Rewired (The Progress Series) (24 page)

In her haste to find him, she missed it. In the corner of the floor was the chessboard that had been nestled inside the coffee table. All of the original pieces were now back in their places, but the only missing piece was the queen.

She walked back out to the living room, passing the bathroom. She turned and tore the men’s bathroom sign from the door and rolled her eyes, wiping one last fallen tear.

Her arms began to prickle and her heart raced. She shot her head toward the front door with the only thought in her head now escaping through her lips.

“Sam.”

She ran through the apartment and didn’t bother locking it on her way to find him.

The End

I got out of the shower and brushed the steam from the mirror. I quickly dried myself and got busy brushing my teeth and combing my hair.

I could already hear the whispers from the living room and I smiled. As Ren was counting to twenty, I could hear my dear husband whistling along with
Sesame Street
. Whistling. As if
Sesame Street
made him so content to whistle over it. Then the baby cried as she woke from her nap, and I knew my two-hour break from the day was over as I rushed into the nursery to greet her.

I brought Scarlett out to the living room and joined my family in a dance with Elmo.

*

“Good morning, baby.” He rolled over and kissed my forehead.

“Mmmm. Good morning.” I smiled, stretching. “Are the kids awake yet?”

“No, they’re still sleeping,” he murmured, trailing kisses from my ear to my neck.

I giggled. “Did you lock the door?”

“Hmmmhmm.”

“What time is it?”

“Stop asking me questions. Shut up and enjoy.”

I laughed and threw my hands into his hair, lightly scraping his scalp. “You have to work and Ren needs to go to school.”

He rolled over and exaggerated a sigh, resting his hand on his chest.

“I had a dream last night,” I said. It was the strangest dream I’ve had in a long time, but I can’t ignore it because I’m feeling a strange pull to it. I haven’t thought about
him
in years.

“Oh yeah? A good one?”

“A strange one.”

His curiosity piqued, he turned onto his side and propped up his head with his hand. “Continue.”

“I wrote a book.”

“A book? About what?”

I exhaled. “Yesterday I was listening to you whistle over
Sesame Street
, and it occurred to me how lucky I am.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I was watching Ren play with his fire truck and Scarlett was giggling with Elmo. And I felt so grateful. It was almost overwhelming.”

“Okay. So, what’s the book about?”

“I just started thinking about where all of this started. When
I
began.” I turned to face him. “And I started thinking about him.”

“Oh.” His eyes shot open. “Oh!
Him.
God, that’s been like,” he counted each finger, “eight years, Char.”

“Well, that’s what the book was about.” I shrugged.

“Are you thinking about doing it?”

“What?”

“Writing the book.”

I bit
at the inside of my cheek. “It would be quite the challenge,” I said, tugging at my lip.

He laughed. “I’ve heard that before!” He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.

“You’d be okay with that?” I asked, nervously.

He shrugged. “Well, I think you’d have to contact him and let him know. There’s probably some sort of privacy law or something.”

“Well, I could always label it as fiction and he would never know.” My eyebrows rose and I smiled skittishly.

Laughing, he wrapped his arms around me. “Now, now. That wouldn’t be a very noble thing to do.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I wouldn’t know where to find him even if I wanted.”

Interrupting our conversation, Ren walked through the door. “Mama? I gotta potty!” he shouted, carrying his red plastic Lightning McQueen.

I laughed, realizing the door wasn’t locked after all. “Oh, sure honey.” I jumped out of bed and walked toward my beautiful son.

With his arms folded behind his head and his legs crossed and stretched out on the bed, Sam said, “Liar. I’m
pretty sure
you can find him. You always cared too much.”

With shock, I nodded as Ren took my hand and dragged me to the bathroom.

*

Later that afternoon, I sat down at the computer and opened my email. I typed the letters J-E-S, and an email address popped up for Anders, Jesse. He hadn’t been on social media for years, but before he’d had time to deactivate his Facebook account, I had entered his email address into my Outlook. I’m no dummy, I know how shifty he can be. I’ve always tried to keep tabs on him, grimly checking the local obituaries once or twice a year.

To: Anders, Jesse

From: Bordeaux, Charlene

July 18,
2:07pm

Hi. It’s me. Is this still your email address?

I tugged at my bottom lip, unsure of whether or not I wanted to embark on any more adventures involving Jesse.
But I’m grateful. And happy.
Overwhelmed at the amount of joy in my life, I’ve been reflective and couldn’t think of anything more that I wanted to do than to tell my story.
Our story.

Without much more hesitation, I hit Send. Waves of remorse, guilt, pleasure, and excitement ran their course over my skin at once. I burned, and I’m sure I flushed. But I walked away from the computer and tried not to think about whether or not he’d respond.

But of course, he would.

After mopping the kitchen floor and starting a load of laundry, I stared at my laptop from across the room. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I walked slowly over to the desk and sat down. With a quick swipe of the mouse, the screen saver flicked off and my email came into vision. One new message.

I inhaled sharply and double clicked on the envelope.

To: Bordeaux, Charlene

From: Anders, Jesse

July 18, 2:32pm

Yezzz…this is still my email. What’s the question?

Oh, okay. So I guess I hadn’t thought about how I’d phrase this. ‘Oh, hey Jess. Thanks for getting back to me so quick. I was thinking about writing a story about us, you know, all the shit we went through a decade ago? You cool with me spilling all your secrets?’

This is so wrong.

I think I’m going to puke.

I stared at the screen for a few minutes contemplating.
There are so many lessons that other people could take from our story. So many things I want to show them. And if he never wants to speak to me again, I guess it’s no worse than where we are now.

To: Anders, Jesse

From: Bordeaux, Charlene

July 18, 3:02pm

Well, I’ll be damned! Jesse Anders. How the hell ya been? Do you still live around here? Why did you delete your Facebook account?

Okay, so I suppose that’s three questions. So I have one more…

I was thinking about writing a book. It would be based on our friendship, and all the stuff that happened back then. I really don’t expect it to be successful, the market is crowded and I don’t really consider myself a writer. I, of course, would change our names and would market it as fiction, so no one would really know that we exist in real life. But I thought I’d ask you if you were okay with it.

Oh, god. I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells with this guy. Should I just hit Send?
My eyes hovered over the Send button for a few moments.
I guess if he’s going to yell at me, I can be thankful that it’s in the form of a letter. I can always just delete it.

Fuck it.
I hit the Send button just as Ren and Scarlett woke from their afternoon naps.

It wasn’t until after the kids went to bed that I was able to check my email again. Afraid, I hesitantly opened my one new message.

To: Bordeaux, Charlene

From: Anders, Jesse

July 18,
3:12pm

Don’t you think we should get together to talk about something like this?

Yikes.

Without responding, I turned off my computer for the night and joined Sam on the couch.

“How was your day?” I asked, resting my head on his lap.

“Busy,” he replied, turning off the TV with the remote and rubbing his hand through my hair. “How was yours?”

“Good. Ren brought home a sand art thingy from school, of which he was very proud. We hung it on the fridge together. Scarlett is drooling like crazy, so I think those last two teeth on the top are pushing through.”

“And, what about Jesse and the book?” he asked, still combing his fingers through my hair.

I shrugged, trying to push away the sinking feeling. “I don’t think I’m going to do it.”

“Write the book? Why not?”

I let the air out of my lungs. “I emailed him today. He wants to get together to talk about it.” I shook my head. “I don’t think its fair of me to put
you
in that kind of a position. Plus, I don’t even know if
I
want to see him.”

Sam nodded and looked down in thought. “Well, there are a lot of old wounds you’d be opening up if you started this. But don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” He grinned. “I got the girl in the end, remember?”

I laughed. “Yes, you did.” I sat up and kissed Sam, draping my arms over his shoulders. “I still don’t think I want to see him, though.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“Honestly?” I laughed.

“Yeah.”

“It’s been eight years. I’ve had two kids and eaten about four hundred mini donuts since I last saw him. I know it sounds silly and a little childish, but the extra weight I’m carrying doesn’t make me feel too great. Almost like I have something to prove, that I went on to be successful and I don’t struggle with anything anymore.”

“Oh, come on. Charlie, you’re almost six feet tall. You’ve gained, what? Thirty pounds in the last decade? Thirty pounds might be a lot for someone who’s five-foot three, but not at your height. You’ve had children! You’re thirty-three years old, and, if I can brag about my wife for a second…you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

I flashed a shy smile. “I know, babe. I’ve never felt ugly with you. That’s why I’m not a whiny, insecure, nagging wife…” I giggled. “Well, most of the time.” I winked. “But there will always be something about Jess that makes me doubt myself. That’s why I think keeping everything in the past is the best thing to do.”

Sam scratched his head. “Look, I’m not trying to talk you into doing anything. But don’t let silly things like a little bit of weight gain or being afraid of what your husband might think stop you. You’ve never done anything like this before. You’ve been a stay-at-home mom for the past three years and haven’t done anything for yourself. If you truly feel compelled to tell the story, I say do it.” He shrugged. “I may have been insecure with your relationship with him back then, but after I found out the whys, I understood. You were friends. You needed each other. And besides, Charlie, I
trust
you.”

I nodded, and after a long silence Sam asked, “What do you think you’d call it?”

“Huh?”

“The book? What would the title be?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

He kissed my forehead. “Well, whatever you decide to do, I’ll support your decision. You’ve proven yourself to be faithful over the past seven years.”

I nodded. “Thanks, baby.”
God, he’s the best, isn’t he?

Falling asleep that night proved to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. The entire day had stirred emotion in me that I hadn’t felt for years. The excitement, the frustration, and the paralyzing journey we all took together.

Why is this so important to me? Why do I feel this pull to write about it all? Besides telling people about how I gained my self-esteem? Or that even though people act erratically, we shouldn’t judge them? Or how about the fight that people go through as victims and how we overcome it all? God, there’s just so much there. There’s so much to tell. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

I got out of bed and sat at the desk in the living room. Opening my laptop, I pulled up a new Word document and began typing.

Charlie was three weeks into her new job and loved it. It was simple and every time she sought out something to do, she was praised for it. Evidently all the hostesses in the past just stood there and fiddled with their lipstick and manicures.