It Was Almost…The First Time in Forever
By Ginny
Nothing belongs to me.
Title comes from the Frozen soundtrack.
Comments, follows and favorite are always appreciated.
As the antique grandfather clock chimes 11:45 I pull the plaid blanket up a little higher. The night is chilly for early June, I'm hoping it warms up tomorrow, I have gardening to do. I don't always wait up for my husband but I'm worried about him, so here I am, listening carefully for the car in the driveway and the sound of his key in the door.
It's been 6 weeks since what my husband refers to as "a massive shit storm" hit ACN. Will's still in jail, Pruitt has taken the network in directions nobody could have ever imagined and I'm left watching the love of my life spiral downward at a pace which truly frightens me.
Charlie's always said that retirement is not an option. And for years I've agreed with him. If he retired he'd drive me nuts within days. Let's face it, relaxation isn't really part of his vocabulary. He's always had his work to focus on, the work he loves. He has dedicated his life to the news. And now with each decision Pruitt makes, he chips away at his life's work and I'm terrified it will kill him.
More than once over the past few weeks I've tried again to steer the conversation towards the all but forbidden topic of retirement. I've gotten absolutely nowhere. Stubborn doesn't begin to describe Charlie. I've even called in reinforcements. Our daughter Karen tried to talk to her Dad to no avail. I've even had Leona Lansing try to broach the subject. I think Charlie all but threw a glass of Bourbon in her direction.
The glow of the car's headlights move across the room a few minutes after midnight. Still wrapped in the blanket, I pad to the front door to greet Charlie. I wave to his driver as my husband walks past me with a weary smile. As he kicks off his shoes and tosses his bag on the bench I close and lock the front door. I turn around and he's just standing there, head hanging, hands stuffed in his pants pockets.
"Oh honey," I mutter as I let the blanket fall to the floor and gather him in my arms. His head drops to my shoulder. I rub his back for a minute as he takes a few deep breaths and wraps his arms around me. He tries to talk a few times but doesn't really get much out and I'm starting to worry. "Come into the kitchen," I say as I gently take him by the hand and lead him out of the foyer towards the back of the house. I deposit him on a stool at the island and turn on the overhead light; he squints against the harsh brightness. He shrugs out of his jacket and I manage to grab it before it hits the floor. As his hands reach for his striped bow tie I move them out of the way and undo the tie myself.
"You didn't have to wait up," he mutters. It's the first thing he's really said since he got home.
"I know. I wanted to," I reply as I brush back his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. "You want some tea?"
"How about Bourbon?" he counters.
"Not a chance."
"Then tea sounds fine," he answers as he puts his elbows on the island and his head in his hands. I turn the flame on under the tea kettle and grab two mugs out of the cabinet. I pluck two Sleepytime teabags out of the basket and drop them in the mugs.
"Did you eat dinner?" I ask, pretty sure I know the answer that question. Remembering to eat regularly is something Charlie has never been good about. It's gotten worse over the past 6 weeks, that's for sure.
"I don't think so," he answers, his voice muffled as he still has his head in his hands. I move behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. He sits up and leans back against me. His hands grab mine as I settle my chin on his shoulder.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.
"I can't eat," he whispers.
"It's okay," I whisper back. "Why don't you go change, I'll bring the tea into the den. Deal?"
"Deal," he replies as he slides off the stool, grabbing his jacket and tie as he heads for the stairs. "Thanks for waiting up. I love you," he calls over his shoulder.
"Love you too."
Ten minutes later I'm sitting on the couch in the den under the blanket with my tea as I hear Charlie pad down the stairs and head towards me. I lift up the corner of the blanket in a wordless invitation to him. In his favorite pajamas he curls up next to me and takes the tea I hold out to him.
"How was work?" I ask, not really expecting much of an answer.
"Shit storm, as usual," he mutters with a sigh. "Happy it's the weekend," adds.
"Me too. Rest assured you are doing nothing this weekend but catching up on your sleep and eating something that resembles real food. And spending time with your adoring family," I tease as I put my arm around him and settle him against my shoulder.
"Sounds good," he immediately answers. And that answer scares me to death. He never just agrees to that plan, even though it's the same one I make every weekend.
Twenty minutes later our tea is gone. Charlie still hasn't said more than a few words but at nearly one in the morning I'm not about to press him to talk. I can feel myself drifting off and part of me wants to just stay here but let's be honest, we're both too old to sleep curled up on the couch.
"Come upstairs honey, we'll never be able to walk tomorrow if we sleep down here," I whisper as I nudge Charlie a little. He nods in agreement and heads upstairs as I put the mugs in the sink and turn out the lights.
By the time I get upstairs and brush my teeth he is sound asleep, snoring softly.
A clap of thunder and the sound of rain wake me from a sound sleep. So much for gardening I think as I reach behind me, thinking the noise probably woke Charlie too. My hand comes up with nothing but a handful of blankets. I sit up and glance towards the bathroom. The light is off. Knowing I will never get back to sleep without checking on him I push back the covers.
He's not in his office next to our bedroom. As I head towards the stairs the house shakes with a loud clap of thunder the hall is illuminated with a flash of lightning. I find Charlie in the recliner in the den, a glass of what I can only assume is Bourbon on the table next to him. He's stirring a little from the sound of the storm but he's not aware of my presence. I stand quietly for a minute to see if he wakes up. When he doesn't I just toss a blanket over him, kiss his forehead and take the glass to the kitchen. I weigh the odds that I will fall back to sleep if I return to our bedroom and decide to just curl up on the couch, hoping my body doesn't protest the decision in the morning.