„No, I… my internal clock is screwed up. I’m usually more active at night while you sleep, and I rest during the day when your brain is busy…“ he waved his hand vaguely, „creating cash and accrual systems… and auditing for errors and posting to general ledgers.“
That’s why she didn’t dream last night… he’d been sleeping, too.
„What happens if you don’t rest?“
„We get psychotic.“
Unfortunately, that made sense to her, too.
„If it makes you feel any better, I missed my dreams last night,“ she said, her expression hopeful and cajoling.
A smile slowly curved his lips, and his eyes lit with reluctant fondness. He wagged his head a little, to appear not to be giving in too easily. „Well, maybe we can work something out. By nature, I’m considerably more flexible than you are. I can sleep anytime, anywhere. I’ll just use my time more wisely.“
„Like now? Because I’m going into my office to work for a while… until about noon.“
„What about shopping?“ He sat up straight. „We should get an early start. We need to work on your makeover plan. At least run down to the drugstore for some magazines. We don’t even have to get a GQ. Ralph Lauren will have ads in everything. All I need is some warmer pants… and those shoes are throwing my back out of alignment.“
„Maybe this afternoon, okay?“ She stood with her coffee cup in hand. „I really do have a lot to do. The next few weeks are going to be crazy until I incorporate Dad’s clients with my own.“ She sighed as the heavy ache of missing her father settled in her chest, once again. Her throat grew thick, her voice thin. „I should have done it months ago. I knew he wasn’t going to get any better. I knew he was getting weaker and weaker. I just kept hoping…“
She broke off when she saw tears welling in his eyes. It was her pain, her sorrow looking back at her, still fresh and tender and paralyzing if she gave into it.
„Anyway, I don’t have time right now to… start changing a lot of other things.“ She went into the kitchen for more coffee, calling, „I have a system. And once I get the clients that I’m keeping set up in my system, I’ll have more time for shopping and… and whatever. Plus, I’ll have to close out the companies I’m not keeping, which could take a while if they can’t find someone to take over right away. Dad would just die if I… he would expect me to stay with them until they found new accountants.“
She returned to find him with his elbow on the table, his fist in his cheek, looking utterly bored.
„And…“ he prompted.
„And what? That’s it. I’m too busy.“
„Have you ever noticed how easily that flows from your lips? I’mtoobusy. It’s like one word for you. It’s your favorite excuse.“
„Maybe because it’s true.“
„Ah-ha.“ He put on a long-suffering face and pushed himself to his feet. „Fine. Swell. No problem.“ He shuffled slowly over to the couch. „It’s been twenty-eight years, seven months, three days, ten hours and sixteen minutes. I guess we can put life off a little longer.“
„Oh, stop it.“ She watched him lie down and put his hands under his head, the large muscles in his arms straining the sleeves of the Grateful Dead T-shirt. A vision of those arms wrapping around her flashed through her mind and she quickly blacked it out. „I have a life.“
„Yeah, I know,“ he said to the ceiling, his tone jaded and dull. „It’s been one thrill right after another so far. I can hardly bear it.“
„You’re really obnoxious, you know that?“
„So sue me. You have your work, I have mine. You crunch numbers; I crunch the truth.“
„You want a blanket?“ She’d had enough truth for one day. The sooner he went back to sleep the better.
„No. I find warmth in your resentment.“
That tickled her memory. „Where have I heard that before?“
„You read it in a poem by Isbin Rudger, poet and philosopher, 1422 to 1458, while you were researching a paper for English 404. You used to like poetry.“
She read autobiographies and spy thrillers now. They were something her parents had liked, as well. They passed them around, discussed them like a mini book club. It was something else the three of them had in common, besides accounting.
„I’ll be in my office if you need anything.“
„Okay.“ He didn’t sound particularly interested.
Had she stopped reading poetry because she’d lost interest in it or because her parents had no interest in it at all? She couldn’t remember. But then, it probably wasn’t one of those things lost in a single, memorable moment; rather one that slipped away gradually and unnoticed from neglect.
„You can watch TV if you keep it low.“
„Great. Thanks.“ His tone told her he disliked daytime television as much as she did.
„Are you going to be mad at me all day?“
„Neither one of us can tell the future, Charlotte.“ He hesitated, then rolled over on his side to look at her. „If it makes you feel any better, try to remember who I am and that I’m more likely to reflect your emotions back to you then to generate my own.“
He rolled onto his back again and closed his eyes.
So, she was bored and annoyed with herself. There wasn’t anything new about that.
And yet, why would it seem so much more upsetting coming from someone else than from within? Was she so used to pleasing other people that pleasing herself had become so insignificant? Had she pushed her dreams aside so often that they didn’t matter any more? Had she given up on them?
She took one last look at the large male body stretched out on her couch, then left in search of her copy of Emily Dickinson.
As it happened, Emily still spoke to Charlotte’s soul and she’d missed that kinship. The revelation weighed heavily in her heart; her thoughts tied themselves in knots, with no clear answers.
She felt stifled in the large back bedroom, where two desks were positioned face to face; computers on the right at opposing angles; the walls lined with filing cabinets and bookshelves full of tax codes and books on marketing, finance and accounting.
It was her parent’s office for as far back as she could remember – their bookkeeping and accounting business. It specialized in small businesses, which constituted 85 percent of the twenty million businesses in America, and was incredibly lucrative. It was a good business, and now it was hers.
But when she graduated from college she had plans… plans to get an apartment and set up her own office. She wanted to travel and take up scuba diving. She had exciting and wonderful plans for her life.
Looking back, she could remember the devastating disappointment she felt a few weeks after her mother’s sudden death as she lowered herself into the chair across the desks from her father. It was logical, practical – and besides, he needed her. He was elderly. He’d be lonely. Who else would take care of him?
She stopped making plans, pictured herself living with her father until she was as gray as he was. She started dressing and acting like the old lady she felt herself becoming. Her perspective narrowed to one monotonous day at a time.
She couldn’t regret staying with him, especially now, but she could see that giving up on the rest of her life had been a huge mistake, and not one that was in any way his fault. She’d quit. She’d settled for dry meatloaf when juicy prime rib was just as easy to order and eat.
Finishing her entries much later than anticipated, and vowing to recheck them all a third time for errors the next day, Charlotte tiptoed into the living room.
She couldn’t believe her good luck to find Mel still sleeping, his big masculine body curled toward the back of the couch, the colorful T-shirt scrunched to show part of his strong back, the football pants looking just as they ought to…
She blew out a short, hard breath to curb the excitement curling low in her belly. He wasn’t real. Her disappointment had her sagging against the hall wall as she watched him sleep. Why was it so hard to remember that? Because she could see him, hear him, touch him, smell him… taste him maybe, if he’d let her? Because every sense she used to distinguish what was real and what wasn’t was… malfunctioning? All of them? All at once?