Pictures of You (26 page)

“Hey!” She tried to gently pull back and Nelson’s jaws tightened. His nails scraped against her shirt.

“Are you all right? Why won’t he let go?” Charlie stood up and touched the tortoise.

“It’s the red—he thinks it’s food,” she said helplessly. She tickled the tortoise’s leg, which he drew into his shell, but his jaw stayed clamped shut. She supported Nelson with her hands, keeping him away from her body, holding him like a soup bowl. She looked so uncomfortable, Charlie began to be worried.

“Can he hurt you?”

“He once bit a pencil in two.”

Gingerly, he tried to help. He stretched out Nelson’s leg, but all that happened was the tortoise hissed through his nose and opened his eyes wider, glaring at Charlie.

“Wait, I know what to do,” Isabelle said. She stood up. “You have to help me. Can you run water in the bathtub?”

He stood there. “Charlie, please,” she said. “This isn’t good.”

He followed her into the bathroom. “Can you fill the tub for me?” She waited while he turned on the water. “Make it warm,” she said, and when the tub was half full, she turned to Charlie. “Help me again,” she said. “Can you slide my shirt off?”

“What?”

“Just please help me,” she said, getting more agitated. “I’ll hold Nelson away from me so he won’t bite, if you can just get my shirt off.”

She held the tortoise as far away as she could, tenting out her shirt. Charlie’s mouth went dry. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to be here, but he held the edges of Isabelle’s shirt and slowly lifted them up, over her shoulders, over her head, until she was bare except for a stretchy black bra.

Charlie swallowed. He took in her pale, creamy skin, but she wasn’t looking at him. She carefully lowered the shirt and Nelson into the tub, finally shimmying her arms out of the sleeves, dunking his head under the water, and the tortoise’s mouth shot open and then he was swimming, his eyes open. Isabelle lunged as he gracefully paddled, grabbing the shirt out of the water, dripping it into the sink, then she turned to Charlie, and laughed. The water was draining out of the tub, so that Nelson was now walking in damp puddles, snapping at shadows on the porcelain.

Isabelle stepped back, leaning against the sink, and her braid brushed along Charlie’s arms. She smelled like pine and lemon. “Charlie?” she said, and he felt caught in a dream. He swore he heard the whisper of the ocean. April was nowhere around. There was just him and Isabelle. She wasn’t moving and then he took two steps toward her and without thinking, kissed her mouth. She hesitated, and then kissed him back.

• • •

I
SABELLE WOKE, SQUINTING
at the light coming in through the blinds. She was tangled in the sheets, and beside her, Charlie slept, his beautiful face calm and still.

She didn’t dare believe this had all really happened. That she and Charlie had lowered themselves to the bathroom floor and then somehow had made it from there to her bed. That he had taken off her clothes so gently it had felt as if he were unwrapping her. He had touched her stomach and kissed her thighs, all the while looking at her as if he were drinking her in, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. The whole time they were making love, she had kept placing her hand on his lips, not so that he would kiss her fingers—which he did—but so he wouldn’t speak, so she wouldn’t have to hear him say, “This is a mistake.”

Charlie’s arm was still around her, the heat of his body making her warmer. She tried to ease herself up from bed to look at the clock, mindful not to disturb Charlie. One in the afternoon. Nelson was still in the bathtub and she was here in bed with Charlie and both facts seemed somehow equally strange and miraculous. But she needed to get up. She needed to pee and dress, feed Nelson and put him back in his tank, and get to Beautiful Baby. She tried to move, but then Charlie’s eyes fluttered open and he saw her and she couldn’t help it, she flinched. For a moment, she was afraid to move.

“Hey,” he said, and then he gave her a smile. “I can’t believe this.”

The tone seemed friendly, but a voice was hissing in her head, like a danger signal.

He stroked back her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“Who would have thought,” Isabelle said lamely.

They both got out of bed and started pulling on clothes. Isabelle had been unselfconsciously naked in bed, but now she felt shy and dressed as quickly as she could. Charlie stood there, watching her.

“Are you really all right about this?” Isabelle asked quietly.

He looked at her, surprised. “Aren’t you?”

“I am, but … we don’t really know each other.”

“We know the same things.”

Isabelle nodded, turning slightly away so he wouldn’t see how relieved she was.

Charlie’s cell phone rang, startling them both so that Isabelle felt her heart jump, and when he reached for the phone, she saw that his hands were trembling.

“Work,” he said reluctantly. “I have to go.”

“Oh,” Isabelle said. The day stretched out tight in front of her like a rubber band about to snap. “Can I see you again?” she blurted, and was instantly mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said, waving her hand, but he caught it in midair.

“God, of course,” he said, “I want to see you again,” and Isabelle swallowed.

When he got to the door, he stopped, as if he had forgotten something. He started to open his mouth as if he were about to speak, and she was desperate to kiss him, but then he opened the door and was gone.

F
OR A WHILE
after Charlie left, she just stood at the door. Any moment he might come back to see her again, or to tell her, “I changed my mind. This is a bad idea.” She couldn’t believe this had happened, that she had slept with Charlie.

It was crazy what she was feeling, these jolts of need like she was on fire. What have I done? she thought. What happens now?

She went to the bathroom, flooding the sink with cold water, dunking her face in, and when she straightened, she saw Nelson in the mirror, high-stepping daintily along the bottom of the tub.

C
HARLIE COULDN’T CONCENTRATE
on studding the wall or tiling the Robinsons’ kitchen. All he could think about was Isabelle. The deep green of her eyes. And her hair. He’d never seen hair so black. It smelled like mint tea. He thought of how silky
her skin had been, how she had arched her back up to meet him, and then he felt a bolt of pain and swore. Shit. He’d whacked his thumb with the hammer, something he hadn’t done since the first year he took up construction. He rubbed at his thumb, massaging the ache, telling himself he had to concentrate.

Shortly after April’s death, Rae Hanks, one of his neighbors, had told Charlie that April would be watching over him, that she’d send someone to take her place, to take care of him and Sam. “She won’t let you stay unhappy,” Rae had told him. Charlie had thought it was a bunch of hooey. The dead didn’t watch over the living. There were no ghosts. And in any case, he knew better than anyone that while April might have been loving, she was also jealous as hell. She watched him when they were at the beach to see if he was looking at anyone in a bikini. At parties, if he joked with women he knew, she would come and glue herself to his side. “Do you love me?” she kept asking him, over and over. “Do you love me?” And of course he did, Jesus, any person could see that. But April was April. She’d no more send him anyone else to love than she would have bayed at the moon.

How could he dare to trust another woman with his son—or with himself? He had been happy with April. He had thought he made her happy, too, but she had left him. Isabelle seemed wonderful, but everybody seemed wonderful in the beginning, didn’t they? How could he be sure? How could he be sure she wouldn’t harm him and Sam the way April had?

But it was more than that. It was the whole notion of being happy like this, of daring to think it might be real. He thought of this friend he’d had, a woman named Viva, whose fiancé, Bobby, had died the day of their wedding. She grieved so terribly that she didn’t eat or sleep, but three months after the funeral, she was living with another guy, a jerk who yelled at her in public, who told her at dinner that she was too fat. Viva never stopped smiling. Her eyes stayed as bright as mica, right up until she finally broke it off two years later, and then she fell apart again. “This was what I was
afraid of,” she told Charlie, sobbing into a bloom of tissues. “He kept me busy so I didn’t have time to think. He kept the grief at bay, and now here it is, back again.”

Well, who could blame her for staying one step ahead of her grief? But was Charlie just grabbing at happiness, not caring if it was real or how long it might last? And did Isabelle really care about him and Sam, or did she just want forgiveness?

He dug into his pocket for his cell phone and called information, his heart galloping in his chest. He had said the wrong words to April. He’d have to be more careful to say the right ones to Isabelle. He’d take everything very slow so neither one of them would be harmed. “Do you have a number for Isabelle Stein?” he asked.

I
SABELLE HAD NEVER
dated anyone but Luke, and back then she had been sixteen and you could have told her it was common for couples to make love while jet skiing and she would have believed it. But now, she didn’t know what to expect. They had only slept together once, but was this the start of something or was it a fluke she’d do best to forget? She didn’t know what to call what they had. Were they dating now? She called her friend Michelle and blurted out what happened. “How do I do this?” she said.

“Well, what do you want?” Michelle said quietly. In the background, Isabelle could hear Michelle’s daughter, Andi, happily babbling. She heard Michelle’s husband, Barry, laughing, a big, goofy guy who had proposed to Michelle on their second date.

“I want to see Charlie,” Isabelle admitted.

There was a pause. “I can fix you up with someone, if you want. A nice guy, too. Works in accounting. Smart, kind, no baggage,” Michelle said.

“No. I want to see Charlie.” Isabelle sighed.

“Well, just take it slow and don’t count on anything,” Michelle advised.

“Why not?” Isabelle blurted. “You did. You got engaged on your second date.”

Michelle sighed. “That was so different,” she said.

“How?” Isabelle bit down on her lip. “I’m moving on, exploring options. Isn’t that what I should be doing? I even applied to photography school in New York.”

“You did? Well, that’s really great, but look, I care about you. Right now, I don’t want you to get hurt. And honestly, this is insane. Just promise me that you’ll go slow.”

“I promise,” Isabelle lied.

She hung up the phone, feeling prickly and irritated with Michelle. How could she not count on something when she was already feverish about seeing him again? How could she not want to grab her jacket and go over there? And how could she not feel guilty about all of it? The phone rang and she plucked it up.

“Hi, remember me?” Charlie said, and she laughed out loud.

B
Y THE TIME
it was March, Sam was certain Isabelle would let him talk to his mother. At first he had thought that Isabelle would make this happen much sooner, but then the angel books he was reading kept talking about how everything was “in God’s time,” which they said was very different than the time on a wristwatch.

Meanwhile, he was learning more and more about angels. They had their own language, and it wasn’t always in words. An angel could point you to a special number, like eight, which was his mom’s favorite, to let you know she was around. Or they could make a song come on the radio that told you what to expect, like “Good Day Sunshine,” which came on one day when Sam was at Isabelle’s and he had just about died with excitement. “Oh, you like this song, too?” Isabelle said, as if she didn’t really know what was going on. Lately, Sam caught Isabelle looking just beyond him, as if she were seeing something, and he whipped around, and for a moment, he was sure he saw a flash of yellow hair like his mother’s. He was almost certain he could hear his mom, whispering to him. Sometimes, too, Isabelle would stare at him, her mouth opening, as if she had something to tell him, and when she closed it again, he told himself it just wasn’t the right time. He bet she was trying to teach him to be patient, and he would be. He could wait forever
as long as he could talk to his mother again, as long as he could maybe even see her, just one more time.

He didn’t care that people might say it was impossible. Lots of things were impossible. At school, Mr. Moto, his science teacher, told them how light could be both a wave and a particle, which was supposed to be impossible. You could go to a distant planet and somehow come back younger than you were when you left because the laws of time went all screwy.

Sam knew what his mom cared about. He did his school work. He brushed his teeth twenty times on each side the way she’d told him too. He combed his hair and he took lots of pictures of himself so maybe Isabelle could show his mom and she would know what she missed.

One day, Isabelle even talked his dad into building him a darkroom in the spare bathroom, with its own little red safety light, though Charlie, worried that the chemicals might cause his asthma to flare, insisted on calling Sam’s doctor for an okay first. “I can teach him,” Isabelle said. “Plus, he’ll be at home.”

The first time she took him into the darkroom, he was so jazzed he could hardly stand it. Here he was alone in this small room, with just him and Isabelle! He loved the way she let him touch everything, the way she put her hand on his back to guide him over to the corner of the room. He wanted to touch her back, to see if he could feel her wings, but he wasn’t sure he was supposed to, so instead he gave her what his mom used to say were love taps: feathery touches on her arms, her hands. “Are you tickling me?” Isabelle said, putting her hands on her hips, but she was laughing when she said it.

But then she turned out the light and suddenly it was so dark. Darker than his room at night. Darker than when he swam underwater with his eyes shut. He was disoriented and couldn’t figure out where the door was. He stretched out his hand for Isabelle, and he touched air. For a moment, he heard the beating of wings, roaring in his ears. “Isabelle!” he shouted, and then he felt her touch
him. But he couldn’t calm down until she finally opened the door and took him outside, the two of them shading their eyes against the sudden light.