Afterthoughts: A Charity McAdams Novella (The Charity McAdams Novellas) (5 page)

He looks better than ever before, better than the pictures in t
he tabloids and movie trailers. He is 6’3 with
tanned skin (like a real tan, not Hollywood orange glow
from a bottle
), deep green eyes, perfect w
hite teeth, and thick dark hair that falls slightly into his face
.
He’s always been attractive to me, but this is like on anothe
r level. I can tell he is trying
to make himself
look
a little
more
anonymous with h
is grungy looking baseball cap
pulled down low to partially hide his face. He is wearing a non-descript hoodie and jeans. Nothing that would draw attention to himself but he is stunning nonetheless.

“What are you doing here?” I hear myself saying, although it was more of a thought that became vocalized without my consent.

“Nice to see you too,” he quips.

Oh he’
s going to get sassy now, is he? Well two can play at that game. I open my mouth to fire of
f some sort of sarcastic reply
(
that I have yet to think of
),
but he holds up a hand to stop me before I get the chance.

“I’m sorry
,
Charity, I realize I probably should have called to give you a heads up that I’d be in town.”

Called?
Since when does he call
?!

“Well
,
I guess now I know. Thanks for this,” I say, holding up my purse. I turn on my heel and stalk off in the other direction. I am getting out of here,
groomsman or no
groomsman
,
it’
s time for me to go. I pick up my sign from the ground by the luggage carousel and tuck it under my arm.

Another group of passengers are filling up the room and I have to push my way through the crowd to get to the exit. My head is still spinning but I figure I will sort it out on the long drive home
,
now that I will be alone.
It’s going to take a lot more than a gift certificate for a
mani-pedi
to make up for this nightmare!

I almost make it to the door before I feel a hand on my shoulder. I spin around. “Just leave me alone, Brandon!”

The hand belongs to a man I have never seen before. He looks to be in his late twenties and he looks real
ly
nervous.

“I’m sorry, M
iss, I saw the sign. I’m Peter.” He lowers his hand to offer me a handshake.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I uh- thought you were someone else.” I take his hand. “I’m Charity. I’m Debbie McAdams’ daughter. She is helping coordinate the wedding.”

He nods.
“Nice to meet you.
I really appreciate you coming to give me a lift. I told Joe I’d just get a cab but they insisted on having someone come get me.”

I fight the urge to laugh. Not the “ha-ha” k
ind of laugh, more
of
the “
padded room and straightjacket” variety
.

“It’s no trouble. Did you get
all your
luggage?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m all set.”

I turn and start to lead the way
back towards the doors but stop short when I see Brandon. He is standing
to the left of the doors with his suitcase. His arms are crossed and he looks like he is waiting for someone.

“Charity, can we talk?” He asks when I take another step forward.

“Talk?
About what?”
I let out a hollow laugh
at the idea of us sharing a cab, let alone a conversation.

“I don’t know
,
it’s been a long time. Don’t you think it’s a sign that we are both here at the exact same time?”

“No, Brandon, I don’t. I’m not sure what Hollywood, new age-
ey
crap you’re into these days but I don’t believe in signs.” I try to take a step forward but he moves to block the doors.

“Please, Cherry, hear me out,” he pleads.

My heart flutters at the use of my old nickname. He was the only one who ever called me Cherry. I brace myself and try to fight the emotional swirl in my stomach.

“I can’t. I have a long drive back to town and I would like to get home
sometime
before midnight.”

“Is there a problem here?” A voice chimes in from somewhere over my left shoulder.

I glance back and see that Peter has taken a step closer to me.

“Who’
s this?”
Br
andon demands, looking like he’
s just now seeing that I am not alone.

“My name is
Peter
McNamara,
Charity is
giving me a ride to town.”

Brandon looks to me, as if to
confirm
the explanation
.

“Hillary
Weath
erby
is getting married and Peter
is one of the groomsman. We have
a long drive ahead of us
. If you
really
wanted to talk to me you could have called or emailed or messaged me at any point over the past three years
,
so excuse me if I don’t have time to do this right here, right now simply because it
’
s convenient for yo
u or you find it spooky,” I say
, putting air quotes around the word spooky.

He rolls his eyes.
“Cherry
,
please?
Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what?! Seriously Brandon what do you expec
t me to do? You want me to let
you into my car and pretend to be your best friend, sing along with some songs on the radio, and just forget who you are and what you did to me?
To us?”
Towards the end
of
my
monologue I hear my voice
getting a little hysterical and people are, once again, beginning to stare at me.

Brandon takes a step closer and grabs a hold of
my shoulders, sending a jolt of electricity through my body.
His hands are warm and firm in their grip and his green eyes are wide and alarmingly serious looking.

“I am not asking you to for
get
Charity,
I just want to talk to you. I’ve missed you.
”

I am mesmerized for a moment by his soothing tone and soft gaze. But a flashback of me
sitting in my room crying over an unworn wedding gown
is all it takes to snap
myself
back to reality.

“You are out of your mind,” I say as I pull myself from his grip. I hoist my purse up higher on my shoulder and push past him and out the doors.

***

To his credit, Peter
catches up to my frantic pace, his
rolley
suitcase and all. “Is everything ok? Who was that guy?”

I shake my head, there’
s a lump in my throat and I feel tears building up behind my lashes. “It-uh-it’s not important. I’m fine. Let’s just go.”

He doesn’t say anything further and follows a few steps behind me.

We
wait at the curb until it’
s safe to cross. There are men in orange reflector jackets out directing traffic and people. I am surprised how busy it seems this time of night, on a Saturday no less.

Brandon catches up to
us a few moments later. “Cherry! Wait up! Please, hear me out. L
et this guy take my town car. I have a driver who will take him wherever he wants to go.”

“Listen, man, I think she’s made it pretty clear she isn’t interested. I think you should maybe back off,” Peter says, he steps between Brandon and me with a hand raised to keep a distance.

I fee
l like I’
m in shock and nothing is making sense anymore.

“Charity,
I’m in town for the next week
, if you agree to let me ride with you back to town I p
romise I will leave you alone, f
orever, if that’s what you want.”

Brandon
has never been p
articularly fond of the word
“
no
” and
it seems that his new life as a high profile celebrity has only made t
hat worse. When he sets his sights on something he’
s not going to stop until he gets it. I can’t say it is one of his more attractive qualities, but it is what it is.

“One night and then you leave me alone?” I repeat.

“I swear,” he agrees.

“Fine, let’s go.”

It takes a few mi
nutes to convince Peter that I’
m fine and
that Brandon is not some sort of crazy axe murderer. I wait until he
get
s
situated in the town car that had originally been sent for Brandon.
He gives
me his cell ph
one number just in case I need anything. It i
s a
very sweet gesture but I assure
him
that everything will
be ok.

I think…

Brandon follows
me to my car
,
silent for the first time all night.

Once buckled in the car,
I glance at the clock, 8:45, maybe by 11:00 I will be home in bed, where I clearly s
hould have stayed this morning.

“Alright, you have my attention, start talking,” I prompt as I merge onto the freeway.

Not even in my weirdest dreams would I have imagined something like t
his happening, but now that it’
s in front of me I have to admit I am curious
to see what he has to say. It’
s been three years and considering everything that has happened it might as well have been a lifetime since I saw him last. I can
still r
emember the day though, that final
conversation.

“I know you must hate me Cherry. And I don’t blame you for that. I also
know that simply saying that I’m sorry would n
ot even
begin to cover what I did
to you.”

“I don’t hate you Brandon. I tried to hate you, believe
me. I just never could.” I don’
t meet his eyes when I say this, although I can feel his gaze on me.
I
feel tears brewing
too close to the surface and
I absolutely refuse
to breakdown in front of him.

“Well you should. I replay the whole thing in my head all the time and even I hate me for it.”

“Then why did you do it?” My voice is more frantic now and I take a
deep breath to steady myself. “Just tell me why.”

“Truthfully?
”
He begins.
“
I was scared. I mean, we were so young and I guess I
sorta
felt trapped.”

“Trapped?!” My head snaps to face him.
“What is that supposed to mean? No one was holding a gun to your head when you proposed!”

Amazing how so many year
s can go by and you think you’
ve healed and moved on but the emotions can all be brought right back to the surface in an instant, and you feel like everything just happened yesterday.

“Not by you, I loved you, always did. I just meant that being married so young would entail a certain lifestyle. I couldn’t just pick up and move for an acting job. I’d have to give up that dream and I didn’
t want to end up twenty years into a marriage and having regrets that I never tried
, always wondering “what if?”
I cared
too
much to put that on you. I needed to go out and see what would happen and if I ended up crashing and burning it would be on me, my family wouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes.”

“But I never asked you to give up your dreams,”
I say, trying not to sound
defensive.

A few months after the engagement ended I knew he had moved to California and w
as pursuing acting and
a year later he had a breakout movie role and had been a Hollywood fixture ever since.

“
Not directly.”

“What are you talking about? I never said I wanted you to stop acting or to give it up and just work some job you hated for the rest of your life for my sake. I loved you. I wanted you to be happy.”

“What about a
ll the stuff you wrote in your journal
?
That didn’t exactly seem supportive.”