Breathless (26 page)

"John Wesley Craig," she read aloud, looking at the pristine engraving. "This is Helen's brother!" she remarked in awe. "This is your uncle. Wesley's father," she murmured

"Yes," Jack replied. "This is our family's plot." He walked a few steps to the next tombstone. "And look at this."

Charlotte's eyes widened when she saw the name. "Sylvia DuPont Craig." She looked up at Jack. "Oh, Jack! This...this is Sylvie! Who my role was named after! This is her!" She stared at the stone, as if trying to form a connection between Sylvie and herself. This moment was incredible. Sylvie had become such an important part of Charlotte's life. She constantly wished she had known her while she was alive and so full of spirit, as Wes had described. She looked longingly at the two plots of the lovers, so close together, as if they were sharing the same grave. They were together at last, no longer separated by war or illness or death. And Charlotte felt happy for them because of this. But all she wanted was that same love in her own life.

"Jack," Charlotte began, but he was no longer standing beside her. Past the Craigs' graves, there was a measure of bare grass before the next tombstone which Jack stood in front of. He stood silently, looking down at the grave with a solemn expression and his hands clasped together as if saying a prayer. And across his face was one of the saddest expressions Charlotte had ever seen. Charlotte quietly walked to his side, careful tnot to disturb him.

"This is Joey's grave," Jack remarked quietly, his voice dull. "This was my friend Joey." Charlotte followed the line of his stare to the modest engraving on the tombstone which read
Joseph Henry Green
. He had only been sixteen years old when he died. "His family wasn't rich. They were nothing like mine," Jack said with distaste in his voice. "They couldn't even afford a plot. So my parents gave him a place in ours."

Charlotte quietly looked at the stone, trying to imagine the person Joey must have been. "What was he like?" she asked Jack.

He was silent for a moment. "He was smarter than me. He was more handsome. He was much friendlier. He was better liked. I always looked up to him. It's hard to describe him," Jack said haltingly. "Because I was always following after him, looking up to him as a role model. I was ashadow of Jeoy. And after he died, I was still just a shadow. A shadow of my old self." He looked at Charlotte solemnly. "I wish you could have known him. And I wish you could have known me when I was still my whole self. I think you might have liked me."

Charlotte looked up at him in surprise. "But I do like you," she told him quietly, admitting it for the first time. But Jack didn't seem to notice.

"You couldn't," he said, shaking his head with an ironic smile. "I'm not a very likeable person, Charlotte. I know that."

Charlotte wanted to interject. She wanted to speak up and tell Jack how she felt about him, or how she thought she felt about him anyway. But she knew now wasn't the time for that. This was his time to remember Joey, to grieve for him. Charlotte wished she had known they were coming to the cemetary so she could have brought flowers to cover Joey's bare headstone. But she had nothing to give excect for her remembrance. Charlotte knelt down on the grass and clasped her hands together.

"Notre Père, qui es aux cieux," she began to pray. She hadn't used her native language in weeks, but it was still what felt best. It was still what felt closest to her heart, and she wanted to share that with Jack. "Amen," she finished, crossing herself and standing next to Jack with her head bowed. They stood like that, two pillars in the wind, for what felt like a long time before Jack finally cleared his throat.

"We should be getting home," he said, his voice stony and unfamiliar. Charlotte nodded and followed him as he stalked away. And she couldn't help but wonder if by opening up to him, she had also caused him to shut himself away even more.

Almost immediately after they returned home, Jack went up to his room. He closed the door with a slam, not bothering to say goodbye to Charlotte. She cringed hearing the door shut after him, feeling dread overcome her body. After all this time and such a nice afternoon together, had everytnig between them once again become a disaster?

She frowned and threw herself onto the parlor sofa, grabbing the nearest book on the coffee table. She flipped through it angrily, glancing at the photographs of the world marvels. Lewis had thought they might be interesting to guests. "So stupid," Charlotte muttered, tossing the book back on the table and crossing her arms.

"What's so stupid?"

Charlotte turned to see Wesley standing in the doorway. "Wes!" she smiled brightly. "Why are you here?"

"I didn't want to stay at home all day, so I decided to come see you." He smiled at her. Charlotte's heartache didn't go away when she was with Wesley, but he did dull the pain. "Do you have plans for today?"

"Not anymore," Charlotte remarked a bit sullenly. "I was out with Jack, but now he's shut up in his room. So now I'm here reading." She gestured to the book.

Wesley looked at her critically. "You were reading that coffee table book? I thought you were a fan of Shakespeare and Wilder!"

"I am!" Charlotte insisted.

"Then I know what we're doing today," Wesley said extending his hand and pulling Charlotte from her seat. "Let's go," he told her, leading her toward the front door.

"Where are we going?" Charlotte asked, running to keep up.

"To St James Square," Wes told her, a sparkle in his eye. "To the biggest library in the world."

"Do we need the car?" Charlotte asked as he yanked open the door.

"What for? It's a beautiful day and we live in a beautiful city. Let's live while we're young."

Wesley hadn't been exaggerating. It was indeed the largest library in the world, and certainly a beautiful one as well. It stood tall and white and overflowing with books. Charlotte was certain she must be in heaven. "Oh, Wes!" she exclaimed, nearly running over to a section. "Look at all the histories!"

"Charlotte," he called from another section. "Come here." Charlotte made her way over to Wes and her eyes shone when she saw the amazing stacks upon stacks."

"These are all plays," Charlotte breathed, grinning. "Could this be real?" She smiled and ran her hand along the bindings of a nearby shelf. "Oh," she mused. "I wish Jack could see this," she said, without hardly thinking.

Wesley chuckled. "I think Jack has been here before. He loves to read nearly as much as his father does. I'm sure he's made his fair share of trips to the library."

Charlotte nodded. "Oh, of course," she agreed. But silently, she corrected herself.
I wish Jack were here to experience this with me.

Wesley was always a gentleman, always a sweetheart. He followed Charlotte around the massive library for nearly three hours, suggesting books and letter her pile them into his arms. "I think that might be enough," he chuckled as he handed him yet another fat volume of mythological tales. "It's going to take you months to read these!"

"Never," Charlotte grinned, shaking her head. "I have hours and hours to read: in my dressing room, before call times, in bed...and now that I will be tutored by Mr. Barry again, I'll have my afternoons free to read as well."

"Are you disappointed to be out of school again?" Wesley asked, watching Charlotte pour over more titles.

"A little bit. But I'd be more disappointed if I couldn't be onstage. And Celia will visit me. She always does. Besides, school is ending in a few weeks."

"Right. So then Jack will be home to keep you company as well."

Charlotte halted, her hand in midair. She hadn't even thought of that. She'd be home-probably alone-with Jack all day, every day. Would he even be speaking with her? She groaned, frustrated. She was so tired of following Jack's moods. When he was pleasant, he was one of the most wonderful people she had ever met. But when he was selfish or angry, Charlotte could barely stand him. And yet, she couldn't stay away.

"Come on," Wes told her. "The library will be closing soon. Let's check these out for you."

"Oh, how my arms ache!" Charlotte laughed as they finally rounded the corner to the house.

"We should have taken the car!" Wesley agreed, but he was laughing too. The pair had been lugging armfuls of books for miles and it had become a joke. "But I had no idea you were going to want so many!"

"Then you have no idea how much I love books!" Charlotte teased. She dropped her pile on the front steps of the house and smiled at Wesley. "I think I can take them from here."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You could easily break your back trying to carry all of those up the stairs..."

Charlotte grinned at put her hands on his shoulders. "I promise I'll be fine," she told him sincerely, before reaching in and pecking him on the lips. "Thank you for taking me!" She struggled to pick up all the books. "I had a wonderful time today."

"I did, too," Wes smiled at her and opened the door. "I'll see you at tomorrow's show?"

"Yes!" Charlotte agreed. "Goodbye!" She kicked the door closed behind her and stumbled into the parlor, dropping the books on a nearby table. She heard a clattering from the staircase.

"Where have you been?" Jack asked Charlotte with a sharp tone in his voice as she came into view. He looked cross, his eyes blazing.

"Nice to see you, too," Charlotte replied, walking to pour herself a glass of water from the cut-glass pitcher in the parlor. Jack descended from the stairs and stalked over to her, taking the glass from her hand.

"Do you realize that I was responsible for you today?" Jack asked Charlotte seriously, glaring into her face. "I came downstairs and you were gone. If you had gotten lost or didn't come back, Lewis and Helen would have had my head on a silver platter!"

"Well we're sure not in short supply of those in this house, are we?" Charlotte snapped, sick of Jack's moods. She tried to turn away but he pulled her back.

"Who were you out with?" he asked, suddenly quieter. "Where did you go?"

"It's none of your business!" Charlotte cried, glaring back at him, staring straight at his angry blue eyes. They were unrelenting. "I was out with Wesley," she finally said. "He took me to the library. You can't forbid me from going to the library!"

"No one knew where you were! I don't care if you were with Wesley! You could have been laying dead in the street and we wouldn't have known!"

"Try," Charlotte said through her teeth. "Just try and get me in trouble for going out with Wesley. But it's not going to happen. Your mother loves that I see Wesley. She would love if I married Wesley. She loves him like a son and me like a daughter. It's a perfect solution to everything."

"Oh, would you stop, Charlotte?" Jack asked, frustrated. "You
still
don't know anything about my family. You don't know what goes on between us. You don't know our past."

"I know enough to know that you've alienated half of the people in your life! I know enough to know that Topher can barely stand you and Wesley knows he can't have a relationship with you. I know Celia didn't really like you. You know why you and Joey were so close?" Charlotte said, fuming. She couldn't control her thoughts. She couldn't control her words. They just kept erupting. "I think you and Joey were so close because he was the only one who could stand you. But now that he's gone, you don't have anyone."

Jack shook his head, clenching his teeth. "I'm
done
with you," he told Charlotte definitely, before leaving the parlor and walking out the front door, slamming it behind him.

And this time Charlotte didn't cry. She didn't curl up in bed. This time, she was just angry at herself for thinking Jack was any different than he seemed to be.

Charlotte woke late the next morning with the sun already streaming through the windows. She sighed, content, and turned over. Opening her eyes, she grinned. Standing on her bedside table was a long, beautiful vase with lengthy, elegant orchids stemming from the neck. Charlotte reached for the little notecard perched on the petals. "Charlotte," she read his lovely, neat print. "I hope you think these flowers are as lovely as I though you are. Wesley." Charlotte brushed her hand along his tidy signature and smiled. He always seemed to know how to brighten her day.

Charlotte leapt from her bed and grabbed the vase, racing across the hallway. "Jack!" she said excitedly, wrenching open his door. But as soon as she did, she knew something was wrong.

The stench of liquor hung heavily in the air and his room was full of smoke, cigarettes burning in ashtrays on his desk. And Jack lay in bed, still in his clothes from the night before, his hair a mess and his eyes sunken. And this time, Charlotte didn't want to act maturely. She didn't want to tiptoe around him and hide what he had done. The last time she had tried to help him by keeping it to herself, it hadn't mattered. In the end, he was still angry with her. He was always angry with her. He was just angry. But now Charlotte was angry, too. And she couldn't play sweet any longer.

"Wake up," she snapped, shoving him. Jack immediately sat straight, but then put is head in his hands.

"Jesus, Char," he murmured.

"What is wrong with you?" Charlotte snapped, standing over him. "Why are you like this? You really are just a spoiled brat! I can't believe I thought for even a moment that you were anything else!"

"What are you talking about?" Jack asked, turning his eyes to glare at her.

"Don't you realize how lucky you are?" Charlotte asked incredulously. "Don't you realize what you have? Topher must have longed and longed for what you have and take for granted! He would have loved to have your education, your belongings, your opportunities! But you don't seem to care about any of it! And the same for Joey. You said his family was poor. Do you know what he really must have thought about you?"

"Don't talk to me about Joey," Jack warned, his voice lethal.

"And Wesley, as well," Charlotte went on. "Don't you realize how much he must have longed for a father like Lewis? Or a mother like Helen?"

"Charlotte," Jack said, his voice growing angry. "Would you
stop
talking about Wesley as if he were an unfortunate case? He lost his parents, but he didn't lose his life. He was brought up beside me," he fumed. "We grew up with the same parents, the same toys, the same books, the same education. You can't keep giving him the role of the martyr when he was just as privileged as anyone else, same as you were." Jack glared at Charlotte. "Don't pretend you know the worldly ways. You were brought up just as wealthy, just as privileged as I was. And you are a spoiled brat, just like me. Don't pretend like you're a better person."

He glanced at the bouquet in her hands and smirked. "From Wesley?" he guessed. "Your suffering is apparent." He pushed past her and stalked out into the hallway.

Charlotte followed him, her anger fuming as she watched him walk down the corridor, his shirt annoyingly wrinkled, hanging loose over his sturdy frame, and his hair mussed. Charlotte couldn't stand him.

Without hardly thinking, she cried out in anger and threw the vase. It smashed into the wall and broke into a million pieces on the carpeting, the flowers laying amongst the shards of glass.

Jack whipped around in shock. "What the hell?" he cried. "Charlotte," he yelled, no longer snippy, but fully angry. "Is this how you got your way back home? By smashing things and throwing a hissy fit? Because it's not going to work on me!"

"
Nothing
works on you, Jack," Charlotte yelled back. "I've finally realized that there's no helping you. You have no feelings. I'm
done
."

"Oh really, Charlotte?" Jack stepped closer to her. "Funny you can say that, because you always seem to come crawling back."

Charlotte's cheeks burned red. "Well I won't anymore," she said stubbornly, crossing her in front of her chest.

"Good," Jack said just as stubbornly. He seemed to be ready to turn away, but hesitated and leaned closer to Charlotte. "I'm done," he declared with finality. "I know I've said it before, but I mean it this time. Stay away from me. You're like poison. Every time I think something is finally going right in my life, you go and ruin it. And I just can't deal with it anymore. I can't deal with
you
anymore."

"Fine," Charlotte agreed. "I feel the same way about you."

"Fine," Jack repeated.

Just then, Lewis came down the hallway, looking cross. "What is going on here?" he asked, looking down at the broken vase. "I could hear screaming from across the house."

Neither jack nor Charlotte said anything. They both looked at their feet. Charlotte felt so badly. Helen and Lewis had tried so hard for the pair to get along. It all seemed such a waste now.

"Jack, clean this up," Lewis directed before giving both of them a pointed stare.

"No," Charlotte interjected. "I'll do it." She looked up at Jack. This seemed like it would be the last time she would ever do him a favor.

Sometime later, she made her way down to the dining room where Helen was already seated with a cup of tea and a newspaper. She raised her eyebrows as Charlotte entered the room. "Is everything alright up there?"

"Fine," Charlotte said, not feeling very conversational as she sat beside Helen. "Jack...and I...were just being...ourselves," she finally responded after thinking for a moment.

Helen sighed disappointedly. "I was so hoping you two would have a better relationship. But it seems like every time I think you two are finally getting along, it seems as if everything just falls apart."

Charlotte couldn't reply. She knew it was true.

"You know, Charlotte," Helen said, reaching out for her hand. "I feel terrible saying this, but it has come across my mind more than once that when the war is over..." she paused, "that you should stay here in England. With us."

Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise. She had always seen herself as a burden for Lewis and Helen, despite how often they told her they were glad to have her.

"Oh dear," Helen said, taking Charlotte's hand, "I know you miss your brother and France, but you seemed so miserable when you first came here. And now...you seem like such a different girl. And more than that," Helen looked at Charlotte with her beautiful blue eyes. "I now think of you as my daughter. And I don't want to lose you."

Charlotte felt tears spring up in her eyes.

"Please just think about it," Helen insisted. "Luc can live here, too. We'll give him a room. We can keep performing together. And when the baby comes," Helen lowered her voice and put her hand over her stomach. "You can be the godmother."

Charlotte was speechless. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked solemnly at Helen. "Helen, you've done so much for me already-"

Helen cut her off by patting her hand. "You'll think about it, won't you?"

Charlotte nodded. "Yes. Of course."

The following weeks passed quickly. Charlotte was becoming used to her new-found fame and would readily admit that it was to her liking. As the positive reviews for her performance kept flying in, she and Helen continued performing to sold-out audiences and were greeted nearly every evening with a standing ovation. Helen was proud of her, Charlotte could tell. She would beam every time Charlotte took her last bows and would send her little gifts or bouquets of flowers to her dressing room. Charlotte rather enjoyed this bond they were forming. Slowly, they were becoming more than just family friends. Sometimes Charlotte wondered if this was what it was like to truly have a mother. All of it was making her decision of where to live even more difficult than it already was.

I can't abandon Luc,
Charlotte kept telling herself, reminding herself.
Luc was all I had in France. He was always there for me when I needed him. I need to be the same for him when the war is over. It will be as if none of this ever happened.

But it was happening, Charlotte already knew she had become a different person since when she came to England. Would Luc still appreciate her even when she was all grown up? Or would he not find her so endearing now that she didn't need to be taken care of. After all, Charlotte had decided, Luc hadn't needed her nearly as much as she had always needed him. Luc had always had friends. He had always been popular. Even their parents admired Luc even when they didn't think anything of Charlotte. Did Luc really value her in the same way she valued him? Would he even care if she stayed in England after the war?

Charlotte shook these thoughts from her mind.
Of course he'll want me back. He's my brother. He should not want any differently.

Meanwhile, Jack had returned to his old ways, leaving behind nothing that remotely reminded Charlotte of Luc. It was as if he had been transported back to the time when Charlotte first met him, when he was a sullen, rude teenager. He left the house early and came home late. He drank-Charlotte could hear him getting sick in the early morning hours-and he smoked-which she could smell from across the hallway. He didn't join the family for meals or outings. In fact, he very much didn't seem part of the family anymore. In a way, this bothered Charlotte, as she knew it bothered Lewis and Helen. But she still didn't mind the special treatment she received from them because of it.

She didn't mind that he wasn't around to fight or bicker with her anymore. But sometimes, when he would come home early in the morning after a long night of partying, Charlotte would quietly peek into his room, longingly. She still couldn't understand why she felt so strangely toward him. It was something she was sure she would never understand.

"Another successful show!" Lewis exclaimed, embracing Charlotte backstage on a warm night in June. "Congratulations, everyone!"

"Oh, everyone's been working so hard," Helen told him. "Don't you think they deserve a little bit of an award? Shall we all stay for a while and have a little party? There is no show tomorrow. I think we deserve a treat!"

"Oh, please!" Charlotte agreed with a grin. She loved her cast, and they had all grown so close over the past few months. Spending time with them was like spending time with another family.

"I'll order in some food and grab the champagne," Lewis decided, pecking Helen on the cheek. She took a hold of his arm and looked up at him lovingly.

"This is why I love you so much," Helen said, looking up into his eyes with the sweetest expression Charlotte could ever imagine. The pair kissed again, much to the chagrin of the rest of the cast, but Charlotte just looked on smiling, hoping that someday she could have such love in her life.

As if on cue, Jack walked in at that very moment, looking very awkward. Charlotte's heart leapt at the sight of him.

"Jack!" Lewis exclaimed happily. "What are you doing here?"

"Topher told me the car was at the mechanic's," he explained quietly, his hands in his pockets. "I brought mine over. It's in the lot."

"We were just about to have a small celebration," Lewis told him. "You should stay!"

"Why don't you go change out of your costume and put on something more comfortable," Helen suggested to Charlotte. Charlotte nodded and turned, but caught her foot on the ropes of the curtains and went tumbling to the floor.

"My darling!" Helen exclaimed, kneeling down. "Are you alright?"

Charlotte's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Of course she would do something embarrassing just as Jack arrived. She nodded and said quietly, "I think I'm fine." But when she went to stand, there was intense pain in her ankle.

"It looks like it's swelling," Lewis said, quickly examining it. "We should get you to a doctor."

"No!" Charlotte pled. "Please, Lewis. You and Helen so deserve a night to celebrate everything. I'll go alone."

"We wouldn't think of it," Helen told her. "I'd send Wesley with you but he had a contract meeting with Mr. Bates tonight..." She bit her lip.

"I'll take her," Jack spoke up. Charlotte looked up at him in surprise. "I mean, I have the car with me and everything. It just makes sense." He looked at Charlotte. "You think you can walk out to the door if I bring the car around?" Charlotte nodded, her heart beating heavily at the thought of being alone with Jack. "Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes."