Page 22 of Pages of My Heart
Charlie is too slow to react. After a moment of stunned silence, his father advances on Thomas, pushing his mother roughly aside like she’s nothing as he crosses the length of the room in only four strides. Thomas stands his ground, Evie shouting “No daddy, no!” while grasping fruitlessly at his sleeve. Finally, Charlie shakes out of his stupor and hurls himself up, stepping between Thomas and his father at the very last second. But it’s in vain. His father backhands him across the face with a closed fist and Charlie stumbles into a chair and falls to the floor.
Robert’s voice erupts rough and brutal. “Who the fuck do you think you are speaking to me like that inmyhouse?” Robert grabs Thomas by his shirt and pulls him close. “You got ten seconds to get the fuck outta here or your ginger ass’ll be buried six feet under in less than an hour.”
The corners of Thomas’s mouth turn down in disgust, Robert’s spittle spraying him across the face, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans closer, so they’re almost nose to nose. His hands are still in fists and he’s shaking, face flushed red with fury. Charlie watches on in horror, terrified at what stupid thing Thomas is about to do.
With a deep and steady voice that seems incompatible with an eighteen-year-old boy, Thomas says, “If you ever lay a fucking hand on him again, it’ll be you that’s six feet under, old man.”
Robert swings, but he’s drunk and Thomas is agile, dodging out of the way, then winding his arm back, ready to lay a punch of his own. Charlie scrambles from the floor, the muffled cries of his mother and sister the familiar soundtrack of his life. He digs deep inside himself and surges forward, laying his hands upon Thomas’s chest and pushing him backward toward the front door. His father’s fist connects with the back of his head, Charlie’s vision blurring, but he pushes on.
Thomas resists Charlie’s efforts, screaming profanities at his father while Robert counters, telling them they will both be dead men if they ever set foot in his house again. Charlie somehow wrangles Thomas out the front door, the sun almost blinding. They tumble down the crumbling front steps and out onto the path, both puffing, chests heaving with adrenaline. But Robert doesn’t follow.
By the time they make it a hundred feet down the road, Charlie is on the verge of tears, his own anger now bubbling hot and ugly to the surface. He’s fucking furious at his dad, but he’s angry at Thomas, too. It’s in this moment that it becomes clear that his life is at another crossroads, and equally clear that, just like last time, he’s already chosen his path—Thomas. But in doing so, this time he’s left his mother behind, and Evie, too.His ma rarely leaves the house, so seeing her now will be an even greater challenge.
When they reach the deserted lot at end of the street he stops and turns on Thomas, then explodes, “What the fuck were you thinking?” Long stifled tears spill over, but he hasn’t the mind to brush them away.
Thomas looks at the sky and then down despairingly at his feet, before finally meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t . . .Fuck!He called you a pansy boy, and the way he was looking at you with—with disgust. And I just couldn’t stop thinking about that day with the bruises around your throat, and I—” Thomas crumples to the ground like a rag doll, face falling into his hands. “I wanted to kill him for all the pain he’s put you through.” Thomas’s voice cracks as he begins to cry. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—”
Charlie has no fight left in him, and he reaches down for Thomas. “Come here,” he says, pulling Thomas back up to his feet and into an embrace.
They hold each other tight and sway gently, the heat of the setting sun hot on Charlie’s neck. They cannot stay this way, still too close to the street, too exposed. With his remaining resolve, Charlie pulls away and begins walking. Thomas follows, silent, until they arrive at the docks. The sun has almost dipped below the horizon, the air cooling fast now as day descends into night. Charlie leads them to the small boat tied off in the slip farthest from shore—the one with the broken lock they believe has been abandoned. They climb onto the deck and enter the cramped cabin, the gentle rock of the boat making them unsteady on their feet but still somehow soothing.
Once safely inside, cut off from the world, Charlie turns to face a fragile-looking Thomas. They stand silently, unmovingexcept for the rise and fall of their chests, eyes locked on one another. Thomas sighs, but it’s more like a broken whimper.
“I love you, Charlie. So fucking much.”
Charlie doesn’t hesitate, throwing himself into Thomas’s arms and connecting their lips. They kiss deeply, hungrily, and with too much force. But this is their love—an uncontainable and perilous ocean of want and need, and Charlie knows, then, as he lets himself be pressed up against the cabin door, that he would forgive Thomas foranything.
And it’s just as well, because he’s chosen Thomas. He belongs to Thomas. Thomas is his friend, his lover, and his family now, too.
Within minutes they have brought each other to a frenzied climax, mouths never parting. “I love you too,” he murmurs against the warmth of Thomas’s breath.
Chapter 12
November 6th, 1943
To my dearest Red,
Please don’t be angry with me, sweetheart, but I’ve got to ask you—are you slipping again? You wrote that you’ve been talking aloud to me when you’re alone at the house, and, well—I know how stress can affect you, and I worry something awful. Since that letter I’ve had near constant nightmares about you being unable to stay awake, unable to get out of bed. I’m more fearful of something terrible happening to you than I am of the entire Kraut army.
My mind replays your episode in ’41 that went on for weeks—the crying and the screams and the despair . . . I know you don’t remember much, but I think of how I had to beg time off work so I could care for you. How I had to force you to eat and carry you to the bathtub. Jesus, I was so scared, Red. So damn afraid I would lose you. It was like the light had gone out behind your eyes. It still haunts me.
Red, I beg you, if you’re feeling down, if you see the signs, you’ve got to take yourself over to your sister’s place so you’re at least safe. I know she doesn’t handle it like you wish she did, but it’s better than going unfedat home alone. And your position at the school will be in jeopardy if there’s no one to tell them what’s going on and convince them your sickness will pass.
I’ve written to Evie and told her to keep an eye on you. You can be pissed all you want, but I’m going to do anything I can to make sure you’re okay, and it won’t be until I get your next letter, or hers, that I’ll relax. I keep hanging onto the thought that you’re helping with little Johnny and that he’s giving you joy and serving as a distraction. Evie sent me a photograph and he really does look like me—the poor little bub. I only hope he doesn’t take after me in that other way, and that he can have a happy and successful life. Jesus, that sounds awful. Don’t take me the wrong way, sweetheart. I’m forever happy with you. In truth, I wasn’t happyuntilI met you. What I mean is, I don’t want Johnathan to have to hide his happiness, like we’ve got to do with ours.
Speaking of Evie, do you think she knows the truth about us? There’s something about the way she talks about you in her letters—how she speaks of me and you, as if we’re inseparable. Plus, she told you that you’re Jonathan’s family . . . What do you make of it? Could we risk telling her? Is there a chance she won’t be disgusted and keep it to herself? Can you imagine the joy of being accepted by someone? And you could finally have someone to talk to about all your thoughts and feelings—I know I ain’t been the best for that, and I know that’s something you’ve always wanted and needed.
As for the boys at the garage, don’t worry about those schmucks. They’ve made fun before, as you know only too well. But they’re too clueless to think that what they imply is actually true. It’s just their way. They tease and taunt each other mercilessly, and I believe they just think of youas one of them and include you in their jokes. Anyway, I throw them off the scent all the time with my lewd stories about loose women. In fact, half those bozos have come to me at one point or another for advice, thinking I have a way with the girls—taking what I want, moving on, and never having to settle down. I know me playing the part of the bachelor has hurt you sometimes, and that kills me, but it’s kept us safe this long, right?
I’m sure you want to know how things are here, and I’m happy to report we’ve had a good run lately. We’re pushing forward, and so far we’ve met little resistance. Thank God because we couldn’t have endured much more. We’ve suffered so many losses and are just so fucking tired. There’s only so long a man can withstand living in constant fear, adrenaline running through your veins day and night. One boy was sent home last week. It was like his mind had broken. He would just stare, eyes blank, unwilling to speak, or maybe unable, I don’t know. The things we’ve seen . . . it’s the stuff of nightmares, Red, but in some ways this shook me worst of all. He was only 19. Christ, I’m thankful every day that you’re not here and that you’ve been spared.
I guess I best tell you that I got into a fight with a couple of the boys over Johnson. I think it was always in the cards. They kept calling him names I’d rather not repeat and treating him like he wasn’t a real man, as if the color of his skin somehow made him lesser than. I just snapped. I got in a couple good jabs before some of the other boys broke it up. No one snitched, so it’s all good. Johnson’s had my back from day one, so it was time I stood up and did right by him. I don’t regret it, so don’t bother scolding me in yournext letter.
I’ve got to put the pen down now if I want this letter to make it on the next mail run. I should have said more—I’m sorry. I love you, sweetheart. I wish I could write real romantic things like you do, but you know I got no great way with words. But I know that you’re more important than everyone else on this godforsaken earth. You’re always my first thought when I wake and my last before I fall asleep and a thousand more in between. I want to run my hands through your fire red hair and brush my fingers over the freckles on your shoulders. I want to gaze into your beautiful green eyes and bring my lips to yours. You said in your letter that you will love me for 60 more years if God grants it. Sweetheart, I will love you for all of this life and for all eternity.
Forever yours,
Charlie xox
