Page 94 of What He Always Knew

Charlie pulled the hoodie over her head, letting it fall down to her mid-thigh. It swallowed her, and I loved her in it. There was something about the way she looked so small in my sweater, how something I wore so often felt brand new against her skin.

She didn’t answer once the hoodie was on, just watched me with those same sad eyes. And I knew she was hurting, knew she was in pain for the choice she’d had to make, so I took the burden of any more decision-making off her shoulders.

“White,” I said, and then I turned for the kitchen.

I was already lighter with her in my home, already riding the high that came from having her back. I was only gone a few minutes before I returned with two glasses and the bottle. I nodded toward the room where my piano waited, and Charlie wrapped her arms around herself, following me with her eyes on the floor.

“Hop up,” I said, patting the top of the piano. I’d already put the lid down before she arrived, anticipating the night.

She climbed up slowly as I filled both of our glasses, and I handed one to her, holding mine up for a toast.

“To new beginnings,” I said. “And to us.”

We clinked our glasses together, my eyes watching her as she watched our glasses. I took the first drink, but Charlie just lowered hers again, the glass trembling slightly in her hand.

She wasn’t ready to talk yet.

I could feel the pain without even touching her, without even holding her, and all I wanted was to make it go away. So, I set my glass next to her on the piano, took my seat, and floated my fingers over the keys.

I played nothing at first, just warming up, letting the smooth notes flow between us. Once Charlie took another sip of wine, I transitioned into the song I’d written for her — for us — the one I’d been saving for tonight.

It was a piece I’d started the night I’d come back into town, and the beginning was soft and slow. It took me back to the day she walked into the teachers’ lounge, that old book in her hands. I saw her eyes when they first met mine, how empty they were, how I wasn’t even sure she recognized me at all. That woman seemed so far away now from the Charlie who had come back to me. She was full of life again, full of love, and I wanted to continue making her happy — so much so that she’d spill over.

As the song progressed, the melody turned darker, emotional, for all the nights I longed to touch her, all the days I wished for her to be mine. I built up the crescendo gently, bringing the song to a grand, expressive and dramatic climax. It was the night we gave in, the night our worlds collided, our stars uniting under one universal sky. The melody only grew louder as I mirrored my emotions watching her with Cameron, knowing he was trying to win her back. My fingers flew over the keys, my eyes closed as I felt every note.

And then, everything ceased.

I kept my eyes closed during that pause, feeling the weight of that silence, of the past two months. Slowly, I brought the song back to life, filling the room with the same melodic notes that mirrored the beginning, only they were happier now — comfortable and sure. It was our coming together, making it through the storm.

The river meeting the ocean once more, just like it always would.

When I finished, the last notes floating from the piano, I carefully opened my eyes to find Charlie.

She was crying.

Her cries were silent, tears streaming down her cheeks and running toward each other at the apex of her chin before they fell to her lap. She held her wine glass, still full, her eyes on me, lips trembling.

“I named it,Where the River Meets the Sea.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, but her tears still fell, one after the other.

I took her calves in my hands, pulling her closer to me as I looked up into her eyes. “I know you’re feeling a lot right now,” I said. “I know these past few months have been hard on you. And I know what you did tonight wasn’t easy.”

Her face crumpled at that, and she let her head drop, shaking it where it fell between her shoulders.

I squeezed her legs, smoothing my hands over the skin there. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk right now. Come, let me hold you.”

I slid my hand up to grab hers, but when I tugged, she pulled it away, still shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” I repeated. “We can talk tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just be.”

“I can’t.” Her voice was meek, muffled by her cries.

“I know,” I said quickly. “I know you can’t talk right now.”

“No.”

Charlie jumped up from the piano, abandoning her wine as she moved for my bay window. Her hands flew to her hair, her shoulders trembling.