The next week sort of implodes in on itself.  It starts out crappy and it just keeps on sliding down Poo Mountain.  If I was obsessed with my work before, I’m an absolute maniac now.  It’s been all 15 hour days. Maybe I’ll just bring the air mattress to the bakery and sleep in the office, thus eliminating the needs for the outside world to exist at all! Huzzah! I’ve got it!

“Charlotte! Char, where are you? I know you’re here.” I can hear my mother out in the bakery, but I am mixing up a batch of double chocolate cherry bars, and if I stop now, I will forget where I am in process.  It’s a process, people.

“Sorry Charlie.  Your mom’s here.  Want me to tell her to wait or have her come back?” Mandy pops her head through the kitchen door.  She got her hair cut a few days ago and it looks amazing.  She’s put teal and purple streaks in it, and I’m wondering if her drummer lover boy has anything to do with this wild side.

“She can come back.” I sigh, blowing my hair out of my face with a puff of annoyed air. 

“Charlotte, I’ve been calling and texting and e-mailing you all week.” My mother starts as soon as she enters the room.

“On second thought, tell her to go away.” I mumble under my breath.  Mom keeps talking at me and wandering around—touching things that I will have to sterilize later.  I’m already sleep deprived, and stressed, and it is the last thing I need at the moment.

“Were you planning on calling me back?  You’re a few hundred yards away now, and yet you might as well still be in Los Angeles.” She finally settles on a stool near my metal work surface.  She sits on the edge of it, in her perfectly pressed pink capris and matching sleeveless silk blouse.  I’m currently wearing a black ribbed tank top, my polka dot apron and gray linen pants which are comfy and lightweight.  And sort of covered in flour, which is a given.

“Mom…I’m sorry. I’m super busy.” I say as I chop up dried cherries and dark chocolate pieces.  I concentrate on this, and try to ignore the tut tutting that my mom is doing. 

“Your Uncle wants us all to have a family dinner since you’re in town. With Laura and the kids, and Flip and his fiancé.” She watches me as I add the ingredients to the giant mixer next to me.

“Okay, sure.  Just let me know when.  Isn’t Laura married?” I ask without looking up.  Mom makes a little gasping noise and I glance at her.  Her eyes are wide and she looks shocked.

“They’re getting a divorce.  Didn’t you hear? Best not to mention it in front of Laura, she gets a bit weepy.” She looks at me as if I am keyed in to all the Havre de Grace gossip, or even just the Kaye family gossip.  I’m clueless on both accounts.

“No, Mom. I’m basically my own little island so I haven’t heard.” I turn on the mixer.  Bummer. It’s not loud enough to drown out the talking. 

“Apparently Martin was cheating on her with Lucy McGreger from the bank.  Have you met her? Short, sort of plump…” Mom keeps babbling and I lean against the table, watching her.  It is strange to think that we look so much alike, but are so completely different.  It’s hard to tell us apart when you look at photos of her when she was my age. Same wavy, dark chocolate brown hair and matching big, wide eyes.  Same small frame.  Of course, my hips and ass are bigger than hers, she won’t let me forget that.  And my boobs are definitely bigger, which she laments over as well, but for different reasons. 

She keeps talking and I nod and sort of listen to the town gossip. I absentmindedly reach into my apron and pull out my phone, checking my messages.  She doesn’t even notice.  I’ve got nothing.  It has been radio silence since my last phone call with Tom.  The media has been rather relentless, but Tom has been in complete hiding.  Even from me.

Two days ago, Keegan even released a statement to the press.  She’s hardly a celebrity.  She’s famous by association, and known mostly as Tom’s yoga instructor fiancé.  But, her classes and DVDs are pretty popular, and I’ve heard her sales have skyrocketed since the “scandal” as everyone is calling it.  It makes me sick to think she’s making money off of this.  Off of the fact that she’s been a completely vile, heartless person.

I watched her statement on the shared computer at The Smokey Oyster, one night after I’d stopped by to drop off some pastries.  My mother has finally decided she’ll use Tiny Baker as her breakfast pastry supplier.  Thanks, Mom.   Keegan made her statement to a small group of press.  Her hair was perfectly styled.  She was wearing some sort of slinky white dress that showed off her sculpted shoulders, and wedges that made her already mile long legs look even longer. She was still wearing her engagement ring.  She looked right at the camera and confessed how sorry she was, and how she is still in love with Tom and fully committed to him.  She said it was just a tiny indiscretion and a total lapse in judgment.  It made me so angry to hear her voice.  I had to turn off the computer and go for a run after I watched it.  And I am most definitely not a runner so I just wheezed around the cottage a few times until I felt a bit better.

My mom is still babbling about my cousin’s impending divorce, and so I open my text messages, and find Tom’s name while he’s on my mind.  Though, to be honest, he’s almost always on my mind lately. 

Thinking about you, TW. xooo

I text quickly and then turn off my screen.  I’ve called him twice in the past week.  And this is the fifth text I’ve sent him with no response, and I feel a bit like a stalker but I don’t care.  The first couple were pretty good too:

(1)   I hope you’re not in your boxer shorts in the tub, eating chocolate and crying.  Please say you’re not doing that.  At least not without me.

(2)   Tom, I’m worried about you.  Stop being a sausage and call me, please. I made you lemon drizzle cake.

(3)   If you are still alive, knock once.  If you are dead, knock twice.  If you are existing on a different time and space continuum, don’t do anything.

(4)   I’m pregnant with your baby.  Yours or Jesus’, so please text me back so we can discuss custody.

 “Charlotte, are you listening to me?” Mom’s shrill voice brings me back to earth and I shake Tom out of my head for a moment.

“Yes. Dinner. Laura, Flip and Uncle Phillip. Divorce. Bank lady. Etcetera.” I roll my hands, hoping that we can move on. 

“I’ll let you know when Uncle Phillip wants to have it.” She says, calling her brother “Uncle” even though he’s not her uncle. He’s mine.  It’s sort of weird, but that’s my mother. 

“Okay, fine Mom.”

“Are you alright? You seem distracted.” She asks, and I’m floored.  Shocked.  My mother doesn’t often notice “things” about me.  Things and stuff. 

“Yeah, my friend is having some problems, so I’m just worried about him.” I turn off the mixer and lift up the large bowl. 

“Ah, well, you can invite your “friend” to dinner too, if he’s around.” She automatically jumps to her own conclusions and I let her.  There’s no point in trying to explain to her, or convince her otherwise.

“He’s in California.” I say simply. 

“There are plenty of nice men right here in Maryland.  Men you could settle down with.  Or should have settled down with.” She grumbles, standing up and smoothing out the invisible creases in her pants.  My skin prickles, and I begin hastily scraping the batter out of the bowl and into the pan.  I don’t want to take the bait, I really don’t, but self control isn’t my strong point.

“Please, mother.” I say through clenched teeth.  She looks at me and gives me a little shrug, which is just as infuriating.

“I’ll let you know about dinner.” She says with a sigh, turning on her heels to leave. 

“I saw him, you know. I saw Chase.” I call after her, not totally sure why I’m prolonging the conversation.  Like putting lemon juice on a paper cut.  She turns around, looking surprised.

“Oh did you?” She asks, tilting her head. 

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And he’s still a disgusting pig.” I say with a big grin.  My mother squints at me, and then just turns and leaves the kitchen. 

**** 

I head home that night, feeling heavy and honestly, rather lonely. The cottage is depressing and I haven’t done anything else to it.  I bought a bath mat and some nice towels, and I sprung for an area rug for the bedroom, but other than that, it’s still the same.  I’ve gotten used to the airbed, though it may be just because I’m not sleeping well to begin with. I have been spending most of my time when I’m “home” up on the widow’s walk.  I sit there through most of the night, stewing in my strange thoughts.  When I can barely keep my eyes open anymore, I come down and crawl into bed.  At that point, I could sleep on rocks and it wouldn’t matter. 

Even though I was giving my mom a hard time, I’m excited to see my family.  I’ve always gotten along really well with my Uncle Phil, and my cousins.  My Uncle was more like a father figure to me than my own father at times.  At least he was more of a positive father figure than my own father.  Mom texted me a few hours after she left Tiny Baker, saying dinner was tentatively planned for about two weeks away toward the end of the month.

Tonight, I’m feeling particularly tired.   My body hurts from being on my feet all day, but my mind is racing.  I forego the widow’s walk, and I shed my clothes as I walk upstairs into the bedroom.  I bought the airbed that is double thickness, so it is almost the height of a regular bed.  Even still, it is not the same. It’s not like having a real bed.  Like a real adult.  Lately, I’ve felt like a fragment of myself.  I’m not sure how much longer I can take this mess.  I’ve been in Maryland for over two weeks, and I’ve only been to Tiny Baker, the big house and my hobbit hole.  I’m in some sort of weird half world.  Nothing is quite real, nothing is quite where it should be.

I climb in and sink into the somewhat squeaky, plastic-y surface.  I pull my cheap comforter up and over my head and I take a deep, ragged breath.  I miss my real bed. I miss my feather comforter and my super soft duvet I got on sale at Target for something like 42 cents.  I miss my four pillows that I arrange perfectly.  Two under my head and shoulders, one sort of wedged by my side, one sort of half over my face. 

This is not how I pictured things.  29.  Alone. Sleeping in a plastic bed in a hut filled with shitty memories.  My best friend is MIA, possibly dead in a ditch or being eaten by rabid dogs in his apartment, and here I am stalk texting his ghost and goading my mother.  It’s not as great as it sounds, really.

Under the covers, I turn on my phone.  I have a few unread texts from earlier that day.

Mandy: Come to the Ink Pot tonight, Charlie! I promise you won’t feel old.

I smile.  She really is sweet.  Also, an awesome employee and a great friend.  The one bright spot so far in Maryland.

Alice: The bakery blew up! Just kidding.  Things are running smooth here.  I’ll give you a call early next week.

Again, another person I know I can intrinsically trust.  I text them both back.  I apologize to Mandy for being old and decrepit, and I thank Alice for the update.  I’m about to turn off my phone and call it a night, when one more text comes through.  My phone vibrates in my hand, and his name flashes on my screen.

Thinking about you too. x

He’s responding to my text from earlier.  I flip the comforter off my head, desperately needing fresh air.  I text him back quickly.

You’re killing me, smalls.  I hope you’re okay. 

I send, and then wait.  And wait. And wait.  And nothing.  Ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour passes.  I can feel my eyes getting heavy, and I know I’m going to fall asleep.  I can’t fight it anymore.  I know I’ll end up falling asleep with my phone in my hand, waiting for it to vibrate and alert me to his response.  But there’s nothing.  So I fall asleep in my plastic bed, phone in hand, heart in my throat.

**** 

My fight this morning to stay awake has been a real one.  It’s been touch and go, good versus evil, all morning.  I got more sleep than normal, but my head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.  I barrel my way through three cups of coffee, and I’m still bleary eyed when Mandy gets in at half past eight.

“You look like shit.” She purses her lips and tilts her head. I can’t disagree with her.  She looks fantastic though in a cute little sun dress with strappy sandals. 

“Mmm…thank you.  That’s what I was going for.” I say, stirring my coffee. 

“Did you sleep?”

“I think.” I groan.

“You’re going to kill yourself, Charlie.” Mandy leans against the counter.  The front door opens, and a small group of teenagers come in.  She surges forward, waving me away when I move to help.  We both know I’m not much help at the moment.  It wouldn’t be so bad except I found a stack of orders shoved into a back filing cabinet in the office.  Orders that Kris had taken, and forgotten about, and now most of them are due in the next few days.  I’ll admit to crying a little when I first saw them, but I pulled it together before Mandy made it in.  I also put in a quick call to Sue, begging her to pick up a few more hours that week.

Mandy handles the majority of the customers for the rest of the morning.  I’m so thankful, because part of me is having trouble forming words.  The day creeps slowly along and when its nearing two I can’t honestly say I remember ever being so happy to close.  I’m thinking pizza and some movies are on my agenda for that night, and then perhaps asking Sue to cover for me in the morning. 

I need to finish some ordering before I can leave, and so I plant myself at a table in the front bakery.  I often do the easier paperwork there just because it can be a little depressing in the back office.  I also worry that Krissy and Greg may have done it on the desk, and no matter how many times I disinfect, it just feels…haunted.

If I keep going without being distracted, I can finish this order in twenty minutes and then scoot out.  I’m so focused that I don’t look up from my paperwork when I hear the front door open, the bell jingling.  How the hell did Kris manage to order so much random shit, and I didn’t even notice?  My forehead is so creased at this point, it hurts.

“We’re closed. Sorry. Come back tomorrow at 6.” I say without looking up.  There is a silence, and I hope whoever it is just goes away.  I can hear Mandy in the back, singing while she is cleaning.

“Well that’s a bit inconvenient, seeing that I was just on a plane for five hours to get here.” I hear his voice and my head nearly knocks back when I realize who it is.  Tom.

He’s standing in the glass doorway, backlit by the orange gold afternoon sun.  I can’t see his face well because of the light, but I can make out a suitcase in one hand and a bookbag in another.  He’s got his Ray Bans on, and his tall frame fills my doorway.

“Holy fruit cake.” I whisper, standing up and pushing my papers to the side. 

“Charles.” He steps out of the doorway, and I can see him clearly.  He’s wearing dark jeans and a white tshirt and looks only a bit travel rumpled.  He’s got this effortlessly cool and easy way about him.

“Tom. How the heck…” I trail off as I walk over to him, slowly.  He’s not moving and I can’t see his eyes, hiding behind the dark wayfarers.  I move carefully toward him, like I’m approaching a bomb.  He’s just standing there, his tall frame rigid and a bit defeated looking.  He’s not moving, he’s not saying anything and for the love of everything sweet and chocolate, I cannot read his expression.  It is silent in the bakery now, and I’m sure Mandy is eavesdropping but I don’t care.

I stop in front of him, and I can see his chin twitch ever so slightly. I take in the sight of him. His smooth skin, the light stubble on his jaw.  The tiny crinkles by his eyes when he smiles, but he’s not smiling now.  They are like ghost lines, just waiting to appear when the time is right.  His hair is a bit longer on top than the last time I really saw him, but it’s still short on the sides and sandy brown.  The white shirt he’s wearing hangs off his broad shoulders, and tapers down to his narrow waist, stopping just at the waistband of his jeans.  His long, lean arms hang at his sides and he drops his bags to the floor.

 I am well aware that I am a mess.  Since I didn’t sleep well the night before (what’s new?), I woke up with a headache which has made my face all squinty.  I braided my dark hair and threw it over my shoulder in what Mandy affectionately calls my “Katniss braid”.  No make up, as always.  Plain v neck tshirt, and a pair of jeans.  My polka dot apron covering up all that unremarkableness.  I’m standing so close to him now, I can see the ways his lips move slightly as he presses them together.  I can practically feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

Tom still hasn’t moved or said anything, and if I hadn’t known he was a real live man I would have assumed he was just a very tall, very good looking mannequin in a bakery shop.  Totally normal and every day sort of thing.

I swallow, and stand looking up at him, my head tilted back.  I can’t see his eyes, but I can somehow feel him looking down at me.  I hesitate for only a second but then I reach up and I slowly, carefully put my hand to the sides of his face and remove his sunglasses. My fingers brush against the baby soft hair at his temples, and then I have the hard plastic of his glasses. I slide them off his face gently, and what I see behind them takes my breath away.  It is as if all air has left the building.

His normally vibrant, beautiful blue eyes are a stormy gray, red rimmed and dark circled.  I have never seen him like this.  Silent.  Broken.  Almost immediately, as if by instinct, my eyes are watering.  God.  My chest swells and then stretches, and it physically hurts.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” I whisper to him, hanging his glasses onto the vneck of my shirt.  His eyes search my face and he gives me the tiniest smile ever.  He moves suddenly, and I move with him and then we are hugging, tightly, desperately as if it has been years not just mere months since we’ve last seen each other.  He leans down, bends at the knees and pulls me into him, burrowing his face in the space between my neck and shoulder.  I step into the space he’s made, though he’s a few times my size, I know I am the one hugging and he is the one being hugged.  I cradle him, hold him against me, wrap my arms around his wide shoulders and try to make myself bigger, wider.

He makes a soft, heartbreaking noise into my neck, and I squeeze him tighter.  He smells exactly like I remember, and I let myself breathe him in, if only for a moment.  Nothing in Maryland smells like him. Nothing in the world smells like him.

“You smell like cake.” He mumbles into my shoulder.

“I did that just for you.” I laugh softly, and then I can feel him laughing.  I smile and pull back, reaching up and taking his face in my hands.  He is smiling, but only somewhat as I run my hands over those razor cheekbones.

“Want to get drunk? And eat cookies?” I ask gently.  He nods, his eyes still breaking my heart.  I lean forward and push onto my tip toes, and kiss him gently on the cheek.  His skin is soft, warm and a bit scratchy from his stubble against my lips.  He wraps his arms around my waist, and hugs me again, this time lifting me up gently off of the floor.  I dangle there for a minute, my arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him.

“Thank god for you.” He says softly into my ear, then releases me onto the floor.  I’m not going to lie, my knees buckle a bit, but I think it’s just from the surprise of seeing him.  I take off my apron and ball it up. I need to do something with my hands.

“Let’s go back to my hovel.  We can pick up booze on the way.” I say, walking to the bake case and opening it wide.  I hand Tom a take away box, and give him free range.

“Your hovel? Sounds wonderfully barbarian.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and then turns and starts putting cupcakes and cookies into the box.  He’s not shy about it.

“You’ll see.  You’ll love it. It’s a palace.” I wink at him, and then turn to go to the kitchen. To be totally honest, I’m shaking a bit.  It feels as if everything was floating around, mixed together and random in space, and now all the sudden someone has turned the gravity on.  I feel as if everything is suddenly grounded, and I am trying to remember how to walk again with my feet on the ground.

I stick my head into the back kitchen to let Mandy know I’m leaving early.  She is standing right by the door to the kitchen, her back against the wall and I startle her when I poke my head around.

“Hi!” She yelps, turning around and facing me.  I smile.

“I’m heading out, can you lock up?” I ask.  Her face is blank and she’s nodding dumbly, so I’m sure that the lights are on but no one is home.  “Mandy? Do you want to meet him?” I sigh with a smile.  She nods again, faster, and there’s actual life in her eyes this time.

“I won’t be annoying, I promise.” She whispers loudly.  I chuckle, and tilt my head, inviting her out into the bakery where Tom has succeeded in clearing a quarter of the bake case.

“Tom.  I want you to meet Mandy.  She is amazing and kept this place running while I was gone.” I hold out my hand as Mandy slips by me and scoots over to where Tom is standing.  Props to him, the perfect gentleman.  I know he’s under the weather but he sets down his stash of sweets and smiles widely at her, as if she’s a long lost friend. 

“Mandy, I’ve heard so much about you.  You’ve been such a huge help to Charlie.” He shakes Mandy hand and I hear her squeal every so softly.  The thing about him is, he’s totally genuine.  He’s not just putting on a show for Mandy and any onlookers (though there are none but me).  He genuinely means what he says.

“I’ve heard…well only a little about you, to be honest.” Mandy grinned.  “But I’ve seen all your movies.  I’m a big fan.  You’re really tall. I have a boyfriend.” I’m pretty sure the last part is just to remind herself, and not really directed at Tom.  Tom laughs, blushing slightly.  That guy. 

“Thanks, Mandy.” He says gently.

“Will you be in Maryland for awhile?” She asks, glancing from me to him.  I press my lips together, and then grab the take out box that Tom had been stuffing with food.  He watches me like a hawk as I throw a few more things into it.

“I’m not sure.  I just needed a break for a bit.” He answers Mandy, while pointing rather demandingly at some brownies.  I swat his hand away and put two brownies in the box before closing the lid.

“Well, Maryland is a great place to take a break.  Nothing happens here.  The last cool thing that happened was probably…weather related.  Hurricanes.  Occasional tornados.  If you’re into that sort of thing.  Weather and all.” Mandy babbles but Tom is watching her intently, looking rather amused.

“Weather is very nice.” He says amiably.  Mandy nods her head quickly and then takes a deep breath. The first since he’s walked in, it seems.

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Tom.  I’m glad you’re not imaginary.” Mandy grins and puts her hands on her hips, looking at me with wide eyes.  I can’t help but laugh, and Tom looks at me questioningly. 

“I’ll explain later.”  I sigh.  “Let’s go.  Thanks for closing up, Amanda.  Susan’s coming in for me tomorrow.” I gesture for Tom to grab his bags, and I grab mine along with the take away box.  Mandy is following closely behind us.

“No problem.  Have a good night. Maybe we can all get dinner sometime.  My boyfriend, Marcus, he’s a drummer, he really loves some of your movies.  Not as much as I do, but he likes them.” I’ve never seen her like this, and it’s endearing and very sweet.  Tom is totally charmed and he’s smiling, which makes me happy.

“I would love that, Mandy.  We’ll see you soon.” He says, giving her a wave.  Mandy flushes and grins.  I wave goodbye too, but I don’t think she even realizes I’m still there.

We walk out into the stuffy summer air, and I immediately punch Tom in the arm.  He groans and rubs the spot on his bicep.

“What was that for?” He asks as he reaches over and takes his sunglasses off the front of my shirt.  He slips them onto his face, and his baby blues disappear.

“For not contacting me.  For making me think you’d jumped off the ledge and been killed or worse…”

“Expelled?” His eyes widen in mock horror.  I burst out laughing, not quite sure I can comprehend the fact that he just quoted Harry sporking Potter.  He’s nothing if not surprising.  It’s not only Shakespeare and dead poets that he likes to recite.

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” I mutter as we make our way down the street.  He rolls his suitcase behind him, and has put his book bag on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.  I needed some time to think. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” He says softly, and I know he means it.  “You know how I get.  I get stuck in my head, and I was just digging in deeper and deeper.  Your texts made me laugh, though. Really. Thank you.” We keep walking, our pace sort of slow and meandering. 

“Well.” I say huffily. “I was worried. I was really worried, so you owe me.” I stop in front of the liquor store, and wait for him to open the door for me.  He laughs and shakes his head, then opens the door for me and I brush past him.

“I’ll spend my whole life making it up to you, I’m sure.” He mutters as I pass by.  I laugh and roll my eyes.  We make quick work of the liquor store.  He buys us whiskey and some Festina Peche Dogfish Head, which is from a nearby brewery in Delaware. Then I talk him into some red wine, and we leave the store with two bags of questionable drinking material.

“Is your shanty nearby?” He asks. We stop on the sidewalk, and I grab his arm and spin him around.  I open his backpack and shove the wine and whisky inside, feeling a little like a Mom sending her kid off to some strange, messed up school. We keep walking then, with me carrying the sixer and the desserts, and Tom hauling his suitcase and backpack.

“Just a few minutes walk.  I think you can handle it.  We have to hike through some weeds though.” I grin, and nod up the road.  He frowns at me and sighs.

“Alright, let’s go then, Charles.  Lead the way.”