Rewired (The Progress Series) Page 18

  “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for her,” Charlie whispered.

  His smile widened. “Sure you can, Charlie.” He stabbed the last bite of pie onto his fork and popped it into his mouth. “It’s what you do best.”

  After arriving back at his apartment, he threw his keys and wallet on the floor. “I want to celebrate,” he said, wrapping his arms around Charlie. “Say it. Say it again,” he whispered between each kiss.

  He paused and looked into the blue of her eyes. Looking down, she murmured, “I love you.”

  “That wasn’t convincing enough.” He smirked. “Say it again.”

  She tried, but had nothing left: no words, no kisses, and no warmth. The realization of losing Sam forever was tugging on her heart, and she didn’t know what else she could do. I have two days. Two days until I let Sam go forever. I’ve run out of time.

  Jesse had reached a breakthrough. His past, present, and future were all starting to unfold before him, giving him the answers to questions he’d always needed to move ahead.

  Her phone buzzed from inside her purse, and he felt her tense in his arms. He stood back and put his hands in his pockets.

  The phone buzzed again and he clenched his jaw. “Check it. Why don’t you check it, Charlie?”

  She shook her head quickly. “I’m sure it’s no one.” She grabbed her purse and stuck her hand inside. “Here, I’ll just turn it off.”

  He swiped the phone from her hand and brought it into the kitchen. Frantically moving his fingers across the screen, he found a text from Sam.

  Happy Birthday.

  Jesse’s head drooped.

  “Give it to me!” She grabbed the phone from Jesse’s hand and urgently read the text. Her head shot up to read Jesse’s expression.

  “I forgot,” he whispered.

  “It’s okay, Jess,” she said, putting her phone back into her purse. “So did I.”

  He sighed. “What are we doing? I mean, what are you still doing here?”

  She sighed. “I won’t let you go. You have my word. You know how I feel.”

  “Do I?”

  She closed her eyes. “I thought I had made myself clear. I thought we were past this. You need to believe me.”

  “Fine. You don’t want to tell me the truth, but don’t treat me like I don’t know.” His eyes closed, fearing his own words. “I see you checking your phone for his calls and I hear you saying his name in your sleep,” he said.

  Charlie feared the inevitable. She only had one more night to make her future with Sam a reality again, but there was no way Jesse was going to figure it out without Charlie spelling it out for him. And she wasn’t about to leave her best friend in the dark again.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she finally whispered. “I thought I would’ve gotten over him by now. I thought that I was ready to put all of it behind me and move ahead with you. Because I love you.”

  He nodded. “I know you do. But not enough.” He shook the sorrow from his mind with a brief shake of his head. “Not enough to keep me.”

  Charlie kept her head down as Jesse stared into the corner of the room.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked.

  Charlie’s eyes flickered upward and met his stare. “Whatever you think is right.”

  Chapter Three

  Later that evening, Jesse walked into a place called Yoshi’s Pub. Taking a quick glance around the room, he spotted a seat near the television. There was one other gentleman seated near the beer taps, speaking softly to the bartender. Jesse pulled up a barstool as the bartender nodded.

  “What can I get for you?”

  “Do you have any Jameson?”

  With another nod, the bartender retrieved a shot glass and poured Jesse his drink.

  “What are we watching?” Jesse asked, tipping his head toward the television.

  The man seated just a few stools away fixed his posture and spouted, “I think he has the baseball game on.”

  The bartender handed Jesse his shot. “You wanna start a tab?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” said Jess, before tipping his glass back and letting the whiskey burn its way down his throat.

  “How can you drink that stuff?” The stranger shivered, imagining the taste.

  Jess laughed. “I used to think I liked it because of the burn. But after a while it grows on you.” He shrugged. “What are you drinking?”

  “Orange juice.”

  “The hard stuff tonight, eh?”

  “Yeah, gotta work in the morning.”

  Jesse nodded, trying not to feel the sting of a complete stranger’s words. I should be working tomorrow too. I gotta get a job. A real job. Charlie deserves that much. Damn it, I need a fucking plan. School, maybe? I don’t know. She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her, that’s for sure. But I still feel like I should.

  I feel different. And even though I’m sitting in a bar, by myself, I still think somehow everything is about to change. It’s me, I think. I’m not really doing it for anyone else but me right now. And that’s…a pretty amazing thing. Christ, I sound like Tony Robbins. I’m so fucking optimistic it’s laughable! Me! And it’s not that same manic feeling of being on top of the world and out of control. It’s like I’m a part of the world and in control.

  After twenty minutes of small talk and watching the game, Jesse’s thoughts began to numb about the chaos of the past few months. His attitude calm, he cracked his neck from side to side. Finally, peace. Just an ounce of it. If I can just figure out a way to keep her, then life would be perfect.

  Trying not to eavesdrop on the men who had started up their quiet conversation again, Jesse’s ears perked up at the sound of the words “Just let her go.” He snapped his head in the direction of the bartender.

  The stranger shook his head and briefly wiped his hands over his face. “Fuck it, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Give me another orange juice, will ya?”

  “Girl problems? Join the fucking club,” Jess muttered, swallowing his shot. “It’s fine, man. They’re all the same, right? Crazy as fuck.” Jess smiled.

  “Yeah, you’re right. But I thought this one was special.”

  “Ha! Famous last words. Those girls are rare, my friend. Besides, we always think they’re special, until they fuck us over.”

  “You got a girl?”

  “Oh yeah. One of a kind.”

  The man nodded.

  “So what’d she do? Fuck someone else?” Jesse asked.

  The stranger winced at Jesse’s choice of word, and then raked his hand through his hair, giving a slight nod.

  Poor bastard. “What a bitch,” Jesse spouted.

  The man gave Jesse a long, hard look.

  Whoa, buddy. Stay the fuck down. You don’t want to mess with me, I’d take your ass out. Besides, she’s the one who cheated on you. I’m only pointing out the obvious.

  “Hey, don’t feel bad. Every time I have sex with my girl, she’s thinking about someone else. How’s that for a disappointment?” Jesse’s smirk turned down after his admission reached his own ears. Jesus.

  The stranger gave Jess a half smile and went back to drinking his juice.

  How am I supposed to feel about that? For once, someone loves me without pity. She hasn’t reached out to me because she feels sorry for me. Or has she, and I was just blind to it? But she’s sacrificed everything to stay with me, in hopes that her feelings for Sam would subside. But they haven’t. And now we’re both stuck with each other. Is that how I want my life to be? Now that I’ve got the girl, the girl will never be mine?

  Feeling uncomfortable, Jess asked the bartender for his tab. A boulder in the pit of his stomach, Jess stared at the floor, wanting to fight or run or drink. But for the first time in his life, he did none of them. His intentions were to just walk away.

  After signing the credit card receipt, he made his way to the front door. Proud of himself for not stirring up a fight, he turned and walked back to the bar.

&
nbsp; “Oh hey, man. Thanks for chatting,” Jesse said, reaching out his hand.

  “Yeah, it was good to chat. Maybe we’ll see you around. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” he said with a smile. “Jesse. The name’s Jesse.”

  The man’s hand trembled slightly and he met Jesse’s eyes with a biting glare.

  “Jesse, you said?”

  Jesse’s head cocked to the side and his eyes squinted briefly. After nodding, he pulled his hand from the firm grasp.

  “Nice to meet you, Jesse. My name is Sam.”

  Chapter four

  Jesse arrived home that evening and Charlie was already asleep in his bed. He tried to go into the bedroom twice, but his mind was a catacomb of desolate thoughts swarming through his hollow shell.

  He didn’t even try to fight me.

  He decided to sit and put it all down on paper. Draft after draft, Jesse penned all of his thoughts, his dreams, and his goals. He had a clearer picture now than ever before. Sobering quickly, he emptied the thousands of thoughts he was having as quickly as his hand would move. It was never fast enough.

  By the end of the night, he was satisfied with what he’d written and all the things he’d set out to accomplish once he got home from Yoshi’s Bar.

  As the sun was rising, Jesse sat in the corner of the bedroom, watching Charlie sleep. At six o’clock, he stood and walked to her. Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “Happy Birthday, baby,” he whispered, and lingered a little longer before walking out the front door.

  Charlie woke minutes later and stretched her body out on the bed. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. And there was a strange presence in the air around her. She felt out of place and alone.

  She rose to find Jess, but he had gone. The apartment was clean—too clean. His drum set was gone, along with most of the bathroom toiletries.

  After rushing to the bedroom closet, she found it empty.

  In a morning haze, she frantically searched the rest of the apartment for clues. That’s when she found his letter. In a manila envelope, she found several sheets of folded paper and opened the first group of them.

  Dear Charlene,

  This is the eighteenth draft of this letter. At the ninth draft I threw it out and decided to keep you for myself. But my newfound better judgment brought me back to this ugly pen.

  Oh god, Charlie, where do I start? Well, I was going to start this letter with something like, ‘By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.’ And as cliché as that sounds, it’s true. I will never know if you found the envelope containing these words, but to quote you, ‘I’m going to write it with the intentions of you reading it someday.’

  I understand now. I get it. So many things have happened to me in the past twenty-four hours, and I can only try to explain them to you the best I can.

  I heard you that night, on the way home from your work party, when you whispered you loved me. And if you hadn’t said it at that very moment, I don’t think would’ve stayed. And if I hadn’t stayed, these past months—and my future—would have ended up so much different.

  You’ve chosen your words so methodically, so specifically. And I needed to hear those three little words, no matter how you really felt about me at the time. So for that, I should thank you. I also wanted to tell you that I finally figured out what song you’ve been humming for the past month. Killing Me Softly? Clever girl.

  I’m willing to bet that you’re gloating right now. Saying, ‘I told you so, asshole.’ And I suppose that’s okay. You’ve earned that much.

  I do love you, Charlene. And you’ve managed to trick me into believing and hoping that you’d love me back. It’s in the way you treat me; you let me know when I’ve crossed a line. It’s in the way you look at me; it’s as though you don’t give a shit about where I’ve been and only care about where I’m going. It’s in your strength; the way you do what you feel is right, no matter what the consequences for you. And it’s in all the little moments that we’ve shared in silence; your beauty, your wordless attitude, your mind, and your smile. Those moments when we weren’t fighting or trying to think of something witty to say; we were just…us. Together.

  I came to an epiphany last night. I watched you, lying in my bed —the contrast of your red hair against my white pillow, your soft skin against the rough cotton of my sheets—and I remembered the way your cheeks used to flush whenever I walked into the room. I loved that. They were a constant reminder of how you felt about me.

  But sometime in the past two years, they stopped.

  I brought you within an inch of your death, and I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered is that you were with me.

  You’re such a beautiful creature, such a rarity, that I just couldn’t continue doing this to you. Or to me. You see, last night I realized that if you stay with me, we both lose. You lose because I’m not the one you really want, and I lose for the same reason.

  So this is it. This is me, trying to be the man you need me to be. I’m leaving. And I hope to God you find Sam, and I hope he can forgive you. Because at the very least, you deserve that much for the selflessness you’ve shown me. He’s a good man.

  I photocopied the letter you wrote me last year, but I’ve included the original one in this envelope. I wanted to keep a piece of you with me. So that when I’m seventy years old, and my memory is completely shot, I’ll be able to say I was a part of you. I’ll have the evidence I need to say that someone felt that way about me, even if only this once. And I can read it over and over again and try to remember what it is I’m feeling for you now.

  Whatever happens for you, I’m sure you’ll make it the best that you can, because that’s the girl I know; that’s the girl I love. And please, always remember what you’ve done for me, and all the progress I’ve made through you.

  It’s been a hell of a ride, kid.

  God I’m gonna miss you.

  Yours Forever,

  Jess.

  Charlie was determined to stay upright, battling against the lump in her throat, the twisting of her stomach, and the tears streaming down her cheeks. But she failed. Her back hit the wall and she slid down to the carpet, feeling gratitude mixed with horror: Jess was never to return to her.

  The envelope contained one last item that spilled out with her weeping crash to the floor: the keychain to apartment two-oh-nine.

  Several minutes passed. With each sniffle and wipe of her nose, she gained more composure. With a choking exhale, she stood and glanced at the letter briefly once more before dropping her arms to her sides. Looking around the empty apartment and trying to keep the memories from creeping into her head, she walked into the bedroom.

  In her haste to find him, she missed it. In the corner of the floor was the chessboard that had been nestled inside the coffee table. All of the original pieces were now back in their places, but the only missing piece was the queen.

  She walked back out to the living room, passing the bathroom. She turned and tore the men’s bathroom sign from the door and rolled her eyes, wiping one last fallen tear.

  Her arms began to prickle and her heart raced. She shot her head toward the front door with the only thought in her head now escaping through her lips.

  “Sam.”

  She ran through the apartment and didn’t bother locking it on her way to find him.

  The End

  Epilogue

  I got out of the shower and brushed the steam from the mirror. I quickly dried myself and got busy brushing my teeth and combing my hair.

  I could already hear the whispers from the living room and I smiled. As Ren was counting to twenty, I could hear my dear husband whistling along with Sesame Street. Whistling. As if Sesame Street made him so content to whistle over it. Then the baby cried as she woke from her nap, and I knew my two-hour break from the day was over as I rushed into the nursery to greet her.

  I brought Scarlett out to the living room and joined my family in a dance with Elmo.

  *<
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  “Good morning, baby.” He rolled over and kissed my forehead.

  “Mmmm. Good morning.” I smiled, stretching. “Are the kids awake yet?”

  “No, they’re still sleeping,” he murmured, trailing kisses from my ear to my neck.

  I giggled. “Did you lock the door?”

  “Hmmmhmm.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Stop asking me questions. Shut up and enjoy.”

  I laughed and threw my hands into his hair, lightly scraping his scalp. “You have to work and Ren needs to go to school.”

  He rolled over and exaggerated a sigh, resting his hand on his chest.

  “I had a dream last night,” I said. It was the strangest dream I’ve had in a long time, but I can’t ignore it because I’m feeling a strange pull to it. I haven’t thought about him in years.

  “Oh yeah? A good one?”

  “A strange one.”

  His curiosity piqued, he turned onto his side and propped up his head with his hand. “Continue.”

  “I wrote a book.”

  “A book? About what?”

  I exhaled. “Yesterday I was listening to you whistle over Sesame Street, and it occurred to me how lucky I am.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I was watching Ren play with his fire truck and Scarlett was giggling with Elmo. And I felt so grateful. It was almost overwhelming.”

  “Okay. So, what’s the book about?”

  “I just started thinking about where all of this started. When I began.” I turned to face him. “And I started thinking about him.”

  “Oh.” His eyes shot open. “Oh! Him. God, that’s been like,” he counted each finger, “eight years, Char.”

  “Well, that’s what the book was about.” I shrugged.

  “Are you thinking about doing it?”