32:Soapbox

“Hey,” Luke languidly greeted her from poolside at the cottage, and his long, lanky limbs were sprawled over one of the lounge chairs in the exact position Charlie was preparing to assume. 

“Hey.” 

Dropping to the warm cushioned lounger as Nana crawled into the shade beneath it, she followed through by dropping her phone and a bottle of water to the table between their chairs.  Slipping off her sandals and nudging the sunglasses further up her nose, she then pivoted on her bottom, stretched out, tilted her face to the sky and sighed with contentment.

This.  This very thing was going to consume the rest of the afternoon.  The remainder of today’s agenda would not be any more strenuous than a long, sun-soaking nap to counteract the fatigue that still lingered from last night. 

Until after dinner, anyway.

Jon hadn’t told her what the plan for tonight was, but she couldn’t recall a man who had as much energy and stamina.  Whatever was on the docket would be hot, hard and rambunctious, requiring as much rest as she could get.  He didn’t seem to know any other way, and she wasn’t complaining. 

“Where are the kids?”

“I’m supposed to know the answer to that?” came her brother’s sluggish question. 

Chuckling lightly, she assured him, “No.  They’re all technically adults.  I was just asking.”

“I think they were here long enough to change clothes and then they might have gone to the beach.”

She’d been about ninety percent certain that’s where they would be since it was their last full vacation day.  They did love the beach and Charlie did, too.  It was unusual that she hadn’t spent much of her days there this time around.  She blamed it on Jon, just because it was convenient.

Speaking of which…

“We’ve been invited to a backyard barbecue at Jon’s house tonight, by the way.  All of us.”

“That reminds me.”  Lolling his head in her direction, he inquired curiously, “Without giving me any unwanted details, how was last night?”

Intense.  Exhausting.  Amazing.  Addicting. 

“Fine.”

With a laugh, he elaborated, “Unwanted details doesn’t imply no details.  He’s obviously not the Hamptons Hacker since you still have all of your visible body parts, but you can let loose with a little more than that.  Where’d you go?”

Him and that Hamptons Hacker thing.  Sometimes she was convinced that his mouth was unplugged from his brain.

“You’re an idiot.  He’s a perfectly-  Okay, he’s not nice, but he definitely isn’t Jack the Ripper or the Hamptons Hacker.  And we spent the night on a yacht.”

Pushing up onto his elbows, Luke scowled from behind his sunglasses.  “What do you mean he’s not nice?”

That remark had obviously trumped the yacht tidbit by kicking his big brother instincts into play.  Unimpressed, Charlie negligently waved a hand at the show of stereotypical Italian testosterone.  “Back down, Luca.  We argue a lot.  That’s all I meant.”

“But you like him?”

Did she like him?  Quite honestly, she’d never thought of their acquaintanceship in such basic terms.  There were thing she liked about Jon, most of which went on behind that closed bedroom door, but as far as liking him?  She probably could with another date or two like last night’s, but since that wasn’t going to happen…

“He’s the perfect vacation fling.”

Sighing, Luke swung his feet to the ground so he could sit up and face her.  “Charls.”

She silently groaned at the abbreviation of her nickname.  For whatever reason, he adopted that peculiar manly twist on her name only when on the verge of doling out news or advice that he knew she wouldn’t like.  In fact, he’d used it day before yesterday when delivering the marina invitation from Jon.  That had turned out okay, but it was one of the few instances that had.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Too damn bad,” he carelessly tossed out.  “Because I’m going to say it anyway.  You’d be a helluva lot happier with someone like Jon instead of Owen.”

Here we go again.

About once a year, Luke got on a soapbox and started in on her marriage.  He hadn’t given a second thought to her marriage until about eight years ago, when he saw her in a bar kissing some guy who wasn’t her husband.  Three years later the exact same thing happened in the exact same bar. 

She didn’t go to that bar anymore.

Both times, she and her brother had argued about it the next day.  Her boys were safe and cared for on the rare occasion that she needed to feel like a woman, Charlie argued unapologetically.  Luke didn’t know anything about her marriage nor was she going to enlighten him, and she stated in no uncertain terms that he needed to butt out and mind his own business.

It didn’t stop him from taking up the cause that she needed to “dump Owen’s ass” to pursue a “real” relationship, however, and it was an opinion he chose to periodically shove down her throat.  Normally, she listened and calmly reiterated that he needed to mind his own business.  He got pissed, he went away and she got radio silence on the subject until the next time. 

He cared.  She got that.  He also hadn’t told anyone else about her occasional indiscretions, as far as she knew, and remained the only one who did know.  Those things made her much more tolerant of his overbearing opinion, but she didn’t have the stamina to do it today. 

“Probably so,” she agreed coldly.  “But it’s never going to happen.  End of discussion.”

His tone immediately went from reasonable to peeved and he demanded, “Time after time, you willingly take the short end of the stick with him while beating the hell out everybody else with that same short end.  When the fuck are you ever going to tell me why?”

“I’m not.  It’s not your job to understand my marriage.” 

Her head was starting to throb.  There were days that the burden of secrecy was almost more trouble than it was worth and this was shaping up to be one of those days.

“Oh, but it is,” came his contradictory scoff.  “The minute they brought you hope from that hospital in a pink blanket, it became my, Vince and Dom’s responsibility to make sure some asswipe didn’t take advantage of our little sister.  Yet, here we are, still allowing it after what?  Twenty years?  How do you think that makes us feel, Charlie?”

“It’s only nineteen years.”  Her anniversary wasn’t until November the fourth, so it was technically wasn’t twenty years.

“What the fuck ever!  All you do is tell us over and over to mind our own business.  You’re a hard-ass.  I know that and am at least partially responsible for it, but goddammit, we’re your brothers!  You’re killing us!”

That throbbing was turning into stabbing pains behind her right eye as Charlie’s relaxing nap got shoved to the back burner for this sweet little heart-to-heart talk.  Couldn’t he have waited for this garbage until after she’d had some sleep? 

“You’re killing me!” Her hands flew up with exasperation.  How many ways had she said this through the years?  How many times had she repeated herself over and over?  No matter how she phrased it, whether she said it softly or at the top of her lungs, he still didn’t get it.  “It’s my life.  My choice.  You’re not responsible for it, so just fucking accept it!”

“I can’t!”  He always could yell louder than her, and she winced at the volume.  “I see you with a decent guy like Jon and know you’re wasting everything – including your happiness – with that Canadian putz!”

“Don’t bring Jon into this,” she threatened with a harshly jabbed finger.  “Our thing is a freak aberration that nobody planned, and it will be over with tonight.  There’s no reason to romanticize it into something else.”

In the back of her mind, Charlie had wondered if a follow-up encounter in the city might be possible, but that didn’t constitute being “with” Jon.  It was amazing sex, and walking away sex from that good might be as sacrilegious as washing underwear in holy water.  She would have to think about that.

“I’m not talking him specifically, dumbass.”  Luke’s huff of annoyance was loud and abrupt.  “If there’s him, then there’s somebody else.  Somebody you can be married to in every sense of the word, instead of going from stranger to stranger’s bed!”

Oh Sweet Mary, Mother of God.  Could he possibly be any more rude and insulting?  How dare he pass judgment on something he didn’t understand the first thing about!

Charlie swung her feet to the ground to stand and loom over him with the tip of her finger almost touching his nose.  “You take that back right fucking now!  I don’t care what you think you know, you don’t get to sit there and imply I’m some Jezebel slut!”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he shot back heatedly.  “How many men have you slept with in the past year that weren’t your husband, Charlie?  How many?!”

“One, you asshole!  ONE!  The one YOU introduced me to!” 

That last outcry sent a sharp, white-hot pain into her temple, and her hand immediately came up to massage away the poker-like sensations.  Fury had her heart pounding like a marching band and with the shallow breaths that were accompanying it, Charlie was half-convinced there was a stroke pending. 

Unwilling to take that chance, she snatched up her belongings and crammed shaky feet into her sandals.  She could not remember the last time she’d been so angry with anyone other than Jon and, if for some reason that stroke didn’t materialize, she needed to get out of here to avoid kicking Luke in the face. 

“I call bullshit,” her favorite brother spat with a mocking laugh.  “I personally know of three, so you have to be doing more than that!”

So much for caring about her well-being.  He just wanted to pass down the judgmental hand of God.  She and God would work it out on their own, he didn't need to play intermediary.

“With those odds you oughta play the lottery,” she recommended stonily.  “Because, besides those three, there have only been three others in the last twenty years, one of which is Owen.  If you need help with the math, six men in twenty years averages out to once every three and one-third years.  No matter what my brother thinks of me, I deserve to feel like a woman once every three goddamn years.  Come on, Nana.”

With her body trembling with rage and emotion, her head splitting into two uneven pieces, and her little dog trotting along beside her, Charlie strode back toward the cottage.   She had invited him to share her vacation and this was the thanks she got?  Insults and belittlement?  Thanks, but no thanks.  Next time, he could stay in the city and work himself to death.

“Aww, shit.”  His swear of regret suggested that he knew he’d gone too far, and the apology that he swiftly called after her confirmed it.  “Charlie!  Charlie, I’m sorry!”

He could be sorry all he wanted, but it didn’t rewind the clock and take back his hurtful assumptions.  She’d take fighting with Jon over this any day.  At least their arguments ended with both of them satisfied.

“Go to hell, Luke.”