
her and, inevitably, Alec that no, I would not be coming for the Christmas party. I’d thought about it all night. Money wasn’t the issue; I had plenty of it for the first time in my life, because of the divorce. It wasn’t that I would have to take time off of work. This job was more of a means to an end—a way to pay my bills until I found my dream job.

There was only one job I'd ever felt passionate about, and that job was in Wales, and it technically no longer existed. Even if I did go back, it wasn’t like I could just resume where I’d left off. Helen and George were fine without me, and if something did come up, they could always email or call me with any questions. That was the beauty of PR. It was fairly easy to do remotely.

The thought of going back to Wales and facing Alec after I had left him standing against the door of Parc-Le-Bouveret, after we’d made love twice, after we’d said “I love you”, was too much to bear. I’d broken his heart. He’d said so. His perfect mouth had crumpled into a sob, and that beast of a man had broken down and slumped into me, crying. I was a heartless, soulless bitch. I’d chosen my life here over him, and I’d proven that when I had gotten into the taxi and left. I’d proven it with every swipe of my finger as I deleted his messages, every flick of my wrists as I tossed his letters in the trash. I had promised him that I would be back. It was too late now. He had to know that I was never coming back.

I composed myself and wrote the most honest email I’d ever written. I felt like I was writing a diary entry.

Dear Katie,

Thank you so much for the invitation to the Christmas party. I really wanted to write this email and say, “Yes! Count me in! I’ll be there!” Life would be so easy if I could write that, huh? But life doesn’t work like that. I won’t be coming. And not for the various reasons people usually throw at these things—if I was set on going, I would get there somehow, some way. I’m fully aware that I’m holding myself back from something great. We both know what I’m talking about. Alec.

I’ve thought about this a lot, especially more recently as I’ve realized it has been almost three(!) months since I left. I feel like I was there just yesterday. Anyways, I can’t come back. It would be too painful for myself, for Alec, if things didn’t work out. I yearn for my life in Wales with every ounce of my being.