I’ve noticed in life that when something feels that way, there’s usually a reason for it.
“You’re not going to Bornstead, are you?” I ask Tristan, but he just stares at me like he’s waiting for something.
“Is that what you’d like, Charity? Would that make you happy?”
“Where did you get that black eye?” I ask, sidestepping his question. It feels too personal to answer anyhow, and I swear, we probably only have like thirty seconds before Miranda comes back in here and yells at me for taking too long. “During fall break, where—”
“I know all about my own black eye; I don’t need you to describe it to me.” He reaches up and touches the side of his face in remembrance. I frown, but I know being a dickhead is his way of practicing self-defense. “And you, better than anyone, know perfectly well who gave it to me.”
“Your dad?” Tristan shrugs and turns away. I step toward him, a question on my lips that I know I shouldn’t ask but can’t help and then …
It’s actually Zayd this time that comes tromping in to bug us.
“Come on, Charity, it’s celebration time,” Zayd scoops me up in his arms and carries me out the door and down the steps.
We head down to my dorm and go inside, tea is served all around, and the movie is started.
It’s nearly ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door, and Zack gets up to answer. Without a word, Tristan steps inside and joins us.
Now the bullying and behind-the-scenes manipulation from Harper, that’s expected.
Seeing the king of the school in my room eating popcorn?
That’s the shock of a lifetime.
To celebrate my acceptance into Bornstead, Dad and I go out for waffles first thing. He has to take a seriously loaded edible before we go because he’s having trouble eating. Or rather, he says he just doesn’t feel much like eating.
I’ve missed him like crazy, and sitting across from him in the Station, I feel this inescapable fear that takes hold of every part of my body and won’t let go. My dreams of getting rich and putting Dad up in a mansion to enjoy his retirement seem like a bunch of bullshit right now, like the naïve whimsy of a sheltered girl.
Charlie … he’s dying.
It’s almost too much for me to handle, that rush of feeling, but for Dad, I crush it all down and hide it away. Later, it’s going to rear its ugly head and bite me in the ass, I just know it.
“Can we talk?” I ask him later that evening, as he sits on the couch and sips a hot chocolate with whipped cream, red and green sprinkles dotting the top. I’m hanging ornaments, but my hands are shaking. I hide the emotion from Charlie, turning back to the sweet scent of pine and sap-covered branches. All the guys are in town—and I don’t think it’s by accident. No, it’s most definitely by design.
Either they want to be close to me … or else they feel sorry for me. I can’t decide. But honestly, I’m glad they’re in Cruz Bay for winter break. Knowing that I have people out there in case I need support, that’s priceless. Text messages are nice, video chatting is better, but there’s nothing like holding the hand of someone you love.
That’s irreplaceable.
Tears sting my eyes, but I continue hanging ornaments, pulling one after the other from the box. There’s a glazed ceramic circle with a picture of me as a baby, cradled in Dad’s arms. He looks like a different person there, his skin smooth, cheeks full, mouth turned up in a genuine sort of smile. I almost lose it when I see that ornament.
“Of course, Marnye-bear, what about?”
I glance over my shoulder, and I wonder if it’s even worth it to bring this up. The thing is, I have to know. And I imagine that Charlie Reed is the only person who might be willing to tell me the truth.
“Isabella, is she …” Dad pauses, his mug of hot cocoa halfway to his lips. “Is she your daughter?”
There’s a long stretch of tense silence, so much so that I wonder if he’s even going to answer me.
“Why would you think that, honey?”
I hang the special ornament near the top of the tree before I turn around, dressed in fuzzy flannel pajamas that I’m sure the guys would lose their shit over. If they liked the duck pj’s, well, this reindeer onesie with the giant horns on the hood could seriously rock their boat.
“She looks like you, and me, really. And when I walked in after school let out last year, you were crying. I know you said you were just happy for me to finally meet my sister, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Dad glances away, like he can’t bear to have this conversation.
“I didn’t know,” he whispers, voice tight, so strained that I feel suddenly like an asshole. I never should’ve brought this up, not with him in this condition. He looks back at me, face set in a determined frown. “I didn’t know she was mine, or I would’ve … I wouldn’t have let Jennifer keep us apart.”
“I know that,” I breathe, moving over to sit beside him. I lean in close, and he puts his arm around me. “You love your kids more than anything. Trust me, I’m the consummate expert on the subject.” Charlie laughs, but it ends in a coughing fit that leaves the handkerchief he’s using dotted with flecks of red. Coincidently, it’s the same handkerchief that Tristan gave me on the first day of third year. “Are you okay?” I whisper, but Charlie just shakes his head and waves me away.
“Marnye, I want you to have a relationship with your mother. With your sister, too. That way, when I’m gone—”
“Don’t please,” I snap, sitting up suddenly and rubbing my hands down my face. “Please don’t talk like that.”
“Marnye, there’s a difference between staying positive and burying your head in the sand. You know I love you, honey, and if I could I’d be by your side until I was old and gray. Sometimes though, the universe doesn’t give us what we want.”
“The new baby, Marley, is she yours, too?” I glance over at Charlie, but he just shakes his head.
“I don’t know. Jennifer seems to think she is, but we don’t know for sure. At this point, it doesn’t matter. It’s better for us not to know, really.”
“How can you say that?” I whisper, feeling myself start to break. I try to stay strong, but sometimes even the hardiest of us have our breaking points. “If she’s your kid, you have a right to know. She has a right to know. You’re a better father than a thousand Adam Carmichaels. His money doesn’t make him a good person or a good dad, and you know it.”
“Better for her to have a young, healthy absentee father than no father at all. Marnye, I hate it, too. I do. But what good will it do to break up their family? Isabella loves the man she’s always thought of as her dad, and she’s well-taken care of. Jennifer, too, and Marley. You have a place there now, and—”
“I love you, but I’m tired,” I blurt, cutting off the conversation and standing up to give Charlie a kiss on the forehead. I can only handle so much at once without breaking. “Do you want me to help you into bed?”
He laughs, but it’s a sound that’s equally mixed with melancholy and mirth both.
“I can put myself to bed still, Marnye-bear, don’t you worry.” I help him up off the couch, and he gives me one more hug before bed. “Think about what I said, okay? Sometimes things aren’t perfect, but we do the best we can with what we have.”
He heads off down the hall and closes his door behind him.
I sink down on the ground in front of the Christmas tree and look at that ornament, tears streaming down my face. After a while, I can’t take it anymore. I get my phone and text Zack, slipping out the front door to meet him when he pulls up in his orange McLaren.
“I can’t go anywhere, I don’t want to leave him alone, but I can’t take it. Zack, I can’t do it. I can’t just sit here and watch him die.”
Zack folds me in his arms and pulls me close, holding me so tight that for the briefest of moments, I feel shielded from the ugliness in the world. How weird is that? The boy who was once the source of much of my darkness is now the light that chases it away.
“You can, Marnye, you’re strong enough for that. And if for some reason, you feel yourself faltering, I’ll be that strength for you.” I bury my face under Zack’s letterman jacket, hiding the freezing tip of my nose from the cold, winter air. He smells like grapefruit and freshly laundered clothes and maybe a little like apple cider and cinnamon.
“You smell like Christmas,” I whisper, closing my eyes. Zack strokes his hand over the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair.
“My mom and sister heard about me cooking on Thanksgiving and demanded a repeat performance. We made molasses cookies from scratch and drank cider.” There’s a pause and Zack exhales as I step back and look up at his face. He’s all serious and shit until he notices the reindeer antlers on my hood. “Are you … dressed up like Rudolph?” He flips the hood up over my head, and then leans down to peer in at me with those dark, brooding eyes of his.
“Rudolph would imply a red nose,” I grumble, reaching up to rub at my own. “Is it that red already? Because I seriously thought I was just dressed up like Blitzen … or something.”
Zack laughs, this low, soft sweet sound that’s so at odds with his big, broad shoulders and imposing stare that I smile. Despite everything, I actually smile.
“Come on, let’s get inside before your nose starts glowing. Cute as it is, I’d rather hang out with you than watch Santa hook you to his sleigh.”
“You still believe in Santa, huh?” I ask as Zack opens the front door for me and ushers me in. The delicate whisper of Christmas carols drifts from the kitchen, and Charlie’s loud snores reverberate down the hall. His snoring used to bug me, so much so that sometimes I’d sleep with ear plugs or put a pillow over my face. But now … I wish I could fall sleep to that bear-like grumble forever.