All I Want Is You (23 page)

­People squandered love too easily. He thought it the greatest sin of life. But the big joke of it all was that maybe you couldn't see that until you were old, until long after you'd squandered it. He just didn't want Christy or Jack either one to wake up one day when they were old and have regrets over what they'd done or hadn't done
right
now
.

Rolling over, he looked at the glowing red numbers on his bedside clock. Nearly midnight. Too late to call.

But he reached for his cell phone anyway, and he pulled up Jack's number, having gotten it when they were making plans for their fishing day. He already knew what he'd say because it had been burning in his gut for days now.

“Hello? Charlie?” Jack sounded groggy, like he'd been asleep.

“Sorry to wake you, Jack, but this couldn't wait.”

“Are you okay?”

“Me—­I'm fine. It's you I'm concerned about.”

Jack hesitated on the other end. “How's that?”

“You and my grandgirl, you're good together. Too good to let a mistake or two blow the whole thing.”

Jack hesitated only briefly before he answered, “Yeah, try telling
her
that. Because
I
have and she's not buying it. Stubborn as a mule, turns out.”

Charlie chuckled softly. He'd once been stubborn, too. As had his son. “Family trait, I'm afraid. But you have to get her back, my boy, no matter what it takes.”

“I do?” He sounded understandably baffled by Charlie's sudden insistence.

But Charlie simply said, “You do. Because love is rarer than ­people think. And she doesn't know that yet. She doesn't know yet about compromise and sacrifice and forgiveness. And I'd never ask her to sell herself short, but I know that life isn't black and white, cut and dried. And you have to show her who you really are, you have to show her that you understand her, value her. You have to make her want to take another shot at happiness more than she fears it. You have to make her look
past
fear.”

On the other end, Jack sighed audibly. “That all sounds good, but, uh, kind of like a tall order. So how exactly do you suggest I do that?”

“Simple,” Charlie said. “Figure out the one thing she needs from you that nobody else is givin' her. Dig down deep, under the surface, and find it.”

More hesitation from Jack. “Simple, huh?”

But Charlie just chuckled. “Once you figure it out, it'll seem like it was the simplest thing in the world.”

“Huh,” Jack murmured, sounding tired and perplexed.

However, Charlie had said what he'd intended to say and now the rest was up to Jack. And Christy. So he told him, “I'll let you get back to sleep now. And maybe
I'll
be able to sleep now, too. Goodnight, my boy.” And then he hung up.

And he rolled back over to a comfortable position. But he still didn't fall asleep.

Instead he thought about regrets. He felt them in his heart. And he said a prayer to God that his granddaughter would end up happy.

And after that, he thought of Susan. On a sunny August Sunday, a flowered scarf tied beneath her chin and an old suitcase in her hand. Her eyes had sparkled with hope. It was, he realized looking back, probably the happiest he'd ever seen her. And yet, ironically, that vision of her, seared into his brain, had always been a painful memory.

She'd stood in front of the old farmhouse, waiting for him. When he'd pulled up in the truck and gotten out, slamming the heavy old door, she'd said, “He'll be gone 'til at least three. We can be far away by then.” Her voice had come out sounding part nervous, part excited. And something in that had broken his heart. Because he was about to break
hers
.

“Susan, I can't.
We
can't,” he said.

She'd blinked. “Can't what?”

“Go.”

Horror and disbelief etched themselves onto her face. “What?”

He hated himself in that moment. He hated himself in a way he never had before—­or since. It was the only time in his life he'd ever willingly destroyed someone's hopes and dreams. But he'd swallowed back the emotions as best he could and tried to explain. “I have nothin' to offer you.” He shook his head. “I don't have any money. I don't have a job. At least King can provide for you.” He'd lowered his eyes while he'd spoken—­unable to face the despair in hers. “I don't know that
I
can. And it just seems too risky.”

She instantly stepped forward, beseeching him. “But I'm not afraid, Charlie! I know we'll be fine. I know it!”

Yet her words didn't change anything. The more time that had passed since he'd agreed to run away with her, the more practicality had set in. He didn't want to hurt his parents; he didn't want Susan to hurt hers, either. They'd both be going from situations where they had only a little to one where they'd have even less. Charlie was truly in love with Susan, and he didn't want her to have regrets in a week, or a month, or a year. “Susan, I love you. And it's because I care for ya that I won't let you do this. I'd be okay no matter what happened, but I'm not sure
you
would.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don't really know what you want, or how serious this is. You don't know what's good for ya right now. You'd be sorry down the road and there'd be no comin' back. So I just can't let you do it.”

“I know what I want, Charlie!” she insisted, yelling at him in her front yard. “I hate it here—­I hate it! And with you, I'm happy. So, so happy.”

“But what about . . . everything? Your family? What if one of 'em got sick and needed some expensive treatment or surgery? What if I can't give you the things ya need and you end up hatin' me for it and wishin' you'd never left?”

She shook her head vehemently. “That could never be.”

“I know you
think
you know,” Charlie said to her. “I know this seems like the answer. But I'd never forgive myself if somethin' bad happened—to you, or any member of your family—­and because of me it couldn't be fixed.”

The truth was, he wanted nothing more than the opportunity to try to make her happy. But the further truth was . . . deep down, he just didn't have faith in her to be strong enough, to transcend her current life, to look beyond the rose-­colored glasses he feared she was wearing and face the realities their new life together would bring.

“I know you can't see it now, but one day you will,” he assured her.

“See what?” She shook her head, looking completely bereft.

“That I'm only doin' what's best for you.”

She'd just stood there staring at him, sad and desperate.

And then she'd broken his heart even a little more. She'd dropped to her knees on the cracked front walk that led from the farmhouse to the drive. And she'd clasped her hands together and begged him. “Please. Please let's go away from here. Let's forget this conversation. Let's forget everything bad. If I stay here, Charlie, I'll die inside.
Please
.”

That almost got him. Almost. To see and hear her utter despair made his heart hurt physically.

But despite being the same age as her, today he felt called upon to be the older one, the responsible one who looked beyond the moment. And so he said, yet one more time, “I'm doin' what's best for you, Susan, I promise. Trust me.” And then he lowered his eyes again, unable to keep seeing her that way, as he muttered, “I'm sorry. So sorry.”

Then he turned and walked back to the truck. He left her there, on her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. Because if he stayed even a moment longer, or if he let her see that his own heart was crumbling to dust inside his chest, maybe he'd do the wrong thing and leave with her. And ruin her life.

He was only eighteen. He didn't know how to take care of her and he didn't want to let her down. Above all else, he wanted her to be safe. And with King, at least she had that. And it was more than
he
could promise her.

And that was it.

And life went on.

He and his father finished the barn—­though there never came a request to paint it, and he was glad.

Susan never again brought a sandwich or a bottle of Coca-­Cola out to him. In fact, during the final two weeks of work, Mr. King mentioned that his young wife was sick in bed. He confided with a laugh that he was secretly hoping to find out it meant she was in the family way. And Charlie had kind of wanted to vomit, even though he knew it was a different kind of sickness altogether she was experiencing. Heartache.

Although it was difficult at times in a town as small as Destiny, he and Susan kept their distance from each other as much as possible, resulting in only fleeting glimpses here and there—­a chance sighting at the General Mercantile from time to time, occasionally passing each other on the road, a near head-­on physical collision once at the Ambassador Theater nearly three years after that hot, passion-­filled summer. She'd been with King; Charlie had been with his brand new fiancée and had wished for the theater floor to open up and swallow him whole.

He'd gone on to marry a good woman. He'd loved her, he'd raised a nice family with her, he'd had a pleasant life. But deep inside, he'd always pined for Susan and felt a passion for her he'd never experienced with anyone else.

And as for Susan, she'd never gotten in the family way. She and King had lived on that farm alone together for twenty years until a heart attack took him. Months later, Charlie heard she'd met a man from Portsmouth and that she'd sold the farm and was moving away.

But on the very day after his wife's friend Edna Ferris had told him this when he'd stopped to buy a bushel of apples at her orchard, he'd been walking across Destiny's town square—­when he'd looked up and found himself face to face with Susan herself.

She'd matured from a pretty girl into a beautiful lady—­though her eyes looked far too tired for a woman of thirty-­nine. And they stood close enough to each other—­frozen in place actually—­that it was impossible not to feel it all over again. That same magnetism. That same yearning. Good Lord, all those years later and it still hadn't died.

“Heard you sold the farm,” he said. He wasn't sure
what
to say, so that was what had come out.

“Finally getting away,” she told him.

He'd just nodded. Already out of words.

And an awkward silence stretched between them until she said, “You were wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Back then. When we were young. You were wrong. I knew what I wanted. I would have been happier with you than with him. Nothing as good has ever happened to me as when you were building that barn.”

His heart had plummeted. “I'm . . . sorry,” he said. Lost for words even more now. Surprised at her boldness. Apology was all he had.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

For a moment, he couldn't catch his breath. But then he managed . . . the right answer, the easy answer. “Yes.”

Yet she seemed completely unconvinced. And so confident about it that it made him feel caught in a lie. “But not as happy as you would have been with me, if you'd let yourself.”

“No,” he agreed simply. It suddenly felt useless to deny it. Then he said, “You? Are you happy? With the man you're marrying?”

“Yes. But not as happy as I would have been with you.”

He let out a heavy breath. It was too painful, thinking about what could have been, what he'd ruined. “I hope that'll change. I hope it'll turn out that you find more happiness with him than you can even imagine.”

She'd seemed resentful up to now, but this appeared to soften her, letting him see in her the girl he'd first fallen for twenty years earlier. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “It won't happen—­you'll always have my heart, Charlie—­but thank you anyway.”

And like the last time they'd parted, life went on. But that meeting had stayed with him for a long time. Just being close to her had turned his heart inside out, making him happy and sad all at once, in that way only love can.

But what it came down to was that he'd made a huge mistake—­he hadn't known what she needed; he hadn't trusted her to be capable of more than he saw. And that was when he'd realized the greatest thing you could ever do for someone you love is have faith in them. That was all. Just have faith.

And somehow it seemed like the same thing was going on with Jack and Christy. And if Jack could figure out what Christy needed—­hell, it wouldn't fix Charlie's past mistakes; it wouldn't fix the pain he'd caused or the love he'd ruined, but at least maybe it would fix something for somebody else.

Despite himself, sleep still eluded him. Susan, Susan, Susan. He'd thought that call to Jack would clear his mind of the past, at least a little, but it hadn't.

And so at long last, despite the odd hour, he slowly hauled himself up out of bed with the help of his walker. He started to head toward his wheelchair, but then thought better of it. He'd been more active when Christy was here, resulting in the nurses encouraging him to use the walker more, the wheelchair less. This was a good opportunity to do so.

Soon he moved slowly down the quiet, dark corridor outside his room until he reached Mrs. Waters' door. Gently, he pushed it open and studied her from a distance, a soft shaft of moonglow shining through the window to light her face.

She hadn't changed so much. He could still see in her the beauty he always had—­even if she was always asleep now, and hooked to machines.

More slow steps led him to the bedside chair he often occupied these days. Reaching up, he touched her arm, rubbed it softly. “Life is funny, isn't it?” he mused in a whisper. Then he gave his head a soft shake. “Still a miracle to me that we both ended up here together, my sweet Susan. Of all the rest homes in all the world, they rolled you in to mine.” He gave a quiet chuckle, and prayed she could hear him, that somewhere inside her she could feel happy to have him near her, could silently smile at his little Casablanca joke.