Page 58 of Pages of My Heart

Charlie is in the sitting room with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whisky on the table beside him.

Thomas doesn’t like him smoking in the house, but the last few days he hasn’t even bothered going outside.

He’s handling this all wrong, and yet he can’t seem to find it within himself to change.

Some days he gathers the energy to try, fueled by the guilt of Thomas’s heartbroken face.

But mostly it seems to be out of his control—anger flaring up out of nowhere one minute, then feeling trapped alone inside his head the next, unreachable and numb. All he’s trying to do is survive.

There’s a polite knock at the door, but he makes no move to answer it.

He barely even notices the ash falling to the floor as he places his cigarette in the ashtray.

A second, more insistent knock has him frowning, but he still makes no effort to stand.

Lifting the bottle to his mouth, he takes three large gulps.

The burn of the whisky as it flows down his throat is deeply satisfying.

“Charles, I know you’re home. Chippy . . . answer the door, please.”

The aggravation in his mother’s voice pulls his attention. She is normally so soft-spoken. Setting the bottle down, he pushes up from his chair and walks sluggishly to the front door.

“Charles!” His mother yells urgently now, adding three more insistent knocks.

He pulls on the front door with too much force and stumbles backward. “Jesus, Ma, ya don’t gotta shout.”

“Dear Lord, Chippy . . . look at the state of you. And why haven’t you come to visit this week?

” Loretta doesn’t wait for an answer, just marches past him into the house.

Charlie can do nothing but close the door and follow her back into the sitting room on wobbly legs.

“Smoking in the house. Drinking at two o’clock in the afternoon.

” Loretta stubs out his cigarette and picks up the bottle, striding toward the kitchen like an irate schoolteacher.

Charlie slumps down into his chair and waits for her to return.

Loretta calls from the kitchen, “Have you eaten lunch?”

“Yes.” It’s a lie, of course. Fuck, he’s so tired.

A minute later she’s back, taking a seat in the armchair opposite him, hands in her lap, lips pursed. “Evie tells me you’re not looking after yourself. Drinking too much, not doing the exercises for your arm . . . and perhaps not being very kind to Thomas.”

Charlie raises his eyes to his mother’s disappointed face, then looks away almost immediately without answering. What is there to say? It’s all true.

She continues, not deterred by his silence.

“I think this has gone on quite long enough. You need to come home where I can look after you properly. Thomas has been a great friend to you over the years, but he doesn’t need you burdening him like this.

He should be out finding a wife and starting a family.

As should you, Charles. You’re twenty-seven years old .

. . far too old to still be a bachelor. I think a nice girl to settle down with is exactly what you need. ”

Charlie scoffs and shoots a challenging glance in her direction. “You think a nice girl wants an invalid husband who can’t even provide for her and his family?”

“Chippy, enough of this nonsense! You need to come home. I can help you with your arm, and this drinking has got to stop. My friend Beryl has a lovely young daughter who would be perfect for you. Twenty-one years old. She reminds me of dear Ruthie. Such a shame that didn’t work out .

. .” Loretta shakes her head, drowning Charlie in her disappointment.

“I don’t need a girl.”

“Well, maybe not quite yet. You do need to get better first. You need your mother. I must head off now but let me know if you need help packing. I can send Donnie over, and I’m sure Thomas will help, too.”

Loretta stands and takes the few steps to his chair, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “I’ll let myself out. But no more drinking today. Charles, I mean it.”

Then she’s gone.

Day 33: Thomas

As they sit down to dinner, Thomas considers telling Charlie where he spent the afternoon.

He’s worried Charlie will snap his cap and accuse him of going behind his back, but things simply cannot go on the way they have been.

Thomas fears that if Charlie’s downward spiral is allowed to continue much longer, the damage will be permanent, and Charlie will find himself trapped in a very dark place that even Thomas cannot reach.

That’s why Thomas visited his doctor today, explaining Charlie’s symptoms, seeking advice, and expressing his fears about Charlie getting sent back to a VA hospital—or worse, getting locked up in an asylum.

The doctor listened to his concerns and reassured him that many returning soldiers have been experiencing similar symptoms and that he would help Charlie as best he could.

Apparently, a sleep sedative could help with the nightmares, and his doctor suggested he treat Charlie regularly for his arm rehabilitation at his office, where he will also be able to monitor his mental condition.

Now Thomas just needs to convince Charlie it’s a good idea.

Charlie isn’t drunk tonight, but he’s not sober either. Thomas passes him the saltshaker, deciding to wait until Saturday morning, when he won’t have touched the bottle yet and they’ll have all day to talk it through.

“I need my meat cut.” Charlie’s hallow voice cuts through the oppressive silence that’s become their new normal these days.

“How about I help you hold the fork, and you see if you can cut some yourself?”

“I don’t fuckin’ wanna do that.” The blue of Charlie’s eyes turns dark, like storm clouds rolling in. “I just wanna eat. Are ya gonna cut it or not?”

Thomas places his knife and fork down. He’s tired, and his patience is hanging by a thread, because it doesn’t matter how gentle and encouraging he is, he’s only ever met with hostility or rejection.

And yet, he tries once again. “Darling, I can cut your meat, but it would be better if you tried, so you can build strength in your hand.”

Charlie stands abruptly, nostrils flared, and Thomas braces himself for an outburst. “If I’m such a burden and it’s too fuckin’ hard to cut my food—” Charlie picks up his plate and throws it at the wall.

It shatters on impact, the sound making Thomas flinch, food splattering across the wallpaper like some grotesque modern art piece. “—then maybe I should move back home.”

Thomas freezes. The suggestion is so vile it renders him mute. He cannot bring himself to even look at Charlie.

“Aren’t you gonna say somethin’?” Charlie leans forward, forcing his face into Thomas’s eyeline. “Wouldn’t that be easier for you? To be rid of me?” He makes a sound of derision. “What’s fuckin’ left of me.”

Thomas stares at the food on the wall, his vision bleeding in and out of focus, his pulse throbbing against his face.

“Guess that’s all the answer I need then. I’ll start packin’.”

Charlie turns to leave, and Thomas feels something shift and let loose inside of him.

A fury he has never felt before. He stands, chair crashing to the floor as he smashes his fist down on the table.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” Charlie stops, turning slowly.

Thomas uses the time to advance forward, stopping when he’s only inches from Charlie’s face.

“How dare you fucking walk out on me after all we’ve been through. ”

They stare at each other, chests heaving with rage. “All we’ve been through? You haven’t been through fuckin’ shit, O’Reilly! How many times do I gotta tell you—I’m not the same man I was! I’m broken! A fuckin’ cripple. You ain’t got a clue what I’ve done or what my fuckin’ nightmares are like.”

Thomas hovers between wanting to hit Charlie and wanting to take him in his arms. His fingers curl into fists. “Then fucking tell me what you’ve done! Tell me about your nightmares! Please, Charlie, let me help you.”

Charlie shakes his head, feeling utterly defeated.

His eyes fills with tears and the anger drains out of him like a receding tide.

When he speaks, his voice wavers, laced with despair.

“Tommy, if I tell ya . . . if you know what a monster I am, everything we had before . . . everything will be ruined. I can’t live with that.

I just can’t. So no, I can’t tell ya.” Charlie pushes past him, head bowed. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.”

For a moment Thomas stands motionless, then he walks to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him and sliding down to the floor.

Day 34: Charlie

The following morning when Charlie rouses from sleep his first thought is one of relief—he didn’t have a nightmare.

Then the unfamiliar bed, the cold sheets, and the absence of Thomas lying next to him jolt him back to reality.

Is he really going to move back home with his mother?

He knows it’s the right thing to do, because he knows he can’t keep treating Thomas this way.

Thomas deserves better than the mess Charlie has brought into their lives.

If he truly loves Thomas, he should let him go find happiness elsewhere.

The tightness in his chest is oppressive and dense, but he hauls his body upright and walks to the kitchen.

It’s already 7:45. Thomas will be leaving for work any minute now.

He wants to say he’s sorry, so Thomas doesn’t have to spend all day thinking he did something wrong.

Thomas needs to understand that this is Charlie’s fault and that he takes full responsibility.

He also needs to tell Thomas he loves him and always will, until the day he dies.

This is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.