81:9/11

September 11

Charlie’s eyes creaked open after a restless night and, upon finding that her bedroom was glowing with the sharp light of morning, she closed them again.   

God, she hated this day.  Absolutely hated it.  Loathed it.  Despised it with a revulsion reserved for the very worst things in life.  More than once she had wished for the ability to simply sleep through it, but it just wasn’t possible, even after a gallon of martinis – she’d tried that enough times to know.

That first year had been… horrific.  Because she was oblivious and stuck in her own pain, Charlie hadn’t realized that the entirety of New York was going to spend the day reliving the ghastly event.  When she’d gone out and been assaulted by the memories at every turn, she did an immediate about-face, went home and cried.  Owen hadn’t known what the hell to do with her, so he’d called Luke. 

That day was what prompted the family’s babysitting routine on every subsequent anniversary of Joey’s death.  It wasn’t as bad now as it was in the first few years, but they evidently still felt better assigning her a keeper and, to her surprise as much as anyone else's, she didn't complain. 

This year, though, it wasn’t her family babysitting.  Lilah Bongiovi and a car would arrive at nine-thirty for Charlie, ferrying her to one of the city’s nicest spas where they would meet Izzie and spend the better part of the day being pampered into mindless relaxation.

She had no doubt that it would be an enjoyable experience and was pleased that Jon thought to arrange it.  Now all she had to do was get through the half-hour between eight-thirty and nine, which was still proving to be a struggle even after all these years. 

Once the clock hit eight-thirty, as it was now, she was transported back in time to relive every frigging minute of that life-shattering morning, while fervently praying for something to be different.  Zealously hoping that this would be the time when she would finally wake up and find that it was all just an ugly nightmare.  She became an embarrassingly irrational and pathetically pleading mess in those thirty minutes.

She was winding up to that point, with the timeline at eight thirty-seven.  That was about the time she left Joey to go down to the coffee shop, and it was also the time when a ringing phone on the nightstand jarred her to present day and away from the pressure building in her chest. 

Charlie hesitated, unsure whether she wanted to be saved from the pain that would sear through her in the next nine minutes.  Pain that she deserved.

At eight-forty, when the caller refused to be ignored and was blowing up her phone for a fourth consecutive call, she came out of the cloudy tunnel where eight forty-six loomed just ahead.  Where the impact of that first plane would jar the ground under her feet. 

“Hello?” she mumbled without checking the screen. 

“Counselor.”

Still lying on her back, Charlie’s eyes fell shut at the greeting and tears escaped the corner of her eyes to slide toward her ears.  It was the first time she’d heard from him since he left.  Had he known?  Was he perceptive enough to put together the pieces, gauge the time difference and know somehow what no one else ever had?  That this was when it was worst?

“Is this one of those random and unpredictable phone calls?” she asked with a thick voice, knowing it was wishful thinking prompted by that damn Superman song the other night.

“No,” was his quiet assertion.  “I’ve only got a few minutes before I go onstage, but I know what time it is there.  Wanted to hear your voice.”

Sniffling, she futilely wiped at an eye that continued to flow and choked out on a wry laugh, “Wanted to see how nuts I go is more like it.”

“Wanted to prevent it, if I could.”

Even if she knew nothing else about Jon Bon Jovi – if she didn’t have a month’s worth of intimate knowledge and attraction under her belt – she would’ve fallen in love with him at that moment.  Having built a relationship that already had her teetering in that direction, she didn’t stand a chance.

The pressure in her chest changed.  No longer was her heart agonizing and writhing within an old, scarred shell.  It was swelling with renewed life.  Years-old scars from Joey, Owen, and the mistakes of her life began to crack.  Fresh blood began to flow in places that had been dead for far too long, and the deep-seated ache eased, leaving her to sigh with quiet relief. 

Jon had just taken the significance of this time on this day and stolen it for himself.

“Chiara?”

I love you.

For now, the words stayed inside her head, though, because she didn’t trust that he wouldn’t dismiss them as a byproduct of an overly emotional day – and it would crush her if he did.  Charlie needed to look him in the eye so that neither of them could doubt – and so that his reaction couldn’t be hidden under thousands of miles of cellular airspace. 

“Thank you,” she spoke through the fresh tears clogging her throat – tears of love and not sorrow.  “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Who says I did it for you?  I can’t afford to have this shit fucking with my head during a show.”  His bitching was the tongue-in-cheek variety, intended to keep both of them from being maudlin, and it worked. 

Smiling at the ceiling, Charlie found the lightness in her chest spreading to her voice when she teased, “Me, me, me.  Freaking egomaniacal rock stars.”

“Damn straight.  On show day, there’s not room for anybody else.”

“Then go do your show.”  Glancing at the clock, she found that it was nine forty-eight.  More than a full minute after the fourteenth anniversary of the impact – and for the first time since 2001, she hadn’t felt the tremors and vibrations as though it was happening all over again. “Your preventative medicine worked.  I’m fine.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“Actually, no.  I’m not.”  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling much more centered and now genuinely looking forward to her spa trip with the girls.  “I’m surprised as hell, but I think today’s going to be okay.”

“Good.”  The single word evidenced his satisfaction.  “The spa is on me, by the way, so don’t rip them a new ass when they won’t take your money.”

“Jon.  I already owe you four million dollars and half a dozen favors.  Stop adding to the tab.”

So maybe it wasn’t politically correct to keep score between two people who were dating, but Charlie accrued that debt well before they called this a relationship.  She owed him, and extravagant gestures only emphasized her inability to pay. 

“Shut the fuck up,” came his bored command.  “It’s already taken care of, so just pay attention during the massage.  Give me one when I get home and we’ll call it even.”

“I guess you’ll want a happy ending, too.”

“Hell, yes!  Monogamy, Counselor.  You did it to yourself.”

If, in the back of her mind, she’d thought that her feelings stemmed from gratitude, she didn’t now.  Any woman who could find a man simultaneously endearing and an ass was in love with him, and Charlie found out that maybe she wasn’t quite as centered as she’d thought.  Tears were pooling to the surface again.

“I appreciate you calling when you did,” she told him quietly while blinking the dampness away.  “You don’t know how much.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before his gruff response came.  “You can show your appreciation with that happy ending.  I’ve got to go.  Have fun today.”

“I…”  God, she wanted so badly to tell him.  “I’m sure Lilah will keep it interesting.  Have a good show.”

“I always do.  Bye, Counselor.”

With that, he was gone, leaving her with less than thirty minutes to get dressed and let Nana out before Lilah arrived.  The time crunch didn’t stop Charlie from sitting on the side of the bed and staring at the phone in her hand, feeling the weight of her revelation. 

The crude motherfucker introduced to her in East Hampton had done more for her in their short time together than her husband had done in almost twenty years.  More importantly, he cared enough to push her into seeking mental well-being instead of using her weakness against her.

“Your family already knows you killed Joey.  I hate to think of what they’ll say when they find out he’s not the first family member you killed.”

“I’d be careful if I were you, Charlie.  A person can only handle so much disappointment before they cut off the source of that disappointment.  Your poor mother…”

“Izzie blames you for Joey’s death.  You know that, of course.  Then again, how could she not?”

“Caleb made the honor roll again.  I wonder if his twin would be just as good in school.”

“Your brothers are so protective.  If our other child was a girl, I bet Caleb and Noah would’ve been the same way.”

There were a million different subtle digs that Owen had come up with to keep her conscience raw and bleeding.  In the beginning, she’d been able to ignore them, knowing he was just an ass.  The longer it went on, though…  There were only so many times a person could brush off vindictive negativity without absorbing some of it.  It’s how he’d held her hostage for so many years.

While she bowed under to Owen’s efforts to keep her psyche crippled, she stood tough against the man who cared enough to fight her into being whole again.  What sense did that make?

It doesn’t.  Stop fighting him, Charlie.

[9:08 AM]CHARLIE:  Iz, I need the number for a good shrink.