Chapter 2

Charlie

Until tonight, I did not know that choosing a coffin could be so difficult.

"Which tree do you prefer?"

“Satin or silk upholstery?”

"This one is a little more expensive, but it's larger in size."

I barely restrained myself from an inappropriate question: “Do you think it will be cramped there?”

Mom did not cry, there was not a single emotion on her face at all. I thought that when I returned, I would find my always strong mother to be a wreck in tears, but I was wrong. It scares me. But do I really want to see her cry? Maybe then it would be easier for me to realize the full scale of the tragedy that came to our family.

Do I really want my mom to cry?

This must be making me a lousy person.

After an hour spent at the funeral home, I feel ready to snap. I don't want to choose a coffin for my father. I don't care what wood it's made of or what upholstery it has inside. I want my dad to be alive and be able to tell him how much I love him.

I want to call Ollie and tell him how much it hurts me that I will never see my father and never be able to apologize to him. It also hurts because I can't just pick up the phone and call Ollie.

I went out into the air and, grabbing the handrail, squeezed it until my fingers hurt. And that's when I broke down.

Here comes one more event in my life that I can't fix.

Oliver Mason Scott once called me spoiled. He was just joking then, and we both laughed at it. But Ollie was right — I'm spoiled.

***

In the evening, when we returned home, I told my mother that I wanted to fully pay for my father's funeral.

“For God's sake, Charlotte, I can pay for my husband's funeral myself!”

Mom's voice sounded slightly annoyed, and then she went up to her bedroom. From the moment I got home, I felt she had a hidden disappointment in me.

My relationship with my mom wasn't bad, but it got complicated a few years ago, and although we never talked about what happened, I felt like my mom's attitude towards me had changed forever.

“Mom is mad at me,” I shared with Liz as we sorted through the food that friends and neighbors had brought.

My sister looked at me as she put another casserole in the fridge.

“You know why.”

For a moment, I got tense. I was afraid that Liz might find out, but no — if she knew, she would have immediately called me at the same moment and demanded an explanation. Nobody but mom knows.

"You should have visited them more often, Charlie," Liz said reproachfully. “Dad asked you to come visit so many times.”

Liz was right, her words are true, but I still wanted to defend myself.

“You know I couldn't. He's here, and I... can't," I muttered, shaking my head.

“Jesus, Charlie, nobody gives a damn!” Liz could not restrain herself, and I flinched as if from a slap in the face. “Even Oliver himself. He lives his life, just like you, by the way! This is childish on your part. You shouldn't have turned your dad down because of your old problems with Oliver!”

“Do you think I don't know this?” I also raised my voice, and tears of remorse filled my eyes. “Do you think I don’t reproach myself for this? This will always haunt me, Liz!”

A guilty expression flickered across her face.

“Charlie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

"Hey, what's going on here?"

Emily entered the kitchen, looking at us in surprise. Her eyes were red and puffy because Emily was crying most of the time. She is the youngest and is still studying at the university.

In some ways, it’s a little bit more difficult to Emily than to others.

“We argued a little.” I tried to smile. “Nothing serious.”

I extended my arms to my younger sister, and she readily accepted my embrace. Our father died, but our family still lived, and that helped keep us going.

***

When everyone was asleep, I quietly left the house and my feet carried me to the next street, to Oliver's house. I didn't know for sure, but most likely he hadn't lived there for a long time. Ever since their mother had abandoned them and went away, a pale shadow of sorrow had settled in the Scotts' house forever. The flowers withered, the shutters often stood for a long time, in need of painting, and it seemed that even the light in the windows had dimmed.

Ollie confessed to me that he longed to get out of his parents' house as soon as he could, and felt guilty in front of his father for wanting to do this.

During the first few days after Mrs. Scott left, Ollie and I would often talk about why she did that and how she could have made up her mind. But one day Ollie looked at me seriously and spoke in such a harsh tone that I had never heard from him before.

“Never talk about her again, Charlie. She left my dad and I. She decided that we were not a good fit into her future life plans. From this day forward, I will think that my mother is dead.”

This was the last time he mentioned her. Ollie couldn't forgive the woman who gave birth to him. So could he forgive me when I swore I would never leave him, but then broke my vow?

The house was dark, but I could see the bluish glow of the TV in the living room through the uncurtained window. I couldn’t tell from there, but I was pretty sure Ollie wasn't there. I couldn’t feel him. I don't really believe in mysticism, but somehow it happened that Ollie and I always felt each other.

I stood under a tree and looked at the house where many days of my childhood and youth were spent. My gaze lingered on the roof for a long time, and for a moment it seemed to me that I saw Ollie and I in those days that have long since sunk into oblivion.