More Than One Night

Her second-floor apartment was one of just six and featured high ceilings with decorative plasterwork, a mint-green-and-black bathroom that dated back to the thirties and a small but recently renovated kitchen. Most important, it boasted a neat study area off the bedroom that had become her new home office, a bonus that had sealed the deal for her even though the rent was slightly more than she’d hoped to pay.

With transportation and accommodation settled, she committed herself to the handful of start-up clients she’d generated before leaving the service, while also trying to drum up future business. Thanks to her background, she had in-depth knowledge in certain highly specialized areas and, as she’d hoped, her credentials opened a lot of doors amongst suppliers either already dealing with the military or hoping to.

By the time April rolled into May, she had work booked for the next two months, with prospects for more in the pipeline. She’d made friends with the woman across the hall and Gina’s circle of friends had embraced her. Her initial qualms about civilian life faded as she found her feet and her days took on a rhythm of their own.

She was surviving. No, not simply surviving—she was thriving. She had a home all her own, she had a business that was on the uptick, she was putting down roots and forming new friendships. It was all good.

The only off note, if it could be called that, was the fact that every now and then, when her guard was down, a rogue, rebellious part of her brain wondered what might have happened if she’d hung around and waited for Rhys to wake up all those weeks ago.

Every time she caught her thoughts drifting in that direction she gave herself a mental slap and reminded herself that she was a realist and that she’d played it smart, leaving the way she had—even if it meant there might be a part of her that wondered “what if.”

She was giving herself the Rhys Lecture, as she’d come to think of it, late one Friday afternoon in early May when a knock sounded. She was preparing dinner for herself and Gina and she put down the knife she’d been using before heading for the door.

“I come bearing gifts,” Gina said. She was carrying a bottle of red wine and a white bakery box and looked as though she’d come straight from work.

Charlie made a show of checking her watch. “You’re about two hours early for dinner. You know that, right?”

Gina shrugged. “I got off early. Plus, they’d just finished making these mini quiches for a function tonight—feel the box, they’re still warm from the oven—and I knew you’d be up for some early piggery.”

Charlie smiled wryly as she waved her friend inside. “You know me so well.”

“I know your appetite, that’s for sure.” Gina dumped the bottle of wine on the counter and glanced at the chopping board. “So, what are we having?”

“Potatoes dauphinoise, green beans with garlic and coq au vin.”

“God, I wish you were a man. I would so marry you.”

“What say we hold off on the proposal until after we’ve eaten? This is all a bold experiment at this stage.”

Cooking had never been one of Charlie’s strong suits, but she was determined to improve now that she was personally responsible for all her own meals. The days of making excuses for living off canned and frozen meals were over.

“You want to eat these little puppies now or later?” Gina asked, nudging the bakery box suggestively.

“What do you think?”

“This is why we’re friends,” Gina said with a happy sigh.

Charlie grabbed two wineglasses and the bottle and followed Gina into the living room.

“You make me feel like such a slattern every time I come here.” Gina dropped onto the white couch.

“Why?” Charlie asked, startled.

“Because your place is always so organized and clean and perfect,” Gina said, one hand making a sweeping gesture.

Charlie glanced around at her black leather Eames chair and ottoman, white wool Florence Knoll sofa and midcentury glass-and-wood coffee table. Art books sat in a neat stack beside the open fireplace, arranged so their spines formed blocks of color, and a cluster of thick, creamy pillar candles sat in the empty grate. Apart from a handful of red-and-black throw cushions on the couch and a single white vase on the mantel, the room was bare.

“Is it too sterile?” She loved it like this—calm and clean—but she knew that her minimalist bent gave some people the heebie-jeebies.

“No. It’s soothing, actually. I just don’t know how you maintain it.”

“Magical elves. With tiny hoovers and feather dusters.”

“I knew you’d been holding out on me, bitch,” Gina said amicably. “You need to send some of that elf magic my way.”

Charlie smiled as she opened the wine and poured. “I’ll see what I can do. But even elves have their standards, you know.”

“Careful, or I won’t share,” Gina said, flipping off the lid. The smell of cream and cheese and bacon filled the room.

“Oh, boy, this is going to be good,” Charlie said.

“Word,” Gina agreed.

They dived into the box. They both made appreciative noises as they scoffed their first quiche before going back for seconds.

“So good,” Charlie said around a mouthful of food.

“Tell me about it,” Gina mumbled.

The phone rang, catching Charlie in the act of reaching for her third quiche. Rolling her eyes at Gina over the bad timing, she wiped her buttery fingers on a napkin and went to grab the phone.

A softly spoken woman identified herself as a nurse at the hospice where her father had spent his final days, and Charlie listened in bemusement as she explained that they’d discovered a previously overlooked box of personal belongings with her father’s name on it in their storage room.

“I was under the impression my father had either given everything away or thrown it out,” Charlie said.

“Well, there’s a box that didn’t go either way. What would you like us to do with it?”

Charlie gave the woman her address and credit card details to cover shipping the stuff from Melbourne, then ended the call and returned to Gina.

“What was that all about?” Gina asked as she sipped her wine.

Charlie explained briefly before changing the subject. There wasn’t much to discuss, after all—her father was dead, and the odds were good that the box contained a bunch of meaningless bits and pieces. Keith Anderson Long had been too organized and orderly a man for it to be any other way.

They continued to slurp their wine and made each other laugh with anecdotes from their respective days as they consumed the pastries. Finally the box was empty and Gina pushed herself to her feet.

“Fantastic. I’m now going to loll on your couch and complain about how full I am and how I couldn’t possibly fit another thing in while you finish making dinner,” she said as she headed for the bathroom.

“Or I could put you to work, stringing the beans and whatnot.”

“Hard-hearted wench,” Gina said, her voice echoing down the short hallway.

Charlie smiled as she sat back in her chair, sipping her wine.

“Hey, Charlie—my stupid period has come early. Can I borrow a tampon?” Gina called, her voice muffled by the closed door.

“Sure. In the cupboard behind the mirror.”

There was a short pause then Gina called out again. “There’s nothing here.”