Page 47 of Pages of My Heart
Thomas listens for the sound of Charlie’s footsteps, but hears nothing. He hears a sigh, then a gentle bump against the door, as if Charlie’s rested his forehead against it. Then softly, “Sweetheart, I love you.”
Thomas chokes back a sob but still he does not respond. Eventually, he hears Charlie walk away, then the front door opening and closing. Then silence.
“I love you too,” he whispers.
Charlie
With his head down, he walks to Evie and Richard’s house to tell his sister the news. Of course, she already knows. She pulls him into the house with a hug and then holds his hand while they sit together in the kitchen. They talk about inconsequential things and sip on lukewarm coffee. Richard isn’t home, and Charlie’s glad. He likes the man less and less the more time passes. Evie deserves a better husband, and he worries for her. Soon he’ll have to worry for her from thousands of miles away.
Time passes in a blur, but when he eventually stands to leave, Evie stops him with a tentative hand on his forearm. “I don’t know if this is the right time to tell you, but since we mightnot have long before you . . . well, you know . . .” She trails off, swallowing hard before trying for a small smile. “I’m having a baby.”
Charlie is shocked into stillness, his heart doing something complicated he can’t quite untangle.
“Shoot, I’m sorry. Today wasn’t . . . I shouldn’t have—”
The look of guilt clouding over Evie’s face jolts him out of his stupor. The last thing he wants is for Evie to suppress her happiness on his account.
“Congratulations, sis,” he says, cutting her off and pulling her into his arms. Charlie strokes her long black hair, all his fears suddenly bubbling over like a boiling pot forgotten on the stove. He wants to make it home to meet his nephew. Or niece. It doesn’t matter which. His mind drifts back to Thomas, who will be over the moon with the news. Pulling back, he kisses Evie on the forehead and makes the effort to smile. “Tommy will be excited to hear the news. It okay if I tell him?”
“Of course. I was going to tell you both together but . . .” Evie shrugs helplessly.
“Nah, I’m glad you told me. Needed to hear somethin’ good today. How many weeks?”
“The doctor thinks about ten. The baby is due in August.”
“You know . . . I won’t be here when it’s born.” Charlie is utterly gutted.
Evie takes his hand and squeezes. “But he or she will be here to greet you when you get back. We all will.”
Charlie nods, a lump growing fast in his throat. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I, uh . . .” He gestures toward the door with his thumb. “I should go. Tommy will be wonderin’ where I got to. I’ve been gone for hours.”
“Of course, sure.” Evie smiles again, but it’s a brittle thing. “I know how much he means to you.”
It’s almost four o’clock when Charlie gets back to the house. He’s been gone too long, he knows that. He understands Thomas’s reaction, but he’s also angry and deeply hurt by it. Going to war fills him with fear—not so much because he’s afraid of combat, or even afraid to die, but because he doesn’t want to be separated from Thomas. Over the five and a half years they’ve been together, he’s seen how fragile Thomas can become, how much he needs routine and stability. Now Charlie is being forced to upend their life together—a life they have worked so hard to carve out for themselves.
“Tommy?” he calls out as he closes the front door against the snow that has just started to fall. He huffs in frustration when he gets no response. Surely Thomas isn’t still mad? He shrugs out of his heavy coat and walks further into the house. “Thomas, I know you ain’t still locked in the—” But Charlie doesn’t finish, because when he gets to the bathroom he finds the door wide open. Feelings of guilt start to trickle in as he continues on to their room, thinking that maybe Thomas has taken to bed. “Sweetheart?” He steps into their room, but Thomas isn’t there either.
As he walks back toward the kitchen, in desperate need of a beer, he wonders if maybe Thomas has gone across town to hide out at his sister’s house. Before he makes it to the icebox, he spots a piece of paper on the table bearing Thomas’s loopy handwriting.
Charlie,
I didn’t want to give you the chance to change my mind. If you’re going, then so am I.
I’ll behome soon.
Tommy x
Panic engulfs him as he realizes what Thomas has done. Heart pounding, he races through the house and out the front door, not even bothering to lock it behind him. The recruiting office is a good thirty-minute walk away. Charlie runs. He runs like his life fucking depends on it. He runs like Thomas’s life depends on it, because, quite plainly, it does. Thomas should not—cannot—go to war. Charlie’s fear and fury give him stamina and strength he didn’t know he possessed. He doesn’t even notice the cold or that he’s forgotten his coat in his haste. When he arrives at the office his clothes are drenched in sweat and he is gasping for air, but he doesn’t stop to catch his breath. He bursts into the building, unable to face what it means if he’s too late. Tears threaten to spill, his body shakes and his limbs turn to liquid.
“Tommy!” he yells, frantically looking around. There is a line of men. A fucking line of men who are waiting to sign up, and thank God, because Thomas is one of them. With all eyes on him, he strides over without a second thought. “Tommy, we need to talk.” He grabs Thomas by the arm, but Thomas won’t look at him nor budge from the line.
“Charlie, you can’t change my mind.” Thomas’s voice is monotone. He has his chin lifted defiantly, and his eyes stare straight ahead at the back of the man standing ahead of him.
Charlie knows how stubborn Thomas can be, so he breathes deeply, forcing himself to calm down. “Pleaseget out of the line. I just wanna talk to ya for a minute. Then ya can get back in the line if ya still wanna enlist.Please, Tommy.” Some of the men in the line are looking at them curiously, others with open suspicion. He lets go of Thomas’s arm and steps back to put a more respectable distance between them, trying to appear nonchalant. “He’s my cousin,” he announces to the room.
Thomas continues to stand like a statue, refusing to make eye contact. There is only one person left standing between Thomas and the recruitment officer sitting behind the desk. Charlie’s hands are shaking so badly he has to stuff them into his pockets. He wants to take Thomas in his arms and tell him he loves him. Fall to his knees and beg him not to do this if he must. But he can’t do any of that in this public place. Instead, he steps in front of Thomas, as close as he can without their bodies touching, and takes a huge risk, placing a shaking hand on Thomas’s hip.
“Tommy, look at me.” His voice quivers. “If you lo—” He lowers his voice to barely a whisper. “I’m begging you, if you love me . . .”
