Chapter 8 - Why Charles Slept in the Other Wing
Charles asked to meet Ava three days later.
She chose a public place.
They met at a quiet restaurant in the South End at four in the afternoon, when the dining room was nearly empty.
Ava arrived first.
Charles entered without a driver, wearing a dark coat and no tie.
He looked tired.
"Thank you for meeting me."
"Lily said you spoke."
"She gave me twenty minutes."
"How generous."
He accepted the sarcasm.
A server brought coffee.
Charles wrapped both hands around the cup but did not drink.
"I owe you an explanation."
"You owe me several."
"I know."
Ava waited.
Charles looked toward the window.
"I met you six weeks after Lily came back to the house."
Ava remembered.
A museum fundraiser. Charles standing beside a marble staircase, making a joke about donors who preferred naming rights to art.
"You were charming."
"I was desperate."
"For what?"
"For something normal."
Ava's expression hardened.
"I was your normal?"
"No."
He rubbed his forehead.
"That's not what I mean."
"Then mean something better."
Charles looked at her directly.
"My life had become Lily's medication schedule, my mother's opinions, trustees, doctors, staff. Every day I was either preventing a crisis or preparing for the next one. Then I met you, and you talked about buildings for forty minutes without asking what my family owned."
Ava remembered that too.
"I liked you."
"I loved being around you."
The word loved landed badly because it still mattered.
"You made decisions without consulting six people. You took the subway. You argued with me when I was wrong about Federal architecture."
"You were very wrong."
"I know."
A small smile passed between them and disappeared.
"I wanted that life," Charles continued. "Not because you were convenient. Because I thought being with you might make me become the person I was when I was with you."
Ava sat back.
"That's not love either."
"No."
His honesty irritated her more than defensiveness would have.
"Why did you propose after six months?"
"Because I was afraid if you knew more, you'd leave."
"So you rushed me before I could."
"Yes."
The answer was quiet.
Ava looked down at her coffee.
"Why didn't you touch me after the wedding?"
Charles's face changed.
For the first time that afternoon, he looked embarrassed.
"Because the closer we got to the wedding, the more I knew I was lying to you."
"You were happy to marry me under false pretenses but developed ethics in the bedroom?"
He winced.
"That sounds terrible."
"It is terrible."
"I know."
He looked at his hands.
"Every time I came near you, I thought about the east wing. I thought about what you didn't know. I felt like I was using you."
"You were."
"I know."
Ava hated the repetition.
"Stop saying that."
Charles looked up.
"Then tell me what to say."
"Nothing. Sit in the fact that knowing now doesn't undo what you chose then."
He nodded.
For several minutes, they drank coffee in silence.
Ava noticed the old instinct rising in her - to rescue the conversation from discomfort.
She let it remain uncomfortable.
Eventually Charles said, "My mother wants Lily moved back to Beacon Hill."
"Of course she does."
"Lily said no."
"Good."
"Mother threatened to challenge her access to the trust."
Ava stiffened.
"Can she?"
"She has influence over one discretionary account, not Lily's basic support. Priya is reviewing it."
"And you?"
"I told Mother if she uses money to force Lily home, I will resign as co-trustee and testify about the confinement."
Ava stared at him.
"You'd testify against yourself too."
"Yes."
"You could face consequences."
"I should."
Ava looked away.
This was the dangerous part.
If Charles remained monstrous, leaving would be clean.
If he changed, leaving became a choice rather than an escape.
"Are you doing this because you want me back?"
He took too long.
"Partly."
Ava appreciated the answer and hated it.
"Then it's contaminated."
"Probably."
"You cannot make Lily's freedom part of our reconciliation."
"I'm trying not to."
"Trying isn't the same as succeeding."
"I know."
Ava gave him a look.
He almost smiled.
"Sorry."
"Better."
Charles's face softened.
"What do you want from me?"
Ava considered the question.
Two weeks earlier, she would have answered with a list.
Tell the truth.
Come to bed.
Let me in.
Now those sounded like instructions for building the husband she wanted.
"I want you to stop making me your moral supervisor."
Charles blinked.
"I don't understand."
"You keep asking what to do so that I can tell you whether you're becoming good enough. I don't want that job."
He sat very still.
"Then what happens to us?"
"I don't know."
"Are you seeing a lawyer?"
Ava looked at him.
His face tightened, but he did not ask which lawyer.
"Yes."
He nodded once.
Pain moved through his expression.
"Thank you for telling me."
Ava had expected anger.
The absence of it made her sad.
They left separately.
Outside, Boston traffic moved slowly through wet streets.
Charles paused beside the curb.
"Ava."
She turned.
"I did love you."
Her throat tightened.
"Maybe."
He looked as if the word hurt.
"You don't believe me."
"I believe you loved what I let you feel about yourself."
She adjusted her scarf.
"I don't know yet whether you loved the person who could say no to you."
Ava took three steps, then stopped herself.
She turned back.
"One more thing. Why did you never tell me you were afraid to touch me?"
Charles gave a tired laugh. "Because admitting I was afraid would have ruined the version of me I was trying to sell you."
"That version was very polished."
"I had practice."
Ava thought of the first dinner they shared, the perfect reservation, the car waiting exactly when dessert ended, Charles knowing the answer to every logistical question. She had called it thoughtfulness. Some of it was. Some of it was a man who could not tolerate unpredictability.
"I wish you'd been less impressive," she said.
"I wish I'd been less afraid."
May you like
Neither statement solved anything.
Then she walked away before he could answer.
