Page 109 of Out of the Gold

Her quiet voice is closer to me. “She told us.”

I step toward the balcony, trying to keep some distance between her and me. Each step I take is more difficult than the last. My resolve wavers. “Us?”

“Yes. Sophia and me.”

Her reflection in the sliding glass door becomes clearer as she approaches. My body stiffens. “Oh.”

Her image disappears as she stands directly behind my body. I move to the side and her reflection reappears. Her face is contorted in anguish.

My resolve falters.

She reaches out and touches my forearm, which tenses. My head turns to look at her fingers. Long, capable, and filled with talent.

“I had no idea, and I understand why you kept her story to yourself. Even when I told you some of what she doled out to me growing up.” She remains still. “I’m sorry I accused her today.”

I dip my head.

She blurts, “I was blinded by fury. At her for being my childhood tormentor. At you for defending your sister.” She inhales. “I lashed out, and I was wrong.”

One shred of hostility remains. Is she also sorry for throwing the title of Movie Star at me? I remain motionless. Waiting.

When she doesn’t say another word, pain lances through my body and I step away from her touch. In a strangled voice, I reply, “Thank you.”

“What more can I say?”

My hand rubs against my mouth. She’s apologized for so much, but still notthat. I whisper, “I guess goodbye.”

Her harsh intake of air reaches my ears, but I don’t move. She takes a step away, and another, and another. With every footfall, I stifle my urge to beg her to repent for calling me a “movie star.”

She stops in front of the door. “Charles, you’re the best man I’ve ever met. You’re kind and funny and sweet and talented. I have no doubt you’ll achieve all the success you desire.”

Those are not the words of someone who only views me as a movie star. The door opens and I turn around. “Wait!”

Her eyes meet mine.

Her regret. Her sorrow.

They quell my pain.

She whispers, “I love you.”

My feet propel my body across the room and I spin her around in my arms, closing the door and pushing her against it. She’s never said those words to me. And given my upbringing, I’ve still never uttered them to any woman outside a sound studio. Ever.

Bracing myself away from her on the doorframe, I rasp, “You don’t think of me as some movie star?”

Her face squinches. “No. You’re so much more. You’re a real actor. And a wonderful man.”

At her description of me, my heart expands. A sense of connection to this woman fills my being. Yet I can’t utter those three words. Not yet. Instead, I close my arms around her. “Oh God, Goldie.” I bury my face in her hair—the locks that first caught my attention.

Her palm caresses my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

I grab her lips with my own. “Stop saying that. I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.”

“And I promise not to ever jump to conclusions again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” She closes the gap between us, and all talking ceases.

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