Page 20 of When People Leave

Charlie

C harlie prided herself on her ability to fall asleep easily. Every night in the past, she could be in dreamland in a matter of minutes and fully rested by seven a.m. Over the last few weeks, that had been far from the case. Four-thirty a.m. had become her new normal.

Since her mom had passed away, before Charlie even opened her eyes, her brain was on overdrive.

Since she couldn’t come up with obvious answers for her mother’s actions, she began analyzing Carla’s life.

Had Carla been happy, or was she an expert on pretending?

Did she fulfill any of her dreams or live vicariously through her children?

As Charlie contemplated these things, it hit her.

Am I living the life I wanted for myself?

Charlie’s reason for becoming a psychotherapist stemmed from her childhood. She had her sisters and her mother, but some of her friends had almost no support system. Charlie had been the person everyone went to for advice, so she knew exactly what she wanted to pursue when she went to college.

As her therapy practice grew, Charlie loved the feeling of being able to help her clients deal with life’s most challenging situations.

But what if she hadn’t made a different?

Had she been fooling herself and hadn’t had an impact on anyone?

Could it be possible to be a completely different person professionally than she’d been personally?

When Charlie was younger, she considered herself a feminist. She couldn’t imagine any man walking all over her.

So, where did that strong woman disappear to, leaving this weak one who couldn’t end a relationship she didn’t want anymore?

She looked up at the poster of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, which still hung above her childhood bed.

“Ruth, you’d never agree to pick up your boyfriend’s mother from the airport because he didn’t want to miss his favorite TV show,” she said. “You would tell him to take a hike. Maybe if I wore a lace collar, I would be that woman who stood up for herself again.”

Carla’s death had prompted Charlie to start dealing with the things she had compartmentalized to get through each day. She realized that the effort it took to hide from her life was way more exhausting now.

Unfortunately, today and most other days, it didn’t matter how tired she felt; she couldn’t fall back to sleep or nap. Her ability to stay awake during the day when she hadn’t slept for many nights before had been an attribute she wore like a badge of honor--a superhero of fatigue.

Charlie’s bladder let her know it wouldn’t wait any longer for her to get up.

She headed to the bathroom, tripping on a shoe she’d left on the floor.

She grabbed the bedpost to keep herself from falling and she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness to find the other shoe before she also tripped on that one.

Her shoes seemed to hide in places waiting to kill her.

When she made her way into the kitchen to make coffee, she found Morgan had already made a pot and was staring down at the crevices in the wood of the kitchen table.

“You couldn’t sleep either,” Charlie said, not sure Morgan heard her come in.

“Huh?” Morgan said without looking up.

“Sleep? You couldn’t sleep,” Charlie said.

“Is that something we’re supposed to do?” Morgan rubbed the dark circles under her eyes, which seemed more prominent than usual.

After grabbing a mug and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Charlie joined Morgan at the table. Charlie was silent as she scrolled through her phone.

“Why aren’t you talking?” Morgan asked.

“I know you’re not a morning person,” Charlie said. “When we shared a room, if I spoke to you before seven-thirty, you’d throw your alarm clock at me.”

“Well, I’m an adult now. Besides there aren’t any alarm clocks in the kitchen. Although that spatula is looking pretty good.”

“You’re losing your touch. The wooden spoon would do more damage.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

Morgan got up and handed Charlie a blueberry muffin from a plate on the counter.

“Where did these come from?” Charlie asked.

“I made them this morning. Or it could’ve been last night. I can’t remember.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Which time?” Morgan took a muffin for herself.

Charlie enjoyed her first bite. “These are good. When did you take up baking?” Charlie asked.

“When I stopped drinking, I needed a substitute, and sugar was the next best thing.”

Abby came into the kitchen, yawning. “What’re you doing up?” Morgan asked her.

“Emma has woken up every morning at four-fifty-five since she was born. My body now thinks that’s a normal time to rise and shine, skipping the shine.” She poured herself coffee and joined them at the table. “Don’t have kids. Or if you do…don’t.” Abby smiled.

“We know you love them,” Charlie said.

“I do, during regular work hours,” Abby smirked.

The clock in the living room chimed. “Oh, shut up,” Charlie called out to the clock.

“I hate it, too, but mom loved that clock, so I haven’t had the heart to stop it. Every hour, when it plays music, it reminds me of her,” Morgan said.

“I don’t know how she didn’t go crazy listening to that. The first thing I’d do when I visited was stop the pendulum,” Charlie said. “Mom pretended not to notice, but every time right before I left, she would smile at me and push the pendulum to move again.”

“I miss her laugh,” Abby said.

“I’d miss it too if I weren’t so angry at her,” Morgan said. “She lied to us about so many things.”

“Why would it matter to us that she was raised in New York,” Charlie said.

“Or that she graduated from Brooklyn College and not UCLA,” Abby added.

“What happened to her in New York that she didn’t want us to know?” Charlie asked.

“I think we need to go there,” Morgan said.

“How will going to New York help us figure out why she died?” Abby asked.

“I’m not sure, but something in my gut tells me that we need to go back to the place that made her want to run and not look back,” Morgan said.

“Morgan’s right. We might be able to put some pieces together if we know more about her past,” Charlie said.

“It feels weird talking about our mother like she’s a stranger,” Abby said.

“Because she was,” Charlie said.

Morgan stood up. “I’m going to check on flights out of LA leaving in a few days.”

“I want to go home and see Alex and the kids first before we go that far,” Abby said. “Also, I didn’t bring warm enough clothes for New York.”

“You could wear something from Mom’s suitcase. I think we can safely say she won’t be needing it,” Morgan said.

“Nice,” Abby said.

“Too soon?” Morgan said.

“I’m going to see if Rick can come for the weekend and bring me my coat and some sweaters,” Charlie said.

“That’s great. Then you can break up with him,” Morgan said.

“I can’t break up with him when he’d be flying out here as a favor to me,” Charlie said.

“Good point. It’s much better to wait until you’re walking down the aisle,” Morgan said.

The next day, Abby left to go back to Encinitas, and Rick was on a plane heading for Los Angeles. Morgan came in carrying an overnight bag, with Brigitta in the cat carrier.

“You don’t have to leave just because Rick will be here,” Charlie said.

“Yes, I do. Otherwise, watching your dynamic with him will make me want to drive to Abby’s and babysit her kids.”

“We can stay out of your way.”

“Not far enough; I’m going to stay at my friend Suzanne’s house. I’ll be back Sunday night.”

“Okay, have fun.”

“I’d say the same to you, but I’m hoping you two have a horrible relationship-ending fight.” Morgan took her suitcase, backpack, and Brigitta and left.

Charlie enjoyed the sudden quiet in the house. She took advantage of it by reading a book until she remembered she needed to change the sheets, do laundry, and vacuum. She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until she looked out the window at a sky that had turned the color of black shoe polish.

A few minutes later, a car parked behind Charlie’s in the driveway. Rick, wearing his hunter-green T-shirt, Charlie’s favorite, pulled a suitcase from his trunk. As he walked up the path, the reflection from the porchlight made his hazel eyes glow.

Charlie didn’t feel even a hint of a smile cross her lips. Shouldn’t I be more excited to see him?

When she opened the door, Rick grabbed her, dipped her backward, and kissed her passionately.

Charlie imagined they looked like the old photograph of the sailor and the nurse kissing in Times Square, although the nurse appeared to be enjoying it.

Charlie used to love Rick’s grand gestures, but lately, more often than not, she felt herself just going along with them.

The first few years she and Rick dated, every time she thought of him, she felt a kaleidoscope of beautiful colors waltzing inside her.

The first time they met was at her friend Louisa’s twenty-first birthday party.

He was wearing a beige sweater and black jeans.

Charlie was surprised at how good he looked in a V-neck since she was not fond of that neckline on men.

The party was going strong when she came in—loud music, drinking, and wild dancing.

Charlie liked to dance but wasn’t comfortable asking a random stranger, so she kicked off her platform boots and pulled Louisa onto the dance floor.

They jumped around in an odd freestyle, combining hip-hop and The Running Man.

Rick came up behind Louisa and tapped her. “Hey, is there any more beer?” he asked, yelling over the loud music.