49:Different

August 23

“Hey!  You home?”  Luke’s voice echoed down the hallway and found Charlie sitting at the kitchen island in her denim cutoffs and a t-shirt, having a cup of coffee while she sketched.  Nana jumped up to scurry off and greet him with several loud yips and a wagging tail.

“Yeah.” 

There was no point in yelling because he was going to come in anyway. 

Unlike Nana, she wasn’t quite as thrilled to see him, but her lingering animosity wasn’t interfering with his weekend work at the brownstone.  He, and the rest of the family, were big on commitments and fulfilling obligations.  It was one of the reasons she’d given all these years for maintaining her marriage – nobody would dispute it.  Much.

But what reason are you going to give Jon?  Or are you giving him one at all?

A valid question to which she was hoping the soothing scratch of graphite against paper might help produce an answer. At eight in the morning, having been up since three, she still hadn’t consumed enough coffee or sketched enough to make that determination.

“What’s that?” he greeted, stepping up behind Charlie to give her shoulder a squeeze and drop a kiss to the crown of her head.  

Luke’s theory was that if he acted like nothing was wrong, then it wasn’t, and she didn’t care enough to remind him otherwise.  There were other things weighing on her this morning that shoved making him suffer for his asshole behavior down her priority list.  Her lover’s discovery of her marital status undermined being embarrassed in front of the family.

“New mural.”

He leaned in over her shoulder to squint at one corner of it.  “Is that Frank Sinatra?”

“Yep.”

“You’re putting Frank Sinatra in your house?” 

Sighing, she stopped shading The Stone Pony logo and turned to look at him.  “It’s not for me.  Do you need my help today or do you have it under control?”

“You’re good.  I recruited Vince for today,” he told her, patting his pockets.  “But I’m supposed to call and remind him.  Let me use your phone.  I left mine in the truck.”

Hers was laying on the island, where she had been reading the text from Caleb about his adventures at Jon's show. He was enthused and, if the accompanying picture of her lover with her husband hadn't made her nauseous, Charlie would've thought it nice, despite Jon's forced smile.

Owen hadn't been able to resist sending the picture either, because he loved to flaunt any celebrity encounter he could manage.  His day was likely going to be filled by telling everyone he ever knew that his family vacationed with Jon's family, spinning it so that they sounded like old friends.

His starstruck status prevented him from guessing there was anything going on between between her and Jon, anyway.  At least, she thought his "Look who I met" didn't have any undertones to it.  Sometimes it was hard telling with her passive-aggressive husband.

Without waiting for Charlie’s approval, Luke reached around her and snagged her phone as he’d done a million times before.  She didn’t get a chance to stop him before he swiped the glass, undoubtedly expecting to see a home screen full of icons.  What he actually found was Owen's text with the picture that she hadn’t minimized.

“Oh, shit.”

No sense worrying about it now.

“Mhm.”  Flipping her sketch pad closed, she slid from the stool and took her near-empty cup to the coffee maker for a refill.

He apparently no longer had a driving need to call Vince because, when Charlie turned around with her cup, her brother was standing there in his stained white t-shirt, simply staring at her. 

“Uh.  How and when did this happen?”

“Last night in Vancouver.  Jon screamed something about Owen and the boys coming backstage after his show."

There was a host of thoughts fleeting across Luke's face while his mouth opened and closed revealing any of them, and that was fine with Charlie.  She didn't want to know what they were.  

“Don’t say anything, Luca,” she requested blandly, praying for the caffeine gods that this fifth cup would give her some energy.  “Chances are, you’ll only fuck it up.  Just make your call.”

Frown lines dug into his forehead, but for once, he did as she asked and skimmed through the contacts for their brother’s number.  Charlie leaned on the counter, half-listening to him make the call as she considered what to do today. 

“What are you gonna do, babe?”

Dragging her eyes away from the white lilac petals at which she had been absently staring, Charlie regarded her brother quizzically.  He couldn't have heard her thoughts, and he sure as hell wasn't that sensitive to her feelings.

“About what?” 

“Jon.  Owen.  Both.”

“Nothing.”

“Charlie…”

She held up a hand and shook her head.  “I told you Jon was a vacation fling, but he needed to call and express his displeasure at my ‘dishonesty’.  He was entitled, and I let him.  That covers it all.”

That covered as much as Luke needed to know, anyway.  It didn’t cover the eight thousand thoughts that had gone through her mind between then and now, questioning herself and the situation she found herself in.

Charlie’s parents and brothers, who would likely still love her after she broke their hearts, didn’t know the story of her continuing marriage.  She and Jon hadn’t even been out on a date yet.  Was she really going to bare it all for a man who had promised her nothing beyond a here-and-now ticket into his private life? 

A man who already questioned her ethics?

Coffee that hadn’t done a damn thing in the last six hours was now making her antsy.  Charlie needed to get out of here and find some kind of distraction.

Like the distraction Jon gave you on the way to the yacht?

She wouldn’t be nearly as unhappy about it now. 

Putting the cup in the sink, she told her brother, “I’m going to see Ma and Daddy.  If I’m not home by the time you guys knock off for the day, lock up behind you.”

Luke caught her elbow as she went by, and she glared up at him, primed and ready to provide explicit instructions on how to get to Hell.  Much to her surprise, however, he didn't jump on his soapbox to deliver a lecture about what she should do with her life.  Instead, long arms folded her into a bigger hug than they had shared in ages.

"I'll always love you, kid.  And even when we disagree, I'm here for you.  Remember that."

Sliding her arms around him, Charlie let herself be held, telling herself it was just for a minute.  It was okay to not be a hard-ass for a minute.  He wasn’t taking care of her, because she could damn well take care of herself.  He was caring about her and, right now, it felt good.

“I wish things were different, Luke.”

“Different how?” he asked quietly.

I wish I’d made different choices.  Choices that wouldn’t have me in the spot I am now.  Choices that didn't threaten to destroy my family.

“Just different.”

J J J J J

It was after nine.  Band rehearsal was long over, the kids were gone and Jon was standing at the edge of the main terrace of his new Tribeca penthouse.  The city lights twinkled all around on this warm summer night as he sipped his first glass from the case of wine the counselor sent last month.  The taste was familiar, the Takamine propped at the corner of the sofa in the apartment behind him was familiar, and the family pictures the decorator hung on the walls were familiar – but this didn’t feel like home. 

It’s your first night here, dumbass.  Give it time.

Time wasn’t going to change that.  It could turn the place into a familiar hotel, maybe, but not home. 

His actual house was too big and empty to rattle around in by himself.  After rehearsing with the band in the studio today, he’d gone inside to get some things from his office and found that Dorothea’s ghost was still haunting the place, too.  If he hadn’t been such an egomaniac, he would’ve given her the fucking thing, because it was more her home than his and always had been.  He just had a bunch of nostalgic stuff there that haunted the place right along with her.

Tonight, he was a homeless millionaire and feeling a little sorry for himself.

If things were different, he would go over and fuck Chiara to forget about it.  The next time they got together, though, it would be to hear her justify screwing around on her husband – not to screw her.

They’d had a perfectly good thing going on, fighting and fucking because it felt good – and even starting to like one another.  Then her husband appeared out of nowhere and messed it all up, taking that from Jon, and he could feel his discontent at being homeless shift into a simmering anger.

The wine slithered down his throat, seeking to put out the flames before they raged too high. 

You’ve had sex without caring about a woman’s marital status before.

He hadn’t even known most of their marital statuses, but as he’d told Chiara, he’d fucked those women.  Jon hadn’t dated them.  It put a different spin on things.

Your “date” isn’t until tomorrow.  Tonight you want to blow off some steam with a woman who knows what you like.  It isn’t about her life beyond the confines of your arms, it’s about her meeting your needs.

Scowling, Jon pulled the phone from his pocket and flicked across the screen.

“What are you doing right now?” he demanded when the counselor answered the call.

“Sitting on the couch working on your mural.  Why?”

“I’m coming over.”

He heard her deep sigh and had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say before she spoke.  “You promised me until Monday.  I'm not ready to talk about that tonight.”

“I don’t wanna talk, I wanna fuck.”  He waited until the count of ten for her to lose her shit, but she didn’t voice an objection – or anything at all.  “Chiara?”

He was braced for her to rip him a new ass over his crude display of presumptuousness, but rather than giving him belligerent attitude, she presented nothing but dry humor.  “I was awaiting further instructions.  Like whether to greet you at the door on my knees with my mouth open?” 

Jon’s anger and loneliness were nudged away by his smile as he swiveled around and headed inside.  “Not this time.  See ya soon.”

“Hey!”

He almost hung up before hearing her beckon and lifted the phone back to his ear.  “What?”

“It’s getting late.  Be careful.”

The soft request that was an odd combination of dictatorial Charlie and gentle Chiara had him drifting to a halt outside the terrace door.  If he wasn’t careful, the blended personalities could become more appealing to him than either of them was individually.

“I’ll tell the driver.”