Page 47 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
“You know you’re supposed to let a couple announce their own pregnancy!” she scolds him. “How did you even know?” She whacks him again, and he raises his arms in self-defense.
“She’s been throwing up all the time. How did you not notice?”
Jody switches to wagging her finger at him viciously. “I need to get you a book on how to be a grandparent. My god.”
She dives into a lecture, finger still wagging, and Erik has the decency to look ashamed. In my pocket, my phone buzzes.
I slide it out and see Arlo’s name on the screen. It’s Christmas Eve, so he’s probably calling to wish me a Merry Christmas one last time. I swipe my thumb across the screen and step away from the family and into the butler’s pantry. “Good morning,” I say.
“Charlie, we have a problem.”
23
Bea
It takesme a minute to realize Charlie’s not in the room anymore. I look around and spot him in the butler’s pantry. He’s on the phone, onesie hood down and leaning against the counter. There’s a crease between his eyebrows that I watch deepen as the seconds tick by.
His mouth tightens. His fingers grip the phone so tightly they go white. Whoever he’s on the phone with is still talking, and Charlie’s shrinking with every word into someone that I barely recognize.
My stomach drops.
“Fuck,” he says, so quietly that I read his lips more than I hear the words. “Fuck.”
This time, the rest of the room hears him and goes quiet.
Charlie turns his back to us and walks away. An uneasy feeling passes over me, and my dad gives me a concerned look.
“Well, let’s get the kitchen cleaned up,” Mom says, “and when Charlie comes down, we can get started on pictures.”
With all of us working together, the leftover cinnamon rolls get packed away and the plates and cutlery go into the dishwasher. Dad gets his tripod and camera set up facing the gorgeous Christmas tree in the front room, and Charlie still hasn’t reappeared.
The uneasy feeling has turned into a ball of molten lead in my stomach. It’s Christmas Eve, and I remind myself that we’ve been in our own little bubble in a small town and that the outside world exists. We have jobs that sometimes can’t wait and in a parallel universe, my boss would have called me with some crisis.
When Charlie’s feet finally tread the stairs coming down, I’m leaning against the couch, arms crossed and half listening to Yvette and Mom talk. I look up and the molten lead freezes.
Charlie’s dressed in jeans and boots, and I see the suitcase he’s carrying down the stairs before I can see his face.
“I have to go,” he says.
Susan gasps. “Charlie. Really?”
“Yes.” His voice is a quiet cut, and then he clears his throat and says with more softness this time. “Yes. I’m sorry. Something’s come up and I need to get back to the city.”
He’s not looking at me, but it feels like the gaze of every other person in the room is on me.
“Charlie.” This voice is so harsh I barely recognize it. My dad. My affable, jokester dad isfurious. “This isn’t right, Charlie.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie repeats, and it’s wooden, nothing like the warmth in his voice, his gaze, his hands this morning. He swallows hard and finally looks at me. “Bea, can I borrow your rental car? I’ll pay for a driver to get you back to the city.”
The room is dead silent. The weight inside me pulls like a chain hanging down into a never-ending pit. And then someone takes my left hand.
It’s Lance, sitting on the couch. My quiet, sweet, soon-to-be brother-in-law, the newest member of our family, has taken my hand.
He gets it.
And Charlie never has.
“You don’thaveto go. You’rechoosingto go.” My voice is rising, like I’m having an out-of-body experience, like I’m falling right back into the past, where I’m not worth Charlie’s attention.
