Page 76 of Pages of My Heart
He frowns. “Did Tommy tell you to ask me that?”
“He doesn’t have to. I can smell it on your damn breath! And who else can he talk to if not me? You expect him to deal with this all alone? He’s worried about you. Why are you shutting him out?”
Charlie shifts uneasily in his chair, averting his eyes once again. He barely looks at anyone anymore. “He doesn’t understand. None of you understand.”
“And drinking is the answer? Why don’t you help him understand by talking to him? Do you want to end up a mean drunkard like Pops?”
Charlie snaps his head up, not even bothering to veil his anger. “How could you say that? I’d kill myself before I end up like him. IloveTommy. I would never—” He breathes deeply, trying to control himself before he continues. “I wouldneverlay a hand on him.”
Evie stares him down, expression furious. “And that’s how you show him how much you love him? By lying around the house drunk all day? Do you know that after we heard you’d been injured, he spent every evening at my house? He poured out his love for you, cried about his fear of losing you . . . I’ve never,neverin my life seen someone so in love. And if I’m not mistaken, under all your hurt and pain, you love him just as much. Do you know how lucky you are to have a love like that? Do you know how rare that is? You’ve risked everything to be together, and you continue to risk everything, because you know as well as I do that they can put you in jail for it. If that’s not the very definition of true love, then I don’t know what is!”
Charlie’s eyes burn and he has to blink rapidly to stop the tears from falling. “But will he still love me when he knows what I’ve done?” His voice quivers. “What I’ve become?”
“Charlie,” Evie sighs, defeated, “you’re still you, no matter what happened in the war. Tom will always love you if you just let him.” Evie comes to sit on the arm of his chair, pulling him into a hug. “Please stop drinking.”
“I’ll try.” And hemeans it.
Day 22: Thomas
Not long after breakfast on Saturday morning, Thomas stands in front of the bathroom mirror trying to muster the courage to ask Charlie to do his exercises. The mirror is brand new, having been replaced only a few days prior after Charlie punched it with his fist. Was Charlie trying to punch his own reflection, or was he experiencing some sort of hallucination? Charlie refuses to discuss it, turning his back and silently walking away whenever Thomas tries to broach the subject. Not that Thomas really wants to discuss it, truth be told. He’s had his fair share of nightmares this week too. When he closes his eyes, he’s taken back to that horrible moment he saw all the blood, terror exploding in his chest when he’d assumed Charlie had cut his wrists. The nightmares are twisted and perverse, the faces of Charlie and his mother morphing from one to the other and back again. Men in white dragging Charlie from the house. His mother whispering in his ear, “You killed another one. It’s you! You kill the ones you love.” Thomas isn’t sure how long he can go on like this.
All of Charlie’s disturbing behavior leaves Thomas feeling vulnerable and inept. And Charlie is not getting better. In fact, he’s becoming far worse. The nightmares occur every few nights and the sleepwalking has made repeat appearances too. Thomas has noted a pattern—Charlie fights the enemy in their bed and is torn apart with anguish and guilt outside in their backyard. Charlie always uses the same words, too, as if he’s trapped in a never-ending war that he is endlessly doomed to relive.
On top of the nightmares, Charlie now has moments when his breathing becomes so labored and his pulse so rapid that Thomas thinks he’s having a heart attack. He holds Charlie tight in his arms every time it happens, but the moment it passes, Charlie shuts down and walks away. All of this is compounded by Charlie’s increasing alcohol consumption, making Thomas fret all day at work, fearful of what he may come home to. Often, he finds Charlie unsteady on his feet and his speech slurred. Other times he has to run from room to room until he finds Charlie passed out somewhere in the house.
Thomas is incensed because it makes him think of his own deadbeat father, Patty, and of Charlie’s late father, good riddance, and of every one of those men destroyed by the allure of the bottle. It’s the last thing he wants for Charlie, but he has no clue how to help him.
Unsurprisingly, they have almost completely stopped having sex, and when they do, Charlie rarely climaxes. For a couple who have always used sex to communicate their love, it is having devastating consequences. Thomas isn’t sure if it’s the drinking, or if Charlie is no longer attracted to him, or, God forbid, if he doesn’t love him anymore. It’s too frightening to face, so he pushes it deep down and tries to pretend all is normal.
He finds Charlie in the sitting room, his body oddly still and his eyes staring vacantly out the window. “How about we get your exercises done this morning? Then I thought we could take a walk, and tonight I’d like to take you to the pictures. We haven’t gone since you’ve been home.”
Charlie slowly turns his head, sad blue eyes looking up at him for a brief moment before flittering away. “I don’t want to go out. People will stare at my arm.”
“No, they won’t.” He keeps his voice soft. “You can’t even tell. And that’s why we should do your exercises, so you won’t have to feel like that anymore.”
“Maybe I’ll go for a walk.” Charlie closes his eyes, signaling he’s done with the conversation.
“That’s great. Now stand up and let’s get started.”
Charlie doesn’t move, but Thomas stands his ground, waiting. Finally, Charlie pushes himself up from the chair, and Thomas gets into position. The first thing they do is stretch. He guides Charlie’s arm forward and up, then lowers it back to his side. After a series of these, he repeats the motion to the back and then to the side. Charlie remains silent, standing perfectly still like a life-size doll.
“Okay, Charlie”—Thomas grabs the tennis ball off the mantelpiece and places it in Charlie’s hand, helping him curl his fingers around it—“see if you can squeeze it for three seconds today.” Charlie squeezes, his arm shaking with the effort. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, thr—” The ball drops to the floor. “Well done, darling. Okay, only nine more to go.” Thomas bends over to pick up the ball, but when he stands up, Charlie is walking away. “Where are you going?”
Charlie halts in the doorway, then speaks without turning. “There’s no point, Tom. It’s not getting any better. Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe this is God’s punishment.”
Thomas still has no idea what is at the root of Charlie’s intense feelings of guilt. “God’s punishment for what? For being a homosexual? Or for fighting in a war you were forced to join?”
Charlie shrugs. “Maybe both.” Then he continues down the hall.
Chapter 35
October 1944
Day 28: Charlie
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.