A Change of Heart (36 page)

"I know I seem like a dull guy, old, boring…" said Charles, his voice trailing off, as he expressed his own regrets to himself as much as to Annabeth.

"No you don't," interjected Annabeth with sympathy, "Not at all."

Charles split the remainder of the champagne between the two glasses and continued wistfully, "I've led such an ordinary life here in Gull's Perch.
 
The farthest away from home I've ever gone is to Atlanta when I went to pharmacy school, and you know how long ago that was."
 
Charles looked deeply into Annabeth's eyes as he spoke, and continued, "I was a husband at twenty-four.
 
My whole life.
 
Now I'm a fuddy-duddy grandfather.
 
But, Annabeth, none of that is really me, do you understand?"

"You feel that you've been lost somewhere in your life?"

His voice rose excitedly, "Yes!
 
That's exactly it.
 
I live this life but it isn't me.
 
There's a lot more to me, and nobody ever sees it.
 
Sometimes I feel this fire in me, this passion, and I know I could be romantic, somebody's Sir Galahad, I know I could, but I don't think I ever will be."
 
Charles drained the remainder of the champagne in his glass, his eyes a bit more watery than usual, and continued speaking softly, "Sometimes I think I do nothing more than march in place, that everything that was ever going to happen to me has happened already.
 
The only event left to experience is death."

Annabeth, touched by the pain in his voice, rose out of the misery in which she was suffused and spoke with kindness and empathy, "Oh no, that's not so.
 
There is always a chance for new things, for excitement and fulfillment."
 

Charles, a flicker of hope in his eyes, reached out his hand and grasped hers tightly.
 
"Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do."
 
She answered with strength and conviction, and what she said made sense, although it did not occur to her then that the advice she was giving pertained to herself just as strongly as to Charles.
 
"You have to reach for what you want in life, have to just go and get it, don't you think?"

Charles, his face flushed, said excitedly
 
"You're right, of course. I should be more assertive."

Annabeth nodded at Charles and smiled, a pleasant glow from the champagne warming her and the chance to focus on somebody else's problems lifting her out of her own for a brief moment.
 
When the waitress brought two plates, lobsters with baked potatoes, Annabeth accepted hers and almost spoke up about the missing rice, but instead she shrugged, as usual, feeling it was not worth the effort.
 
"This is delicious," she said to her host after the first bite.

Charles dunked his sliver of lobster into the drawn butter then absentmindedly rubbed the morsel across his lips before depositing it in his mouth.
 
"Mmm," he agreed "It is good."
 
Then continuing his train of thought, he said, "I know I'm not a ladies' man."

"That's not such a bad thing," commented Annabeth wryly, thinking of R.J. and George.

"I want to have passion in my life, you know.
 
I want it more than anything.
 
It's been so long…"

Annabeth smiled softly, and in her mind she thought back to the passion she'd shared most recently and the way she now felt as a result of succumbing to it.
 
Charles, in watching her, saw the flicker of light cross her eyes and the light in his own eyes grew brighter.
 
He reached into his pocket for his cellular phone and turned it off, then smiled at Annabeth, who remained silent.

When the waitress came to clear their plates and to ask about dessert, Annabeth declined but Charles ordered coconut cake for himself.
 
"You must have half of mine," he insisted, and when the cake arrived, he speared a bite on his fork and fed it to her, watching her mouth as the food was inserted.
 
Charles flushed a deep shade of crimson then smiled at Annabeth, and without stopping to taste the cake himself, he fed her another bite, his hand trembling.

"I'm eating all your cake," protested Annabeth, but when he fed her the third bite she did not refuse it.
 
By the fifth bite, something in her relaxed and yielded to him, and before half the slice was consumed she had become docile, opening her mouth for each bite and swallowing it obediently as he fed her.

"I'm a giver, you know," said Charles, "Not a taker."

Annabeth looked deeply into his eyes as he spoke, then meekly opened her mouth for the last bite of cake.

Charles paid the bill then said, "I'm going to drive you home."
 
A peaceful sensation settled over Annabeth, and she felt calm and unworried for the first time since the scenes with George and R.J.
 
She kept reminding herself that after all she had a right to some happiness, and that thought continued to play softly in her mind like faint music from a neighbor's stereo.

Charles followed Annabeth into her house, waited while she fed the cat, and then looking around appraisingly for a mere second, he took her hand and pulled her gently toward the stairs, whispering almost inaudibly, "More than anything in my life, I want to make love to you tonight."

Annabeth relaxed and let herself be led, her hand in his, her footsteps following softly behind his.
 
Soon they lay on the bed and Charles was kissing her with tenderness and urgency. Her mind, always a blur during sex, almost ceased to function, but for the soft phrase appearing from below the surface now and then, an echo of comfort and hope, she had a right to some happiness.

Charles, blushing and fumbling, sighing and whispering, "I want to do everything, everything I never got to do," managed to undress her gently, and to undress himself as well.
 
When they were there naked together he stammered, "I wish…if only I were…it's been so long…I probably can't…."
 
He rose on his elbow to gaze at her body, and she lay there softly smiling up at him, willing and available, then he reached over and clutched her hard to him, and she knew he wanted her to become the receptacle for his long buried passions, the vehicle that would somehow transport him out of the humdrum life he led and into one that delivered the thrills that would make him feel alive at last.

Annabeth, sensitive to electricity and weather conditions, felt the power of Charles' yearning, and in its transfer to her, it ignited a passion that allowed her to reach for him tenderly and hold him close.
 
She felt his hands on her, exploring her skin in a way that was almost religious, and the oceans inside her churned in response.
 

She had suddenly become the goddess he yearned to make of her, welcoming him as he pulled himself on top of her, pressed himself into her, hearing him whisper "I want to do this for a long time, forever," but being out of practice and not in the best of shape physically, he lost control and finished far too quickly, at once sighing in despair and moaning in pleasure.
 
Annabeth, her body able always to flow in the moment, did not mind the haste, and in feeling Charles' release found her own and was content.
 
She breathed deeply, letting her heart return to its proper rhythm as Charles remained on top of her, clinging tightly to her, his breath as labored as her own.

When he had regained his equilibrium, Charles slid down, resting his head in the valley between Annabeth's breasts and he began to speak, his voice hoarse and halting yet sure.
 
"Wonderful," he said, "That was wonderful."

"Yes," she said, "It was.
 
Thank you."

Charles raised his head and looked her in the eye.
 
"You've given me my whole future and you're thanking me?
 
Thank you."
 
Annabeth smiled without speaking, allowing him to continue, "Marry me Annabeth.
 
With you I can be the person I always wanted to be.
 
I would do everything I could to make you happy, to take care of you, to give you everything you need, you know that."

Charles snuggled back down against her breast, lost in the comfort of the moment.
 
Annabeth relaxed as she lay there, her hand stroking Charles' hair and her mind floated free for just an instant until the thoughts therein gained focus.
 
She tried to concentrate, to will to herself a vision of the future, but her mind was a blur.
 
She needed to think, and after the evening's events, that took effort.
 
The fear that had been gnawing at her demanded her attention and she faced it squarely.
 
She was terrified of being alone.
 
Then, in a moment of clarity, she asked herself why and waited for the answer to emerge.
 
Casting her mind back over the past, over all of her life that she had so far lived, she saw herself taking care of everyone around her, almost from her earliest memory, and it was the needs of everyone else that had defined her.
 
She thought of R.J. and how she had loved him, but could not understand why.
 
She had cared for George and envisioned a future with him although their relationship consisted of nothing more than sex.
 
Now here she was in bed with yet another man, one who was offering her the future she had always wanted.

Annabeth wrapped her arms tightly around Charles who lay quietly, savoring the moment, and giving her the time to consider his offer.
 
Annabeth remembered her early romance with her husband and admitted to herself for the first time that she had married him, yes because she was pregnant, but really because she expected no one else to come along.
 
He was there and she had gone with him, just as she had gone to bed with George and now with Charles--not so much out of her own desire but because they'd asked her.
 
Had she ever made one choice of her own in all her life, she asked herself, knowing too well what the answer was.

Looking down at Charles lying so intimately with her, Annabeth knew absolutely that she did not love him.
 
She liked him, and she suspected that in time she could feel devotion.
 
Was that enough?
 
Enough to exchange for a guarantee that she would not be alone?
 
A yearning so strong that it almost overpowered her rose in her heart and Annabeth was tempted to yield, to accept his offer, to trade her future and all the fearful uncertainty it contained for the guarantee that he'd promised of companionship and devotion.
 
How comforting was the idea of that safety, of knowing that he would always be there for her, with her, loving and caring for her.

"Charles," she said, trembling and speaking so quietly her voice was almost inaudible, "You're a wonderful lover.
 
Tonight was beautiful, just beautiful."

Hearing her speak, Charles sat up and rested his head against the pillow.
 
He smiled, then blushed at her praise.
 
Annabeth reached out and took his hand in hers, feeling
 
him tremble with anticipation.

"But I can't marry you.
 
First of all, you're not even free to make that offer, but that's not the real point.
 
The real point is I'm not free to accept any offer.
 
I need to find out who I am--just me--and what I really want--and I need to go get it for myself."
 
Although she had made that statement, Annabeth couldn't quite believe it, and despite the fact that it felt right, it took some time for her to adjust, so she remained silent as her own words were absorbed into her consciousness.

"But you told me to be bold, to reach out and make love to you.
 
To get what I wanted."

"I said to get what you wanted, yes.
 
I didn't mean me."

Charles scowled, then tried to salvage something.
 
"We can date.
 
I'll leave Sara. I should have done it long ago anyway, there's nothing there.
 
Nothing for a long, long time."

Annabeth shook her head, wanting not to be unkind, but needing to be honest.
 
"I can't tell you what to do about your marriage.
 
But I also can't promise to date you.
 
I slept with you for the wrong reasons."

"And now you're sorry?"
 
Charles' voice cracked as he spoke.

Annabeth smiled and shook her head, "No, of course not.
 
You were wonderful. It was wonderful.
 
I'm not sorry.
 
I just all of a sudden realized that I have to get my own life in order."

"I'll wait for you.
 
It'll be hard to work with you every day, wanting to be with you every night, but I can wait if I have to."

Her heart perfectly in focus at last, Annabeth said, "No, I can't let you wait."

Charles, all his new expectations dashed, became enraged.
 
"I'm just not good enough for you, is that it?"
 
He reached for his clothes, glancing at the clock. "This--tonight--meant nothing."