Page 20 of Mountain Void

“Ah.”

“Ah?” Charlie repeated. “Is that all?”

“You tell me if that’s all.”

“We met up again. By coincidence,” Charlie went on. “And it’s … it’s hard to explain. My heart doesn’t seem to understand that we’re not together anymore.”

“You were the one who served him the divorce papers, Charlie,” Terry said gently.

“I know.” Charlie swallowed. “But he signed them. Willingly. He didn’t fight for me. For us.”

“It was a brutal time,” Terry said. “For both of you. And I’m still not convinced you made the right decision. Have you talked about it? Really talked?”

Charlie shook her head. “He wants to talk. We’re meeting for coffee.” Her throat tightened. “But I’m not sure I’m ready. I might never be ready. I lost our baby, and I don’t think he could ever forgive me for that.”

“Did he say that?” Terry demanded. Anger filled her voice. “Because if he did—”

“No,” Charlie said quickly. “He never said anything. But back then … “ She stared at the wall across from her, at the faint scuff marks from a previous tenant. “I felt the distance. He was already pulling away. Long before I made the call.”

“Oh, Charlie.”

“Do you think I should meet with him?”

“I think,” Terry said carefully, “that you won’t stop wondering what might have happened if you don’t. I also think you should make it dinner, not coffee. Give him a chance to say what he wants to say.”

Charlie closed her eyes.

Outside, a car door slammed somewhere down the street. She hated the way the sound made her tense up.

8

Lorenz

“I’m glad you changed your mind about having dinner together.”

Charlie smiled faintly. “This place is nice.”

She nudged at her grilled salmon with the edge of her fork, flaking it without quite committing to a bite.

“Is there something wrong with the fish?” Lorenz asked before he could stop himself.

She’d always loved fish. It had been a joke between them—Charlie loved fish, seaweed, anything pulled from the sea. When they’d lived together, he’d started cataloging restaurants in his mind by what she liked to eat there. For him, food had always been fuel. Charlie had made it something else entirely. And he’d always loved watching her eat. Her focus. The quiet pleasure she took in those small things.

But that was six years ago.

People change.

The thought came suddenly, that for all he knew she might be a vegetarian now. He hadn’t asked. He’d assumed.

Charlie shook her head. “No. It’s lovely.”

This time, the fork made it to her mouth.

Lorenz tried not to focus on her lips, but it was hard. Charlie’s lips had always been expressive—quick to smile, quick to press together when she was holding something back. Expressive and downright beautiful.

She chewed, swallowed. “You chose well.”

Relief settled somewhere behind his ribs.