“I’m holding out hope she’ll find herself a good man who’ll want to slip it on her finger one day.” She eyed him intently.
Cowboy lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t give it to Rick.”
“No, I did not.”
There was a feistiness in her voice that told him how much she and Charlotte had in common. Grams wasn’t making any apologies for that decision, then or now.
He could imagine the young Harold giving this to his sweetheart Loretta, just as he could imagine himself giving it to Charlotte. But it wasn’t what she wanted, and might never be. His dream of marriage was costing him the woman he loved, and for the first time, he considered the possibility of doing things her way. “She doesn’t want to get married again.”
“She was badly hurt.” Grams tucked the ring back into its sleeve and into the shoebox. “But when the right man comes along, she’ll change her mind.”
If she only knew how much he wished that was true. He considered telling her the entire story, but the sound of someone traipsing down the stairs echoed through the house. Grams raised her eyebrows. “I wonder what treasures she’s found this time. Though there are some skeletons up there, too. Hopefully, she didn’t disturb those.”
9
“You have way too much stuff up there, Grams,” called Charlotte. “Do you even know what’s in half these boxes?” She walked into the kitchen, completely hidden by the large box in her arms.
“Of course I do, honey. Memories.” Grams helped her put down the box.
Charlotte’s eyes met Cowboy’s, images from the night before flashing in their depths before her expression went flat. “Hi,” she said, swaying before bracing herself on the counter.
“Hey. You need some help to bring stuff down?”
“Just a little lightheaded. I guess I could use some help.”
“Can you take Tom’s things up to the attic while you’re at it?” asked Grams. “There are a bunch of boxes in the room across from yours.”
“Sure thing,” said Cowboy. He followed Charlotte upstairs, and they stopped in the guest room to grab a few boxes. The attic was unfinished, with angled walls and dormers, and windows with dozens of individual panes. “Wow, it’s amazing up here.”
She pointed to the far wall, then crouched down next to the box she’d just put down. “We’re looking in these boxes.”
“Absolutely.” He squatted beside her, opening a box full of books. He sifted through them, eyeing their titles and checking for anything tucked inside. Charlotte’s box was full of clothes.
“Leo… about last night. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Goddamn it, he didn’t want to talk about this if this was the way it would go, didn’t want to hear her rationalizations or all the reasons they could never fuck again. He heard himself ask, “Why not?”
“You know why not. It confuses things that need to be clear. We want different things.”
“No, we want the same things, but I went and screwed it all up. I love you, Charlotte.” She looked away, and he grabbed her hand. “Stay with me. Stay with me, and I’ll never ask you to marry me again. But don’t apologize for making love to me. Don’t tell me it was a mistake. The only mistake was me asking you to do what I wanted. I wasn’t listening to you, and I’m sorry.”
She pulled her hand away. “Don’t you get it? I want you to have the family of your dreams, a wife and kids. I don’t want you to give up your dreams for me.”
“We don’t have to be married to have those things.”
Her head dropped to her chest, then came up again. “I don’t even know if I want kids.”
He furrowed his brow. “Of course you do. We’ve talked about this.”
“No,you’vetalked about it.I’venever been sure.” She closed the box back up and moved to a smaller one.
He needed to regain his footing after that statement. It was one thing to date forever without saying I do. It wasanother thing entirely to forgo having a family. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
She shrugged, not looking at him. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was confused.”
“Confused.” He opened another book, staring unfocused at its pages. The whole time they’d been together, he was sure she was as happy as he was. He never doubted it. Now he doubted it all.
He put the book back and picked up another, a paper falling out of its pages. He forced himself to focus on it. It was a receipt from a gun shop, with a handwritten note in an unfamiliar language that didn’t use the English alphabet. He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture, sending it to Moto and asking for a translation.
