When We Fall (23 page)

“What's going on . . .” She stopped for a moment, search-
ing the mob until she found Dempsey, and their eyes locked. “What's going on is that your little girlfriend here wrote all about your love affair in her diary. Or whatever you want to call it. I guess the cat's out of the bag now.”

“Charlotte,”
Allison pleaded.

“Get out.” Charlotte pointed to the exit.

“Please, Charlotte, don't do this.”

“I said,
get the fuck out
!”

Allison looked at Dempsey, who bowed his head in disappointment, and then raced out the door. What Charlotte hadn't expected was that Charlie would run after her.

A
llison sat on her family room couch sobbing, her knees hugged to her chest, while trails of wet black mascara streamed down her cheeks. After fleeing the ballroom of the Wincourt Country Club, she'd sprinted to her car and sped home as quickly as possible, nearly spinning out of control on three different turns. She knew she shouldn't be behind the wheel, but she didn't care. She had to get away.

She'd thought about calling her parents. About unleashing her despair on them. But she wasn't a child anymore. They'd seen her through too much already. And she didn't want to alarm them, especially since they had Logan sleeping at their house for the night. She needed to be alone, she decided. To replay the events of the evening in her head, specifically her conversation with Charlotte.

What letter could she be referring to? Allison had never written anything more salacious about Charlie than that he was helping her. That he was being the friend Jack would have wanted him to be. At first, Allison had been
dumbfounded, not knowing how Charlotte had gotten hold of whatever evidence she thought she had. And then it had hit her. Charlotte had been in possession of her journal for days now. It was unthinkable that this woman whom she'd called her friend would have engaged in such a blatant invasion of privacy. That not only had she given herself permission to look inside, but once she'd seen what the journal contained, she'd allowed herself to indulge in Allison's innermost thoughts, feelings, and confessions, mostly to her late husband.

Still, now, Allison couldn't focus on that. What was done was done. She'd been humiliated in front of everyone from Logan's school, a number of her parents' friends and acquaintances, and—most important—Dempsey. She'd seen the look on his face. Disappointment. Regret. Perhaps a bit of disgust. All because of nothing. Not that anyone would believe her over Charlotte. She didn't have a leg to stand on in Wincourt. Whereas Charlotte, by comparison, was the captain of the ship, and she'd thrown Allison overboard without a second thought.

What would she do now? Where would she go? She couldn't very well stay in Wincourt with a scarlet letter emblazoned on her chest. Logan would be teased at school, no doubt. And she'd have to face Charlotte every day. Just when Allison had thought she was finally settling into her new life. Just when she'd decided that taking a leap of faith had been the right decision after all. Just when she'd finally found a man she wanted to be with and who wanted to be with her, even if they hadn't defined their relationship yet. It was too much for any one person to handle, and suddenly she was
yearning for Jack. He'd know what to say, she told herself. He'd know what to do. He'd protect her. Allison's heart ached, and looking around her vacant house, she felt hollow inside.

Just as she was about to go up to bed, to sleep until she couldn't sleep anymore, the doorbell rang, and for a moment, she hoped it was Dempsey. All she needed, all she desired, was for him to take her in his arms and tell her it was all going to be okay, even if it wasn't strictly the truth. But when she opened the door, it wasn't him, and the lump that had been residing in her throat swelled nearly to the point of suffocation.

“Thank God you're here.” Charlie was standing on her front porch, still in his tuxedo, which was now drenched from the unexpected downpour that had erupted only minutes after she'd arrived home.

“This isn't a good time.” Allison shook her head sluggishly. Everything was moving in slow motion, it seemed, including her.

“Please, Allison. I need to talk to you.”

“Not now. Maybe tomorrow. I don't know.”

“It's about Jack.” Charlie's green eyes were passionate but empathetic. If he was using Jack's name in vain, he should be ashamed of himself.

“Fine.” She stood staring at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he'd come to say. She was too numb to think beyond that.

“Can I come in? It's a little damp out here.”

“I suppose. But not for long. I'm exhausted.” She turned to walk back inside, allowing Charlie to close the door behind him.

“Of course, I understand.” He followed her to the sofa and she motioned for him to sit down. “I'm really wet, actually.”

She looked at the clean, dry cushions and shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Oh, okay.” He nodded and sat across from her. Then he took a long, deep breath and exhaled. “I can't tell you how sorry I am for what happened tonight.” He reached for her hand, but she recoiled. Allison saw him wince, but she didn't have the energy to care.

“You're not the only one.” Her voice was monotone. Charlie wasn't to blame. That she knew. But it wasn't as if they could remain friends after this, so what was the point?

“I'm appalled by Charlotte. I have no idea where she got this idea or what she thinks she read. . . .” He paused, as if waiting for Allison to say something. What did he expect? An admission that she actually had written him a love letter? A denial? He knew the truth. In fact, now they were the only two who did.

“Neither do I.” Allison cleared her throat, which was parched and raw. “But I do know that you shouldn't be here.”

“We haven't done anything wrong.”

“It doesn't matter, Charlie. Charlotte seems to think otherwise, and frankly, I've heard enough from her to last me a lifetime. I don't owe her an explanation. But you do. You need to go home to your wife and stop helping me.”

“I can't.” Charlie hung his head.

“You have to.”

“No, I really can't.” He was adamant.

“What does that mean?” She certainly hoped he didn't expect to stay the night. That was out of the question.

“I mean I can't stop helping you. I owe it to you and Logan. I owe it to Jack.”

“You keep saying that, but you don't owe us anything.”

“You don't know. . . .” He trailed off, pressing his fingertips to his temples.

“I don't know what?”

“Allison, I don't know how to tell you this.”

“Just say it.” He was making her anxious now. What more could go wrong?

Charlie looked up and Allison could see that his eyes were swimming in a pool of tears. “I'm the reason Jack died that day.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm the reason Jack was on that bus.” He repeated himself, this time looking her directly in the eyes.

“That's ridiculous.” She stood up. “I don't have time for this. You can go now.”

“Allison, please. Sit down. Let me explain.” She listened to him, against her better judgment. “Okay. Here goes.” He took a deep breath. “I'm not sure if Jack ever told you this, but we ran into each other on the street a few months before—” His voice cracked. “Before the accident.”

“I think I vaguely remember him mentioning something.”

“He told me about the job. The one he really wanted at Brower Fisk. He said it was his dream job.”

“Right.”

“The thing is, I was looking too. The boutique firm I was with had just gone belly-up, and I was desperate to find something. I'd been interviewing for months and nothing was turning into an offer. So I called my uncle, who knew someone high up there.”

“And?”

“And I got the job. A favor for the old man. I stole the job from Jack. What's worse is that Jack had invited me on the ski trip so he could introduce me to some of his colleagues. He was helping me while I was screwing him. If he'd gotten the job at Brower Fisk instead of me, I'd have been the one . . .”

“Dead.”

“Dead.”

“Wow. Okay.” Allison tried to absorb the weight of Charlie's words, to react to them in the appropriate way, but she'd been rendered incapable of emotion. She was officially crippled inside.

“If you hate me, I'll understand. When I found out what had happened, I was sick. And then Brower was bought out by Cooper Paine and we moved up here. I still work there, for fuck's sake.”

“Right.” Charlie was watching her, no doubt waiting for a big reaction. Any reaction. She just didn't have it in her to say more.

“I wanted to call you so many times, Ali. To tell you what I'd done, but I was too much of a goddamn chicken. And I didn't want to add to your pain. I know that sounds pretty pathetic now, but it's the truth. If that's worth anything.”

“Uh-huh.” Allison nodded deliberately.

“I've carried it with me for years. Believe me when I say that. I never even told Charlotte. She still doesn't know.” He sniffed and she noticed a tear escape from the corner of his eye. “When we saw each other that day at school and you said you'd moved back to Wincourt, I felt like I'd been given a second chance. It was as if serendipity was standing right in front of me. I knew that I could never make up for what I'd done. But I also knew that I needed—and
wanted
—to help you and Logan to the greatest extent of my capabilities. I should have said something sooner.”

“It's not your fault.” Allison spoke the words, though she wasn't sure whether she meant them. Still, what else was there to say? Was she supposed to hold him accountable now? Or was he looking for an out? If the latter was the case, he could have it. At the time she probably would have cursed and thrown things at him, told him that he was in fact to blame. But more than a decade later, she'd developed perspective. And anyway, her mind was currently crowded with bigger problems.

“You don't have to say that.”

“I know.”

“I'm not telling you this to assuage my own guilt, Ali. I'm telling you this because I want to be able to move forward. I want you in my life. I want Logan in my life.” His voice was urgent.

“I don't really see how that's going to be possible after what happened tonight.”

“It won't be easy, but we can get through this. I know we can.”

“Charlie, you need to go home and work things out with
Charlotte, first and foremost.” Allison mustered an awkward half smile.

“Work things out? I think it's time I admitted to myself that Charlotte and I are past the point of repair. I mean, really, what's left of
us
?”

“Okay.” Allison exhaled, wearied by the prospect of having to play therapist to Charlie yet again.

“Maybe all this time I've found some solace in the idea of starting over. It's been so refreshing to feel like someone needed me. To feel like you and Logan could lean on me, since that certainly doesn't happen with Charlotte and Gia anymore.”

“What are you trying to say, Charlie?”

“I don't know.”

“Listen, Charlie, I appreciate your confession tonight, and I'm letting you off the hook. But unless there's something else, I need to ask you to leave now.”

“I'm sorry, Ali. I didn't—”

“Please, Charlie. You need to go home to your wife.”

C
harlotte paced back and forth from one side of her bedroom to the other, vacillating between primitive rage and consuming grief. How could they have done this to her? How could
he
have done this to her? Not only was Charlie screwing Allison behind her back, but he'd made a choice. And that choice had not been in Charlotte's favor. He'd decided, without so much as a cursory glance in her direction, to run after Allison when she'd fled the scene, leaving Charlotte standing there alone with four hundred people staring at her, mouths agape. She'd been humiliated by both of them in the worst possible way, and now, more than an hour later, Charlie had yet to return home.

What had she expected Charlie to do? She'd asked herself this same question over and over. But over and over, she'd failed to find an answer. If he'd tried to apologize, admitted his shortcomings, would she have forgiven him? Would that have quieted her public outburst? Probably not. Still, it would have been preferable to the alternative—
abandoning her in front of everyone who was anyone in their small rumor mill of a town. She'd never be able to show her face again at school or at the country club or at the hair salon. And even if she dared, the stage whispers and bowed heads would be enough to send her on her way, never to return again.

Charlie would probably try to blame it on her. She was prepared for that eventuality. He'd say they could have worked it out in the privacy of their own home. That she'd embarrassed him. How many times had she heard that? How many times had he kicked her under the table during one of his business dinners to not so subtly indicate that she should shut her mouth, because whatever it was she was saying wasn't to his liking? She was sick of it. All of it. The bickering, the jabs muttered under his breath but loud enough for her to hear, the knock-down, drag-out fights. Those were the worst. They took everything out of her and then some. And the aftermath was almost as bad as the fights themselves. Two, three, four days—sometimes even a week or more—where they'd go through the motions of life, walk through the hallways of the same house, and sit at the same dinner table like two strangers, both of them fuming inside, certain of how right they were and how undeniably wrong the other one was. Eventually the tension would either dissipate or Charlotte would be forced to apologize if she ever wanted to regain a semblance of normalcy. Oftentimes she found herself saying she was sorry when she didn't even know what she was supposed to be sorry for. But at some point, she'd come to the realization that it didn't matter. The
source of the battle was moot to Charlie, as long as he won the war.

Charlotte slipped out of her gown, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Normally she'd have gingerly returned it to its hanger, scouring it for any stains or snags, and covered it with a garment bag so Janna could bring it to the dry cleaner first thing Monday morning. She kicked off her six-hundred-dollar shoes and let them bounce off the wall and onto the carpet, where they'd sit, straps tangled, until she had either the energy or the wherewithal to care about picking them up. She opened the top drawer of her dresser and reached for the first nightgown she could find and then wriggled her tired body into the silky fabric. Charlie had bought it for her on their third trip to Paris. She'd seen it in the window of La Perla and fallen in love. Later that evening, before going to sleep, she'd found the box on her pillow tied with a big white bow. She'd tried it on, modeling it for Charlie, as if she was on the catwalk. He'd said she looked beautiful in it but that he quite preferred her wearing nothing at all. They'd made love twice that night. It may have been the last time that had happened.

She pulled back the covers on her bed, ready to climb in, when she heard the front door slam and the sound of Charlie's pounding footsteps ascending the stairs. She turned around and there he was, looking impossibly handsome in his damp, shriveled tuxedo with his lips pressed into a thin line. Part of her wanted to run to him. To tell him she was sorry for everything. That she wanted to start over. That they could leave Wincourt once and for all, find their way
back to each other again. But another part of her, the part of her that knew better, folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.

“I'm just here to pack some things.” He walked toward his closet, not bothering to look at her.

“Where are you going?” She followed him.

“I don't know, Charlotte. Anywhere but here.”

“Well, isn't that fabulous. I'm sure your girlfriend would be thrilled to have you shack up with her. Or did she throw you out?” Charlotte could only assume that he'd been with Allison all this time, consoling her, possibly even making passionate love to her.

“Leave me alone, Charlotte.” He grabbed his black leather carry-on and started throwing shirts, pants, socks, shoes, and underwear in haphazardly. It took every bit of her willpower not to take the bag out of his hands and pack it for him in an orderly fashion. The truth was that she knew what he needed better than he did.

“I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused as to why
you're
angry with
me
. Aren't you the one who's been fucking my friend for the past . . .” She paused, realizing she had no idea how long their affair had been going on. The only point of reference she had was the letter Allison had written to him that fateful night after she'd had Charlie and Gia for dinner, while Charlotte had been tending to her sick parents in Florida. “. . . for God knows how long.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” He turned toward her now, almost running her over on the way out of his expansive walk-in closet.

“I read it with my own eyes!” Charlotte flailed her arms in the air. “You must think I'm really stupid.”

All at once he stopped. Dropped his bag on the floor. And looked at her. He finally really looked at her. “I don't think you're stupid, Charlotte. But I do think you're wrong. No, I'm sorry. I
know
you're wrong. And whatever proof you may think you have is bullshit. Okay? It's fucking bullshit. And, frankly, I don't give a shit anymore.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means, Charlotte?”

“That you don't love me anymore.” She sat down on the bed and started to cry, softly at first.

“Honestly, Charlotte, I don't know how I feel. But I do know one thing. I don't know you anymore. The woman I fell in love with was fun. She was happy. And optimistic. She smiled more than once in a blue moon. At me. You used to smile at me, Charlotte, and that was all I needed to turn the worst day into the best day. You were funny and lighthearted. You worked hard, but you played harder. I don't know that woman anymore. I've spent so much time praying she'd come back to me. And, believe me, I know I've made mistakes. We both have. But now, I don't know. I just don't know.”

“So you think I'm pathetic and insufferable.” Charlotte was sobbing now, and her whole torso was quivering.

“I don't think you're pathetic. I think you're bored. I think you've been bored for the last decade. I know you're busy. I know you find things to fill your day. But it's not enough. If it was, you wouldn't be on my back every goddamn minute
of every goddamn day.” His voice was growing louder and Charlotte could see the veins in his forehead stretching his skin.

“Don't yell at me! I'm not the one who had the affair. I didn't do anything wrong!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Charlotte. Go ahead. And let me know how that works out for you.” He bent his head and shook it back and forth. “I'm leaving. Tell Gia I'll call her tomorrow.”

“So that's it? You're just walking out?” She didn't want to fight, but she didn't want him to go either. If he left, there was no telling what would happen. Why hadn't she thought this through? Why hadn't she considered the ramifications?

“That's it, Charlotte. I'm just walking out.”

And with that, he picked up his bag, turned his back on her, and left.

•   •   •

The
next morning, Charlotte was awakened from a deep sleep by the piercing ring of her telephone. “Hello?” She grunted into the receiver in a raspy voice.

“Char? It's me.”

“This isn't a good time, Lizzy.”

“I have something to tell you. It's important.”

Charlotte rubbed her eyes and sat up in her bed. The very last thing she needed was to deal with her sister's problems. She had quite enough of her own at the moment. “What is it?”

“Jeez, you sound grumpy.”

“I don't have time for this, Lizzy. Just tell me what it is so I can go back to sleep.”

“Well, fine, if you're going to be that way about it.” Elizabeth paused, presumably waiting for Charlotte to beg her to come out with it. “I'm pregnant!”

“Lizzy, I just told you I don't have time for this. When you decide you want to tell me what's really going on, let me know.”

“I'm not messing with you, Char; it's true! Can you believe it? After all this time?”

Charlotte was wide-awake now. “Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know! Isn't it the best news ever? We're so beyond excited. You're going to be an aunt!”

“Slow down.” Charlotte took a sip of the lukewarm water on her nightstand to dampen her parched throat. “Just how do you and Nick plan to support a child? I certainly hope you don't expect me to bankroll this new hobby of yours.”

“It's not a hobby, Charlotte. It's a child.”

“Whatever. Have you thought about how much this child is going to cost?”

“Nick just got a new job. That was the other thing I was going to tell you.”

“Well, let's be honest. Nick has had at least a dozen new jobs in the last, what, two years? And when he gambles away your diaper money, what are you going to do then? Come running to me, that's what.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I'm not kidding you. This is so like you to do something completely irresponsible, like get knocked up, without
even thinking about how you're going to manage it or how it might affect other people.”

“I'm so sorry, Charlotte, that I didn't consider how my having a child would ruin your life! I was hoping you would be happy for me like Allison was, but I guess I should have expected this.”

“You told Allison before you told me!?” Charlotte was fuming now. How dare she?

“I did, because I wanted to wait until your mind was free of all your important gala crap. And I felt badly about it. Allison made me feel badly about it. She said I should tell you straightaway. That you'd be over the moon. But apparently, you can't get out of your own way long enough to see that this is something I've been waiting years for. You know how important this is to me, Charlotte.”

“You know what, Lizzy? I've got a great idea. Why don't I just disappear and Allison can be Charlie's new wife, Gia's new mom, and your new sister. I think everyone would be a lot happier that way. And it would save me a whole lot of fucking hassle. How does that sound?”

“Truthfully, it sounds pretty good to me.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, Charlotte. Fuck you and your perfect life. Or should I say the perfect life you pretend to have, because we all know it's a facade. Fuck you and your fancy house and your fancy cars and your fancy fucking clothing and all that stuff that doesn't mean anything. Fuck you. You don't even want me to be happy. Because if I'm happy then you won't be the one who has everything anymore. And that's all that matters to you. Isn't that right? Well, guess what,
Charlotte? Look who has everything now. Me. Good luck finding yourself another sister.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “In case you were wondering, it's a boy.”