NOW

Some dreams are in the night time

And some seem like yesterday

But leaves turn brown and fade

Ships sail away

You long to say a thousand words

But seasons change

"Seasons Change"

Expose

May 3, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

"Sarah!" Gertrude exclaimed as she opened the front door to see Chuck and Sarah standing side by side on the doorstep. Gertrude wore a simple blue cotton dress, covered with a white apron. Impulsively, Gertrude reached for Sarah, squeezing the younger woman in an awkward hug. Chuck observed Sarah's face over Gertrude's shoulder, her smile soft and warm.

"I wondered why Chuck was ringing the doorbell. I was ready to scold him for losing his keys," Gertrude added with a chuckle and a mock frown.

Chuck stepped past them into the foyer, gesturing with an open palm and smiling, Gertrude's disposition perfectly demonstrated.

Gertrude released Sarah from her embrace, but immediately reached to hold Sarah's face in her hands and gushed low, "The color is back in your cheeks. I'm so glad," she added with a smile. Given Gertrude's posture and proximity, she could have kissed Sarah on the lips.

Sarah smiled, her eyes twinkling in silent communion with Chuck. Sarah touched Gertrude's hands, repositioning her grip to squeeze the older woman's hands, keeping their hands stretched in between them.

"You're staying for dinner?" Gertrude asked, a question and a command at the same time.

"Yes, if that's ok," Chuck answered for politeness' sake, since he had been the one to invite Sarah.

"Good thing my husband eats like an ox, so I always cook extra," Gertrude added, the unconcern Chuck had predicted now apparent as her mouth twitched slightly.

Chuck watched Sarah biting her lower lip, stifling a giggle after their predictions about Gertrude's attitude were confirmed. Sarah's eyes sparkled in amusement. Chuck's heart swelled at the sight, absent for so long.

As Gertrude stepped away from Sarah, his guardian spun around to examine Chuck's appearance. "Charles Irving Bartowski," she chastised him, wagging a finger. "Were you rolling around in the grass in your suit pants?" she demanded to know, now jabbing the finger at the stains on his knees. "That is never going to come out," she fretted, slapping her hands against her thighs as the upbraiding continued.

Sarah covered her mouth with one hand, this time unable to contain her laughter. She kept her eyes on Chuck, daring him to remain stoic at their private joke. At the sound of Sarah's laughter, Gertrude turned, her scowl relaxing into a soft grin. "Normally I would ask what was so funny," she said, lifting her chin and narrowing her eyes. "But I'll let it slide this time," she added softly. Gertrude reached out and touched Sarah's cheek tenderly. "It's good to hear you laugh, dear."

"I was planting at the cemetery," Chuck explained vaguely, neutrally, hoping to not dampen Sarah's spirits.

Gertrude's smile brightened, a gentle nod in Chuck's direction showing her approval.

"Is all that yapping getting dinner on the table any faster?" Casey called, anxious, from the other room.

"We have company, John," Gertrude answered in a deliberately syrupy tone, a sarcastic rebuke to her husband's boorish behavior.

"Hi, Sarah," Casey called, growling, from the other room.

"Hi, Casey," Sarah called to him in return. He had insisted she drop the "Mr." from her address to him when she had turned 16. You make me feel like an old man, he'd said.

"Gertrude, may I help you in the kitchen?" Sarah offered politely.

"Why, yes, that would be lovely, sweetheart," Gertude crooned, linking her arm in Sarah's and leading her away.

Sarah smiled over her shoulder at Chuck before Gertrude and she disappeared around the corner.

The pleasant interactions at the door had distracted Chuck from his nervous energy. He had barely spoken to Sarah the entire car ride, his heavy thoughts occupying his mind. Casey, he said to himself, focusing that nervous energy. He needed to talk to Casey…about everything.

Chuck walked through the entry way into the living room, hearing his footsteps scuff, realizing he was dragging his feet, although from fatigue, not laziness. Fortunately, although Casey noticed, he understood and didn't comment. Chuck saw Casey stuffed into his usual armchair, reading the newspaper by the light of the table lamp. The late afternoon sun was dim, the sheers and curtains filtering the natural light. Casey folded down the paper and looked up at Chuck as he stopped in front of Casey's chair.

"What's up, Kid?" Casey asked, his earlier irritation at his rumbling stomach forgotten. I must look like I feel, Chuck thought, to have provoked such sympathy already. "How'd Sarah end up here, with you?" Casey added.

Chuck sat on the end of the sofa, angled towards Casey. He spoke quietly, guarding against his voice carrying to the kitchen. "She was at the cemetery at the same time I was. I was replacing the lilac bush the excavators destroyed. You know, on Emma's grave," he said.

Casey huffed appreciatively at Chuck's gesture, Casey's way of expressing praise.

Chuck leaned forward, rubbing his palms together between his knees. "Casey, I need to talk to you," Chuck said seriously, his voice still soft.

"If this is what I think it is, then what's there to talk about? Ask her," Casey said, his voice gravelly and rumbling but quiet.

Chuck gawked in surprise. "How…did you…"

"Because I'm no idiot," Casey grumbled. "Your business is hanging on by the skin of its teeth and you have all the money you need to fix it, so long as you get married. What's there to talk about?"

Frustrated by Casey's pragmatism in the face of so many complications, Chuck implored, "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Well, first," Casey said, exaggerating his explanation, "it's customary to tell the girl that you love her, you know, before you propose, but you're a rebel when it comes to that…so…just do it, ask, straight out, like a man," Casey said.

Chuck made a downward gesture with his hand, his face pinched, exaggerating Casey's need to keep his voice down. "I'm not doing it like that!" Chuck hissed.

"You told me last week that you loved her, did you not?" Casey reminded him.

"Casey…" Chuck started warily.

"Did you or did you not?" Casey repeated, stressing each word, forcing Chuck's response.

Chuck sighed in frustration. He could never win an argument with Casey; he should never have tried. "Ok, I did…but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what the hell are you talking about, Kid? You're giving me a headache, and on an empty stomach," Casey complained and his stomach growled in agreement.

Chuck pondered in sad silence. "I have to approach this…like a business transaction. I can't involve my feelings…can't let my emotions get in the way, bungle everything."

Casey shook his head. "You're asking her to marry you, not cosign on a business loan, Chuck," Casey said, tossing aside his earlier pragmatism, pointedly, making Chuck aware that they had traded roles.

Chuck was uncomfortable thinking pragmatically, but he could see no other approach that would allow him to do what he needed to do while still respecting Sarah, her wishes. "But that's just it, Casey. It is a business transaction. That's all it can be. She's not my girlfriend. We were never…involved…like that. I have to convince her that this makes sense, logical sense, business sense. If I let my emotions steal in, there's a good chance I completely screw this up…and I can't risk it. Oh, and Shaw was at the cemetery, Casey," he added, his urgency speeding the cadence of his voice.

Casey's eyes widened. "He's following Sarah?" Casey asked.

"It looks like it," Chuck replied. He shook his head. "Listen, Casey. If I get married, those funds are released 72 hours later. I settle every debt, unpaid bill, late invoice, pending accounts payable…everything. We can make next month's raw materials purchase, which is due in 18 days. We could be turning a profit again as soon as July. The business stays solvent. I have enough funds then to buy Sarah out…and she can take that money and start over. In the meantime, I figure out what Jack owes Iaconi…and figure out what Shaw is up to. I can't do any of that without the money. Sarah has nowhere else to go, Casey. I have to keep her safe…here, with me, with us."

Casey contemplated Chuck's plan, his lengthy explanation. Casey's face showed sympathy. "You really are in an impossible situation, Chuck," he sighed. "But what does that look like? You and Sarah…"

"It's on paper. Convenience. She lives here, legitimately. We get the marriage annulled, once everything is put right. Separate rooms, of course. A facade of a marriage, only everyone else thinks it's real. We pretend," Chuck explained.

Casey chuckled mirthlessly. "Do you actually think you have the emotional fortitude to pretend with her? I can't think of a worse kind of torture…only pretending to be in love with someone you genuinely love," Casey said, "pretending to pretend."

"I'm not thinking about myself here. The bank is ready to confiscate her property," Chuck stressed. "She's left sleeping on Roxanne's couch…without a penny to her name…while Daniel Shaw lurks in the shadows?" He gritted his teeth and shook his head. "I won't let that happen, Casey. I don't care if she hates me forever because of this. I'm not going to let anything happen to her," Chuck swore.

"I appreciate your sentiment here, Chuck, really, I do. I know how important she is to you. Which is why I'm saying this. Before you just blurt all this out…will you at least tell her how you feel?" Casey requested.

"No," Chuck answered adamantly, shaking his head from side to side, decided. "No, I won't do that. I have to leave everything neutral, logical, practical. Telling her that will only complicate everything now, make the situation messy, make her wonder about my motives, my intentions…"

"Like she wouldn't anyway? Have you ever stopped to consider the fact that maybe she feels the same about you?" Casey prodded gently.

Chuck dropped his head, fixing his gaze on the floor. He could hear the soft murmuring of conversation coming from the kitchen, Sarah's soft giggling, a sound he loved at a distance from him. "She doesn't, Casey," he said, defeated and dejected, as if pronouncing sentence on himself.

"I'm sure she told you that, too," Casey snarked. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "I don't know who's worse…you or her. You've been sick in love with her for years…but you never said a word. Hell, you couldn't even accept that you did feel that way until I said it. Maybe it's how you grew up…or what happened to you, but…why are you so certain she doesn't?"

Chuck looked up briefly, a faraway look in his eyes. He kept his head up, but focused away from Casey. "Maybe she did…when we were younger, before I went away. Maybe she could, someday, if we had enough time…" He shook his head, pressing his eyes closed as if blocking some unwanted vision. "But she loved Bryce and she lost him and…I don't have the luxury of time, of waiting to see if something could eventually grow between us."

Casey grunted, unconvinced. "You're afraid," Casey said, matter-of-factly.

"Maybe I am," Chuck admitted, Casey's comment and his tone stinging him. "But you once told me courage means being afraid and still doing what needs to be done."

Casey regarded him in silence for a long time. His blue eyes softened. "I never thought you were listening to me when you were little." Chuck smiled. "But maybe what you need to do isn't what you think you need to do. Look —"

"Is everything ok in here?" Sarah called as she stood in the doorway, newly entered into the room from the kitchen.

Chuck turned to answer her, but the sight of her, her lavender dress covered by one of Gertrude's aprons, made all the blood in his body sink to his feet.

My wife.

The words sounded in his mind and echoed through every part of him. It was a dream, his dream, a perfect dream, unlike any other he'd ever allowed himself to dream. One that had been inside him, buried, for years.

Because I was 18 years old, hopelessly in love with a 14 year old girl.

It was just a simple dream, a wish made by his heart, but an impossible dream. He had buried it, but despite how impossible it seemed, it had never died. Each moment he spent with her since had kept the dream breathing below ground.

His dream had escaped from that burial…only now to be killed again, given up permanently.

He realized, too late, that he was staring, rapt. The sight of her in the apron cleaved his brain—a way he had never pictured her…at the same time, the way he had always pictured her. When he let his heart wish for it.

Carina had said it frequently, and most recently, and perhaps most elegantly, said it to him at Jack's funeral. Sarah was different when she was with Chuck. Everyone else could see the difference; he never had. Quantum physics, he thought abstractly. The very act of watching affected the observed reality. Circumstances of her life had hardened her, her grit and determination what others noted about her. The tenderness in her heart remained observable only to him, and only when he was near.

"Are you ok, Chuck?" Sarah asked, stepping towards him, resting her hand on his chest, smoothing down his button placard.

"Yeah," he replied quickly, forcing a smile.

Her expression was complex, unreadable. What had she seen on his face while he had been thinking all of that? She looked sad, perhaps even frightened, certainly confused. He didn't know what he was going to say—he only knew he had to say it tonight, before he talked himself out of it.

He trailed behind her as they walked into the kitchen. Casey smacked him hard in the center of his back, making him stagger. "Toughen up, Kid. It's do or die."

Casey was kidding, but the words struck Chuck like a prophecy of doom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuck walked through the door onto the back porch. Sarah sat on the porch swing, her body turned towards the yard beyond, one long, graceful leg tucked under her, the other dangling to create the slow rhythm that kept her swinging back and forth. She didn't stir as he approached, never turning to acknowledge him. He watched her rub her arms, the warmth of the sun fading after twilight.

He unfolded his suit jacket, carried over his arm for the sole purpose of her comfort, shaking it loose before he draped it over her shoulders.

She turned to look at him then, a gentle, grateful smile on her face. She tucked it around herself snuggly. He thought he saw her brush her face against the shoulder, inhaling the scent of him as she did so. Comfort, he thought, never imagining it could be anything else.

"Thank you," she said.

He sat beside her. It was automatic, unconscious, her leaning back against him. It was her default setting, always closing the physical distance between them. Even now, after everything. He stayed still, afraid to move, as he searched for words.

"Sarah, may I ask you something?"

"Sure," she replied, keeping her eyes fixed forward.

He made several sounds, consonants, non-words, before he figured out what to say. "Do you ever think about…you know, the future? Your plans? Things like that?"

She stiffened, straightening, breaking their physical contact. "Like what? What do you mean?"

"Like…getting married…having a family?" he asked, swallowing hard as he struggled to control his breathing. He had not meant to add the family part. This was harder even than he expected.

She was silent for a long time. "I mean…maybe I used to. A long time ago. Not really any more."

He hated the fact that he didn't know about these things, and had never thought to ask her about them. Fear. Her answer seemed contrary to his general impression of her. "You used to talk about it, before, sometimes. Don't you remember?"

"I do. But…that was a long time ago, Chuck. We grow up…and dreams change." Her voice was strained, like she was choking.

Everything he had thought of, everything he had planned to say suddenly snagged, like a thread pulled from a sweater, and then unraveled. Bryce. He couldn't leave the thought alone, the name alone. Her abandoned dream… Bryce…had she given it up when she lost him, with no hope of resurrecting the dream with anyone else?

The pictures that played in his head—of Sarah and Bryce together—tortured him. He tried to change the subject, to stop the conversation from taking a nosedive. "Sarah, you graduated from Dana Hall. You could have gone to college, gotten your degree. You had other dreams too…you shouldn't give up on them."

She stood abruptly, moving away to the railing and leaning against it, her back to him. He heard a gentle knocking sound, realizing it was one of Sarah's knees striking the spindles attached to the balusters. He thought it was a nervous tick, but the longer he watched, he realized she was doing it deliberately, causing herself pain. "What about you?" she finally asked, turning, distracting him from her behavior.

"What about me?" he asked, surprised.

"You had dreams, too, Chuck," she sighed sadly. Her shoulders drooped and she hugged herself tightly. "I know she broke your heart…but that was two years ago."

He flushed uncomfortably, the skin on his face burning hot. Jill. He felt his collar chafing the back of his neck. They were talking about Jill…they were thinking about Bryce. This wasn't where he had wanted the conversation to go, not at all. She was wrong, misunderstanding, diverting. He forced himself to refocus, tried to force her to refocus.

"What did you want for yourself? For your life?" he asked earnestly. "When you came back, you just…played your violin and volunteered at the orphanage. I wanted you to move on, find something that made you happy…I just…" He stopped when he heard her weeping.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" she cried. "Even if there was something I wanted…something I could have been or done…my father ruined all of that."

Her pain sliced into him. His voice trembled with emotion. "Sarah, if you could have anything you wanted, just one thing, what would it be?" he asked. Her only answer was more tears; he watched helplessly as her shoulders shook. He stood, then stepped towards her slowly, stopping just shy of touching her, close enough to smell her perfume.

Sensing his closeness, she spoke through her hands. "When Carina graduates in three years, she wants to move to New York. She wanted me to go with her." She dropped her hands and faced him. "That was my plan, I guess. I don't know what I'm going to do in the meantime. I'd planned on using my savings and then working…but everything is gone now," she lamented.

Her words hurricaned through him. New York? Why had she never said a word to him about any of that? Her plan, devised secretly, had been to move away, leaving him here, alone. It hurt, a screw being turned slowly into his heart. She didn't owe him anything, of course, and he had no right to feel deserted. He had been the one, after all, who left her here for four years while he went across the country. He'd had no choice back then, and she had told him she understood.

He struggled to catch his breath, winded and dizzy. Perhaps she had no other choice, either. He imagined everything here, in some way, would remind Sarah of Bryce and the two years she had been with him before he left for Korea, never to return. He tried to understand. It wasn't about running from Chuck; it was about a fresh start, far away from the memories that still haunted her. Chuck's jealousy was there, smoldering, would always be there, and he now understood at last that it had always been there, even when he had forfeited any chance with her. But he loved her, Dear God, did he love her…Nothing was more important to him than her happiness, even if it meant losing her forever because of it.

He'd been struggling to find the words, unable to muster his courage, until he thought of it that way. The entire situation was awful, impossible…but it was a way out, a way for her to do what she wanted, a hope for her future. It became about helping her…and he became emboldened, knowing what he needed to say.

"Sarah, my parents left me a second trust, one that I didn't know anything about. Its value is more than enough to get the company solvent again," he explained.

She spun around to face him, shocked. "They did?" she asked, suddenly hopeful, anticipating.

He winced, knowing the next part would dash that hope. "The problem is I need to be married to access the money."

Her face fell, her complexion suddenly alabaster, so pale he could see the blue veins near her hairline. She opened her mouth like she was going to speak, but couldn't form any words. She staggered backward, her hip pushed hard against the railing, the railing making a cracking sound.

"All I'm asking for is your help," he pleaded, taking her hand to steady her. "Legally, once I access the funds, Burton Carmichael can make money again. I can buy you out…and you can take that money and do what you want…go to New York with Carina…anything. I can't save the company unless I'm married. You have a stake in that…and you understand the situation. We can get married, just–"

"I can't marry you, Chuck," she said emphatically, covering her mouth with her trembling hand.

She didn't let him finish, he thought. But then he examined exactly what she had said, and how she had said it. She didn't say it as a refusal, one she might have followed with I don't love you, or some other version of a let down, gentle or harsh. She said it in defeat, surrender, like she had lost something, like something else was prohibiting it. It was bizarre, confounding…Why would she say it like that? Heartbroken.

Casey's words came back to him, reorienting him, making him wonder. How does she feel? But he remembered his argument to Casey again. Logical, practical. As emotionless as possible, lest he create an even more disastrous situation. Pragmatic. He could not lose himself in tenderness, making all this worse.

"Look, Sarah, it would only be for the sake of the trust. We live together, but…just…roommates. For show, so everyone else thinks it's real. But it's to access the money. You would have your own room. We can annul it once I have enough money to buy you out. Then you can leave, follow your dreams, your heart. Have your life back, the one that your father almost ruined," he explained, sounding desperate even to himself though he meant to sound business-like.

She was gasping, and she buckled like she was in pain. "Why would you do that? Why?"

"Because it's the only way I can help you get back the life that he stole from you. And from me, like you said before. I know I'm asking a lot, years of your life…but I'm out of options. I'm desperate, and as you now know, so are you. And I can't help you…unless you help me, by agreeing to the arrangement," he told her.

She stayed hunched forward, like she was nursing a wound in her side, then she started restlessly pacing. "But…everyone else would think it was real? Like Morgan…and Carina…I couldn't tell anyone the truth?" she asked, almost as if she did not understand her own words.

"Just Diane…and Casey and Gertrude…and you and me," he clarified. He waited, holding his breath, feeling a twinge of hope at her question.

His hope deflated quickly, though. She faced him, her eyes dark blue pools of despair. "I have to go, Chuck. Now. Can Casey take me back to Roxanne's?" she asked dismissively, lowering her head, breaking eye-contact.

Not me, Chuck thought . She wanted to get away from him, escape. Tonight…maybe forever. New York City was just as far as California, if she was leaving to get away from him. She ran past him, leaving a waft of perfume in her wake.

He tried to take inventory…wondering which parts of him she had taken with her when she'd rushed away. His heart, for sure, but perhaps also, his soul.

A/N: As always, thanks to Zettel for pre-reading. Historical notes: Dana Hall is an all-girls boarding school, a preparatory school associated with Wellesley College. In the late 1940s, most of the prestigious boarding schools in Massachusetts were all boys, all of the ones in Worcester County. Co-education wasn't common place until the 1970s.