Page 39 of Second Chances

“Tell him I appreciate everything he did tonight.” Javier saluted him and walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen. After placing three fifty-dollar bills on the table as a tip for the staff, Henry picked up Charlotte’s coat, holding it open for her. Through the wool, his hands pressed into her shoulders ever so briefly; in response, her head tilted back and rested on his chest. Charlotte slipped her hand into his, shivering when his thumb tickled her palm. “I’m ready,” she told him.

The snow continued to fall, and pillowy mounds of it lined the sidewalk to the car. Henry should be freezing, but Charlotte had invaded every one of his senses, making him burn from within, especially now, with her knee rubbing his as she huddled closer to the heat beginning to emanate from the vent. Waiting for the car to warm up and the windows to defog, he said, “I know I touched on this at dinner, but I regret letting so much time pass before tonight happened. It’s just…it’s not easy, is it? Dating at our age, learning how to trust…opening ourselves up.”

“I know what you mean. After my divorce, I vowed to live my life differently. Independently. I sacrificed so much of myself when I was married. Seeing you…meeting you…I hadn’t planned on that, and I surprised myself by asking you out.” She forced herself to add, “I hope you don’t feel like I manipulated you into tonight.”

“Never!” Facing her, he said, “Believe me, I’ve had plenty of experiences being manipulated.” With the windshield finally free from ice, he pulled away from the curb. Melanie had been a master, excelling in the art of twisting his mind into knots. Then, of course, there was DD. People, especially his siblings, had questioned his judgment when he had agreed to help her, but how could he have turned her down? They were going to be family when Josh and Effie married. “Full disclosure: I’m not the saint half this town thinks I am. I’ve made some regrettable decisions in my life and wish I’d done many things differently.”

“I think we all have. I know I did. I wasn’t happy in my marriage, but I just told myself to grin and bear it, that other people…other couples…have it worse. In the end, staying together probably made Isobel’s life easier, but keeping my discontent from Brady wasn’t fair to him, and it kept him from finding love, maybe having a chance at more kids, just so I didn’t have to disrupt my life.”

“How did things end?”

“He met someone else. Told me he thought he was in love. We separated, and then he asked for a divorce.”

Henry shook his head. “I still question his sanity about that.” Charlotte smiled, but he hadn’t meant it as a joke. “At least he talked to you, though. I woke up one day and Melanie was gone.”

“So your wife just…left?” Of course, she’d heard about this from Ruth, but it hit harder coming from Henry.

Henry sighed. “Out of the blue, and without a word to me or Josh.”

He was silent, and Charlotte worried this was too difficult for him. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain.”

“No, I want to.” He rarely talked about what happened or how he’d felt back then…and still now, he guessed. Maybe occasionally with Juan or George, sometimes his sister, but he preferred to leave it in the past. Something told him, though, that if he wanted anything significant with Charlotte, she needed to understand this part of his past. Telling her his past while he was driving spared him having to see her reaction. “After she…after she left…it was difficult. We still lived in Clover Lake, which is tiny compared to Beverley. Everybody knew us…knew the issues we had. The constant checking in from everyone, the looks of pity. It was too much for me, but especially for Josh. He was only twelve. After a couple of years, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I decided that moving to Beverley would be a fresh start. Far enough away from my past that we could start fresh, but close enough still to my family. When I was looking at homes here, I told the realtor—not Carla, by the way—that my wife was gone. Well, she assumed that gone meant…that I was a widower. And I never corrected her. By the time we moved here, it seemed she had told everyone she knew about the ‘nice widower with the teenage son’. Juan knew the truth because we’ve known each other since we worked together one summer at the Grand Canyon. Coincidentally, that’s also where I met Josh’s mom.” He pulled into her driveway and parked the car, forcing himself to look at her to gauge her expression. No disgust at his bombshell, simply her openly beautiful face. “Anyway, I just didn’t want to explain myself, so I let people believe the lie. Only recently has anyone outside my family learned the truth. If this changes things, I understand.”

With Henry’s pain still palpable, Charlotte considered how sharp it must have been back then, when it was raw and fresh. His revelation certainly didn’t lower her opinion of his character, and considering she had picked up her entire life to move to a new state upon her divorce, she was the last person to judge anyone else’s actions when their marriage ended. What she couldn’t understand was a parent leaving their child. Part of her couldn’t help but be curious about Melanie. What was her side of the story? She couldn’t be all bad, since Henry had loved her. “And you never heard from her?”

Should he confess that his ex did occasionally reach out with unwelcome calls and texts? “Actually,” he started, then hesitated. With no plans to ever see Melanie again, wouldn’t that make things more difficult between himself and Charlotte? Best to just leave her in the past, where she belonged, like he’d finally done with DD. “She was never the most reliable person,” he answered vaguely.

“I’m so sorry, for you and for Josh, about what happened.” Her hand stroked his coat-covered arm.

“Thank you.” Henry cut the engine and turned to Charlotte, enticingly beautiful next to him. “I don’t want to spend another minute tonight talking about our exes. Not when I am lucky enough to be here with you.” He ran his thumb over her knuckles.

“Does that mean you’ll come inside for dessert?” Please say yes, she thought.

He really shouldn’t. “Are you sure? It’s late…”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” she whispered.

Behind her glasses, her brown eyes were wide and irresistible. “I would love to.”

While Henry rounded the car to open her door, Charlotte fumbled in her purse for her house key, suddenly beset by nerves and a plethora of conflicting feelings: brazen yet shy, bold but scared, aroused and safe. “May I?” Henry inquired, wrapping his hand around hers and deftly withdrawing her house key from her fingers. Hand in hand, they ascended her front steps.

Once inside, Charlotte told Henry, “Make yourself comfortable,” and instead of turning on the overhead light, flipped on a table lamp next to the door.

In the dim lighting, her living room was intimate, spiking Henry’s nervousness until he found a distraction in a corner. “Is that a stereo?” He went to the mid-century console, almost as large as a dining room table, on the other side of the front windows. “How did I not notice this before?”

“It belonged to my paternal grandparents.” She watched as he ran a lean hand over the polished cherry top.

“My parents had one like this in our living room when we were growing up. My brother has it now.”

“Well, my parents, my mom especially, loved music, so there is just about every genre to choose from. I also can’t stop myself from buying vinyl from record stores. Just something about-”

“That sound when you first drop the needle.” Henry nodded, basking in the warm glow of her smile. “I bought a record player that hooks up to my computer at home, so I can upload albums I love and listen to them on my phone. Still not like hearing it from these speakers, but the feel for the record comes across. I agree, there’s nothing like it.”

Close enough to touch, they stood not moving, the air between them thick with desire. Henry’s ocean eyes filled Charlotte with an intensity she’d only ever read about but never experienced. “Do you want to pick out a record while I go hang up my coat?”

“I’d love to,” he said, and for the second time that night, watched her walk down the hallway to her bedroom, every nerve in his body thrumming with want. Henry hung his coat up by the door, then focused on her record collection, thumbing through until he stopped at James Taylor.

In her room, Charlotte leaned her back against the wall, second-guessing her decision to bring Henry back to her house, too aware of him and the primal effect he was having on her body. Her sexual history began and ended with Brady, rarely experiencing one of the mind-blowing orgasms Amy often described. What would it be like to have Henry here in her bedroom? Slowly untying the belt of her dress? Cupping her breasts in his large hands? Sliding her fingers through his silvery hair as it brushed against her thigh, like in the dreams she’d had of him. Based on his quiet strength, she imagined he’d be extremely thorough and exacting. Sighing, she slipped out of her coat and grabbed a hanger from the closet, shoving it into her coat with more force than was probably necessary. Unfortunately, she used the same brute strength to hang it up, emitting a terrified scream as the shelf above the rod came crashing down.