A Heart of Time (13 page)

“You just told me she could be a ghost,” I remind him. “But I don’t think that’s the case. The way the woman talks in her letters is almost like she isn’t from this area. She talks about mountains and shit. We don’t have mountains here.”

“Maybe she was on vacation?” AJ says, surprisingly insightful for his inebriated state.

“Maybe.” My eyelids win the battle, pulling me into a heavy fog, a comfortable heavy fog, a place that is far away from every puzzle piece in my life, leaving me alone with visions of Ellie and the life we were supposed to still be sharing. Is it a problem that I haven’t moved on from my dead wife? Is there a rule that says widowers are only allowed a year to grieve before they need to collect themselves and act like normal human beings again? I know it has been five years, but I love her still, as much today as I did then and I don’t know what to do with that.

The amount of times I hear Ellie’s voice in my head telling me to let her go, makes me wonder if that’s her trying to tell me something or if it is my stupid subconscious’ attempt to get me to man up and move on. I can’t even trust my own brain to tell me what’s right.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Dad-d-dy,” Olive’s whisper
booms into my ear like a bongo drum in an enclosed bathroom stall. “It’s nine, zero, zero.” Her words ignite my brain and body, forcing me to sit upright in my chair. I slept in a goddamn chair. It’s nine, she missed the bus and she’s late for school. This is officially the most irresponsible I’ve been since the day she was born.

“Shiiiiiiit,” AJ groans, peeling his eyelids open.

“Uncle said a bad wordddd,” Olive sings, dancing around in a little circle. “One quarter please?” She holds her hand out to him, waiting for another coin to put in her piggy bank that is already overflowing from AJ’s bad word fees.

“Olive, go play,” AJ groans again.

“No, we’re late for school!” she squeals theatrically.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” AJ apologizes. “This is my fault.” As easy as it would be to blame all of this on him, this time, it’s my fault.

“This one is on me, bro,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry I overslept, Olive. I’m not feeling well. I’m sick,” I explain.

“You aren’t sick, Daddy,” Olive says sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. Add this moment to the number of times over the last couple of years that I’ve wanted to respond to her with, “Okay, Ellie,” but I’ve refrained.

“I
am
sick,” I tell her. “My head and belly hurt.” She doesn’t say any more, but just gives me that look, the look that tells me she doesn’t know what I’m lying about or why, but she knows I’m lying.

“I’ll take her to school,” AJ says, walking into the kitchen.

“You smell like Jack, so no,” I tell him.

“Who’s Jack?” Olive asks. “Was Jack at jail? Like Jack-in-the-Box, but Jack-in-the-Jail?” she giggles ferociously at her own joke—a joke I’d find hysterical, too, if my head didn’t feel like it were about to split in half.

“You don’t smell any better,” AJ tells me.

“Get her ready and I’ll take a two-minute shower,” I tell him.

I run up the stairs, tearing my clothes off on the way. As I rip the shower curtain across the rod, the squealing from the metal rings zings through my head. Jesus. I need Advil...a lot of it. With the water cranked to full heat, I step inside, letting the shower cascade over me like a warm blanket. The steam fills my head, leaving no room for wandering thoughts or the memories of the thoughts I was trying to drown away with booze last night.
Fucking Charlotte
.

Come to think of it, I’m a little surprised she didn’t come banging on my door when she didn’t see us at the bus stop. She must really be pissed off, not that I know why. For someone who runs a dating site and specializes in relationships, she should know better that communication is a key component. So I’m not wrong here, she is.

After soaping up my hair and body, I’m still in need of releasing some of my anger and frustration. I grab my cock, close my eyes and let my imagination run off, hoping to escape for a few minutes, except I don’t even know who to fucking fantasize about anymore. My manhood is a limp dud that won’t turn on. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t screw Charlotte last night. Maybe my virility died with Ellie.

I grab a towel and step out, snatching the Listerine off the shelf. I fill my mouth with the blue liquid, allowing some of it to seep down the back of my throat. The burn feels good for some sick reason, even if it reminds me of the Jack that’s still rotting my gut from last night. At least I won’t smell like it now.

It takes me less than five minutes to slip on some clothes and make it back down the stairs where I find Charlotte sitting on my couch.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is shameful, despondent, hurt.

“Hey.”

“You okay?” She asks.

“Not really.”

She curls a strand of her hair behind her ear, pulling my focus to her glossy eyes.
Was she crying
? “I figured something was up since you weren’t at the bus stop.”

“Yeah, I have to take Olive to school. She’s late and it’s my fault.”

“Do you want me to take her?” She offers.

Some of my unreasonable anger from last night simmers in response to her question. “Thanks for the offer. I can take her. But…” I don’t know what the hell I did but by the look in her eyes, it’s definitely something. “If you want to come along for the ride, you can.” Maybe she can shed some light on my unknown mistake.

She takes a minute to answer me, stalling by looking out the window toward her house. I wish I knew what was going through that mind of hers.

“Please,” I tell her. I don’t want it to be like this. I’d rather go back to her couch and resume what we were doing yesterday, and skip over the whole part where my guilt almost pulled me away from something good.

Olive is ready and waiting at the door with her backpack on and her hair in some funky ponytail that AJ tried to...I don’t even know what he tried to do. Charlotte notices Olive’s hair at the same time I do and walks over to her, kneeling down beside her. She takes the rubber band out of Olive’s hair and slips it between her teeth while she runs her fingers through her curls. Charlotte’s face illuminates, like this makes her happy, taking care of my daughter. After a few seconds of studying Charlotte’s skill of sweeping up both sides, careful not to miss any loose hairs, she ties it up in a perfect ponytail—something I’ve yet to master. This is why the poor thing needs a mother. I wasn’t bred to do a little girl’s hair. “Perfect,” Charlotte says, pinching Olive’s cheek gently.

Olive wraps her arms around Charlotte’s neck and squeezes her tightly. “I love you,” she says.

My throat tightens; my heart swells with pain and relief, but mostly pain. Those three little words that have been only mine since the day Olive was born have now been shared with a woman who might hate me, a woman I wasn’t sure I could move forward with for reasons maybe I shouldn’t even have. The simple act of making her hair perfect brought out those sacred words. Olive doesn’t know it, but she needs a woman in her life as much as I do.
Am I screwing up that badly?

Charlotte, still holding Olive tightly, looks up at me, this time with distress in her eyes, as if she wants to apologize for what Olive just said. I don’t want her to apologize, though.

“Ready to go?” I ask Olive. She walks over to me slowly and wraps her arms around my leg. “I love you too, Daddy.” What is going on inside of her little mind today? Sometimes I wonder if Olive feels the same kind of pain I do, but the only pain she really feels is the pain I’ve instilled in her. In truth, she didn’t know Ellie, she doesn’t understand what losing someone feels like, and she doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a mother. These are things only I feel in my head, and when I assume she might feel that pain too, it causes a lot of unnecessary guilt.

“I’ll see you at the site,” I yell in to AJ, who looks to be working on his third cup of coffee. He gives me a quick wave without separating his mouth from the mug.

While still wondering if Charlotte is going to come along or not, I reach for the door handle of the truck. “The seat is still free,” I tell her.

Charlotte looks across the street once more and places the tip of her thumb between her teeth, deeply contemplating this short ride. “Okay,” she says, almost inaudibly, before walking around to the other side. The moment we’re all settled in the truck, Charlotte spews out, “I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry,” I tell her. I mean, maybe a little for getting angry with no explanation attached but I’ve never been a fan of people needing to apologize for things. Life’s too short for that.

“I shouldn’t have expected you to tell me everything,” she continues. “I guess—” She pauses for a moment and presses her fingers against the side of her head as if she has a headache.
Maybe she has sympathy pains for me.
“I guess I just wanted things to work out with us so badly and the thought of you maybe having something else going on with another woman made me feel a little crazy.”

Ah, what? Who would I have something going on with? “Why would you think that?” I ask.

“We should talk about this later...when Olive isn’t in the car,” Charlotte says, looking back at Olive with a smile.

No kidding. Not sure why she even broached the issue with Olive still in the car. What the hell is she thinking? I pull in to the school parking lot and park the truck. “I’ll just be a minute,” I tell Charlotte.

I grab Olive from her booster seat and jog, hand-in-hand with her, into the school, handing her off to the administrator who is eyeballing me warily. “Good morning, Olive,” she says, returning Olive’s smile, then glancing at her watch, before peering at me with raised brows. “Good morning, Mr. Cole.”

“Good morning,” I say, returning her greeting, while also feeling like a five-year-old in trouble as I lean down to give Olive a kiss on the head. “Take the bus home, I’ll be waiting for you at the bus stop, okay?” I add, as I sign her in to school.

“Okay,” she sings. “Have fun with Charlotte today.” She giggles and plops down on the plastic blue chair behind us.

“Yes, Mr. Cole, do have fun with Charlotte today,” the administrator says, crossing her arms over her large chest. Her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose and she squints one eye. “These children greatly depend on their education. It’s important to make sure Olive’s here on time in the morning.”
Really?
I have never made her late before.
Cut me some slack, will ya, old lady.

Feeling like I’m doing the parental walk-of-shame down the empty hall, I make my way back to the truck eagerly, with a need for an explanation of Charlotte’s accusations.

I hop back into the truck where Charlotte is patiently waiting, scrolling through her messages on her phone. “You’re late for work,” I tell her, “but I want to talk if you have time.”

“Yeah, we need to talk,” she says, placing her phone down on her lap. “How about we start with the letters....and the woman in the garden.”
Oh shit.
Olive...my little blabbermouth. Now I’m beginning to understand where Charlotte’s anger is coming from.

A groaning noise rumbles in the back of my throat, a habit I have when I can’t think of a proper response. I scratch at my head for a minute as I sink back into the driver’s seat. “Those letters have been a secret for a very long time, and not just from you, but from my entire family, as well. It’s something between Ellie and me, I guess. There really isn’t any other explanation for me hiding it, other than it’s just something I’ve chosen to keep private.”

“A woman is writing letters to you every week or so. I can’t help but wonder if there was something more going on.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t even know her. They’re just letters and it’s not something I wanted to share with anyone, I guess.”

“I should have just asked you last night instead of assuming the worst,” she says, fingering a loose thread on the tear in her jeans.

Only a slight tinge of guilt finds me when I think about the way I was looking at Ari in the gardens, but I might not have looked at her that way if I wasn’t angry at Charlotte for what I assumed she did with AJ. “Should I remind you of the secret you kept from me about AJ?” I end my question with a cunning grin, trying to call a truce to the argument.

“Fair enough,” she says, releasing a relieving sigh.

“I’m not seeing anyone else, or sleeping with anyone else for that matter,” I confirm.

“And I probably never would have come to that conclusion if Olive hadn’t told me about your rendezvous with a ‘Disney Princess,’” she air quotes, “at the gardens.”

This one is a little tougher to explain since I don’t know much about Ari other than the fact that we share a common interest in a place we both visit.
Olive has dug me a nice little hole here
.

“There is a woman who I ran into a couple times at the gardens when I was visiting Ellie. She seemed like she was going through something and I chatted with her for a few minutes. I don’t know much about her.” I feel like I’m on the defense, trying to justify my actions when in reality, I haven’t done anything wrong besides notice an attractive woman. It’s not a crime—even happily married men do that.

“I understand,” Charlotte says. “I do. But I’m sure you can understand my sudden concern, or questions, rather.”

“I do. If this all bothers you, I understand, but there are certain things I need to remain constant in my life, for my own sanity—like the letters, and I can’t bend on that. I don’t want to tell you that you have to be okay with it, but this is just the baggage that comes along with me.”