Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Just as we walk down the stairs, a lady calls out from behind us. “Charlotte! Oh, Charlotte!”
We stop, and Charlie looks over her shoulder, recognition then dread covering her expression. My hand is dropped before she leans forward and gives the woman an impersonal hug. They’re not friends. That much is obvious.
The lady backs up—her mask and false smile in place for the rest of the world. “You were late, but I know Jim would be glad you squeezed this in. He would want you here.”
Charlie looks at her, waiting for her to continue, immune to her jabs.
“So you brought a friend?” She signals to me. “A friend so important in your life that you would bring him to my son’s funeral?” There’s no sincerity in her words, and her eyes are narrowed. She’s challenging Charlie, trying to prove a point of some sort.
The tension mounts as Charlie glances at me, then looks back at the shrewd, older woman.
I’ve already learned a few things about Charlie that make me want to know her better, and the list grows as she holds herself together, ignoring the woman’s sharp comments.
“This is Charlie . . .” She stops, searching in her head for answers that aren’t there before turning to me in horror. “Charlie . . .”
I step forward, not letting it linger any longer and not disappointing her. “Hi, I’m Charlie Adams. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh!” She clears her throat. “It’s nice to meet you. Adams? I know a few Adams. Is your family from the city?” she asks. I can tell she’s trying to categorize me.
I want to lie but realize she might know my family. “Yes,” I reply. I don’t want to get into all of this right now.
Charlie’s eyes find me, but I can tell my answer doesn’t throw her. She has other stuff on her mind and looks like she is ready to escape this situation.
“What is your mother’s name? Maybe I know her.”
“Emeline Adams—”
“Oh yes!” She’s pleased. “Emeline is such a doll. We sit on several committees together. Please send my love to her.” Her being friendly with my mother tells me all I need to know about her. I chose to leave the confines of this super wealthy Manhattan circle, but being in the midst of it again makes me wonder how Charlie is involved with them.
It’s as if it just occurs to this woman that I’m with Charlie. She’s obviously questioning our relationship in her expression—what we are to each other—as she looks back and forth between us. The contempt in her eyes reminds me way too much of my mother. A real emotion takes over, and tears fill her eyes. “I must get back. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Adams.” She turns and reenters the church without a second thought of the pretty girl standing quietly next to me.
Charlie seems so small, so fragile at this moment, not like the woman I’ve spent the past few hours with at all. These aren’t friends of hers. That much is clear. She’s the black sheep among them, a lot like me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, giving her the physical support she needs to make it around the corner and away from the prying eyes of the other mourners and gossipmongers.
“I think we need a coffee. What do you say?” I want to see her smile again. I want to see that moxie return to her eyes.
She doesn’t look up, staying securely tucked into my side. We’re two strangers finding comfort in each other in a time of need. “I would like something stronger.” Just a whisper, but I hear her.
“Okay, espresso it is, then,” I say with enthusiasm, hoping that lifts her mood.
We stop, and she finds the strength to release me, standing strong once again on her own two feet. “No coffee. I need a drink. One with alcohol.”
Oh, something stronger. I get it now. “Sure, there’s this bar called the Subway Inn just a few blocks from here. It’s dark and offers a lot of privacy.”
“Sounds perfect.”
I take her hand for several reasons. First, because I’m selfish and want to hold her hand, knowing full well I’m taking advantage of the situation. Second, because I also think she needs that touch, that connection with someone outside the people we left at the church.
It’s been an exhausting day mentally and physically, so I hail a cab.
“Charlie?” she asks.
“Yeah?” I look down at her, her bright blue eyes shining again.
“Thank you.”
I squeeze her shoulders playfully. “Eh, that’s what friends are for.”
Seeing her smile makes me smile, one that comes from the heart.
Chapter 7
Charlie B
The bar is a real locals’ type place. There’s no jukebox or sound system so it can turn into a club in the late hours. There isn’t a dance floor or modern furnishings. It’s dark with old, wobbly wooden tables and chairs and a long, worn-looking bar that runs the length of the right side of the room.