The Space Between Us (25 page)

Chapter Three

Charlie

   I routinely tried not to study myself in the mirror.  I never liked what I saw.  Unfortunately, I found myself to be less in control than I would wish.  So, here I sat, at my expensive
vanity, in my expensive bedroom, of my expensive New York City apartment that overlooked Central Park, and all I could see was emptiness.  But I didn’t want to see anything else anyway.  I didn’t want to feel anything.  Because, when I felt something, it was usually pain.

   I’m sure to everyone else I looked normal, maybe even happy.  But I knew better. 

   I picked up the big brush from the table top and used it to paint color on my cheeks, to fool everyone around me into thinking that my heart worked well enough to pump blood throughout my body, to make my cheeks this color.  It didn’t though.  My heart hadn’t worked in a long time.  It was a miracle I was even here, breathing this air, existing in this world.

   “You ready to go, Bit?”

   My lungs stopped working, the air in them froze like blocks of ice. My throat closed up, the lights in the room dimmed.  The brush in my hand fell with a loud bang onto the vanity again. 

   He must have noticed my distress, because he came running into the room, his hands cupping my face.

   “Charlie, what’s happening?  Are you ok?”

   I grabbed his hands and looked into his eyes, trying to remind my lungs how to work properly.   “Why did you call me that?”  I managed to gasp at him, holding tears back.

   “Call you what?  Charlie?”  He said, looking fully and truly confused.

   “
No.  Bit,” I cried, shocked by the pain it caused to even say the word.  He continued to look confused, his brows crinkled together at the center of his face.  Then they relaxed and I saw realization come over him.

   “I asked if you were going to be ready to go in a little bit.”  He said softly.
  I finally realized what he had actually said and then I let the hurt wash over me.  I allowed myself, as I had time and time again, to lean into David and use him as a receptacle for my sadness.  He held me close to him, my face buried in his stomach, my tears staining his dress shirt which he would now have to change.  But that wasn’t unlike him, he always changed for me – changed his plans, changed his mind, changed his life. 

  
When we met, he’d had so many plans for life.  He was a successful doctor, moving up in the medical society of New York City, making a name for himself.  He’d seen me and I knew he wanted me.  I recognized when men wanted me.  He wanted a wife, a mother for his future children, and he saw that it me, like many had.  I was aware of how I looked on the outside and what I really was on the inside.  It was more difficult for others to see what I wouldn’t show them.  David, however, was the only one who got this close to me.  Selfishly, I haven’t been able to let him loose.

   I couldn’t give him what he wanted, but didn’t push him away either.  He thought that eventually I would “come around”, that I would marry him, give him children.  I knew b
etter and I told him so, but if I were a good person, I’d leave him.  He was so good, so hopeful, so wonderful.  And I couldn’t let him go.

   So like many times before, I let him comfort me and lied to him about the source of my sadness.

   “What happened just then?”  He asked softly, after I had calmed down.  I pulled back from him, wiping my face with my hands.  I couldn’t look in his eyes as I lied to him.  I never could.

   “That was the nickname Asher use to call me,” I said quietly, still trying to keep calm.

   “Bit?”  He asked, curiously.  It pained me to hear it, physically hurt me.  All my muscles cramped up, my throat constricted.  I nodded, trying to catch my breath.  “That’s a weird nickname.”  I let his comment float between us because I had no need or want to explain it to him.  “How long ago did he die again?”  I closed my eyes and turned from him.

   “Thirteen years ago.”

   I stood with my hands on the vanity, my head hanging between my shoulders, exhausted from everything that happened in the last five minutes.  I felt David come up behind me and place his hands on my arms, brushing his palms up and down, trying to comfort me.  Then his hand came down to the bare skin of my rib cage, just above my waist.  He ran his hand along the tattoo I had done years before I met him.  He softly caressed the letters that were forever scarred on me.

   “Are you still thinking of having this removed?”  That was another lie I told him, that I was thinking of having it removed.  I would never get rid of it.  I didn’t want to. 
I wanted to see his name on me.  I wanted to be reminded of everything.  I wanted some part of him on my naked skin at all times, regardless of how sick and twisted it was.  I needed it.   But that’s not what David saw.

   “Does it bother you?” 
It should.  It should bother him to see another man’s name tattooed on his girlfriend.  It wasn’t small either.  It ran along my entire side.  It was beautiful.

   “I kn
ow he was your childhood friend and that you were traumatized by his death, but if you feel like you need the tattoo removed, I would understand and support you.”  This was his niceness coming through again.  He would never tell me how much it bothered him to see it on me.  He would always say the right thing.

   “I’m still thinking about it.”  Lie
s.

   Most of what I had with David was founded on lies, but they were necessary to make it wo
rk.  According to the lies I told David, Asher was simply a childhood friend who died tragically in a car accident my sophomore year of college.  According to my lies, Asher was my best friend and then was taken from me suddenly and unexpectedly.  According to my lies, I never really recovered.  So, the lies weren’t all lies.  He was taken from me suddenly and unexpectedly, and I hadn’t ever recovered from it, but he wasn’t my friend.  He was my everything, and I was fully aware the way I held on to him, even all these years later, was unhealthy and mostly sick.  I didn’t care enough about myself though to fix anything.

   David gently kissed my temple, trying to sooth me.  I saw his eyes meet mine in the mirror of the vanity and I watched as his mouth kissed down the side of my face, over my cheek, behind
my ear.  I watched as his lips moved to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses along my neck.  I closed my eyes and leaned back into him, and I knew what it looked like to him.  I knew he thought I was giving myself over to him, letting him make love to me to make me feel better, to feel close to him.  He thought I was closing my eyes from pleasure.  Lies.  I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see him anymore.  I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want him to see me and I definitely didn’t want to feel anything.  No pleasure.  No joy.  No love.  Nothing.

   His hands moved my bra straps off my shoulders and pus
hed them down to my elbows.  I felt him pull the fabric down, releasing my breasts.  His hands cupped me, squeezed me, and I pushed out the obligatory sigh that was expected of me.  Lies.  His hands moved over me, feeling my arms, my back, my ass, but as his hands floated over my belly I grabbed them and pushed them back to my breasts.  I never let him touch my stomach.  I never let anyone touch my stomach.  I could never tell him why though; I didn’t have a good excuse.  The truth was not something I wanted to share with him or anyone.

   He spun me around and his hands grazed down my back, his fingers sliding between the material of my panties and my skin, pushing them over the roundness of my ass.

   “What about the fundraiser?”  I asked between his kisses, not really in the mood to pretend to enjoy myself.

   “We can be fashionably late,” he mumbled between my breasts.
  I gave in, because I always gave in.  It was easier to give in than to answer questions or make up excuses. 

  
He pulled one of my nipples into his mouth and I knew I should feel something, but I didn’t.  I heard my phone ringing across the room and moved to answer it.  His fingers tightened their grasp on my hips.  “Let it ring,” he said around my nipple in his mouth.  I conceded and ran my fingers through his hair, going through the motions, hoping he’d buy it.  When my phone started ringing again, I heard him sigh against my skin.  He stepped away from me and I hurried to my phone, pretending to be affronted.

  
I didn’t recognize the number, but it’s local to Willow Falls so my heart rate peaked and I answered with a little break in my voice, wondering who it could be. “Hello?”

   “May I please speak with Ms. Charlie McBride?”

   “This is she,” I said as I pulled my bathrobe over my body.

   “Hello Ms. McBride.  I am calling on behalf of the estate of Mr. Charles McBride.  My name is Phillip Libman.  Do you have a moment?”

   I was confused by the things he said, words that made me nervous.  Why would he represent my father’s “estate”?  “Um, I’m free to talk now, yes.”

   “Ms. McBride I am sorry to be the one to tell you that your father passed away this afternoon.”

   My first instinct was to laugh, so that’s what I did.  I chuckled a little.  Obviously, he called the wrong number.  “No, there’s been a mistake.  You must have the wrong person.  My father is fine.”

   “Ms. McBrid
e, I know this comes as a shock and I feel terrible to tell you over the phone, but your father, Charles McBride, passed away this afternoon from complications of bone cancer.”

   “My father didn’t have canc
er.  You’re mistaken.”  Now I was angry.  How dare this person call me and tell me my father died.  David came to stand beside me, his hand on my shoulder, his eyes worried.

   “Charlie, did your father live at 5280 Pine Grove Drive in Willow Falls?”

   My heart faltered a little, skipped a beat or two.  “Yes.”

   “Are you Charlie McBride, born to Charles and Anna McBride?”

   “Yes.”

   “I’m so sorry.  There’s no mistake.”

   “He wasn’t even sick,” I whispered as I fell back onto the bench of the vanity.

   “Can you come to Willow Falls as soon as possible?  We have a lot to discuss with you.”

   I handed the phone to David and let him take down all the important information.   He walked around, collecting pen and paper, writing things down, saying things to the man on the phone who told me my dad had died today.

   If my father had cancer, he would have told me.
  I spoke to him every Sunday.  Why wouldn’t he tell me that he had cancer?  I would have dropped everything and gone to Willow Falls.  I would have been there for him, taken care of him.  A tear fell from my cheek and landed on my hand on my lap.  I didn’t even realize I was crying. I looked into the mirror and saw my face, red and wet with tears. 

  
“Baby, are you ok?”  David was in front of me, kneeling on the ground.

   “Did that man tell you what he told me?”  I ask
ed him, trying still to fit all the pieces together.

   “He said that your father passed away today,” he answered gently.  “He said he had cancer.”

   I shook my head in disbelief.  “Why wouldn’t he tell me he had cancer?”  I kept asking the question, but in the back of my mind I knew why he didn’t tell me.  I leaned into David and let him comfort me, let him hold me, let him bring me to bed and wrap his arms around me.  The entire time I was wishing it were someone else.

   “What about your fundraiser?”  I was all cries and sniffles and tears.

   “Charlie, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he whispered against my hair.

   There was a long silence between us.  He stroked my hair and I continued to cry and wail.  Eventually I felt like I cried all the tears I had in me.  I was wrong, of course, but I was stable for the moment at least.

   “I need to go to Willow Falls.”  It was difficult to call it home.  For the last thirteen years I hadn’t felt like I had a home, really.

   “We can book flights tomorrow.  I have some vacation time saved up.”
  My insides froze up at his words.  I didn’t know before he’d mentioned coming along, but the last place I wanted David was in Willow Falls.  In the five years we’d been together, I never found a reason to bring him there and now wasn’t the time to figure out why.

   “You don’t have to take time off from work to come with me.  I can go by myself.”  He ro
lled so that he was on top of me, using his hands to brush my hair away from my face.

   “I will go anywhere to be with you right now.  You can’t tell me to stay home.  Your father died.  I love you.  Of course I’m going with you.”
 

   I didn’
t anticipate this was going to be the moment where David realized I was a coward and a fraud.  I didn’t anticipate my father dying suddenly and me having to explain to my long-term boyfriend why he couldn’t come home with me.  And like the coward I was I smiled at him and nodded my head, let him kiss me on the cheek, and allow him to spoon me as we fell asleep.  Well, he fell asleep and I did a good job of pretending to be asleep.  Then I crept out of his arms and paced the living room, trying to figure out which lie I’d tell him next to make him stay out of my past.

Chapter Four

Asher

   I made sure I was the last o
ne to show up and that the service already started.  I made sure I wouldn’t run into her.  I opened the door slowly and heard the pastor at the front of the church talking about how important it was to live each day like it were a gift.  I found a seat in the very back pew for which I was grateful.  I sat and tried to keep my eyes on the man speaking at the front of the room, tried to force myself to grieve, to see the casket and recognize that a man I loved and respected was being laid to rest.  But nothing was sinking in because I knew she was in the room.

   It ha
s been so long.  The last time I saw her I broke her heart.  I betrayed her in the worst way.  I remembered standing in her room, saying all the wrong things, but not knowing what else to do.  I was so afraid, so unbelievably caught off guard, but also so incredibly stupid.  I don’t blame her for leaving; I would have left too.  She didn’t need to wait around for me to swallow my pride, to tell her that everything I said about our baby was a mistake, that in the end, all I’ll ever think about is how I took the best thing in my world and ruined it.

   I saw her sitting in the front pew
right next to Reeve.  I could only see her from the shoulders up, but I cherished every inch of her available.  She looked thin, her neck slimmer than I remembered it, the pointy corners of her shoulders concerning.  Her hair was pulled up into a bun but I could tell it was still long and I felt my breathing speed up as I remembered how I use to thread my fingers through her long tresses.  I used her hair for comfort, for boredom playing with it while she did homework, and I used it to hold her where I wanted her.  I closed my eyes tight, trying to fight back the images of her naked back, her hair wrapped tightly around my fist.  I felt like the worst human possible, fantasizing about her at her father’s funeral.

   Luckily, to the random funeral attendee
, it probably looked like I was emotional over the death of the outstanding man we were all here to remember. But the overriding emotion I was feeling was regret, mixed with a good amount of lust.  This would probably be the last time I ever saw her and that weighed heavily on me.  I wanted to be the one sitting next to her, holding her hand, comforting her.  I looked back to where she was sitting and didn’t see a man next to her, just Reeve.  How could it be that she was here without someone?  I couldn’t imagine she was alone in life.  There’s no way she’s out in the world and no one was trying to snatch her up.  So why was she here all by herself?

   I was brought back to attention when the pastor stopped talking and a hush fell over the room.  I saw Charlie stand and begin walking towards the pulpit.  My breath caught in my chest as I saw more of her. 
She was so small and fragile, so tiny.  At least, that’s how I saw her.  I wanted to rush to the front of the church and hold her, protect her from everything she must be going through.  The black dress she wore was conservative but still hugged her tightly.  I remembered the way her waist curved into her hips, how her belly was toned and flat leading to the full roundness of her small breasts.  She was far away, but I could see the dark circles under her eyes.

   As she faced the congregation of people
, she looked down at the paper she was unfolding in her hands.  She took a deep breath in and we all heard it shudder as she exhaled.  My chest clenched, wanting to be near her, to help her.

   “When my mother died twenty years ago
,” she began, her voice shaking, “my father and I were with her until the end, from her diagnosis, to her doctor appointments, to her treatment.  Finally, when there was nothing left to do but keep her comfortable and wait, we waited with her.  We sat next to her, spoke to her, reassured her as best we could that we would be ok and that we loved her.”  She brought a tissue to her nose, pausing to collect herself.  “I’m not sure if my father ever fully recovered from her death, from the absence of the one person he was meant to be with, but I know I didn’t.  And in this moment,” she gave a quiet and soft laugh, “I’m a little jealous that he gets to be with the love of his life again, while some of us are still here, alone.”

   “I understand my father’s choice to not tell me he was sick.  I don’t agree with it, but I understand.  It’s not surprising that even on his de
athbed he was thinking of me, trying to protect me, to keep me from getting hurt.  He was the best dad in that way.  I think back to all the phone conversations we had while he must have been sick.  He never let on that anything was wrong, never complained, never confided in me his fears of possibly dying.”  She paused again and a small cry left her, a hand coming up to cover her mouth.  I nearly shot out of my seat, rushing to her to stand with her, to be with her.  “In his effort to protect me,” she continued, still upset and speaking through tears, “he robbed me of my right to say goodbye.  I’ve had enough instances of goodbye in my life and I don’t want any more, but I’ll never get over the fact that I never got to tell him to his face, one last time, how much I loved him.” 

  
I could tell she tried very hard to hold herself together and the tension in the room was thick.  Everyone’s heart broke watching this young woman, just barely thirty, saying goodbye to her last parent.  I wanted to take away all her pain, but more so, felt guilty that some of her pain, even if it was in the past, was caused by me.  I hated myself a little bit more in that moment.

   “I hope he can hear me
and that Mom is with him.”  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  I knew tears had started flowing down her face.  “I hope they all know how much I love them and how much I miss them.  I will try to make them proud.”

   The rest of the service was predictable, yet sad.  I took deep breaths hoping to steady myself as I stood to sneak out of the church before the service concluded.  I cou
ldn’t risk Charlie seeing me.  I came to the service to say goodbye to Charles, but also to satisfy some sick need to be near her, to see her one last time.  But I wouldn’t bring her any more pain today by letting her see me. I left the church and tried hard to reconcile myself to the idea that I would never see her again.  The last glimpse I might ever have of her was much like the one I had thirteen years ago.

Sad.

Crying.

Broken.

   There was nothing I could do but go home and try to drown every piece of pain I was feeling, hoping to wake up feeling just as terrible because it was what I deserved.