A/N: Whoa! Thank you so much for all your reviews! I'm excited so many of you are willing to take this journey - however strange and mysterious it might at first seem. Special shout out to Chelsie Soul of the Abbey for her blog about this on tumblr! So cool! I've been linked you guys!
I'm not sure if this chapter will answer any questions or solve anything, but hopefully it begins to lighten the path a little.
Goal Check:
1. 2000 words + (Check, came in around 2,027)
2. No exposition (Check, everything fits - but maybe I should leave you to tell me this one)
Please note: I have a writing schedule, but not a posting schedule. I'm ahead on my writing schedule. Don't expect these to come so soon after one another regularly. ;)
Reminder: This does take place at the end of 2008.
Enjoy!
"Elsie?"
Charlie's face peaked around the edge of the door. The light behind him framed his dark eyes in shadow.
She wondered how she looked to him. The cold having whipped her hair into an unfriendly mane, she stood on his front porch with tear tracks across her face. And his name, she couldn't even say his name.
"What are you -" But as he opened the door fully, his eyes grew wide, "Oh good Lord. Your birthday!"
He stepped forward, arms open. She stepped into them, slamming her face into his shirt. He rubbed her back, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Muttering a small 'it's okay' into his chest, she found herself grateful for the familiarity of his hug - the tight squeeze that was just enough to know he cared. He stepped back looking sheepish.
"I can't believe - Elsie," He kept going, "I'm terribly sorry. I - here -"
Letting her inside, he walked towards his cellar door. "I have something for you. Good God, I'm such a - Wait, just wait there."
Giving a nod to show she understood, she parked her little red suitcase next to the umbrella stand and took in his beautiful foyer. A small bubble of laughter broke its way through her. She remembered his insistence on building a cellar, for his wine of course. That project that was only supposed to take one month turned into one year.
Then she shook her head and tried to stop the tears building in her eyes.
His heavy footsteps informed her of his reappearance. In his hand lay a dusty bottle of wine. He ran into the kitchen to clean it off. She followed him, not sure being alone was helpful - and equally unsure if being around people was such a good idea.
"Here," he said quietly, holding the bottle out to her.
She took it gently and offered a half-hearted smile. It was a Cabernet from, she felt her jaw drop, 1983.
"Charlie," she said - croaked, more like, "This is twenty five years old!"
He nodded, smoothing out his shirt, "Yes," then added as an afterthought, "January 1983."
She looked at him quizzically, "What happened in January 1983?"
"I -" he shifted, the tips of his ears turning red, "I met you."
The urge to wrap her arms around him was only tempered by her desire not to cry again. She swallowed the lump in her throat, "I remember that."
"The first of January, 1983. Lord Merton kept me around for five hours while you and your crew interviewed him." He spoke, almost as if reciting a historical fact, "Your first subject, and my longest- "
Tears pooled in his eyes. She stared, open mouthed, as the big bear of a man began weeping in front of her.
"Your longest client," she said, then threw out the first thing she could think of as to why he might possibly be falling apart, "yes, yes, I remember. Charlie, I'm so sorry I forgot."
But he shook his head, "They let me go."
"They - what?"
She stalled. In any other circumstance she would have pulled him into a tight embrace. But she simply couldn't fathom what was going on. Instead, she starred at him. Some kind part of her brought her hand up and began patting his arm. When she had arrived on his front porch she had been absolutely certain that their roles would be reversed.
Shouldn't she be the one weeping?
At the same time, her mind whirred - she could already see a solution -being a producer made one an instinctive problem solver. She just wasn't sure it was wise to bring it up yet.
"Oh, Elsie," he sniffled, "I'm sorry. I -"
"This is why you've been all out of sorts lately," she said, finally pulling him into a light hug. His pain made her own seem to shift. It was easier to focus on his problems than on hers.
When she released him, he said, "I told you. I told you six months ago - the bloody Americans have us falling into their recession - I told - bloody Americans."
"I know, they ruin everything," she said soothingly, "But, my word, I can't believe they let you go."
"I'm too expensive," he said, his booming voice nearly shouting. He wiped his tears and slowly settled his breath, "I get it - I do. I studied economics- I'm a bloody accountant - this is what I've counseled firms to do! They call it 'forced retirement'. But, Elsie, what about Anna? What do I do about Anna?"
"She's a grown -"
"She's still at University. And that internship isn't paid." He sighed, "I just bought her a car. I thought how much easier it would be for her to run back and forth between her internship and her studies and now -"
"You've saved though, haven't you -"
"-of course. Of course. But that money is meant to last at least twenty years, not forty years! And Anna would have been done with everything by then, out on her own."
He sighed, deflated, and began rubbing his temples. Elsie looked at him and then down at the bottle of wine in her hands.
"I think," she said, "that we leave it be for now, and drink this instead."
As her words began to process, he looked up at her slowly. His face held a calculated look as he tried to keep his unease from her. (And utterly failed at it). He said, "You want to...drink that?"
She pursed her lips in an effort not to smirk, "Yes. Is there some reason we should not?"
"No, no," he said, trying to maintain his cool, "It's yours. You can do with it as you please."
"Well then. I think we'll need some glasses." She said, not feeling nearly as confident as she sounded; though his obsession with his wine collection never ceased to amuse her. None of it was ever for drinking as far as she could tell.
She stood in the living room waiting for him to follow her, but turned when he asked, "Els? What's that?"
He was looking at her little red suitcase.
She felt herself sway slightly, unintentionally. The lump in her throat returned. She had a feeling it had now taken up residence there. They stood there staring at one another as she fought against her body. She didn't want to cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anybody.
Her body won. The tears were back - and this time one escaped.
As it drifted across her cheek, she said, "I - I suppose I've been let go too. In a way."
It was his turn to look quizzical.
"Joe." She cleared her throat, "Joe wants a divorce."
He was at her side instantly but she held up her hand forcing him to stop, to keep his hugs to himself, "No, not now. I can't - not now."
She bit her lip as another tear escaped, this time falling on the side of her mouth. She could taste the saltiness and it only served to force two more to drop.
His hand was on her shoulder though, squeezing gently, "Elsie -"
"Please. Leave it for now." She said. She couldn't look at him. Instead, for a moment she closed her eyes. Shaking her head, she tried desperately to keep any more of her sorrow to herself.
She felt him pull the wine bottle from her hands. And from the clink of the glasses she knew he had set everything on the mantle.
That deep voice of his still had the power to reverberate through her even as he whispered, "It's late."
She nodded, "Did Anna text you? She was going to some club -"
"She did."
His hand felt warm on her arm as he led her to the stairs, "I'll fetch some sheets. The small bedroom on the left has a tub -"
"I know." She attempted a watery chuckle, "I've been here before."
Grabbing her suitcase, he led her towards her room. He paused in the middle of the staircase, hesitating. When he finally faced her, he appeared withered with worry, "I don't want to tell Anna, yet, about my situation."
Elsie nodded, and then felt the wind knock out of her, "Oh God. Anna. What do I tell, Anna?"
Fiddling with the cuff of his shirt, his only offer was a deep sigh and shake of his head.
"I don't -" She took a shuddering breath, "I don't see how I could keep it from her, staying here and everything."
She caught his eyes, "You don't mind, do you?"
"No," He smiled, for the first time since she arrived, "I don't mind."
With that settled they made their way to the top of the stairs. Charles took a quick detour on the second landing to grab a set of sheets. Elsie found the small bedroom on the left. As she walked in, a sense of finality dropped upon her shoulders. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.
If he hadn't been right behind her with the sheets, she would have fallen face forward into the bed and let herself weep. Instead, she waited awkwardly by the door as he made up the bed. He refused her help, making the corners perfectly crisp and even. When he finished he stood by the side of the bed, looking lonely and tired.
"Is there anything else you need?" He asked.
She shook her head.
In her mind she responded with My husband, but she swiftly pushed that thought away. As soon as she did, another thought, a far more real and powerful thought burst through her heart. What she really needed was her mother.
Charlie set her little red suitcase in front of the dresser, a silent insistence that she stay as long as she want.
He said good night as he passed her. She couldn't find the words, so merely nodded her response.
"Oh," he said, just before she closed the door, "You look beautiful, by the way."
She swallowed the resident lump in her throat and managed a shaky, "Thank you."
He nodded and headed back down the stairs. She watched him disappear and then closed the door.
Now that she was alone she found her tears had dried up. She couldn't cry. Even if she wanted to.
On top of which the dress she wore felt like a mockery. She had bought it specifically for her party. Beryl had insisted upon it. And now she knew she would never wear it again. A part of her wanted to tear it off her body, destroy it in effigy of her marriage. Another part of her knew she was too empty for anything.
She pulled off her dress, letting it pool at her feet. It took another minute before she managed to move towards her suitcase. She thanked her unconscious self for somehow managing to place her nighty right on top.
As she climbed into bed her mind drifted back to her mother. Her Ma. Her dear old Ma. She tried to shift the blankets to help imagine that it was her mother wrapping her small arms around her. Her mother had been a head shorter than her, but still her hugs were legendary. Her mother gave the best hugs. But then again, she supposed, all mother's gave the best hugs to their daughters.
Why was it that you needed your mother more when she was no longer there? Mother's shouldn't die, Elsie mused. A world full of mothers, that would be a peaceful world. A much happier world.
She wondered what her mother would say about Joe.
Rolling over, she shoved the thought away. Many years ago, in an effort to not let her work keep her awake at night, she had created a mantra: Subjects Don't Belong In My Bed. Clutching her pillow tightly she thought, and now Joe Doesn't Belong in My Bed.
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