Page 23 of Pages of My Heart

Maggie positively beams, but just as they’re about to sit, Bridget descends the stairs, glowering at Maggie and then Charlie.

“Do we have some unexpected guests, Maggie?”

Maggie’s smile drops as she looks at her sister, who has joined them in the sitting room. “Um, Charlie brought his sister Evie around. Look, they brought a cake. Shall I slice it up and make us a pot of coffee?”

There’s an awkward moment of silence while the two sisters appear to have some sort of silent argument, but eventually Bridget appears to relent.

“Sure,” she says, then turns to them with a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s lovely to meet you, Evie. Tom has mentioned you before, so it’s nice to put a face to the name.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Evie says. “So how is Tom? Charlie and I have been worried sick.”

“He’s doing much better now, but still resting in bed.” Her eyes flicker to the stairs, but then a moment later she’s moving toward the kitchen after Maggie. “Let me just check on how she’s doing with that cake,” she says before rushing off, clearly distracted and unhappy that Maggie saw them in.

The moment Bridget is gone, Evie and Charlie share a look and then she’s silently motioning for him to go upstairs.

He knows he shouldn’t, but it’s been seven fucking days and good manners have never stopped him before.

Quickly and quietly, he sneaks up the stairs and down the hall to Thomas’s room.

The door is ajar, and though the blinds are drawn, he can see Thomas’s red hair sticking out the top of the blankets.

Pushing the door open, he whispers into the dim room.

“Tommy, it’s me.”

Thomas doesn’t move.

Charlie steps farther into the room. He can tell now that Thomas’s back is to him, and he clocks its steady rise and fall under the twisted mound of blankets and sheets.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, glances back at the open door, then brushes his hand through Thomas’s hair, finding it greasy and lifeless.

“Tommy, sweetheart.” Charlie squeezes Thomas’s shoulder, rocking him gently, then presses the back of his hand to the bit of Thomas’s forehead peeking out from the blankets to see if he has a fever. Finally, Thomas stirs.

“Charlie?”

Thomas’s voice is hoarse and thick with sleep, and he moves sluggishly, slowly pulling the blankets down off his face, eyes blinking as they adjust to the low light.

Charlie has to suppress a gasp. Thomas has never looked so tired.

His skin is pallid and yellow, except for the black circles under his eyes, and it seems he has lost weight, his cheeks sunken and drawn, making his face too angular.

It’s immediately clear that he hasn’t been bathing either—the foul scent of body odor and urine fills the room now that the blankets have been pulled down.

Shock, anger, and sadness rise in Charlie in equal measure.

Why hasn’t anyone washed him? Why have his siblings left him alone to lie in this state?

Charlie desperately wants to restore Thomas’s dignity.

Wants to carry him to the tub and bathe him.

Wants to change his bed linens and dress him in fresh pajamas.

Instead, he says, “I’m here, sweetheart. They wouldn’t let me see you, but I’m here now. Are you all right?”

Thomas’s unsteady hands reach for him, and Charlie takes them, relieved by the touch. Charlie is terrified that Bridget or someone else will walk in and see them behaving so intimately, but in this moment his concern for Thomas and his health trumps all that.

“I’m sorry.” Thomas finally meets Charlie’s eyes, a tear falling onto the pillow.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, brushing away another tear. “I was just sick with worry. Why the fuck wouldn’t your sister or brother let me see you?”

“Because . . . they think I’m like our mother. But I’m not Charlie. I’m not! I just . . . I was just so tired. I couldn’t stay awake. Everything got—got too much. But I’m not like her. I’m not . . .”

“I know you’re not, sweetheart,” Charlie soothes, even as his heart lurches at the possibility—one he hadn’t even thought to consider.

He runs a gentle hand down Thomas’s torso.

Even through the layers of blankets, Thomas feels thin.

“You got to eat, though. You’ve gotten too thin.

That sister of yours not feeding you or what? ”

More tears leak from Thomas’s eyes, but he huffs and manages a weak smile, and Charlie swears his heart all but shatters.

“Jesus, Thomas, I missed you so much.” He brings Thomas’s hand to his face and kisses the palm. All he wants is to take Thomas into his arms and hold him, take care of him, but it’s too dangerous.

Charlie hears the steps behind him mere seconds before Bridget enters the room, allowing only just enough time to pull his hands away.

“Charlie, I don’t think Tom is ready to receive guests,” Bridget says sternly. “Perhaps you should come back down and join us for that coffee and cake.”

“I am ready.” Thomas cuts in, struggling to prop himself up on one elbow. “I think I can eat something now. Bridge, can you bring me something?”

Bridget’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise before her face settles into a frown as she looks back and forth between the two of them. “I’ll be back up in a few minutes. Will you be coming down now, Charlie?”

“No,” Thomas cuts in again. “Charlie’s going to stay here and catch me up on all the news.”

Bridget’s frown deepens, but reluctantly she leaves. As soon as they hear her feet on the stairs Thomas collapses back down onto his pillow. His short burst of energy seems already expended, but as Charlie gazes down at him, he swears there is more life behind his eyes now than just moments ago.

“Did you come to visit me before?” Thomas asks.

“Twice,” he replies, brushing the hair back off Thomas’s forehead. “Today makes three. Evie came this time, too.”

“Mmm.” Thomas closes his eyes as Charlie continues to run his fingers through his limp hair. “Tell her ‘hi’ for me.”

“What can I do, Tommy? How can I help?”

“Come back tomorrow?” He says it like a question, his voice barely a whisper now. “I need you. I love you.”

Charlie leans forward, taking the risk and laying a kiss on Thomas’s forehead. “I love you, too.”

Charlie stands just before Bridget reappears with a glass of milk and some dry crackers she places on the nightstand.

“Thanks, sis. Charlie promised he would come back tomorrow. He’s got the new automobile magazine to show me. Perhaps he could stay for lunch and I’ll try to join you all downstairs at the table.”

Charlie can see Bridget is unhappy about being railroaded, but she agrees. “That should be fine. But only if you eat your crackers and get some strength back.”

“I will,” Thomas promises.

Bridget faces him then, hands on her hips. “Charlie, I think Evie is waiting downstairs for you.”

Charlie can see his time alone with Thomas is up, but as he backs out of the room, he waits for Bridget to turn so he can mouth “I love you” behind her back. The faintest smile appears on Thomas’s face, and for just a moment, Charlie thinks everything might be okay.

“See you tomorrow, Tommy. We can talk about that new Caddy.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

As Charlie heads downstairs his mind starts racing.

He still doesn’t know what’s wrong with Thomas—if it’s simple exhaustion from pushing himself too hard with school or something worse, like Tommy’s siblings seem to believe—but his gut is telling him the O’Reillys are ashamed about whatever is afflicting him and trying to hide it.

Charlie grinds his teeth at how unfair it all is.

Charlie could never be ashamed of Thomas.

He would gladly take care of him until he got better.

He would be able to get him to eat. He would make sure he could get to the toilet or at least fucking bathe him if he couldn’t!

He feels that deep, familiar resentment bubbling in the pit of his stomach like acid.

In his heart, Charlie knows he is meant to protect Thomas.

To look after him. But how the hell can he do that if to the rest of the world they can’t appear as more than good friends?

They will never be able to share a home, never be able to have a family or grow old together.

When they need each other most, the world will keep them apart.

This past week has made that abundantly clear.