129: Tears & Emotions

Rushing blood coursed through Charlie’s ears, while rubber legs barely kept her upright.  If it wasn’t for Jon’s strong arms around her, she would probably be crumpled into boneless heap at his feet.  Hating the betrayal of her body and grateful the solid warmth of his, she roped shaking arms around his neck to cling tight and bury her face in his t-shirt.

Owen was dead.  Gone.  Never to be heard from again.

When those thoughts buckled her knees, it was nothing but bulky New Jersey muscle that kept her from hitting the dirt.  “Easy, baby,” her Superman murmured.  “I’ve got you.”

He had her. 

He had her.

Oh, God, he had her.  For real.

Tasting the salt of tears she hadn’t known were flowing, Charlie cinched her arms tighter as Jon tried to soothe her with long strokes that ran from shoulder blades to the dip of her spine and back again.  How long they stood that way she had no idea, but there eventually came a point when rubber legs converted back muscle and it no longer took his sheer will to keep her standing.

“Think you can walk?”

Her tongue darted out to swipe the salt away as she nodded, and then let him lead her to a nearby bench as thoughts tumbled like Chinese acrobats through her somersaulting mind.  The warden’s unemotional, “I regret to inform you of your husband’s passing” was the trampoline on which those thoughts bounced again and again.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Drawing her attention from the grass between her sneakered feet, Charlie was surprised to find his face shuttered.   Rigid lines enclosed a flatly compressed mouth, and eyes that had been soft with relaxation out on the trail were now tinted with a coat of ice that flattened them, too.  He was the same cool and aloof man blindsided by her presence in his Hamptons home – except for the gentle hand that cradled her neck.

This wasn’t that Jon.  This was her Jon, and he was bent out of shape by her behavior – not her.  The explanation that was still so utterly surreal would chase away the coldness, so she slid her attention to the passing group of riders and willed the sun to warm her shoulders and his as she spoke.

“There was… some kind of fight.  A ‘chaotic disruption in routine’ was the politically correct term he used.”  The tears on her face had dried, leaving a tightness behind that she removed with scouring fingertips.  “Owen somehow got caught in the middle and was stabbed.  No one realized it at the time, and by the time the prisoners were subdued and returned to their cells, he’d… “

Her vocal cords were clogged with residue from the tears, leaving Charlie unable to finish the sentence without clearing her throat. 

“Love or hate, you were together a lot of years,” came the monotone observation.  “It’s only natural that you’d be upset.”

Ponytail flapping as her head whipped around, Charlie found him speaking to the air in front of him instead of her with an air of detachment that was even more prominent now.  He was blankly staring at the barn with the belief that she mourned Owen’s death. 

“Hey.”  When he didn’t turn, she reached for the chiseled chin and forced his eyes to hers.  “I’m not upset, I’m relieved.  A massive weight just came off my shoulders, and I’d been carrying the damn thing so long that my body wasn’t quite sure how to react.  That’s all.”

He still didn’t bend, studying her carefully for something unknown to Charlie.  Was it more reassurance of her relief?  Was it confirmation that she loved him?  Without knowing, all she could do was explain the buckling of her knees.

“It’s over, Jon, and I hope to God you meant it when you said you wanted me, because now you’ve got me – without technicalities or contingencies.  I wasn’t prepared for how emotional that was going to be.”

Clouds stirred behind a façade of calm, and she’d give anything to know what those clouds represented as his eyes bored into hers.  Restlessness radiated from his still body, and she feared it was going to be another instance of him slamming the door on an emotional conversation.

“Marry me.”

Holy shit.  Could she have been any more wrong? 

She desperately clung to the edge of the bench seat that spun as crazily as Disney’s damn teacup ride, marveling that she could spend forty-five years without fainting and then teeter on the brink of it twice within minutes.   Did marriage proposals – even blatantly informal ones – always carry such a punch?  Since it was her first, she had nothing to compare it to. 

Charlie pried one set of fingers free from splintering wood to grasp his thigh as an anchor while she desperately struggled for words. 

“Nevermind,” he muttered before she found them, swinging his attention back toward the barn.  “The terror in your eyes says it all.  Forget I asked.”

Closing the eyes that had stolen her chance to think – or explain – Charlie swallowed a lump of panic-driven chaos and sent up a prayer for harmony. 

Loss of life should never be a celebration, but this was a positive event in their lives.  There was no more worrying about the years that could lapse while waiting for a divorce or the fear Jon would lose patience with it all before then.

Now she had to worry if he was going to lose patience with her refusal to re-marry. 

“It doesn’t mean I love you any less, Jon.  Or that I’m any less yours.”  She held out wrist that had been shackled for ten days now.  “Remember this?”

His gaze cut toward the sparkling piece of jewelry as he stood.  “I remember.  We need to get to the airport if we’re gonna make it home today.  Where are you spending the night?  With me or at your place?”

Mickey fucking Mouse.  He was choosing now to pout over something he’d known for more than a month?  

“Hey.” She leapt up to grab his wrist, halting Jon's departure. “I have to call my sons and tell them their father’s dead, so if this is the day you're going to decide you only want me on your terms...?  Let's get it out of the way right now.”

Arctic irises filled her with a chill like she’d never known as the ticking muscle in his jaw tapped out three pulses. “It’s been your fucking terms from the start, Counselor.”

And just like that, they were back to square one with his resentment of the divorce settlement that he’d assured her he was over, and it pissed Charlie off to no end.  He could say they were a team all he wanted, but it was evident he had a neon scoreboard in his head and it read “Jon 9999 – Charlie 0”. 

“Don’t do this,” she requested tightly.  “I need you today, Jon.”

“And maybe I need you for a fucking change.  Ever think about that?”

Zing.

With the deadly accuracy of a professional marksman, he’d found the chink in her armor and penetrated it with the poison arrow of his tongue.  So effective and precise was the shot that Charlie could do nothing but snarl through the pain like the wounded animal she was.

“You’ve had me every night this week, in every way I could find to give.  Actually, you’ve had me since the night you turned up bored and lonely on my doorstep. Did you ever think about that?”

“I think about it a lot.”  Withdrawing the sunglasses that hung in the collar of the gray t-shirt bearing Peter Pan’s map of Neverland, he slipped them on to completely shut her out.  “We’ll finish this on the plane.”

“We’ll finish it right now!”

Her sharp words caught the attention of a family with two small children and molded Jon’s mouth back into a flat line.  He reached out to forcefully laced their fingers and “hold” her hand, using the connection to prod her into walking. 

“I’ve already exposed more of my private life than I care to,” he said under his breath.  “Not another word until we’re alone, in a controlled environment.  Understood?”

The inside of Charlie’s mouth bled from biting her jaw.  Part of her completely understood that he was tabloid fodder on any given day, but the bigger part was livid enough to defy his decree. 

She did, however, manage to keep a neutral expression and even tone when murmuring, “I haven’t done anything wrong, so don’t treat me like an unruly child and expect me to tolerate it.”

“Neither have I, so don’t treat me like Hannibal fucking Lecter.”  His stride didn’t slow, and Jon didn’t look at her when he spoke, but Charlie felt the words settle into her chest as a big, ugly ball of regret. 

He thought she considered him a monster to fear.

She didn’t mean to give that impression.  His proposal was just so abrupt and unexpected.  In the wake of the equally unexpected news about Owen, followed by the realization she was going to have to make that call to her sons…  She didn’t have time to censor her gut reaction into something less harsh.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized as they arrived at the car.

His response was a vague grunt while opening the door, and when she said his name, Jon gruffly ordered, “Just get in.”

Sequestered inside the vehicle with a good three feet separating them, tires began to hum against the pavement that would take them back to Cinderella’s castle.  She thought the ride back was going to be much longer than the one that brought them, but they’d just passed out of Fort Wilderness when he laid his hand the black leather seat between them, palm up.

Still a little pissed and sporting a nasty case of injured pride, Charlie cast a disparaging glance at it before looking up to find that his eyes were now unshielded.  Sunglasses were tucked back into the neck of his t-shirt, but she didn’t know where the coldness behind them had gone.  Blue irises had thawed to a shade of melancholy and he inched his hand closer, silently imploring that she take it.

Tossing him nothing more than a cynical look, she stubbornly refused until he said, “Thank you for the horse thing.  I had a good time.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to ease some of the starch from her shoulders.  A tiny bit, anyway.  Charlie was still frowning when she finally deigned to lay her palm on his.  “You’re welcome, but you owe me more than that.”

Warm fingers folded over hers as he turned to look out at the passing scenery, and the hard angle of his jaw told of thoughts he wasn't going to share.  All Jon was willing to give her was a quiet, “I know.”