When We Fall (20 page)

“H
ey! How are you? Come in, come in.” Allison held the door open and hugged Charlotte as if they were long-lost sisters reuniting after a lifetime of being estranged.

“Honestly, stressed beyond belief.” Charlotte exhaled for the first time in what felt like ages. “Every year, I tell myself I'm going to let someone else deal with all the busywork. And every year, I end up running around like a madwoman doing it all myself. I've been stuffing goody bags for days.”

Organizing the annual Wincourt school gala, like any affair catering to the rich and privileged, was practically a full-time job, at least during the months leading up to the big event. Everything had to be just so. Anything short of perfection and you were destined to be ousted and replaced by someone hungrier, someone who'd been counting on you to fail, waiting for one little slipup so they could usurp your position faster than the Aston Martin in their ten-car garage. Perhaps a new mother who was desperate to prove her capabilities and roll out her Rolodex, dropping the names of her
“nearest and dearest” friends with fat wallets and even fatter bank accounts, friends who were so near and dear they barely recognized her walking down the street in the bright light of day.

Charlotte had been that mother once upon a time. Of course, Sabrina had told anyone who'd listen that she'd decided—on her own—to pass the torch along after five strenuous and thankless years helming the committee. But everyone involved had known better. If she hadn't resigned, she'd have been exiled. No one liked a tyrant, which—in Sabrina's case—was as euphemistic a characterization of her governing style as could be warranted. When Charlotte had stepped in to take over, she'd been in the fortunate position of following a reviled predecessor. As long as she'd smiled and treated the other volunteers respectfully, she was destined to be the Abraham Lincoln of the Wincourt school gala. And that was how it had been for the first year. Until the pressure had gotten to her too. By year two she'd found herself snapping at people for no reason and even biting the head off one of the new dads—the only man navigating the rough-and-tough waters of know-it-all mommies who toted a different Birkin bag to every meeting. After all, in this group, where would philanthropy be without fashion?

John Billings—that had been his name; Charlotte would never forget it. He'd been a seemingly pleasant guy who'd mostly minded his own business. From day one, he'd been emasculated by his peers for no other reason than being there in the first place. You'd think at least one of the mothers would have pointed out how refreshing it was to see a dad so involved in his child's life. So what if his wife was the
breadwinner? What was wrong with that? Apparently, everything. Whenever John had opened his mouth to speak, offering a typically intelligent and productive suggestion, the surrounding ladies would whisper and giggle; some had even made childish faces. Initially Charlotte had felt uncomfortable for John and for herself, having to stand in front of them, pretending that she was oblivious to the inappropriate chatter. But eventually she'd started to resent John. Even though it wasn't his fault, his mere presence had become disruptive, and when his reaction to said disruption had been to become louder and more involved, Charlotte had been forced to shut him down in front of everyone. It hadn't been a proud moment, nor one she cared to recall. That evening she'd received a scathing e-mail from John's wife in defense of her husband, who—unbeknownst to anyone in the group—was in fact a very successful author who worked from home but still carved out time to devote to his son. Charlotte had very nearly written back suggesting that John might consider fighting his own battles, but instead she'd ignored it. And them. The following year, she'd learned that John's family had moved to a neighboring town, one with a less exemplary school system, but—with any luck—a more accepting parental body. She'd felt somewhat responsible.

“What's going on? I feel like we haven't spoken in forever.” Allison motioned for Charlotte to sit down on the couch, where she'd laid out a spread of cut-up vegetables and baked chips with salsa. “I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the meeting yesterday. I had to pick up Logan early from school because his stomach was bothering him.”

“Speaking of which . . .” Charlotte nibbled on a carrot
stick. “I hate to do this at the last minute, but Charlie and I can't make it to your birthday dinner tonight. Gia's home sick with the flu and Charlie called me a few minutes ago to say he has to catch a flight to Boston tonight for an early morning business meeting that just came up. He said to tell you he's really sorry and that he'll make it up to you. I'd come myself, but for once I have no coverage.”

“Oh, don't worry about it. I hope Gia feels better.” Allison laughed. “Although I think that's going to make the guest list me, Dempsey, Missy, and Larry. I guess it'll kind of be like a strange double date!”

“Ooh, if you haven't heard from Missy yet, you probably will soon. Miley's home with strep throat, and last I spoke to her she thought she was coming down with it too.” Charlotte felt legitimately sorry for Allison. She didn't have many close friends in Wincourt to begin with, and now two-thirds of them were dropping like flies at the eleventh hour. “Why don't we plan another celebration when everyone's feeling better?”

“Perfect.” Allison smiled contentedly and Charlotte could tell it wasn't the kind of thing she'd let bother her. Unlike Charlotte, who took it to heart and immediately questioned intentions when anyone canceled plans with her. “Dempsey made a huge cake, though, so if Gia's feeling better, feel free to stop by for a care package.”

“About this Dempsey character . . .” Charlotte grinned. “I think I'm going to need a few more details, my friend.”

It felt good that things were back to normal between them, or as close to normal as they could be in the wake of Charlotte's cold front. After she'd seen the way Allison had
looked at Dempsey at the art exhibit, she'd been more convinced than ever that there was nothing going on between Allison and Charlie. And while she'd certainly noticed how it had irked her husband to see Allison and Dempsey so clearly enamored of each other, she'd since rationalized that Charlie probably felt like his position as Allison's protector had been commandeered by a virtual stranger. It wasn't that he had romantic intentions toward her, but rather that he wanted to be there for her since his childhood best friend could not be. Charlie liked playing the knight in shining armor. It was one of the reasons Charlotte had fallen in love with him in the first place. She'd wanted to be saved. She'd needed to be. And he'd offered her the fairy tale. What girl wouldn't have fallen for that?

Charlie had shared very little with her about Jack. But every time his name came up, she could see that it troubled him. She'd never pushed or prodded, assuming he'd speak his mind when he was ready, but it all made sense now. Much more sense than the two of them having an affair. She hadn't bothered to disclose this revelation to Sabrina. Mainly because she didn't want to be talked out of it. Sabrina had offered enough snide remarks about Allison and Charlie—both separately and together—at the committee meeting yesterday. The last thing Charlotte needed was to give her reason to extrapolate.

“It's crazy, right? Everyone always says you'll meet someone when you least expect it, but I never actually believed it was true, especially because I've been kind of closed off to it.”

“Kind of?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. Completely.”

“So what's different this time?”

“I don't know.” Allison sat cross-legged and leaned against the armrest of the couch, facing Charlotte. “He's just so laid-back. And smart. And he doesn't push me. But at the same time, he's direct. It's like I know he's interested, but he's waiting for me to move things along.”

“So the fact that he's the most stunning man I've ever seen has nothing to do with it, right?”

“Well, that doesn't hurt.” Allison blushed and Charlotte could tell she was more than smitten.

“So nothing's happened yet?” This was the kind of girl talk Charlotte had always imagined herself engaging in when she and Charlie had first moved to town. She'd pictured an intimate group of women congregating at her house every week to share stories, divulge secrets, and be there for one another through the good, the bad, and the ugly. Instead she'd fallen in with the likes of Sabrina and Missy.

“Just one kiss.” Allison covered her face with her hands. “It was sooooooo good, though, Charlotte. I felt like I was twelve all over again.”

“You were kissing boys when you were twelve?” Charlotte had waited until she was sixteen. Well, she hadn't so much waited as the boys hadn't exactly been lining up. She knew sixteen was late, but
twelve
? “Like, with tongue?”

“Oh yeah, and way too much of it, actually. First kiss. Mike Katz. Coolest boy in the sixth grade. Turned out to be a total tool. Wish I'd known that before I let him slobber all over my face.”

“Gross.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “Do you think you'll sleep with him?”

“Mike? Definitely not. He's married with five kids.”

“Very funny.” Charlotte reached for a celery stick and dunked it in salsa. “You know what I meant.”

“God, I don't know. I mean, part of me wants to. Badly. But it's too soon. And I'm just a wee bit terrified.”

“So, you haven't since . . .” Charlotte trailed off.

“Since Jack.”

“Eleven years. Wow.” Charlotte processed the information, even though, if she'd thought about it, she already knew it to be the case. Allison had confided in her that she hadn't so much as gone on a date since Jack had died. “You may be the only person I know who has less sex than I do.”

“I mean, I have to assume it's like riding a bike, but—you know—it's different with everyone.”

“I'm probably not the best person to ask. I've only had sex with three people. And the first guy was a one-hit wonder. Minus the hit part.”

“Including Charlie?” Allison was unconvinced.

“Including Charlie. Why? What's your number?” Her eyes widened in anticipation. “Wait, weren't you and Jack married when you were practically kids? And didn't you meet at summer camp? Please don't tell me you were sleeping around by thirteen.” All Charlotte could think about was Gia. Gia with her baby fat around the belly. And her chubby little cheeks and hands. Fine, so she was only turning ten, but the mere concept that a boy's tongue could be in her mouth within two years and God knows what after that made Charlotte want to enroll her in a convent. Stat.

“I definitely was not having sex when I was thirteen. More like sixteen. And, even though Jack and I met at camp,
we broke up, or whatever you want to call it, at the end of every summer. We didn't start dating seriously until after college.” Allison smiled wistfully and then laughed guiltily. “Let's just say I had some fun when I was at Brown.”

“You dirty girl!”

“Who, me?”

“Well, I think you're going to be just fine with Dempsey. He seems like a great guy. I'm happy for you.”

“We're not walking down the aisle yet.” Allison's phone buzzed. “Speak of the devil.” She read the text message that had just come in. “Another one bites the dust.”

“He can't come tonight either?” Charlotte watched Allison's face for even a hint of disappointment.

“Apparently the whole basement of DJ Gourmet flooded last night from a broken pipe. He's up to his waist in water. He feels terrible.” Allison typed a message back to him. “Oh well, I guess it'll be me, my baby boy, and cake for ten!”

“That sucks. I'm so sorry.”

“Are you kidding? Logan's all I ever need. And as you said, we'll celebrate when everyone is healthy and dry!” Allison popped a chip in her mouth. “Plus, Dempsey's my date for the gala, so I'll get to see him then.”

“Speaking of which, how's the painting coming? Can I get that sneak peek?” Charlotte had given Allison carte blanche for the piece they planned to auction off. She'd told her that this year's theme was “hope for the future” and that anything even remotely related to that would be fine. After seeing her work at the gallery exhibit, Charlotte had been even more buoyant about Allison's talent and her contribution to the event.

“Not now.” Allison smiled. “I just need to add the finishing touches, and then it'll be done.”

“Well, I can't wait.” Charlotte smiled effortlessly.

Finally, after weeks of one manic day followed by the next, she felt relaxed, even if only for a brief space in time. Allison's house was so much warmer than her own, so much more lived in, despite the fact that she'd only moved in six months ago. It was the kind of place where if you spilled something on the carpet by accident, no one would have an aneurism. Or if there were errant crumbs dusting the countertop, World War II was unlikely to break out. Why couldn't she be more like Allison? Charlie probably wondered the same thing. Hadn't he indicated as much without saying it directly? Still, she couldn't help but like this woman, even though she secretly wanted to be her.

“I meant to e-mail you the details, but things have been crazy. Remind me what you need?”

“The name of the piece, approximately what it would go for if you were selling it, dimensions. And any specific information about it, like if there's a story or what medium you used. All that good stuff.”

“Easy enough. Though with my forgetfulness lately, I should probably write it down.” Allison surveyed the room for a pen and paper.

“That reminds me, I have your purse. You left it at DJ Gourmet.”

“Oh my God. I didn't even realize that. What's wrong with me? Wait, but how do you have it?” Allison was visibly confused.