Blindness (42 page)

Jeff is sliding them around, looking more
closely at each, when I pull the final piece from my portfolio. I’m
holding my breath as the green windows reveal themselves first. I
even sketched a few classic cars up on the blocks in the auto
bays—everything is almost an exact replica, only better. It’s the
way Jake’s shop always looked in Cody’s mind—I know it in my heart.
And just as I hoped, when Jeff pulls this final drawing to the
center, holding it in his hands, and lifting it up in the light,
his smile starts to spread.

“And this,” he starts, turning away from me
and walking to the window to look at it more closely. “
This
one…
it’s the heart, isn’t it?” Jeff says, not realizing exactly
how right he is.

I nod
yes
and sit softly on the edge
of the chair. I tuck my hands under my knees, forcing myself to
leave my drawings out there, exposed. Every urge, every instinct,
has always been to tuck them away, hide them from all eyes but
mine. But they need to be seen, and they need to be loved. They are
my way of breaking free, my way of being honest about everything I
want, and everything I have ever cared about.

“Charlotte…” Jeff starts, finally putting the
drawing down on the stack of about 20 that fill his desk. “This?
This is extraordinary. I didn’t know you had all of this inside of
you—it’s beautiful, and it feels so real, like a place I want to
be.
”

I’m blinking at him, my mouth twitching,
afraid to smile, and nervous for the
but
that’s about to
come out of his mouth.

“You have a gift. Architecture is an art, but
very few are truly artists—just going through the motions with the
things they build. You made
home,”
he says, his eyes willing
me to smile, to breathe, and relax. And I do.

“Thank you,” I say, my eyes stinging a little
with tears. “I was hoping you would like them. They’re pretty
personal.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he says, holding a tissue
across his desk. I take it and dab at my eyes, giggling a little as
my nerves finally escape me. “So, you ready?” he says, standing and
sliding my drawings back in order, tucking them into my folder.

“Ready? Oh, yeah…for today. Sure, what do you
need me to get started on,” I say, letting the air flap my lips as
I let out my last exhale, suddenly feeling like I belong here.

“Oh, ha…no, I meant are you ready to show
these to the project team?” he says, and I fall right back into my
chair, my pulse beating loudly in my ears. Holy shit!

Jeff continues to laugh as he slides my
repacked portfolio back to me and drinks the last drops from his
coffee mug before turning to pull his jacket from the hanger on the
wall behind him. “Come on, it’ll be a cakewalk. I’ll be there the
whole time. Just pull them out—one at a time—like you did for me,”
he says, patting me on the back as he passes and holds the door
open for me to follow.

My gulp is loud, and I start coughing
uncontrollably until we reach the midpoint of the office, and I
step away for a few seconds to drown myself in the water from the
drinking fountain. I hadn’t thought my plan through this far—I was
only going to win over Jeff.

I catch up to him and follow him to another
office, with a senior partner whom I’ve never officially met. I
fight against my nerves and present everything to him, just as Jeff
suggested I do. And he reacts exactly the same.

We move on to another office, and another
after that, until a few hours have passed, and I find myself
waiting between Jeff and a woman I now know is Donna on a sofa
outside the vice president of the firm’s door. We walk him through
the same presentation, and then leave him and a few of the partners
alone to discuss.

My legs are bouncing uncontrollably. The
office door finally cracks open, and I hear the gravelly voice of
Thomas Bryant, the
Bryant
in Bryant and Michaels Design.

“Ms. Hudson? Mind coming on in to chat with
us for a bit?” he asks, his voice gentle and kind, but somehow
still intimidating as hell.

I smile faintly and manage to find my feet
and follow my two handlers into a massive office with leather
chairs and a huge stone coffee table. For the next two hours, I
listen and answer questions about my concept, and by the end I
realize what’s happening—they are actually taking my drawings
seriously, as in going to sell them to a development company, and
make everything I spent hours putting on paper come to life.

And Cody’s garage—the neon sign spelling
Jake’s
—is what they talk about the most. The
heart,
as Jeff called it.

My heart.

Chapter
21: Twelve O’One

“Charlie, come on, pleeeeaaaase! You have to
let me tell him!” Jessie pleads with me over the sink. We’re
washing dishes after one of Gabe’s amazing meals. They’ve had me
over for dinner every night for the last three weeks, and I update
them with the latest on my project.

“Not yet, but soon. I promise, Jess.
Soon…it’s got to be ready,” I say, smiling, and patting her on the
shoulder with my soapy hand. She blows the bubbles off at me and
grimaces.

“Fine, whatever!” She drops her spoons and
forks into the hot water and leaves me to finish. I don’t mind,
though—it’s the least I could do for the many nights of company
they’ve given me. Jessie and Gabe have become my family, even
spending most of the day at home with me over Christmas, just so I
didn’t have to be alone.

My concept drawings earned me a part-time
position at Bryant and Michaels until I graduate in the spring, and
then I’m guaranteed a full-time position. Thankfully, I also
squeaked by with a
C
in calculus, so I don’t have to worry
about losing credits either. The position is a little better than
entry level—a lot of grunt design work, and long hours to start—but
it’s doing exactly what I’ve always dreamed of doing. And frankly,
the hours have been welcome company lately.

They sold my concept quickly to a group of
builders that they had already been working with to retrofit an old
space in one of Cleveland’s oldest neighborhoods. We still have to
present everything to the city council, but I’ve been told the
right people love the idea. They’re going to call it
The
Square
, giving it a
high-end feel
they can sell. The
spaces will all be down-to-earth, with a focus on trades and
artists—the kinds of businesses people appreciate…and miss.

I’ve practically lived at the office, working
with the drafting team on 3-D renderings and models for hours at a
time. I’ve learned so much, and every day I spend there makes my
decision to stay here feel more right. I let Jessie come up during
lunch one day, so she could get a sneak preview of everything, and
ever since then, she’s been after me to show Cody.

I plan to. But I think I’ve been putting it
off because I don’t want Cody to come back to me just because of
some drawings or some big gesture I made—even though he’s really
the reason I ever tried at all. I want him to want me, over
everything
. And I know it’s selfish as hell, but I’ve
already tried being in love for someone else’s sake, and I lost a
piece of myself going down that road. I won’t do it again.

“You pissed her off, you know?” Gabe says,
bringing in the last of the plates from tonight’s feast.

“Yeah, but she’ll get over it,” I say,
smirking at him.

“Yeah, she will…” Gabe says, leaning on the
counter and folding his arms, watching me finish. “So tomorrow’s
New Year’s. I don’t suppose we could talk you into coming over for
our party?”

“Nope,” I say, not even looking his
direction. I’ve gotten fast in this response, and it’s the easiest
way to deal with this question. Cody will be here. They haven’t
said so either way, but somehow I know he will. They throw this
party every year, and all of their friends in the area from the
pits and the tour come.

“Yeah, I kinda thought you’d say
that…
again,
” Gabe nudges my shoulder, teasing me. “But…you
change your mind? You’re always welcome—anytime. You know that,
right?”

I dry the last dish and take a deep breath
before turning to face him, and I want to hug him instantly when I
see the sincerity in his eyes. “I know it,” I smile and lean my
cheek sideways into his arm. He wraps it around me softly, kissing
the top of my head.

“He might not be there, you know. He’s been
working a lot at the shop in Warren,” Gabe says. I just shrug,
mostly because it still hurts to think about Cody. I haven’t seen
him since our fight, and I can’t bring myself to call or text. I
know he’d be excited to see his dad’s shop replicated in my
project, and I’ll show him when the time is right. Or I’ll let Gabe
show him. Or maybe I’ll just let him find out on his own.

I’m pathetic.

All I have are bits and pieces, a hazy sketch
into Cody’s life. I know he’s living with friends a few miles away,
and he’s working at one of the commercial mechanics with Gabe, just
trying to earn some cash. Gabe says he’s stopped rehabbing, and his
leg is hurting all the time. But Cody won’t take anything for it;
he doesn’t believe in numbing pain. Gabe says it has a lot to do
with the neighborhood they grew up in—the drugs and overdoses they
saw. Cody has a fear of addiction, and helping Gabe overcome his
made it all too real. But I wish he’d just give in a little, listen
to a doctor and ease his suffering, because I know he won’t
rest.

He’s also stopped riding his bike, and I
overheard Gabe talking to a friend about Cody selling it. I don’t
like him riding, because I don’t believe he knows the line between
joy and recklessness. But the thought of him giving up completely
seems worse somehow, and I think I’d rather risk him doing
something stupid on two wheels over him disowning his passion and
abandoning his craving for adventure. I don’t want him to lose
himself…like I did.

I leave Gabe and Jessie’s house with my small
bag of leftovers, and I tuck them in my fridge at home to take with
me for lunch the next day. I kick off my clothes and turn the heat
up as high as it will go before I crawl into bed—my apartment never
feels warm, because of the concrete floors and bare walls. My
fingers instantly find the thin thermal shirt tucked under my
pillow, and I pull it close to my body. The smell has faded, but if
I breathe it in deeply enough, I can still find it. Cody lent it to
me to keep warm in Louisville, and I never gave it back—like I knew
I would need it somehow.

Just like I have every night since I left the
shop, I clutch it to my chest and push my face into the collar,
forcing my eyes closed, compelling myself to remember his eyes, his
smile—his hands on me while I sleep. Of course, my eyes immediately
reopen, and I’m left with nothing but the
what ifs
.

What if I told him about Jim right away? What
if I never left Trevor? What if I never see him again?

The clock passes time slowly at night, and I
think it’s my penance.

Sleep is a fantasy lately. I’m lucky to
squeeze in two hours in a row on any given stretch. Somehow,
though, I’ve managed to function during the hours I’ve been putting
in on the project—from sunrise until seven or eight at night—and
today will be no exception.

The office is closed for New Year’s Eve and
day, but I have my own key, and I plan on spending a few hours in
the afternoon on some of the final touches for the council
presentation. Jeff said it was a pathetic way for a 21-year-old to
spend New Year’s Eve. He was laughing when he said it, and I know
he meant it as a joke, but it still stung a little. Regardless, I
think it’s slightly better than bringing a take-and-bake pizza up
to my apartment and having a solo movie party on my cardboard-box
dining table.

I fine tune things for most of the morning,
taking a short break for lunch before going at it again on the 3-D
program. Everything takes me longer, because I’m still learning,
but the work requires so much of my mind that it acts as a placebo,
letting me forget everything that’s going wrong on the other
side.

I pack my work up neatly by about four in the
afternoon, and I take the materials to Jeff’s office. I like coming
in here to work when I can, mostly because of the cushy leather
chairs and the smell of wood. His office is perfect—exactly what I
want for myself one day. I pull my knees up in one of the seats
near the window and fold my hands along the back, staring out at
the garden and busy highway beyond. My eyelids are heavy, and I let
myself shut them to indulge. I can feel the waves pulling me down,
like a heavy, wet blanket.

When my pocket vibrates, I startle. My arm is
still tucked under my chin, but it’s asleep from the weight of my
body. I actually have to twist myself to the side in the chair to
get my arms to work and get the blood pumping in them again. The
office is dark, only lit by the glow of a few streetlights outside.
It takes three or four good rubs of my eyes to get them to focus on
the clock, and I’m finally able to read the time: it’s just after
ten o’clock.

My body feels rested for the first time in
days. I stretch myself tall as I push my feet back into the ballet
slippers I wore into the office; they must have fallen off during
my nap. I close the door behind me and leave everything just as I
found it in Jeff’s office and walk back to my cube to turn out the
light.

The building is quiet, and the parking lot is
empty. My breath is thick with fog as I blow it out and look for
the button on my keys to open my door. I get in quickly and fire up
the heater, digging through my purse for my gloves to warm my hands
during the drive. I’m about to pull them on when I feel my phone
buzz in my pocket again.

I’m sure it’s Jessie; she’s probably texting
me during the party—drunk, no doubt. My screen is actually frosted
on my phone, and I wipe it dry using the fingers of one of my
gloves. When I see the trace of the phone call, the proof left
behind, I let it slide from my hands down through the crack of my
seat.