The Last September: A Novel

By the time we returned to my apartment to collect his scant belongings, Charlie was there and came with us to install Eli in his new home.

“I love you,” Charlie told me as the two of us drove away, the sound of barking dogs fading behind us. He reached out, covered my hand with his and added, “Thank you.”

YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS next. After fall gave way to winter, and winter to spring. After Eli worked a few months at the kennel and then abandoned his meds and wandered the streets for weeks before landing back in the hospital. After my mother left the country. On an evening still cool enough for cardigans, Charlie and I carried a bottle of wine across the street and sat on the bench at the Homestead. He knew I liked to be there after dusk—not far from where the Poet herself used to garden, once the light had faded and she knew she wouldn’t be seen.

“Tell me,” he said, handing me a plastic cup, “what it was that Emily liked about Sue.”

“We can’t call her Emily,” I told him. “We have to call her Dickinson. Or the Poet.”

“Tell me what the Poet liked about Sue.”

“Everyone liked Sue,” I said. “She was very magnetic. Very charming. Beautiful. All that.”

“Like you,” Charlie said, touching a strand of my hair.

“No,” I said. “Like you. Emily was like me. Studious. Infatuated.”

“The Poet,” Charlie corrected me, and I smiled. “Is that what you are?” he said. “Infatuated?”

“No. Not just that, anyway.”

“You were going to marry Ladd.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to marry me instead?”

A leap inside me. There was no ring. Only Charlie, sitting there, looking earnest. Spontaneous. Utterly believable. Still, for the first time since the Fourth of July party, I allowed myself to be suspicious of him. I was too afraid to let the gathering joy bubble to the surface.

“But Charlie,” I said. “You can’t commit.”

He laughed. “I just did.”

“Why?” I whispered. “Why me?”

“Because I can always tell what you’re thinking.”

This was the last answer I wanted, so I turned away from him, but he cupped my chin, gently bringing my gaze back to his face. Charlie’s smiles never seemed like a reflex. They started slowly, his eyes on you. There was never any doubt—you were the one who inspired it.

“Look,” Charlie said. “I could give you a list of qualities. Beautiful. Smart. Sexy. Right? But those are just words. They apply to a million women. But only this applies to you. I love you. Because I do. Okay? I just do. So let’s get married.”

He kissed me, not bothering to wait for my obvious yes. I let not only happiness boil over but triumph. I knew it. Even back in Colorado, even after I’d given up on him. Somewhere inside myself, I knew it. If only I could love him enough, he would come to me, and he would stay.