Breathless (33 page)

"Of course you do," Jack told her. "Everyone knows what a wonderful job you did in
Sylvia.
And your opening night for this show has been the talk of the town, so to speak."

"Charlotte!"

Charlotte looked up in surprise, hearing the familiar voice. "Celia!" she exclaimed, a grin breaking across her face. It had been so long since she had seen her best friend.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" Celia cried, hugging her tightly. When she pulled back, Charlotte noticed how much more sophisticated her friend had become. Her red hair fell in loose curls over the front of her fitted lawn green dress and her bright blue eyes looked even bigger with the help of makeup, something Charlotte had never seen her wear before. It made her look so much older. And although she was the one in a national production, Charlotte suddenly felt much younger and more naive than her friend.

"School became so awfully dull after you left!" Celia chattered happily. "I was absolutely desperate without you. Hello, Jack!" She gave him a smile.

"What are you doing here?" Charlotte asked. "I thought you went back to Yorkshire after the term ended!"

"Jimmy and I are just visiting for a few days," Celia told her. "Doing some shopping and things, you know. But then I saw the advertisement for you new show and I ran straight to the ticket office. Of course this weekend's shows were all sold out but it was still so exciting to see your name in the newspaper! I nearly screamed!" She cast a look down at Jack. "Oh, Jack. You look absolutely amazing. I didn't know you had enlisted."

"Thank you, Celia," he replied gratefully. "And you look beautiful."

Charlotte looked up at him in surprise and saw how his eyes were really shining in admiration. And Celia was looking back at him with the same expression. And somehow, this pricked at Charlotte.

"Don't worry about the tickets, Celia," she interrupted with a bright smile. "I have a few spares. I'll put them under your name at Will Call for Friday night, alright?"

Celia squealed in delight and squeezed Charlotte again. "You are absolutely
perfection
! Alright, I must be getting along. But if not otherwise, I will see you in your show! Bye!" She gave a cute little wave and walked away, the usual bounce in her step. Jack looked after her, smiling.

"I think I'll have a sandwich," Charlotte announced, picking up her menu. "It sounds good on such a hot day."

Jack unfolded his napkin and dropped it in his lap. "She looks different. More grown up," he remarked.

Charlotte blew her bangs out of her eyes, suddenly wishing she didn't have such a young haircut. In fact, it felt as if she had hardly changed since she had first come to England. Unlike Celia, her breasts hadn't grown any larger and she didn't look any more like a grown woman. "Yes, she does," she replied shortly and continued to study the menu.

Jack looked at her, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "I kissed her."

"Yes, I know," Charlotte replied, becoming rather annoyed.

"She was good."

Charlotte finally looked up from her menu, but noticed the laugh on Jack's face. He had just been trying to get a reaction out of her. She laughed and shook her head. "You're terrible."

"Do you want to go someplace a little less crowded?" he asked suddenly. "It's getting a little hot and busy in here."

Charlotte frowned. "Where else would you want to go?"

"I don't know," Jack said with a smile, dropping a bill on the table and standing, extending his hand to her. "How about the place where we first went to be alone together?"

"Here you are," Charlotte said, passing Jack an apple. She bit into hers with a crunch and looked around. "You know, most people would think that having lunch in a cemetery is rather morbid. But it's actually quite nice."

Jack murmured in agreement. "It's quiet and peaceful. And you're surrounded by people who you know were loved." He ran his fingers over the lettering on Helen's tombstone, next to her brother's and nearby Joey's. "They still are loved." He looked up at Charlotte with a smile. "You know that this is a tradition in Mexico? They have a holiday called
Día de Muertos,
Day of the Dead. They have picnics on their ancestors' graves. But it's a lot more flashy than what we're doing now. Costumes and decorations and things..." he stopped, noticing the smile on Charlotte's face. "What?"

"Nothing!" Charlotte said, shaking her head with a laugh. "It just always surprises me when you know things like that."

"Well, I
did
graduate from school, you know," Jack grinned and took a drink from the soda pop bottle. He continued thoughtfully, "I should be going to university after the summer."

Charlotte looked down at her hands, hating that she had been reminded of his impending departure. "What do you plan to do, Jack? After the war is over?"

He gave her a sly smile. "You first."

"What do I hope to do?" Charlotte asked. She sighed and looked up at the clear blue sky, cloudless in the July heat. "Someday I'd like to be in the biggest plays in London. And then maybe New York. Everyone always says the theatre is incredible there. And then, after the war is over, then I'll hopefully go back to France. Bring my family to safety." She nudged him. "Your turn."

"Ah," Jack said, laying down and resting his arm against his chest. "After the war, I'd like to go to university, finish my schooling. I'd like to become a writer, I think." Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise. "Not a playwright like Lewis. But I'd like to try writing novels. I have so many ideas. And then, later on, I'd like to settle down. Get married. Have children." He looked up at Charlotte, his eyes squinted from the sun. "I promise I'm coming to your show Friday, Charlotte. It'll be the last one before I leave."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Charlotte told him. "I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"No. I told you, I've never missed a single one," Jack said with a smile. "I'll be there."

"Oh, Mother. You're no help." Charlotte sighed dramatically, looking down at her hands. As Lizzie and William, who was playing the role of Stage Manager, finished up the scene, she cast a quick glance out at the audience. Every seat was filled. Although she couldn't see them past the bright stage lights, she could sense them. She could hear the chuckles and sense them holding their breaths and important lines. It was everything she loved from playing Sylvia, but this seemed even more poignant. The audience didn't know what they were in for, the story they were about to experience. The very thought of it made Charlotte emotional.

The lights dimmed on her side of the stage and Charlotte walked back into the wings, a stage hand passing her a glass of water and dabbing the beads of sweat from her forehead. "Thank you," she mouthed to the stage hand, who smiled back.

"You're doing great," Wes whispered from beside Charlotte. He leaned on his crutches which he had been using to support himself between scenes to rest his leg. His limp was barely noticeable onstage.

"Those were the easy scenes," she whispered back.

"Still," he said, grinning. "Everything has been going so well. And the audience seems so enthralled. I don't know how you'll be able to dampen your spirit for the emotional scenes later on."

Charlotte looked onstage, where Will was delivering one of his monologues as a couple of stagehands set ladders upstage where she and Wes would perform their next scene. Everything seemed to be going so well. She looked down at the old-fashioned floral dress and ran her hand across her hair, feeling the way it had been pulled back from her face. Everything was so Emily. She was Emily as soon as she stepped onstage, as if it were her alter-ego. Everything seemed so perfect.

"I can do it," she said confidently, shooting him a quick smile, before taking a schoolbook from the prop table and walking onstage.

The rest of the night was a blur. Charlotte watched herself grow up onstage. She saw herself fall in love, get married, and die. It was all so painful and wonderful. But at the same time, in the back of her mind Charlotte kept worrying as they progressed into the last scene in the cemetery.
The audience is going to hate me,
she kept thinking to herself.
My American accent is no good. I'm a French girl, for God sakes. I can't do this. I'm too young. I haven't experienced nearly enough life yet. How am I supposed to portray it onstage?

She somehow made it through the last monologue, although her voice was shaking. As she sat down on her chair onstage, in her "grave", she looked down at her hands. Everything had seemed to be going so well. But now she doubted everything she had just performed. Had she let everyone down? Had she disgraced Helen? Disappointed Lewis? What would Jack think? She let out a shaky breath as Wesley slowly came onstage as her "husband" George. He lingered for a moment in front of her grave before dropping to his knees and crying over it.

And then Charlotte couldn't help herself anymore. She felt a sob in her chest, and it escaped her. Her tears the came heartily and heavily. She sobbed quietly, looking down at Wes, so his character, because she now understood. Only months ago, she wouldn't have been able to understand the play. She wouldn't have been able to understand George's sorrow as he wept for his deceased loved one. She wouldn't have been able to understand what falling in love truly felt like: the pain and the excitement and the anxiety. She wouldn't have been able to understand a mother's love or a brother's admiration. A few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to play the part. But now she understood.

As the curtain fell and the stage lights dimmed, Wes looked up at Charlotte with a grin on his face, although tears still fell down his cheeks. "You did it, Char. It was amazing!"

"No," Charlotte sobbed, her hands over her face. "It was terrible. My accent was bad, I flubbed a line in the second act..."

"No, Charlotte," Wes told her with certainty, taking her hands in his own and looking deeply into her eyes. "It was amazing." He pulled her by the hand. "Come on. Time to take bows."

Charlotte hardly wanted to see the audience again, so ashamed she felt over her performance, but as soon as she stepped onstage once more, she knew that she had done something miraculous. For the entire audience was crying, smiling, applauding, standing. And they were cheering for her, chanting her name, throwing roses upon the stage. Charlotte stared back at them in astonishment, the tears still pouring down her cheeks. This was all real. This was everything she could have ever asked for.

But there was something else she longed for. After escaping into the theatre lobby, her costume having been quickly exchanged for a simple jumper and skirt and the red lipstick rubbed off with the back of her hand, Charlotte brushed past all of the patrons wishing her congratulations and handing her bouquets. She took them grateful and smiled politely, but there was only one thing she yearned for. There was only one person she wanted.

Charlotte threw herself into Jack's arms before he even realized she was there. She pressed he cheek up against his chest, feeling the cool, stiff fabric of his uniform against her skin and smelling his familiar cologne mixed with the scent of the new khaki uniform. It saddened her, a dull, painful ache placing a heavy weight on her heart, this reminder that he would soon be leaving her. But for now, all she needed was to be with him.

They slept together that night, curled into each other as if it would keep them from being separated. But Charlotte didn't sleep. She kept awake, straining to remember everything about the night and store the memories in her mind like treasures to remember when he was far away. The touch of his warm hands as they cradled her arms, the wisps of his hair tickling against her brow, his steady breathing which was so rhythmic and relaxing. But nothing could relax Charlotte. For a terrible thought lingered in her subconscious: that this would be the last night they would ever spend together.

Charlotte turned over, feeling the cool sheets against her skin. She curled up on her side and smiled, remembering the night before. But the smile fell when she opened her eyes and saw that Jack, who had slept beside her the night before, was gone, leaving only his soft scent on the sheets. Charlotte bolted from bed, throwing off the covers and running to the bathroom, hoping to find him there. But it was empty. She ran downstairs as quickly as she could, tearing her way to the kitchen.

"Mrs. Gates!" she yelled. "Have you seen Jack?" Charlotte asked in a panic, her entire body trembling.

"No, love. I think he might have left a little while ago..."

"Oh no! He couldn't have!" Charlotte cried. She turned and ran down the hallway, praying that Jack hadn't done what she feared. He couldn't have left her without saying goodbye. She knew that it would have been difficult for both of them to part ways, but he couldn't leave like this. Not without one final look, one final touch, one final word.

"Lewis!" Charlotte burst into his study while he sat at his desk with a placid look upon his face. He rose upon seeing her so upset, a concerned look on his face. "Lewis, where did Jack go?" Charlotte sobbed, walking up to him.

"He left the house a while ago," Lewis told her calmly, taking her into his arms. "He went to buy his final provisions before he left. He had to take care of a few things, he said. But that was hours ago now," he added, looking at the clock on the mantle. "He may have left..."