Consenting Adults (7 page)

“Charlotte, hey!”

She slowed down, looked back at him over her shoulder, but
didn’t stop.
Of course she would make me chase her
.
He continued
jogging until he fell in step beside her.

“Hey,” he gulped down a breath of humid air.  “I was
wondering if you wanted to get lunch tomorrow, talk about some writing. Or not.
We could talk about other things.”
She doesn’t want to talk about your mediocre
poetry, genius.
He hadn't stumbled over his words like that since he was
fifteen.

“Oh, I can’t. I’m working a mid-shift tomorrow. But tell Deb
we can do it another time.”

He laughed, but Charlotte didn’t even miss a step.

He placed his hand gently on her forearm. She slowed,
stopped, turned to face him.

“I guess I didn’t go about that so well.
I
wanted to
know if
you
…”

Charlotte’s hand flew to her mouth, but did little to
camouflage the deep blush that flooded her cheeks.

“Oh God, I’m an idiot!” She let out a little laugh.

“No, no. Not at all. I should’ve been more clear.” He hoped
his smile was reassuring. “When are you done working? Maybe we could make it a
late dinner. Or dessert?” He liked to think of the possibilities of dessert.

She stepped back. “Seriously?”

Her shift from embarrassment to disbelief was startlingly
seamless.

His turn for nervous laughter.

“You know,” he thrust his hands into his pockets. “I’m a
pretty confident guy, but you’re making me doubt that a little bit.”

She started toward the parking lot again, walking briskly.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Kinda caught me off guard.”

He quickened his pace, trying to keep up. He waited for what
seemed like ten minutes for her to say something else. She knew how to make him
sweat.

He could see her blue Honda more clearly with each step; the
concrete was hard beneath his thinly-soled flip-flops.

“Charlotte?”

She dug her keys out of the bottom of her bag. “You’re
asking me out?” She glanced at him sideways, her eyes warm, but distant.

He wasn’t sure if she was questioning his sincerity, or his
own high opinion of himself. He decided it must be his sincerity that was under
scrutiny.

“It’s not
that
hard to believe, is it? Deb only has
good things to say about you, and I guess I started to believe her.” That
wasn't entirely true. Deb had been almost as vague as Charlotte herself. They
stopped in front of Charlotte’s car. “Even if you are trying to shoot me down.”

“I wasn’t trying to, honestly.” She was flustered again,
fumbling with her car keys.

This wasn’t going at all like he’d planned.

“Listen, I don’t know how else to convince you. I like you.”
Where was Ms. I Can Pay My Own Way? Ms. I’m Too Good For You? He wasn’t sure
what more to say; he'd never had to convince a woman to go out with him.

She opened the car door and sat behind the wheel. After a
moment, she pulled a piece of paper from her notebook and hesitated again.

Please don’t say no.
C’mon, what wasn’t for her to
like?

“I’m free Sunday. I mean, if you haven’t changed your mind.”
She wrote down her phone number.

Home phone
and
cell phone.

“Really?” He had braced himself for a stinging dismissal, or
at least a few more minutes of her self-deprecation.

Charlotte smiled. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She handed him the paper; when he took it from her, he let
his hand cover hers briefly before she withdrew it. She didn’t even blink.

“Call me tomorrow, tell me when and where. And I’ll be
there.” She pulled the car door shut and reached for the seat belt.

“It’s a date, then.”

Chapter Three

Charlotte's stomach felt like it was trying to digest
itself. Why had she agreed to this date? It was too damn perfect. Steven showed
up looking like a walking yacht club advertisement in white shorts, a
navy-striped polo, and a pair of top-siders. It was different than his usual
earthy-casual look, though he wore both well.

Their conversation never faltered through lunch, but the
gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach only grew with each passing hour. It
wasn't the food, either. That was fantastic. The problem was Charlotte herself.

Steven liked her. She'd never been very good at reading
those types of signals, but he left no doubt in her mind. He touched her hand
or arm when he laughed. He smiled a lot. He asked a lot of questions. She should
be thrilled. But there was something he didn't know. Something she needed to
say that would probably negate the past few weeks of growing attraction. As
they climbed the steps to her apartment, she swallowed hard and took a deep
breath.

“Steven—”

“It was nice to get to talk to you outside of the workshop.”
He stood close when they got to the landing. Like prepare-for-the-kiss close.
She took half a step back.

“Yeah, it was. There's still something I need to tell you,
though.”

“Good, because I was just going to suggest we extend this
date a little longer. It's still early. You want to take a walk in the park or
something?”

Not that she didn't appreciate his enthusiasm, but she
wished he would just stop and listen for a moment.

“No, not the park. I—”

His lips silenced hers with a kiss worthy of one of those
tip-toed, one-foot-off-the ground movie poses. She didn't expect his lips to be
so soft, or for her own to be so easily distracted from their original purpose.
When his hand slid to the small of her back, her traitorous body molded itself
to his. He ended the kiss sooner than she would've liked.

“You’re ringing,” he said.

“What? Oh!” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “It’s
Deb.”

“Go ahead.” He moved a few feet away, hands in his pockets,
a slight smile on his face.

Thank you, Deb.
Saved by the bell.

“Hello?”

Deb was panicked, sobbing, talking too fast. Charlotte heard
Gary in the background, trying to coax the phone from his wife, with no luck.
The words she heard didn’t make any sense. They couldn’t be true.

Sam… car… hospital…

“Okay, I’m coming. I’ll be right there.” Charlotte choked
back tears. “I’m on my way right now.”

She flipped the phone closed and shoved it back in her
pocket as she bounded down the stairs toward her car.

“Charlotte!”

The kiss was already a distant memory. She couldn’t deal
with that right now. She didn’t look back.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Steven caught up as she was
trying to unlock the car door. Her hand shook, scraping the key against the
paint.

“Hey, hey.” He put his hand over hers to steady it.

“It’s Deb’s son, Sam.”

“The older one?”

She nodded, afraid to say the next words. He took the keys
and unlocked the door.

“Wherever you have to go, I’ll go with you.”

She got in on the passenger side without protesting and
buckled the seat belt. A scant minute ago she’d been trying to rid herself of
him, and still he came to her rescue. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
He adjusted the seat and rear view mirror to accommodate his tall frame before
backing out of the space. After a moment, she had swallowed enough of the lump
in her throat to speak again.

“Sam’s been hit by a car.”

“Christ.” He looked over at her briefly. For the first time
since they’d met, she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

Though it seemed near an eternity, they made it to the
hospital in little more than 15 minutes. She was out of her seat belt, pushing
the door open, even before the engine shut off.

She tried not to listen to the sounds of distant ambulance
sirens or the chatter of ER doctors and medics as they made their way to the
emergency room entrance. Tried to focus instead on listening for the sound of
Deb’s voice.

Tried not to look at the anguished faces in the lobby or the
eerily blank faces of those coming to deliver both good and bad news, instead
preparing to search for Deb’s face through those doors.

She could handle this. She had to.

But nothing could prepare her for the way the hospital’s
sterile environment, with its brassy fluorescent lights and white linoleum
floor, reached a steely hand into her chest and squeezed the breath from her
lungs.

She had been there before. Not in that particular hospital,
but in another place, at another time that seemed both ages ago and
uncomfortably recent. She felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the
room, her chest being wrenched tighter and tighter until she was sure she would
either suffocate or pass out.

Steven’s hand closed firmly around her wrist, his fingers
over a scar he’d probably never noticed but that Charlotte could never forget.
Her head swam, and she spiraled back into the present moment. She had stopped a
few feet inside the door.

“Charlotte?”

He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand. The
tightness in her chest eased slightly.

“I’m okay,” she croaked, her throat dry. “I’m okay.” She
tried to convince herself of that as Steven led her across the room toward Deb,
Gary, and Gregory.

Charlotte hugged Deb for a long time, the same way Deb had
comforted her many times before. She didn’t know who was comforting who this
time.

“What do you know?” Charlotte asked.

“N-nothing yet. N-no one’s come t-to tell us anything.” Gary
put his arm around his wife; he looked pained, but he didn’t cry, instead
keeping the strong face Charlotte had seen him put on before.

“What happened?”

The question alone sent Deb into a fit of silent, shaking
sobs against her husband’s chest.

“He was at the neighbor’s. Across the street.” Gary’s voice
was soft, but steady. “Deb was in the front yard when he came out.”

“He did everything he was s-supposed to do. He looked both
ways!” Deb clutched at her husband’s shirt.

“When he started crossing the street, the car just tore
around the corner and—” He cleared his throat. “There wasn’t any time for him
to turn back. The woman had to be drunk.”

“Drunk before it’s even dark out. And driving!” Steven
clenched his jaw, his face red. “I can’t believe some people.”

Gary cast a furtive look in Charlotte’s direction. She
couldn’t think of it right then. Her sanity counted on it. The memories were
already pressing heavily on her brain, threatening to spin her into a dizzying
array of sensory flashbacks. She fought it with every ounce of energy she had.

She needed a distraction.

She sat down, scooping little Gregory into her lap. His face
was smudged with dirt and tears and he gave a tiny smile when she kissed his
grubby cheek.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thornton?”

Gary and Deb looked up at the sound of their names.

A tall, middle-aged man stepped toward them. He had short,
wiry grey hair and pale blue eyes that would never betray the nature of his
news, good or bad.

“I’m Dr. McCormack.” His gaze fell upon Gregory. “If we
could…” He motioned them to a more private corner of the room.

Charlotte closed her eyes and pulled Gregory closer. The
hospital’s antiseptic scent—real or imagined, she couldn’t tell—burned in her
nostrils, made her light-headed.

After a minute, Deb returned to repeat the doctor’s news.
But Charlotte didn’t hear a word. People around her melted away as if they’d
never been real, and she was on her back, looking up at the white lights.

She couldn’t see where she was going as unseen hands wheeled
her forward. Her body ached. Pain seared through her left wrist and arm.

“Sarlit.” A tiny voice.

Charlotte felt blood, warm and sticky, between her fingers;
the coppery aroma latched onto her taste buds. Alternating rectangles of light
and ceiling tile passed overhead.

“Sar-LIT!” Gregory’s small fingers gripped her arms. “You
squooshing me!”

She blinked. She was in the ER waiting room of Mercy
hospital, Gregory on her lap, Steven sitting in the chair across from her. She
had pulled Greg even closer, tightening her arms around him without realizing
it, pinning the startled little boy to her chest. She released her grip and
ruffled his soft blond hair.

“Sorry buddy.” She mustered all of her quickly dissipating
liveliness and tried to appear relaxed, but Steven still shot her a concerned
look.

“We can go see Sam now,” Deb said, lifting Greg off
Charlotte’s lap.

Dr. McCormack led them through a set of large, white double
doors. Deb whispered to her as they walked, knowing, somehow, that she hadn’t
heard a word of what was said out in the waiting room.

“He’s unconscious still. He’s stable right now, but it’s
still pretty serious.”

Charlotte’s knees grew weak as they drew near the curtained
cubicle where Sam’s bed lay until they had a room to move him into. Everything
looked, sounded, felt a bit fuzzy.

“It might be a little scary,” Deb told little Gregory, who
had his thumb in his mouth. “Sam can’t talk to us right now, okay? And he has a
lot of boo-boos.”

“Does it hurt?”

Deb choked down tears. “No, baby. The doctor gave him some
medicine so it doesn’t hurt right now.”

Charlotte pulled Deb to the side as Dr. McCormack opened the
partition concealing Sam’s bed. Her hand trembled as she touched Deb’s
shoulder.

“I c-can’t go in there right now.”

Her chest was closing up again, and there was a cold sweat
forming on her brow. The panic attack she'd been staving off since she first
set foot in the hospital was bearing down upon her with full force.

“Is everything okay?”

Don’t do this.
Jesus, not now.
But no matter
how she tried to talk herself out of it, it kept pressing in on her, closing
her throat, narrowing her vision.