"Where are you taking me?" Stephanie asked with a giggle.
"You'll see," Charlie told her, grasping her hand.
"Charlieeee," she groaned.
"Stephhh," he teased back. "Quit being so impatient."
"I will once you-" Stephanie was cut off as he yanked her forward, capturing her lips with his own.
She sat straight up in bed with a gasp.
Her eyes darted around the room. It was pitch black except for a sliver of moonlight that came from underneath her window. Michelle was sleeping soundly, not disturbed by her abrupt awakening.
She pulled her legs up to her chest, breathing in and out. Tugging at her night shirt, Stephanie felt her face go hot when she remembered her dream. She'd been kissing Charlie of all people. That was so weird! She'd had strange dreams before, but this was a whole new level of strange. Maybe she shouldn't have eaten that ice cream before bed. It clearly messed with her brain.
Than again, she'd never, in all her life, dreamt about kissing someone. Not someone that she knew, anyway. It would make sense if she liked Charlie and had been thinking about him but she didn't! Sure, she'd been thinking about him but only because he'd ended up being alright with her accompanying him to therapy; but that was the only reason. It wasn't because she liked him or anything.
She flopped back down, exhaling. After Gia and Harry left, he'd asked her if she was sure about going with him. She said yes, of course. She wouldn't have offered it if she didn't mean it. Stephanie wanted to do something to help him. If it meant being there with him, she'd do it.
Her eyes drifted over to the clock beside her nightstand. It took her a moment without her glasses but she managed to read that it was shortly after midnight. In a little under twelve hours, she would be heading over to his place so they could ride there together.
I should get some sleep, Stephanie turned on her side, trying to put that dream behind her.
/
"Stephanie," Mrs. Mark was surprised to see her. Evidently, Charlie hadn't told his adoptive mom about the plan. "It's nice to see you, sweetheart, but we've actually got somewhere to be."
"I know," Stephanie told her, "I told Charlie I could come with him and wait in the waiting room 'till he was done. As long as you don't mind, of course."
The woman's face brightened up. "Oh, of course! That would be lovely. We were going to do a few errands while he was there. I'll rest easier knowing you're with him."
Stephanie smiled, not knowing what else to say.
"Come in, come in," Mrs. Mark stepped aside, calling in the direction of the stairs, "Charlie, Stephanie is here." She shut the door, telling Stephanie, "You know, my husband and I are very grateful to you and your family."
"You are?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Mark nodded. "You've been a wonderful friend to him. He needs that. It's been so hard for him and with school coming up, we're not sure how that's going to go. He's a lovely boy but his temper gets the best of him sometimes."
Stephanie, recalling his recent apology, said, "I know what you mean."
"I don't mean to put any responsibility on you, dear, but you wouldn't mind looking after him when you two start school, do you?" Mrs. Mark asked with a touch of hesitation. "I just worry about him. My husband says I worry too much but I can't help it. I just want to know that he's going to be okay."
"Yeah, of course," Stephanie promised. "Don't worry, he's got me and two of my friends to be there for him. He won't be alone." She was pulled into a hug by the other woman. It was one of those...mom hugs. The kind that was soothing, yet tight. She'd gotten the same from Aunt Becky on prior occasions.
"Thank you," Mrs. Mark said sincerely. "I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it."
Stephanie's attention, before she could respond, was diverted when she heard Charlie's footsteps. To her horror, she noticed he was wearing a black and red checkered shirt over his white tee-shirt. The same one he'd worn in her dream.
This was beyond a freaky coincidence.
He got to the end of the stairs, giving her a-dare she say-shy smile. That smile broke away, morphing into an embarrassed scowl when Mrs. Mark took off his hat, messing with his hair. "Mom," he groaned.
"Charlie, is it really necessary to wear a hat?" She said. He snatched his hat back but did not put it back on his head. "You can leave it here today."
"Okay," he mumbled.
"I'll go see what's keeping Peter," Mrs. Mark said. She started to walk away but then paused. "I told you he's driving you, right?"
"Yeah."
They watched as she went up the stairs and around the corner. When she was fully gone, Charlie let out a breath.
"She's been worrying over this way too much."
"She cares about you," Stephanie said. There wasn't anything else to say.
"I guess," he said. Silence trickled over them momentarily. "Didn't think you'd come."
"I told you I would," Stephanie said. She was not one to break a promise. "Although I can't hangout Wednesday night. I have to work."
He made a noncommittal noise.
"Ted tried getting me to work today," she continued, "but I told him I couldn't."
"I thought you said you were gonna quit?" Charlie said.
"I haven't found any place that's hiring. Not a decent one, anyway," she said. If Stephanie could help it, she would not work in food service ever again. The diner wasn't terrible, technically; but with Ted's rein of terror and the occasional fussy customer, it could make for a long, exhausting day.
"I think Nick's Market is hiring," Charlie said. "Pretty I saw a sign the other day."
"Cool, I'll check that out," Stephanie would take a grocery store over the diner any day. Lighting kicking his foot-to which he raised his brow-she asked, "So..?"
"So...?" He mocked.
"Are you nervous?"
That was the wrong question to ask. He went stiff, scoffing as if that was absurd. "I'm not nervous."
"Right," Stephanie said, not unkindly, just uncertain. She knew he was lying. He was nervous; she could tell by the way he was fidgeting. He really didn't want to go. Even with her going along, it didn't help. She wouldn't be able to help when he had to go inside the room where she wasn't allowed to follow. "Well, if you were, I was going to tell you that it's okay. I was nervous when I went for the first time too."
Charlie's gaze lingered on her. Stephanie was fairly sure that he knew what she was trying to do. He didn't fight it. Rather, he said, "If I was, I'd tell you that doesn't help."
"I figured."
"But," he added slowly, "if I was, I'd ask what helped you not to feel nervous."
A small laugh came out of her. "Well, if you were, I'd tell you that it was all my dad. He helped me feel okay."
"But Daddy, I don't need to talk to anyone," Stephanie insisted.
Daddy smiled sadly, pulling her into his lap. "Steph, I know it sounds scary, but I'm worried about you. We all are."
"You don't have to be. I'm fine," she gave him a wide, unconvincing smile "See?"
"I don't think you are," Daddy disagreed. "I think you're pretending."
Slumping down in defeat, Stephanie said, "You're good."
He chuckled, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Honey, I want you to feel better. That's why I'm taking you to see a therapist."
She frowned at the unfamiliar word. "What does that mean? Are they gonna give me a shot?"
"No, Steph. Therapists don't give shots. They talk to you to make you feel better."
"You want me to talk to a stranger?"
"This is a good kind of stranger," he explained. "They're going to help you. But you have to be honest with them."
"Okay," she sighed heavily. "If I have to."
"That's my girl," he kissed her head.
"That helps even less," he rolled his eyes.
"You asked," she retorted.
"For something helpful. And anyway, that's if I was nervous. I'm not so it doesn't matter," he said stubbornly.
"Sorry sweetheart, I'll do better next time."
"Not so loud," he glared. "I don't want them to hear."
"You mean you don't want your mom to hear?" Stephanie teased him.
"Pretty sure you don't want me calling you babe in front of your family either."
Okay, he had her there.
"Well, no-"
He was satisfied with being right. "Thought so."
"Ready to go?" Mr. Mark asked as he came down to them. Looking at Stephanie, he said, "Rae told me you were coming along."
"Yeah, if that's okay," she said.
"The more the merrier," Mr. Mark said cheerfully. She wondered if his happiness was only for Charlie's sake, if was anxious for Charlie just like his wife was.
The three of them got into the car after Mr. Mark bid goodbye to his wife. Charlie mumbled something to her as she told him to give this all a chance, reminding him of their agreement. She pretended that her focus was elsewhere.
Stephanie sat in the backseat with Charlie. He was tense, she could tell. More tense than he'd been in the house. His left leg was shaking and he became silent. She felt for him, honest she did. Not that she was going to say that. It'd tick him off, probably. He didn't want pity. He didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him. But Stephanie couldn't help it. She did feel sorry for him. He was clearly uncomfortable by this and while she wasn't certain if it would do any good for him or not, she did know that it wasn't going to be easy. Would he keep to his word about not speaking while he was there? She couldn't ask now. Mr. Mark would hear her.
"So what do you wanna do after?" She made small talk to cut through the silence, to ease his nerves.
He shrugged distractedly.
"Okay, well we could hang out with Gia and Harry unless you'd rather it just be us," she said.
"Just us, I guess."
She'd figured as much but thought she'd ask anyway. "We could get ice cream. My treat."
He responded, but she couldn't decipher what he'd said.
"And maybe we could-"
"Steph," Charlie interrupted, sighing, "please."
She shut her mouth. This was her chatterbox self resurfacing all over again.
It took around ten minutes or so for Mr. Mark to drive them to the building. He dropped them off at the front entrance, instructing them to meet him back there right when Charlie's therapy was over. Charlie barely acknowledged that as he shut his car door, already walking away. Stephanie had glanced at Mr. Mark, nodding and telling him that they'd be there.
She caught up with him inside. The floor for therapy was on the fifth level. They took the elevator up. He leaned in one of the corners, gripping the rails beside him. She couldn't say anything to comfort him. She couldn't tell him it would be okay-he wouldn't believe her.
When the elevator softly dinged, the doors opened, letting them off on the fifth floor. Down the end of the hallway, there was a sign indicating that was where they needed to go. The waiting room had a couple dozen chairs with a few tables piled with magazines. There was a TV in the upper corner and a desk to check in at.
She expected him to go over there but he didn't. It was like his feet were stuck in place. "I'll sit right here," she said to him gently.
This seemed to push him back into reality. "Right," he said stiffly. He went over to the front desk. She couldn't hear what was being said, though she figured it was nothing more than what was usually said when coming to an appointment.
He came back a couple of minutes later, sitting beside her in the other chair. His arms were crossed, body tense, hands curling and curling into fists.
"You're gonna be bored waiting."
She blinked. It was the first thing he'd said in nearly four minutes. "I'll be fine. There's loads of magazines to read."
"You can leave if you want."
She looked at him.
"I won't blame you. It sucks here."
"Why would I leave?" She asked.
He kept his gaze on her, as if to study. Her response had stumped him. But he didn't have time to analyze it any further because his name was called out.
"Charlie Hanson?"
A man stood just outside the door that led into a different hallway. He wore business casual clothes, carrying an air of confidence with him. He smiled at Charlie, who rose from his chair slowly.
"You got this," Stephanie whispered.
"Hi, Charlie," the man said as the door was shutting.
Now she was alone out there. Now all there was to do was wait. According to Mr. Mark, the session was a little under an hour-fifty minutes. Until time was up, she'd just peruse through these magazines. Maybe she'd go sit by the large window. It gave off a nice view of the city. Doing just that, Stephanie crossed one leg over the other, settling nicely into her seat.
Minutes passed by. She wondered how Charlie was doing. Maybe having a guy would be helpful. It might. Whatever helped. That was the most important.
At some point, fifteen minutes had gone by. Stephanie tended to look up slightly when someone came into the waiting room. It was never anyone she knew, so she would go back to reading. However, this time, it was actually someone she knew fairly well.
"Walter?" Stephanie was caught off guard when he came into the office, holding onto a lunch box.
Walter Berman, no longer being referred to as Duckface, had grown to be rather attractive according to some of the other girls in her grade. He'd ditched his glasses back in sixth grade, wore trendier clothes and worked out. During sophomore year, he'd actually gone out with Laurie Kingsman. It was a bit ironic.
"Oh, hi, Steph."
"Hi," Stephanie said. "Are you here to-"
"Me? No," He shook his head. "Just dropping my dad's lunch box off. He forgot it again." His head tilted. "Are you?"
"No. I'm, uh-"
She doubted Charlie would be pleased if she told Walter that she was here with him. She didn't know if he remembered Walter much or not; back in second grade, Charlie had been in another class . Although that hadn't stopped him from going along with the other kids in calling him Duckface.
Stephanie cursed herself for not having an excuse. Although in her defense, it wasn't like she thought she'd be seeing one of her classmates there.
Walter misunderstood her stammering. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me."
She sighed with relief.
"So, you said you were bringing your dad his lunchbox?"
"Yeah, don't want him going hungry." Just as Walter said that, the lady at the front desk got his attention.
"Walter, sweetheart, if you want, you can hand that to me and I'll give it to your dad," she offered.
"That'd be great," Walter smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Mrs. Taylor."
"It's no trouble," she told him, taking the lunch box and closing the glass window.
"She knows your dad, huh?" Stephanie asked.
The two of them, while she'd promised that he was her everybody can know friend, weren't close. It was nothing personal. At the end of the year, they didn't get together to play over the summer and by the next school year in third grade, he was moved to a different class. In spite of that, he found a group of boys to play with so he wasn't alone, at least.
"She'd have to. He's the only guy that works here," Walter said.
So that meant Charlie's therapist was Walter's dad.
"Oh," was all she said.
/
When the session was over, Charlie practically came storming out in the waiting room.
He barely acknowledged the therapists' goodbye and reminder for his next appointment. Without waiting for her, he left the office entirely. Stephanie jumped to her feet, disregarding the magazine on the table, hurrying after him.
"Hey," she caught up with him at the elevator. "What's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about it!" He snapped. "It's none of your business, anyway!"
She wasn't offended. "You're right," she agreed. "I'm sorry." She observed him closely. "Do you want to go home or get that ice cream?"
"I can't go home," he shook his head. "They'll want to know how it and I-" He trailed off.
She nodded understandingly. "Okay. You should probably call your dad before he gets here."
He did. Walking over to the other side, which really wasn't far as it wasn't a big hallway, speaking hushed. "It's fine. Yes. We're getting ice cream, okay? I know. Okay. I'll see you later." He shut his phone.
"Everything okay?"
He shrugged. "He tried asking how it went."
"Was it really that bad?"
"Bad enough."
Once out of the building, they stopped by a small ice cream shop. He ordered a strawberry milkshake while she got a fudge sundae. They took their treats to the park where they sat in the shade under a secluded spot.
Charlie hadn't said anything since ordering his ice cream. He stayed silent, the only noise around them being the chirping birds. It wasn't until he stopped eating that he broke the silence.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" Stephanie was puzzled.
"For snapping at you...again."
She scooted slightly closer. "I'm not mad."
"You should be," he said.
"I'm not."
"I don't understand you," he said honestly.
"What don't you understand?"
"You're too-" He scrunched up his face, "nice, I guess."
"Too nice?" She repeated, amused.
"It's not like I deserve it," Charlie muttered.
"Hey," Stephanie said, causing him to look over at her, "that was years ago. It doesn't matter now."
"Doesn't it?" Charlie said. "Come on, Steph. We both know I was a jerk."
"With a horrible dad, but what's your point?"
Charlie didn't look at her. "The point is..." She bit down on her lip. "I don't deserve it. Any of it."
"Any of what?"
"The way you treat me," he finally said.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't you get it?" He was frustrated that she didn't. "You shouldn't be nice to me. I don't deserve it."
"Says who?" She asked boldly. "I think you do."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?" She probed. "Or is that just what you think?"
He glared at her. She remained unaffected.
"I haven't done good things either," she told him. "In fact, me and Gia were pretty much enemies when we first met."
He didn't believe her. "You're lying."
"I'm not," she chuckled. "Gia got mad at me because I asked out the guy she liked so she told everyone that I paid him to go out with me. So I put up a picture of her bad report at school."
"You did that?" He was nearly smiling.
"I did," she nodded.
"Didn't think you had it in you."
"I felt bad about it," she said.
"And you probably said sorry like the goody goody you are."
"I did."
He sighed. "This isn't like that, Tanner."
"It's not that bad, though," she pointed out. "You just annoyed me. Gia spread a rumor about me. That's different."
"It's not."
Stephanie mulled over his words, his facial expression. "Do you feel that way about your parents too?"
He was startled.
"Do you...feel like they shouldn't be nice to you either?"
"Shut up," his voice shook the tiniest bit. "Just shut up, Tanner."
"I was just wondering," she said softly.
"Well, don't."
"Sorry," she murmured.
Her ice cream was melted now and had grown warm. It was set aside.
"Can I take your hand?" Stephanie asked carefully.
"What?" Charlie froze.
"Can I take your hand?" She repeated patiently. "I'll be gentle."
Confused, Charlie pondered over this before slowly extending his hand to her. She clasped it with both of hers, caressing the top of it with her thumb.
"You deserve it, Charlie," she whispered. "You deserve to be treated nicely and to be happy."
"You're wrong," he said thickly. He swallowed. Shaking his head. "You're wrong. I don't."
"Do you think you deserved what your dad did to you?"
She hit a nerve. He was breathing differently. He tensed up.
"You didn't," she spoke slowly, clearly. "You didn't deserve any of that. He shouldn't have hurt you."
"You don't get it," he was furiously wiping his eyes after he'd yanked his hand back. "It's easy for you to say. You weren't there. You didn't hear what he said. You didn't-" His voice cracked. "You didn't screw up."
Stephanie felt the ice cream in her stomach slash around uneasily.
When Charlie looked at her, her breath hitched. His eyes were red, teary.
"I knew he didn't like being disturbed when he was watching TV. I knew he didn't like running out of beer or me not doing what I was told. I couldn't never keep my mouth shut," he sounded alarmingly bitter. "If I just listened, he wouldn't have hurt me."
"You don't know that," Stephanie argued. "He would have looked for a reason."
Two tears rolled down his cheeks. She'd never seen Charlie cry. It was like a gut punch. She yearned to pull him into a hug like her dad would have done for her.
He rubbed at his face, keeping it covered with his hands for a moment. "He asked about him. The therapist. I couldn't do it. I couldn't talk about him again." He was getting fidgety. His hands- they rubbed along his legs. "He asked about about time my dad 'pushed me down the stairs.' That time after I came home from your house."
She listened attentively, her stomach clenching.
"He didn't push me down the stairs. He hit me with a tire iron."
She inhaled sharply.
"My ribs were broken and I got a concussion and who knows what else."
"That wasn't your fault," Stephanie said fiercely.
"Who came home late?" He shot back.
"That doesn't matter. He's your dad. He's supposed to protect you," she argued.
"Well maybe if I wasn't such a screw up, he would. Maybe if I-" Charlie lost all his anger. It just vanished. "Maybe if I hadn't killed my mom."
Shock flickered across Stephanie's face. "You didn't kill her."
"She died giving birth to me. Pretty sure I did, Tanner," he said flatly.
"No, you didn't," she said strongly. "You can't think that."
"Don't tell me how to think!"
This was getting them nowhere. An idea occurred to her. "Can I give you a hug?" She asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"It might make you feel. You don't have to hug me back," she compromised.
"You're not going to change my mind."
"I'm not looking to change your mind. I just want to give you a hug," she smiled.
He was still suspicious. "You hug too much," he grumbled.
"You'd hate to live in my house, then," she laughed.
Charlie seemed to be having an inward battle of some sorts. 'I guess," he eventually decided.
She leaned over, wrapping one arm around him, half of her face pressed into his shoulder. He smelled nice and felt warm, too. Briefly, she closed her eyes.
"Charlieeee," she groaned.
"Stephhh," he teased back. "Quit being so impatient."
"I will once you-" Stephanie was cut off as he yanked her forward, capturing her lips with his own.
She pulled away, clearing her throat. Turning her head, she hoped he wouldn't question her warm cheeks.