Untitled Story

Her hair shone in the moonlight. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears as she looked up at him with sad eyes. The pain she was in seemed to make her more lovely; she seemed to love him more when she was sad. He hugged her tightly, she pressed her tear stained face against the front of his army uniform and sobbed. She begged him to come back to her, and he promised. He leaned down and met her lips with his; with one last kiss he walked away from her to dock the ship to Germany.

The road out of Nashville was empty. It was 2:48am, and Louie Carter was running away. He had nothing but the money he had saved from two years in the army, the uniform on his back, his father's old coat and a letter sitting in the front seat of his light blue 1948 Plymouth Coupe. The windows were down, cooling the heat off of his cheeks and tousling his curly blond hair. His grey eyes glistened with tears that he was trying so desperately to hold back and his long fingers gripped the steering wheel as he sped down the road toward the city limits.

Tears ran down his face, giving in as he pulled over on the old road. He pulled his bulky, six-foot-two-inch frame out of the car and leaned against the hood. He allowed himself this time to cry. He had stayed strong in front of her mother. He hadn't shed a tear when he kissed his parents goodbye. So here, alone in the dark with a letter gripped in his hand, he heaved big, loud sobs of despair. His heart was gone. It had been ripped from its cage inside of his body and she had taken it with her. She held onto it, her nails ripping it apart; he could feel every tear she had placed upon its surface. He was dying from the inside out.

Louie fell to the ground beside his car, his hands and knees covered in the dust from the road. He pressed his back up against the front wheel and rested his arms on his knees. He leaned his head back, allowing the tears to flow freely as he closed his eyes and thought of her.

The images of her flew through his mind like the scenes from a moving picture. Her smile, the way her nose crinkled when she laughed at one of his jokes, the glisten of her blue eyes against pale skin. Her blond hair, always down in loose curls, flowed freely in the wind. Then there was the last time he saw her: Her blue dress; it matched her eyes. Her eyes were wet with tears of sorrow and loss. She was sad to see him go, his uniform smelled of her tears and perfume for days after his departure. To the day, he remembered that smell more than he remembered the names of his old friends. She was his everything and she was gone.

He looked down at his hands. The envelope with his name on it, the one he couldn't bear to open, it sat in his hands and looked up at him mockingly. This was all he had left of her. This was the last token of his love and he couldn't bear to even look at it. He got up swiftly and swung his car door open. He leaned in over the seat and shoved the letter into his jacket pocket before sitting down and resting his hands on the steering wheel once more. With a heaving sigh, he put the car in gear and headed out of Nashville. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than there.

The days passed without a word. He sat in his tent with his fellow soldiers, clutching her last letter. A few, small words scrawled on a piece of paper. A photograph of her in the sun. The very thought of her sleeping soundly in her bed left him with a feeling of safety. The bombs may drop around him for eternity as long as she is safe.

It was almost 8pm when she heard his boots thump along the porch steps. She sat underneath her second floor bedroom window, her back pressed against the wall and her knees up to her chin. Her left hand had a shiny new ring on it, and she spun it around her finger nervously. She knew what was about to come, and she almost couldn't bear it.

For almost two years, Anne had waited faithfully for Louie. Every day, the weight of his missing presence weighed down on her until her tough exterior had cracked. Her mama had been pushing her to go out with Tom Bueler, the boy who used to follow her around the school yard. For the first while, all she could do was think of life with Louie. She cried every night, had terrible dreams about going to his funeral, and spent her days missing every aspect of him. Then, after months of pestering, she agreed to take off the ring that Louie had given her and go out on an official date with Tom. One date turned into many dates, and many turned into a proposal. One Anne had accepted.

Now, she sat and waited; waited for his voice to ring through the house. She waited for his voice to call out to her, to ask her the truth. The door knocked with the rumbling of his knocks, and Mama opened the door.

“Good evening, Mrs. Weal. Is Anne home? I have come to call on her,” his voice was so happy. So cheerful. Anne leaned her head back and shivered.

“I'm sorry, Louie. She is not home. But she asked me to give you this,” The rustle of paper. Her goodbye letter. “She has moved on. I'm sorry. Anne will be married soon, and she wanted you to have this.”

No response. Nothing. Her mama closed the door and Anne jumped up to the window. She flung the curtains open with tears streaming down from her eyes and watched him get into his car and drive away. His tires squealed on the pavement, a representation of how he must be feeling.

“Annie?” Her mama's voice called to her from down stairs. Anne wiped away her tears and smoothed her blond curls before opening her door and walking down the stairs to meet her.

“Are you alright?” Her mama was sitting in the kitchen, her hair and dress perfect as she sipped tea at the table.

“Yes,” Anne said, as she stood in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her. Her mama preferred Anne to look composed all the time. Feeling sad was not something proper girls did. “Did he handle the news well?”

“Yes, he was fine,” her mama after gulping her mouthful of earl gray. “I am just glad he did not make a spectacle on my front porch. He has respect, that one. But Tom is the right man for you, dear. You'll see one day.”

Anne blinked back tears and lowered her head. “Yes, mama,” she whispered before turning back towards the staircase.

“Tom called, by the way. He will be here in an hour for your drive. Don't keep him waiting this time.”

Anne said nothing as she walked up the stairs. She held in the lump that was in her throat until she returned to her room and closed the door behind her. She crumpled against the door and sobbed for a love that she had to leave behind, for her own good.

Louie traveled through many states, stopping only temporarily on his journey away from home. He stayed with relatives in Texas, drove to Kentucky to stay with a few army buddies and even crossed the border into Canada to walk through the streets of Niagara. Everywhere he went, he was reminded of her. He saw many couples; they walked passed him, huddled together in the cold, arms linked in the summer. The men laid their jackets across their woman's shoulders or pushed their hair away from their eyes as they sat on park benches. Louie had been everywhere, but he was still empty inside.

Months turned into years, and when he drove into New York, he was ready to settle down and hold a steady job again. He took a position with a construction company and rented an apartment near the centre of town. He walked to work on the warmest days, observing everything and everyone that passed him. Still, no matter how hard he tried, his heart was still in Tennessee and everything in him was begging him to go home. His chest was ever tightening, with each passing year, and the dreams only got worse as the nights passed him by. He woke up each morning, hoping that his life was a dream and he would see her face as he opened his eyes. Every morning he arose from his slumber alone; left only with the fading dreams of blond hair and blue eyes.

...

One cold morning, while Louie was off work for the day due to heavy snowfall, he decided to stop into a diner he had passed every day on his way to the construction site. “The East End” was a small, modern diner with a large counter with cushioned stools, six red-and-white booths with silver tables and four round silver tables that possessed two silver chairs with red-and-white cushions. The bar was white linoleum, and had two soda fountains attached to it so the waitresses had easy access. The walls were painted a bright red, and the jukebox in the corner played Frank Sinatra for the entire diner to hear.

The stools were all taken except for one at the very end, closest to the door. Louie quickly sat down and shrugged off his jacket and scarf. The waitress on hand came over with a pad of paper and a pen and smiled widely at him. Her name tag read “Jackie,” and she looked tired from rushing around the place by herself.

“What can I get ya, sugar?” she asked breathlessly.

“Coffee, two sugar,” Louie said, watching her as she put her pad in her front pocket and went to get him a cup.

“Anything else?” She smiled at him, showing fatigue as she blew a loose strand of brown hair out of her eyes.

“No, thank you.” Louie sat in silence and watched the people leaving and entering the packed diner. It was lunch hour, so there were women dressed up, fresh from the office, men in uniforms from various places around town and in suits from offices across the street. He was the only one dressed in a plain pair of slacks and a black sweater. He felt out of place as he sipped the hot coffee in front of him.

“You're a quiet one,” Jackie leaned her side on the counter in front of him, startling him to the point of him jumping and spilling a couple drops of coffee on the counter. “Jumpy too.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, embarrassed as he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser beside him and wiped up the spilled coffee. “I was just thinking.”

“Of what?” she enquired, the corners of her brown eyes crinkling as she smiled at him.

“It's not important.”

“Ah,” she said, leaning her head back and standing upright and stretching her arms over her head. “A lady friend.”

“Pardon me?” Louie cocked and eyebrow at her as she stretched out her back.

“Men think about two things in this city, darlin',” she said, her voice strained as she leaned backwards to crack the small of her back. “It's either money or it's a lady. If it was money, you wouldn't have told me it wasn't important. It's a lady. A lady who has done ya wrong.”

Louie looked at her as she cracked her neck and sighed. “The woman in question is no longer important.”

“Ah, but if she wasn't, you wouldn't be thinking of her, now would you?”

Louie shook his head and pulled the money for his coffee out of his pocket, putting it on the counter as he made an attempt to get up,but Jacket touched his hand as he swung the stool around.

“Listen,” she started quietly. “I can tell ya've gotten your heart broken. I can see it. I didn't mean no harm. I will not mention this again, I won't pester you no more. Okay?”

Louie nodded and got up from the stool. “Thank you for the coffee.” He pulled his coat and scarf around his body and headed swiftly for the door. He lit a cigarette as he exited and walked the two blocks back to his cold apartment, her image taunting him in his head once more.

Charlotte was 15. She stood in a calf-length,black dress, a veil covering half of her tear-stained face as she grasped a bouquet of lilies in her gloved hands. The casket lowered into the ground, the too-bright sun gleaming over the slick, chocolate wood lid. Her mama's face was just underneath. She stood alone, the rest of the family and friends on the other side of the plot; on her father's side. He had been buried 8 years earlier, and now her mama was following.

She could hear the whispering of the family; “So young,” “Who is going to look after her now?” “All alone in that big house,” she tuned out what she could; squeezing her eyes shut behind her black rimmed glasses. New tears fell down her cheeks as the preacher instructed her to toss a handful of dirt onto the casket. She daintily crouched down, her black low slung heels digging into the fresh spring grass, and picked up a handful of dirt. She let it fall between her gloved fingers slowly, watching as it sprinkled over the casket lid. She stood up, never bothering to wipe her gloves clean, and waited for the ceremony to be over in silence.

Each person left, some in pairs, some individually. Everyone but Charlotte. She stayed there, locked in place as the rain began to fall. She watched the grave diggers cover up her mama. Only after all of the dirt had been put back, and it was pouring down rain, did Charlotte walk through town back home. She flung her hat off and tossed it in the street, people watched the little mourner walk in silence as the rain pummelled her. Her hair, the colour of coal, clung to her face. Her makeup smeared and ran down her face as she walked. Her feet hurt in her shoes and her dress was uncomfortable against her soaking wet body, but Charlotte was outside of herself and barely noticed the discomfort. Nothing was worse than what she was feeling down in her soul. She walked in the rain for an hour, never looking around her or making eye contact with anyone. She lived just outside of New York City; a little strip of countryside that housed about 300 people. Everyone knew who she was, but no one approached her. She was grateful.

As she climbed the porch steps, she stood in front of the wooden door that housed everything that belonged to her mama inside of it. Her dress made puddles around her aching feet as the rain poured down the sloped porch overhang behind her. As much as she wanted to, she could not bring herself to turn the knob and go in. She knew that once she was in, the door shut behind her, she would be alone. Alone with the smell of old wine and sugar cookies from the kitchen. Faint scents of vanilla would radiate down the stairs; just like it did when Mama wore her best perfume. Tiny notes of apple and cinnamon from her favourite candles, which were sat in their place on the coffee table in the front room. How could she walk in to that?

Charlotte's body finally gave out and she collapsed on the porch. She sobbed into her hands, smearing her face with the grave dirt from earlier. She didn't care. She was fifteen and she was alone. No one to come home to, no one to see on the porch after school, no songs in the early morning. Charlotte Ramsey was officially all by herself.

...

Charlotte woke up, still in her slightly damp dress and on the front porch, at 6am. The early morning sun shone into her eyes, awakening her from her dreamless sleep. She rose to a sitting position on the rough wooden floor and rubbed her hands along her freezing upper arms and shoulders. Her dress had stuck to her left side, the side she slept on, and the brisk morning air went straight to the damp spots and sent shivers along her skin. She knew she needed to get up and change.

She stood up, her legs feeling like jello after walking so far the night before, and stepped towards the front door. Her hand hovered over the handle of the storm door, shaking slightly as she braced herself for what she was about to experience. She hadn't been inside since her mama had passed away a week ago; staying at friends' and family's houses until the funeral. She took a deep breath and pulled the storm door open, pushed the heavy, wooden door open and stepped inside.

Everything swirled into vision as she closed the wooden door behind her and leaned her back against it. Everything was exactly the same; just the way it had always been. She breathed in deeply. The same smells, the same sights, the same memories flooded back to her as she stepped into the sitting room. The blue sofa by the window, the dark brown love seat with the flower pillows and the matching armchair came into view against the faded, off-white carpeting. The purple curtains swung in the morning breeze, as mama always left the windows open just a little bit all year round. In the winter, the house was freezing, but mama said it gave them an excuse to light a fire and read while snuggled in blankets.

Charlotte walked through the sitting room into the dinette, running her hand along the wooden chairs that circled the small table in the centre of the room. Her and mama had every meal there. Charlotte had done her homework and helped mama arrange flowers for the window sills at that table. All of the memories that Charlotte had seemingly forgotten came flooding back to her as she walked through the house.

She finally made her way up the stairs to the washroom. All she wanted was to get out of her dress and into something comfortable and warm. She peeled off the dress and kicked the shoes off her feet and stepped inside of bathtub. She turned the water on let it fill around her feet to her shins before sitting in the hot water. She sunk really low, letting the water drown her body and hair in warmth. She envisioned that her mama was downstairs, making tea and toast for breakfast. She envisioned that this was her before-school bath and that mama would come pounding on the door any second because she was taking too long. She envisioned that everything was normal. Minutes passed, and no one came pounding on the door. There was no smell of toast and tea floating up the stairs and this was not the average, normal morning.

After what seemed like hours, Charlotte emerged from the bathroom, her face and skin had been scrubbed red, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders. In her old nightgown, she went straight for her mama's room. She opened the door, which groaned and squeaked on their hinges, and Charlotte popped her head inside. It looked just the way it always did: the four-post bed stood in the middle of the room, its red sheets and blankets stood out amongst the wood that made up all of the furniture in the room and the white that painted the walls. She went straight for the bed and snuggled under the blankets. The pillows still smelled like her mama's shampoo, and she breathed it in deeply. The smell lingered for a long time as Charlotte curled into a ball and scanned the room, her eyes falling on the photo of her, her mama and her father; the last one ever taken of all three of them.

Exhausted from all of her emotions, Charlotte fell asleep amidst the smells of her mother and the memories of her father. She slept all through the day to the next morning. When she finally arose, she was ready to do what she needed to do to move on with her life. Her mama wouldn't want to see her weak and struggling. She knew she was going to have hard days, but she would face everything with her head up; to make her mama proud.

The first time Louie saw Charlotte, it was as if he had never been to the East End diner before. The entire room seemed to glow a bit brighter, the counters seemed spotless, and the exposed cracks hanging off the counter stools seemed to disappear. He saw her the instant he walked in, sitting in a booth all alone; a steaming coffee cup in front of her with her nose in a book. She reached down from time to time and brought the cup to her lips; her eyes never leaving the pages of the thick novel.

Her hair was the colour of a raven's feathers that cut off at her shoulder blades and her eyes were a chocolate brown. Her skin, the colour of fresh cream, stood out amongst her dark hair and eyes and on her nose sat large, black, thick framed glasses. That day, she was wearing a pale blue dress, cinched at the waist with a leather belt and black high heels. She looked the part of a business woman on break from a hard day at the office. She was beautiful.

As Louie was making his way over to talk to her, his arm was grabbed by John, a fellow army man who frequented the diner. John pulled Louie to the other end of the counter, out of Charlotte's view and ear shot. Louie sat down at a vacant table, an exasperated look on his face as John sat down across from him. John's gaze flew up to see if Charlotte had seen him, and he ducked down and leaned closer into Louie.

“I saw you looking at her,” John started in a low voice, his eyes wide with concern. “I would advise that you not even think about talking to that one. She is no good. I've heard stories. Bad stories. She's never been married, but she knows her fair share of married men, if you know what I mean.”

Louie's mouth dropped open in astonishment. He looked across the diner towards her, she was still sitting in her booth alone, the white cover of her novel covering all but her glasses and hair.

“What are you talking about?” Louie asked, clearly confused by John's statement.

“She's known around town by all of the men, Carter. A friend of mine, Peter Kramden, said that his wife left him thanks to that she-devil. It's best you just forget all about Charlotte Ramsey before you even meet her.”

Louie sighed and nodded. He was normally not easily swayed by hear-say, but he didn't exactly have the best luck with women and he didn't need to get caught up in another bad relationship. He had settled in New York and he wanted his time in the city to be as carefree as possible. The prospect of Charlotte seemed like fun and lively. There was something about her that made him curious as to what was hiding underneath.

...

Over the next few weeks, Louie had heard some interesting stories about Charlotte. She was always the subject for chatter around the diner and it seemed like women, as well as men, had their own stories about her. From the way she was with men to the glasses on her face, everything was a facade.

“Her glasses don't even have real lenses in them,” said Mary, one of the youngest waitresses at the diner. She had leaned over the counter to talk to Louie, her blond hair sat up top of her head in a tight coil as her blue eyes stared straight at Louie's face. “She wears them so she can look down at us 'regular folk.' She's too good to even have a conversation. She just comes in every day, has a couple cups of coffee and keeps her nose in that damn book.”

Louie could see the complete disgust that crossed over Mary's face. It had seemed as if Charlotte had crossed her personally, and Mary had not yet gotten over it. He just smiled and thanked Mary for her insight, tapping her hand after paying for his breakfast.

“Thank you,” he said, getting up from his seat and shaking his coat onto his shoulders. “I'll see you tomorrow morning, Mary.”

As he opened the door to the diner, it was caught in the winter wind and met the face of a woman standing on the other side. Louie rushed out and came face to face with Charlotte, her gloved hand covered her nose and mouth as tears formed in her dark eyes. He stood there, almost paralysed until she looked up at him and he saw blood dripping down her chin.

“Oh my god,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and rushing to help clean her up. “I'm so sorry, the door swung open in the wind. Please, can I see?” Charlotte looked at him, taking the handkerchief and ducking to the side of the diner, out of the wind and traffic of the street. She pressed the soft fabric against her nose and shook off her now bloody glove.

“Please, miss,” Louie begged, following her to the alleyway. “I can take you to a doctor, my car is around the corner I---”

“You've done enough,” Charlotte cut him off. She had pulled a mirror out of her bag and was dabbing under her nose. Her voice caught Louie off guard, and he stood there watching her. “I'm fine. I know it wasn't your fault so please stop.” She looked up at him, the now red handkerchief still dabbing at her nose.

Louie cleared his throat and stepped towards her. “Can I at least buy you an 'I'm sorry' cup of coffee?”

Despite the pain resonating out of her face, she smiled up at him and nodded.

...

Charlotte's laugh was the best thing about her, Louie had determined. She laughed as if she had heard the funniest joke ever told every time, and always brought her hand up to her lips. She had deep dimples in her cheeks that only showed when she smiled and her cheeks seemed to push her glasses further up her face. Her brown eyes were bright with light when the glorious sound of her giggles poured out from within. Louie could listen to her for hours.

It was also found out that Charlotte was alone in New York. Her mother had passed away four years prior to cancer and left Charlotte everything. Her father had passed away when Charlotte was just seven years old to pneumonia. She spoke of her parents in such an extraordinary way. Her mother worked after her father passed, paying for the home that Charlotte grew up in on her own so Charlotte could live there with no worries of debt. Her father was an amazing man who loved Charlotte and her mother like they were the only humans on the planet. He was hardworking, honest and a loyal man right up until he took his final breath.

“I remember the day he died,” Charlotte smiled as she touched her coffee cup with light fingers. “He said 'Char, you need to take care of your mama. You know what a stubborn old thing she is.' He always made me smile right up until he closed his eyes forever.” Charlotte sniffed back her tears and laughed in spite of herself.

“What about your mother?” Louie asked, taking a sip of coffee as he watched her dab her eyes.

“The day she died, she gave me an envelope and told me to wait until the first night I was without her to open it. The night after her funeral, when I left the hospital and went home to the big empty house, I got into my mother's bed, the same one she shared with my father. I got right in the middle and I opened the envelope. There was a note from Daddy and a note from her inside. Both said they loved me very much, and that they knew I would miss them so they each had something of theirs to give to me.” Charlotte pulled a small charm out from under the collar of her dress. It was a small, gold locket on a thin, gold chain.

“That's very pretty,” Louie said, leaning over and taking the piece in his hand to get a better view. It was worn and very old, but Charlotte had taken good care in cleaning it. “Is there anything inside?

“A photo of us three and a photo of them on their wedding day,” Charlotte smiled and let the locket fall against her dress. “This was from Mama.”

“What about your father?”

Charlotte showed Louie her right hand. Around the middle finger was a very dainty gold band. This too was very old and very worn. It was older than the locket, and Charlotte seemed more protective over it than the locket.

“It was my grandmother's wedding band,” Charlotte said as she spun the gold band around her finger, playing with it as she spoke. “It is over 70 years old and the only thing my grandmother ever kept. I remember playing in her house and she would let me try on her jewellery. This is the only thing I was never allowed to touch.”

“Can I ask you something?” Louie asked after a moment of silence.

“Sure,” Charlotte said after taking a sip of her coffee. “You can ask me anything.”

Louie cleared his throat and leaned in, signalling for Charlotte to come closer so he could whisper. “Why do the girls in here hate you?”

Charlotte smiled and leaned back, taking another sip of her coffee. “Because I left. I was offered a position as a receptionist and these ladies think that I got it by sleeping with the boss. Mary, the blond girl, was after the position and when I got it instead of her, she started spreading around rumours. I come in here now with my book every day just to annoy her.”

“Isn't that a bit mean of you?” Louie cocked his eyebrow at her playfully. “You're basically rubbing it in her face every day. You get to wear such nice clothing and she's in a uniform.”

“Yep,” Charlotte grinned. “It amuses me.”

They both laughed and finished their coffees. Charlotte asked for a second, but Louie politely refused.

“I have to get going,”he said, standing and getting his coat and scarf on. “Will I see you again?”

“You definitely will,” Charlotte smiled up at him. Louie smiled back and walked out as Mary came around and refilled Charlotte's cup. Charlotte pulled out her novel and began to read with a wide smile on her face.

She stood there, just at the top of the hill. He could see her smile from below and he ran as hard as he could. His legs felt heavy; his body refused to move any faster. The weight of his uniform dragged him back down the hill. He looked up. His eyes stung as sweat dripped into them from his forehead. The hill seemed to grow, pulling her further up into the clouds. Still, she smiled down at him as she disappeared into the night sky.

Louie called on Charlotte often. He found himself driving to her house at all hours of the night, honking his horn and waiting for her to pull back the curtains of her bedroom. She always smiled when she saw his car parked in her driveway, and she always rushed downstairs to see him. The surprisingly warm night in April was no different.

He honked his horn and stepped out of his car, shutting the door and leaning against it as he gazed up at the bedroom window. In a instant, she appeared in her doorway. Her hair was up that night in a loose bun at the nape of her neck and she had on her favourite pale blue dress. It swung around her ankles as she stepped off of her porch and sauntered over to give Louie a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he breathed in her perfume as he held her tighter than he had before. Her breath caught and she was about to ask him what was wrong as she pulled back when he leaned in and kissed her lips. On instinct, she pulled away, her mouth open in shock. She looked at him and his eyes never looked away from hers. She leaned in and kissed him, this time allowing herself to be as open as she knew how to be. He leaned away from her, and looked at her in the moonlight. Her hair was loosening from the thin ribbon she had tied it back with and her eyes were large behind her glasses. He couldn't help but smile.

“Come on,” he said rubbing her arms and pulling her back away from his car door. “We're spending the night away from home.” He walked with her to the passenger side door and helped her inside before trotting back to his side and hopping in with new energy. She smiled as she watched him, and rolled down her window as he started the car back up.

...

They drove for what seemed like hours. Charlotte sang to the radio as Louie smiled and held her hand. The air flowing through the windows was warm and inviting, rare for that time of year, and Charlotte felt safe and secure in the car, singing to the songs on the radio and allowing the people on the street to stare at her. Louie, on the other hand, was quiet. He seemed distracted, withdrawn and his hand often turned clammy against hers. She looked at him as they stopped at the street light and noticed his tense jaw. He was thinking about something very intensely, and it bothered her.

“Louie?” she asked, her tone small and soft.

“Hm?” he looked over at her and let out a small, fake smile.

“I'm getting a bit parched, you know from singing my heart out over here. Why don't we stop somewhere for a cup of coffee?”

Louie cleared his throat and looked at his watch. “Is anything open at this time? It's passed midnight.”

“The diner is. Open until 2 in the morning. It's only across town, we can make it. Can we?”

Louie turned on his blinker and drove in the opposite direction. “Sure, since you asked so nicely, darling.”

She saw his jaw set again, and couldn't help herself.

“Louie, what's wrong?”

“The diner,” he said, not looking at her. “At the diner, we'll talk.”

...

He sat across from her in the booth, his blond hair tousled loosely from being in the wind all night and curled around his eyebrow. He ran his hands over the warm cup of coffee that he had no intention of drinking. He wouldn't make eye contact and it scared her, as he had been quiet all evening. Suddenly he looked up, his eyes held questions and his mouth seemed to open and shut as he tried to find the correct words.

“There have been many stories about you,” he said as his voice caught and caused him to clear his throat. “Many stories.”

“Such as?” Charlotte wondered as she pushed her black framed glasses higher up her nose and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She leaned forward and watched him as he squirmed under her gaze.

“For one,” he started, leaning back away from the cooling coffee cup. “I heard that you have a history with men. I am not one to judge, I know that you have not been married. The history of lovers; the names I do not know nor do I wish to know. I would just like to not be one of them.” He gulped and looked down at the table, avoiding her gaze completely.

“What were the others?” she asked, her hands trembling lightly in her lap.

“Many of the others revolved around the stories of your lovers. There was one separate, but it may seem a tad ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat again and leaning forward to once again fondle the cup of coffee. “Many ladies have said that you wear those glasses upon your nose to look down at everyone.”

“What?!” Charlotte burst out laughing, unable to control herself. She covered her mouth with her hand. “This is a serious claim?”

Louie nodded, looking at her with wide eyes.

“I can tell you now that that claim is false,” she sighed, removing her glasses and putting them on the table. Her brown eyes, now larger than they looked behind the frames, looked across at him and squinted involuntarily. “I am positively blind without them. Although, I guess they could be used for fun.” She put the glasses on the very tip of her nose and raised her eyebrows at him, making him smile back at her.

“And the other claims?” he asked, almost in a whisper as he looked down at his lap.

She sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Also false.”

He looked up quickly, his mouth open slightly. “Really?”

She nodded and played with the little gold ring on her middle finger. “I have never been married, that part is indeed correct. I have also never had a lover. The names of those who claim to have bed me are either lying or very imaginative, for I have vowed to save myself for the man who loves me enough to marry me.”

Louie watched her. She turned from a woman into an innocent girl in no more than a moment. Before he could say anything, she looked up at him.

“Have you ever loved someone, Louie?” The question fell from her lips and hit the table in front of him with a bang only he could hear.

“Once,” he whispered, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. “Only once.”

“Well?”

Louie shifted in his seat and reached in his pocket for his cigarette case and match box. He pulled one out and lit it before placing the case on the table in between them. She too reached across and took one, lighting it with matches she kept in her purse.

“Before the war, I was engaged to be married to a lovely girl in Tennessee,” he started, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Her name was Anne, and she was beautiful. Her hair was the colour of dawn and her eyes were ocean blue. She was my everything.

“I left for war and I told her that I would be back. She cried in my arms the night before and promised that she would wait for me, as all women do. I was gone two years. She had written to me often for the first year. After that, I hardly heard a word and when I did, it was vague. An 'I miss you' here and there. I thought nothing of it. Stupid fool I was.” He looked down and sighed, shaking his head at the memory of it all.

“What happened?” Charlotte asked, leaning forward and resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she watched him take a deep drag from his cigarette.

Louie blew his smoke straight up as he leaned his head back. “I came home and the first thing I did was go to her house. I practically ran up the steps of her porch and knocked so loud, her neighbours heard. I was so excited to see her. Her mother answered the door and looked up at me with such sorrow in her eyes, the smile instantly vanished from my face.

“Anne was gone. She had married Thomas, the butcher's boy who had not been drafted. Her mother had the ring I had given Anne in an envelope with a letter from Anne inside.”

Louie pulled a worn envelope from his breast pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. His name in fancy script was carefully penned on the front and a clear, circular outline was visible through the thinning paper; the outline of an old engagement ring. He touched it gingerly with his pointer and middle finger as it laid there, completely sealed.

“Why have you never opened it?” Charlotte asked.

“I don't want to know what she had to say,” a tear dripped down his cheek, he never made an attempt to hide it or wipe it away. “I don't want to see the ring unless it is around her finger. I don't want to read the goodbye at the end of this letter. I can't read the goodbye.”

Charlotte watched him with sad eyes as he leaned back and wiped his face with his hands and laughed uncomfortably. He looked at her and smiled, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray at the end of the table.

“What about you?” he asked, pulling another cigarette out of the case and lighting it. “Have you ever loved anyone?”

“No,” Charlotte said, taking a small drag out of her cigarette. “I thought I did. Last year, I really thought I was in love. But I wasn't and it ended.”

Louie wasn't convinced. He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking slightly.“Well?” he asked.

“My turn, huh?”Charlotte put out her cigarette and leaned back in the booth, rotating the small, gold ring on her middle finger once more. “I was with a guy named Mark. He was tall, with the darkest eyes I had ever seen. He could look right through me any time he felt like it. It was like I was naked around him. He could see everything and he didn't care what it looked like.

“We were inseparable. I was happiest with him, I went everywhere with him and it never mattered where we were going. We could just go to the market or to the bakery or even to the park and watch people and my day would be perfect. I always had a good time with him and I thought that he had a good time with me. I thought maybe he loved me.

“But he called me one day after I had finished work at the diner and he said he had met someone else. I didn't even cry. I didn't flinch. I didn't beg him to stay. I just hung up the phone. It surprised me that I didn't feel a thing. It's as if I just numbed myself to kill any feeling I could have felt. I never spoke to him again after that day. I see him from time to time. He comes into the diner with her and I feel nothing. It's as if he is a stranger.”

“You were not in love,” Louie said quietly, watching Charlotte spin the ring.

“I guess not.”

“You promised you would come back.”

“Am I not here?”

“Are you? Is it all really you?”

“I'm here. It is really me.”

“You've changed.”

“No, my darling.”

“If you haven't....”

“Yes...?”

“Then that means that I have...”

When Charlotte got into bed that night, all she could see as she stared at the ceiling was Louie's face. The tear that trickled down his cheek, so unashamed and vulnerable, she felt closer to him than she had in the entire three months she had known him. Her heart broke for him as she remembered his fingers, so gently caressing the worn envelope as if it were a newborn baby. The emotional, vulnerable side of him made her heart beat just a little bit quicker than she had anticipated. She had never seen a man act in such a way.

She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, trying to think of anything else but the way his grey eyes looked through her that night. His blond hair a tousled mess, usually so pristine, so perfect; the way it curled against his forehead in a boyish manner after driving through town. The gentleness of his hand grazing her fingers as she sat next to him in his car. Everything about that night made her heart race and her palms sweat. Was this love?

Maybe she did love him. After the emotional night, the bruised hearts were open for each other to see and he had not shied away from her, nor her from him. They were open and allowing each other to see the scars that plastered themselves on their hearts like war wounds. Maybe this was what love was all about.

.....

Louie stayed up that night staring out of his window. The people scurrying along the sidewalks, even at 2am, momentarily distracted his thoughts. His mind was split in two. One half contained the image that regularly haunted him: Anne. With her hair the colour of dawn and her eyes shining with light, she tortured him. The other half was Charlotte. Her long, black hair swept around her shoulders, catching on her glasses as she smiled meekly, her dimples indenting her face. Charlotte calmed him. Her smile, the gleam in her deep, brown eyes, the womanly figure behind the innocent persona; her image relaxed him, yet scared him.

He sat on the edge of his bed with a cigarette tucked between his lips as he thought of the night he had just experienced. He had never cried in front of a woman before, not since Anne, and even then he had always tried to hide his tears. He had never told anyone about Anne's letter, let alone shown it. Charlotte frightened him. He was too comfortable, too familiar and it was a new sensation that would take some getting used to. He had not felt any connection toward any woman since Anne and Charlotte was making it too easy for him to open up. The past three months with Charlotte to call on made him feel comforted from the memory of Anne. He felt his heart healing a little bit more every day. Was this love? Was he falling for the innocent Charlotte?

The clock on the wall had ticked its way to 4am when he finally accepted sleep. He closed his eyes and saw her smiling at him. Her eyes were so tender and he felt at home as he fell into a deep sleep.

A heavy pounding woke Charlotte from her deep sleep. It was persistent and made her entire two-story house rumble. She trembled underneath her blankets as she reached over and fumbled awkwardly on her nightstand for her glasses. When she found them, she placed them on her face, turned on the bedside lamp and listened. The pounding seemed to subside as her light flashed to life, and soon she was left with just the sound of her shaky breath.

After moments of nothing, the pounding started again. This time, it was accompanied by a man's voice shouting from the porch. She strained her ears to listen over the thumps on her front door as she left the comfort of her bed and pulled her white housecoat on over her nightgown. She reached into the closet and pulled out her father's old baseball bat as the thumping and the shouting downstairs grew louder. She made her way down the old, wood steps, clinging to the bat in one hand and the banister in the other. As the front door came into view, she could swore that whoever was on the other side was seconds away from bursting through. With a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the bat and unlocked her door. As she swung it open and stepped out onto the porch, she came face-to-face with Louie.

“For God's sake!” Charlotte shouted as she lowered the bat to the floor and stared at Louie, panic still written on her face. “What the hell are you doing here pounding on my door at 2 o'clock in the morning?!”

“Where... Have you been?” Louie swayed on his feet, holding onto the door frame to sturdy himself. “I... Have been lookin fer you fer days and you are yellin' at me?”

“Are you drunk?”

Louie stumbled towards Charlotte, making her grab his shirt to hold him upright. His breath smelled of strong whisky and his shirt stuck to his chest and back in large sweat spots. “I may be but... It's your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes!” Louie shouted, throwing his hands up in the air as if his response was the only one there ever could be. “You haven't returned my calls, you haven't come to the diner... You haven't returned my calls!”

“Okay,” Charlotte grunted as she leaned him up against the door frame. “You need coffee, Louie. We're going to get you some coffee.”

“Okay. Coffee it is. Let's get some coffee,” Louie pulled away from the door and pushed past her, stumbling towards the couch in the corner of the living room. Charlotte followed, watching him warily as he walked in circles across the hardwood floor, mumbling to himself.

“Please sit down, Louie,” Charlotte sighed as she grabbed his arm and guided him towards the dark blue couch. “You're going to hurt yourself. Sit down and I'll get you some coffee.”

“Char,” Louie mumbled as he flopped down on the worn cushions of the couch. He looked up at her with half-closed eyes. “Don't go away again, 'kay? I.... I like havin' you 'round.”

“Okay,” Charlotte sighed. “I'm going to get you some coffee. I'll be right back.”

Charlotte walked into the small kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove. What in the hell is he even talking about? She thought as she wrapped her house coat tighter around her and sighed, preparing a large mug for the very drunk man who lay on her couch. Her hands were still trembling from the adrenaline and fear that ran through her body, and all she wanted was Louie out of her house so she could go back to bed. She glanced out the kitchen door to see how her drunk friend was doing, and caught a glimpse of him passed out on the couch. His face was pressed against the arm of the couch and his arm hung limply off the edge. One leg was straight across the cushions and the other was bent, hanging off the couch with his arm. She sighed and turned the stove off, grabbing a glass and filling it up with water. She walked across the living room and placed the glass of water on the coffee table and looked down at him. His skin was gleaming with sweat and he had drool dripping out of the corner of his mouth. She shook her head and left him there to sleep, walking back up the stairs to her bedroom. She she got back into bed, she breathed in deep, trying to make get her hands steady and her heart back to normal. Louie had scared her, and she hoped he was out of her house by morning. She closed her eyes and fell in and out of sleep for the rest of the night.

She ran through the meadow, giggling like a child. Her curls bounced upon her shoulders as her white dress flew behind her, exposing her cream-coloured knees and calves. Happy, luminescent, perfect. She was running towards someone. As he chased after her, she could catch a glimpse of a man, another man his age. The man was tall and thin, his white sweater was tucked into beige slacks and he was standing there smiling. The man's hands in were his pockets, waiting for her to catch up. She giggled and reached for the man, looking back at her past and running faster. She reached the man, he took his hands out of his pockets and caught her, swinging her around. The meadow seemed to die around their spinning forms. The sky turned from bright and beautiful to dark, gloomy; clouds ready to split open and pour acid down.

“Char?” Louie called out to her from the living room couch. He sat slouched over the coffee table, his forearms rested on his knees as he waited for the soft footsteps of Charlotte entering the room. When he heard her, he looked up at her and patted the seat next to him. “Come here.”

Charlotte moved across the room and sat next to him, eyeing him warily. “What is it?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose. He pulled the worn envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table in front of her. Her eyes widened in her head and she looked at him curiously.

“Still carrying it around?” she asked, clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I want you to open it,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving the envelope. “I want you to open it and read me her letter. I can't do it on my own. It's been years and she haunts me. I love you, Charlotte, but I could love you better if I erased her completely. Carrying this around, it's done nothing but hurt me.”

She reached for the letter and held it in her hands. It was the first time she had ever touched it. She had always been respectful of the envelope, its contents and the space that Louie had put between her and it. This was one boundary she never even thought to cross. Her thumb traced the first letter of his name, the ink now faded with time, and she looked at him for approval.

“Are you sure?” she asked, almost in a whisper. He nodded and moved closer to her as she ripped the left side open and revealed the contents inside.

The sweet smell of time spilled out from inside of the envelope. The paper, folded neatly, with care, smelled of old perfume and ink. The ring, placed in the bottom right hand corner, rolled toward the opening as if searching for the light it had been denied for 6 years. It fell into Charlotte's hand, the tiny diamond shining in the afternoon sun that shone through the window. She heard Louie's quivering sigh next to her and instinctively moved closer to him. With their legs against each others', Charlotte placed the ring on the table and opened the letter. The paper rustled in her trembling hands, and she read the letter out loud in a soft voice.

Dearest Louie,

I must say first that I am sorry. I am sorry that I was such a coward, such an animal with no willpower. I never meant for this to happen. I thought I was stronger.

All I have been doing for the past 16 months is thinking of you. However, the things I have been thinking were not the pleasant thoughts I had hoped. All I keep thinking and dreaming about is you coming home to me in a coffin or in a wheelchair. I keep having nightmares of visiting your grave with a bouquet of flowers that you will never smell. I look at photographs of you and I when we were happy and it hurts me instead of making me feel better. It has been a hard 16 months.

I hate myself, but I have found the affections of Tom Bueler becoming more and more satisfying than waiting for something that may never come home to me. I love you, Louie. Please do not think that I don't, but I am in pain without you. The waiting and the longing; it hurts to breathe. I cry myself to sleep every night and wake up every morning screaming for you from my bed, it is exhausting. Please... I hope you understand.

Tom has asked me to marry him. He can offer me a life that I know you would want me to have. He comes from a fine family, he says he loves me and after the past few months of getting to know him, I believe I love him too. He is a good man, Louie.

This is my goodbye. I am a coward for not doing this in person. I just know that I would never be able to stand the look on your face as I walk away from you. I know that your eyes would keep me locked in place and I can no longer stand still. As cowardly as it is, this is the route I need to take.

I will always love you Louie. I hope that you find someone who is better than me; someone who would have the courage to look you in the eye instead of putting a pen to paper. I'm so sorry.

Goodbye.

Love always,

Anne.

Charlotte put the letter down on the table after reading it and looked at Louie. Instead of the tears she expected, his face was painted with anger. His hands were balled into fists and his brow furrowed into a deep line. Before she could speak, he grabbed the ring from the table and stormed out of the house, the screen door clacking loudly behind him. Charlotte quickly got up and followed him. She reached the door in time to see him get into his truck.

“Louie!” she called out as he turned the ignition and put the truck in reverse. He stopped and looked at his fiance standing on the steps of her mother's home. Her face was a mix of shock and sadness as her hair swept around her shoulders and caught on the frames of her glasses. He was brought back to the first night he had dreamt of her, and turned the ignition off. He got out of the truck and she walked down the path towards him. He grabbed her and held her tightly against his chest.

He was there that day. He watched her in her white dress and her lace veil, walking down the aisle on her father's arm. He stood in the back of the church in his best suit, completely hidden amongst the guests. As much as he wanted her to look sad, she looked happier than he had ever seen her. Her new husband lifted her veil and kissed her lips. He watched their first walk together as man and wife. He watched them get into the limo that would take them away to start their new lives. He watched her start a new life while he walked away with his heart still stuck in the past.

The train pulled into the station in Nashville as scheduled. Louie helped Charlotte onto the platform and walked with her arm-in-arm towards the street to catch a taxi. This was the first time Charlotte had been outside of New York, and she was excited to meet Louie's family. Her eyes scanned everything in sight; the buildings, the cars, the people and the houses. Everything looked so different and beautiful. For a big city, it was nothing compared to New York and she loved how small it seemed in comparison. It was rustic and charming, exactly how Louie had said it was.

An hour after arriving in the city, their taxi pulled up to an old, Victorian style home, and a short, plump woman rushed outside. Her hair was blond, just like Louie's, with grey strands forming around the front and sides. She wore an old dress with an apron strapped to her waist. Louie got out of the taxi and hugged his mother.

“My baby,” the older woman wept as she leaned away from him and looked at him. She had not seen him since he had left home 6 years prior and it was if she was looking at him for the first time. Her hand reached up and stroked Louie's stubbly cheek as Charlotte watched from the other side of the taxi with a warm smile on her face. The woman turned her eyes, the same eyes that she had passed onto her son, towards Charlotte and made her way around the taxi to hug the newest member of the family.

“I'm Martha,” she said as she embraced Charlotte as if she was her own daughter. “But you can call me Mama too if you like.” The corners of Martha's eyes crinkled as she smiled widely, looking at Charlotte with the affection only a mother could have. Charlotte felt like she was at home instantly.

Charlotte woke up the next morning next to Louie. It was the first time they had ever slept in the same room, let alone the same bed, and her lips broke into a wide grin when she saw him sleeping next to her. His undershirt was twisted slightly, as he had turned from one side to the other in the middle of the night. He was now facing her, his hair a messy, blond mop on top of his head and his mouth open just a slit. His cheeks and chin were covered with blond stubble and his mouth twitched slightly as he continued his dreaming. She crept silently out of bed, careful not to wake him, and tip-toed out of the room to the washroom. She looked herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Her engagement ring shone in the light from the vanity and she smiled through the toothpaste. In a week, she would be wearing a second band on that finger, and her name would officially be Charlotte Carter. As she spit the toothpaste into the sink, she heard a light rapping at the washroom door.

“Charlotte, dear?” Martha whispered on the other side of the ageing wooden door. “Are you decent?”

Charlotte opened the door and smiled at her future mother-in-law. “Morning, Martha.”

“Now, now,” Marta waggled her finger at Charlotte and took a step inside the tiny space. “What did I say? You call me 'Mama.' I was wondering if you would like to come with me to the market. I need to pick up some things to make breakfast before the men wake up.”

“I'd love to. Just give me a few moments to get myself dressed. I'll meet you downstairs.”

Charlotte made her way back to the bedroom where Louie was still sleeping soundly, having shifted onto his stomach. She quietly grabbed her flowy, pink dress from the wardrobe and a pair of white, low heels and went to change in the washroom. When she had dressed and tied her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, she added a touch of red lipstick and headed downstairs to find Martha. She was already waiting by the door in a flowered blue dress and low black heels. She carried a basket in one arm and her purse in the other, and her greying blond hair was topped with a blue hat. As they walked out the door, Charlotte took the empty basket from Martha's arm and strolled alongside her, talking of life in New York.

As they neared the corner market, two blocks from the Carter home, Martha stopped walking, causing Charlotte to stop short and glance behind her. Martha's jaw was clenched and her body had stiffened. Charlotte took a step closer to her and looked towards the market.

“Mama?” Charlotte asked in a hushed tone. “Is something wrong?”

“There she is; Anne Bueler,” Martha answered, her tone stern and filled with disdain. “The nerve of her moving back to this neighbourhood.”

Charlotte glanced towards the market and saw a pretty, blond woman, close to her own age. Her hair was hanging in loose curls around her shoulders and her white summer dress flowed in the wind, dancing around her legs. She held a small basket in one arm and was smelling the vegetables for freshness. Charlotte's heart jumped into her throat and her hands began to tremble.

“Anne Bueler,” Charlotte whispered, clearing her throat and straightening her shoulders. “Well Mama, shall we?”

Martha looked up at Charlotte and walked alongside her towards the shop. Both of their mouths set in a stern, straight line as they grew closer to Anne. They passed her at the door, allowing her to watch them enter, and she quickly followed them in, calling Martha's name. Martha turned around and looked at Anne with pure hatred in her eyes and a polite smile on her lips.

“Hello Anne,” Martha smiled up at the tall, blond woman standing in front of her. “How's the husband?”

“He's doing fine, Martha,” Anne smiled back, seeming uncomfortable as she looked beside Martha towards Charlotte and extended a dainty, white hand. “Anne Bueler.”

“Charlotte Ramsey,” Charlotte said cooly, extending her left hand towards Anne and allowing her to see her shining engagement ring. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Are you married to one of Martha's sons?” Anne held onto her basket with both hands in front of her as she looked at Charlotte's hand. The ring shone extra bright and Charlotte smiled at Anne's question. She had been waiting.

“No,no. Engaged. Louie and I are to be married a week from today.” Charlotte watched Anne's face turn paler against her golden blond hair. Despite herself, she smiled a little bit wider.

“Well,” Anne cleared her throat and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly uncomfortable. “It was very nice meeting you. Please give Louie my best.” She quickly walked out of the market and down the opposite side of the street. Charlotte felt like she should feel bad for Anne, and that feeling followed her the whole way back to the Carter family home.

The morning of Louie and Charlotte's rehearsal dinner was a dark and rainy one. The rain pattered on the windows and dripped down in clear streams over the porch overhang. Charlotte decided to spend the morning in bed, cuddled under the blankets, as Louie rose early with a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach. He headed downstairs and saw that he was awake before everyone, including his mother. He had just strolled through the kitchen, dressed in only an undershirt and slacks, and opened the ice box when he heard a light rapping at the front door. Surprised, he walked through the sitting room and opened the wooden door to see Anne, completely soaked from the rain, staring up at him. Her white dress stuck to her body, her slip showed through the drenched fabric, and her hair dripped cool water down her face. The moment she saw him, she burst into tears.

“Oh my gosh,”she sobbed, her hands in front of her mouth as Louie opened the storm door and stepped out onto the porch, closing the wooden door behind him.

“Anne,” he started slowly. “What are you doing here?”

She looked up at him with tear soaked eyes and took a step towards him. “I had to make sure it was true.”

“If what was true?”

“That you're really here.” Anne stepped even closer towards him, her body pressed up against his. She placed her hands on his shoulders and ran them down his arms, feeling his skin as if to make sure he was real. Louie quickly moved and grabbed her wrists in his hands, moving her away from him forcefully. His palms burned against her fair skin and she looked up at him with desperation in her eyes.

“Who told you I was here?” Louie's eyes stared into hers as he spoke in a hush, stern tone. His jaw tensed as he waited, his hands never leaving her wrists.

“I saw your mother at the market. She was with the awfully rude girl who says she is to marry you tomorrow,” she stuck out her chin stubbornly as he released her wrists, frustrated. He leaned against the storm door and crossed his arms over his chest. “Please tell me that she is not who took my place at your side.”

“Took your place?” Louie asked, a small grin crossing his lips as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Anne, no one could take your place. You left your place at my side and went to marry a man who has hated me since we were kids. You scampered off into the sunset with the Bueler boy, so don't even dare stand on my mother's porch while my fiance sleeps upstairs and act like you're surprised I moved on.”

Anne looked as though she had been shot. Her face was contorted in a frown, her chin trembled as she held back tears and her whole body shook as if he had struck her. “But I have come back for you. I always come back for you, Louie. You're my one. You're the only one there ever has been.”

“This,” he reached over and held up her left hand to look at a single, gold band that sat on her ring finger. “proves otherwise.”

“I'm not proud of myself,” Anne whispered as a single tear rolled down her cheek, her hand dropping back to her side as he released it. “I have been thinking of no one but you since the day you left but what else was I supposed to do?”

“You could have waited!” Louie shouted at her, causing her entire body to tense up. She instinctively shielded herself by wrapping her arms around her waist. “You could have waited for me like I waited for you. I could have went off and did something sinful with another woman while you waited for me but I did not because I loved you. You were everything. You had everything I had to give and more but you threw me away. And the best part of all is you could not even say it to my face. You had your mother hand me an envelope the day I came home to you. And now, you have the nerve to stand here and say that you were thinking of only me?”

...

As Louie shook in rage on the porch, Charlotte was awake upstairs. Louie's voice carried through the open window, and she headed downstairs to see what the commotion was. As she tip-toed down the steps, she heard a woman crying and speaking to Louie. She hurried down and made her way to the far window, not daring to move the curtains to see. She sat quietly on the old, blue sofa, wrapped in the sheet that was once on the bed and listened as Anne and Louie let go of the 7-year-old emotions on the porch.

...

“Louie, please,” Anne sobbed as Louie moved away from the door and took out his cigarette case and matches. He sat down in an old, worn out chair that was placed on the far side of the porch.

“Yes,” she said quietly as she watched him put a cigarette to his lips and light it from where she stood. “I married Tom but I was never happy with him. Not like I was with you.”

She walked over to him and knelt between his open knees, clutching onto him and leaning forward so he would look at her. “I could never be as happy as I was with you. Please....”

“What do you want from me?” he groaned at her. He looked down at the eyes that could once turn him into putty in her hands. “You left and when you did, you left this huge hole in me, Anne. I don't think you understand that. I was lost. I had no one. I had to run away from my family in order to forget about you and even then, I couldn't. You were a nightmare to me for six years until I met Charlotte. And now, you show up on my mother's doorstep crying thinking I will just come back to you?”

“Louie, I left because I felt like I had to,” Anne moved closer to him, gripping his knees and looking up at him with a tear-stained face. “My mother was forcing me, she made me go out with Tom. Yes, I fell in love with him but nothing could ever compare to the love I felt and still feel for you. Louie, you're back and I'm back. It's a sign.”

“I think you need to go,” Louie looked at her, kneeling in between his knees. “I'm getting married tomorrow. You need to go. Go back to Tom. Go home Anne.”

“I want you to marry me,” she sobbed at his feet. “I want you and me to be together. I will divorce Tom, it can be as it was before you left.”

“You should have thought of that before you left this with your mother,” Louie stood and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the old envelope and dropped it beside Anne, the ring inside clinking against the wooden floor. She picked it up and stared at it as Louie stepped over her crumpled form. “Now get off my porch. And take that with you. Go home, Anne.”

He walked in the house and allowed both doors to slam behind him. He pressed his back up against the door and sighed heavily, a lump forming in his throat. It was not a lump of sadness, but of past pain and sorrow. From the corner of his eye, he saw a white form next to the window, sitting on the sofa. Charlotte, still wrapped in the sheet from their bed, looked at him with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. She was proud of him for letting go of everything he had been hiding for seven years.

“How much did you hear?” He asked, still leaning against the door. He watched her rise from the sofa and slowly walk towards him.

“Enough,” she whispered as she pressed her body against his. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. He inhaled the smell of her hair, still smelling of apple scented shampoo. She pulled back and looked up at him, resting her hands on his hips. “Back to bed?”

He smiled down at her and pushed himself away from the door. “Back to bed.” He wrapped an arm around her blanketed form and together they walked back upstairs.

...

“I had to do it,” he said to her as she lay down with him under the sheet. “I had to give it back to her.”

“The ring?” Charlotte asked with her cheek pressed against his chest.

“It didn't belong to me. It never did,” he whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I didn't expect to see her ever again. Why didn't you tell me you saw her with Mama?”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know, really. I guess it was seeing your mother's reaction to seeing her. It was frightening. She looked like she could strangle the life out of Anne for just breathing next to her.”

“Yeah,” Louie chuckled at the image. “That's Mama though. Always protective.”

“Are you gonna tell her about what happened this morning?”

“God, no!” Louie laughed and hugged Charlotte. They laid in bed together until Mama came to get them for breakfast. Neither of them said a word to her about Anne's visit. The day was going to be a busy one, but all Charlotte wanted to do was lay there with Louie forever.

Charlotte was up at 6am, bright eyed, alone and with butterflies rolling around in her stomach. Louie was forced to spend the night down the street with Aunt Grace, Mama's youngest sister. . It is, apparently, bad luck to spend the night alone with bride before the wedding. She had never slept so restlessly, sleeping with Louie for the past week has spoiled her. Sleeping alone left her cold, she missed the warmth that Louie brought to her bed.

“Charlotte?” Martha's voice rang through the door. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Charlotte answered, walking to the door to greet her future mother-in-law.

“We have your dress downstairs. Grace brought it over after spending the night re-sewing the hem. Your mama was taller than you by quite a bit, wasn't she?”

“Yes,” Charlotte replied softly, remembering the photographs of her mama in the same dress she was going to be wearing today. “I did not inherit the same lean body type that my mother had. Which, I guess, makes customizing dresses easier.”

“Yes, it does,” Martha chuckled as she linked her arm around Charlotte's and escorted her down the stairs. The whole family room was decorated in white and blue flowers and ribbons. Martha was up until 3 in the morning decorating and getting everything prepared for the day. All of the ladies in Louie's family were helping her get ready, which made Charlotte feel relieved and terrified at the same time. As they walked into the dining area, she was greeted by the laughter and applause of the most important women in Louie's life: his aunts. Around the large, oak dining table were 6 women, all similar in age and all almost identical in appearance. Aunt Grace, who Charlotte had met the day before, lept out of her chair, bounded her way over to Martha and Charlotte, and enveloped Charlotte in a tight hug. She had the same blond hair as Martha, with no greys yet to be seen, and the same round, short body.

“Are you excited?” She beamed at Charlotte, who looked flushed and overwhelmed.

“I am,” Charlotte replied, a small smile creeping across her face as her anxiety kicked in. Being in a room with all of these women made Charlotte feel surrounded and suffocated. “I'm just a bit nervous. Very nervous. Down-right scared out of my mind.” The tears started flowing before Charlotte could stop herself. All 7 women watched her with curiosity and confusion as Charlotte broke down, sitting at the table and wiping her tears away with her fingers.

“I'm sorry if I upset you, darling,” Grace said, crouching beside Charlotte and offering her a tissue from out of her purse. Charlotte took it gratefully and dabbed her eyes, her breath escaping her in hiccups.

“You didn't upset me,” Charlotte whispered as she tried to catch her breath and stop the tears from falling. “I'm just a bit overwhelmed. I'm happy and I'm excited to be marrying Louie. But...”

“What is it, child?” Margaret, the eldest at the end of the table spoke up. Her blue eyes held in tears as she watched Charlotte.

Charlotte took a deep breath and sat up straight. “I just wish my mama was here. I wish my daddy was here to walk me down the aisle. I wish they both could have met Louie and all of you and could have seen me as happy as I am right now; how happy Louie has made me over the last year.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Martha said, coming up behind Charlotte and hugging her around the shoulders. “I know you wish they were here. I wish they were too. But you know, they are here. As corny as it may sound, they are watching you. They see how happy you are. They probably think you're crazy for marrying into this family,” Charlotte barked out a soft laugh as she dabbed her eyes once more. “But I know they're proud of you. I know they are happy and they will be with you today. Not in body, but in spirit.”

Charlotte looked up at Martha from over her shoulder, and at all the women who had taken time out of their days to help her with the next phase in her's and Louie's life, and couldn't help but know that Martha was right. “Thank you,” Charlotte whispered as new, fresh tears streamed down her face. They weren't the tears of sadness, but tears of happiness as all of the women came over and wrapped her in their embrace.

“Now, enough of the blabbering and blubbering,” Margaret straightened, wiping her own tears from her eyes. “We have a lot to do and very little time.”

...

The next three hours were a blur of blond hair and southern accents as the Aunts worked furiously to get Charlotte ready. Martha had prepared breakfast and was getting the cake decorated. Margaret worked on getting the flowers arranged and Charlotte's bouquet perfect. Grace and Moira, Martha's twin sister, gathered all of the belongings that Charlotte needed, including the dress, shoes, flowers and jewellery into the car so she was ready to get to the church. Sophia and Louisa, the two middle sisters, prepared Charlotte herself. Sophia tended to Charlotte's hair, which was perfectly set in a beautiful curled bun that sat off to the left side and let some soft ringlets pool out onto Charlotte's shoulder. Louisa carefully applied Charlotte's makeup. Simple, elegant red lips and minimal eye shadow and mascara was all that was necessary but seemed to take forever as Louisa applied it all with pain-stacking accuracy.