Page 78 of What He Always Knew

“Shit.” I rushed to her, holding her steady as she lost her dinner in the bushes. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“Stop!” she managed, throwing up again as soon as the word was out of her mouth. She shoved me away, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist as she stood. “Can’t you see we’re monsters? Look at us!” Charlie was screaming now, her eyes wild. “We’ve hurt people we love. We’vekilledthem, without even caring, without even feeling so much as a tinge of guilt.”

“We love each other,” I reminded her, stepping into her space. I just needed to hold her again, I needed to pull her into me, feel her heartbeat against my own. “Yes, it’s messy, but it won’t be forever. This is just a means to an end, and—”

Charlie held up her hand, shaking her head with her eyes squeezed shut.

“Just let me take you home.”

“I’ll get a cab.”

She started for the door, yanking her wrist away when I reached for her.

“Charlie, don’t. Please. Don’t walk away from me.”

She spun, desperation written in every feature as she begged me. “I need time, Reese. Space. Sleep. I just… I need to fuckingthink.” She cried, her hands falling to her thighs in exasperation. “Please, for the love ofGod, just give me one night.”

Every cell in my body ached with the need to hold her. I debated kidnapping her then, throwing her over my shoulder and stealing her away like a caveman claiming his property.

But Charlie wasn’t mine.

And I knew more than anything in that moment that I’d be lucky if I ever got to say she was.

I threw my hands up, swallowing my pride along with the need to be with her in that moment. “Whatever you need, Charlie,” I promised her. “I will give it to you. Tonight, tomorrow, for the rest of our lives, should I get the chance.”

Her eyes flicked between mine, and she sniffed, nodding just once before she turned her back on me.

And then she was gone.

Charlie

There was a secret place I went that no one knew about.

It was just five blocks from my house, just a left, a right, three streets past a stop sign and one more left turn. That’s where my spot was, and no one knew about it — not Cameron, not Reese, not my parents — no one but me.

This place was not a beautiful waterfall or a breathtaking view of the city. It was not a quiet place, nor was it a place for contemplative thinking. For all intents and purposes, I was the last person you’d expect to find in such a place, but it was my favorite one to go to on days like this — days when I needed time with myself.

It was the morning after the gala, and though it was the last place most would expect to find me, my spot was where I went.

Because this place, my spot, it was loud and full of laughter. It was a snapshot of time for so many, a little memory they’d hold onto, or perhaps one they’d forget. It housed secrets and stories, heartbreak and triumph, and joy for people of all ages.

To the average man or woman driving by, it was just a park. It was just a swing set and a jungle gym, a few picnic tables, and a statue. It was just some trees and flowers, just a place to take children, a place to keep them occupied and entertained for a short while.

But for me, that park was where I’d walk when I was pregnant with Jeremiah and Derrick.

It was where I’d sit on the same bench almost every day and imagine what it would be like to watch them play there. It was where I’d talk to them, where I’d tell them about their family, about me, about Cameron, about the town they would live in and the house they would call a home. It was where I’d close my eyes and feel the breeze in my hair, the sun on my skin, wondering which beautiful day that summer would deliver me my baby boys.

After they passed, I still came to the park.

I would sit on the same bench, though not as often as before, and I’d try to recount that joy I’d felt before. I’d watch other children play, wondering if they would have been friends with Jeremiah and Derrick, and I’d observe the parents, wondering if they would have talked to me if I had the boys by my side.

To most of the people there, I was invisible — just a lonely woman on a park bench with her head in the clouds. They likely thought I was on my lunch break, or just passing by on my way home. None of them knew that was my place, that they were just visitors, but I knew.

That park was where I first talked to my sons, the ones whom I lost, the ones whom I would never forget. It was where I talked to them after they were gone, praying they’d hear how much I missed them, and how much I loved them still.

And it was where I talked to the new baby, the one who grew inside me now, along with the hope I had that he or she would get the chance to live.

I watched a little boy wobbling his way up the stairs to one of the smaller slides, his tongue sticking out of his little mouth as he focused on his balance. The man I assumed to be his father watched him from a bench across from me, a small smirk on his face, and I found myself staring at him just as much as the boy as I rubbed my still-flat belly.