Recover
Charlie heard a stirring from the main living quarters and emerged from the bathroom to find Jonathan with an array of potential brunch items. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re probably not hungry, but I did order some dry toast—which I think is probably your best option. And possibly some orange juice.”
Charlie waved both items away and dropped onto the couch on his back. “Why is the sun so bright?” he asked, tossing a pillow over his face.
“Let me turn it down for you,” Jonathan said sarcastically. He did, however, adjust the blinds to make sure they were closed as tightly as possible.
“How much did I drink?” Charlie asked, pressing the pillow against his eyes.
“From what I can tell, about a bottle of brandy, and most of a bottle of Jameson.”
“Don’t ever let me drink alcohol again, all right?” he said, muffled by the pillow.
Jonathan didn’t bother to acknowledge that statement. “Listen, I know you feel like shit, but it’s past noon, and I really think you should consider going down to talk to Meg.”
Charlie pulled the pillow back to look at him. “What?” he asked, not sure he had heard correctly. “Whatever are you talking about? You know who she is, don’t you?”
Realizing he must not remember any bits of the conversation they had, had the night before, Jonathan replied, “Yes, I know who she is. And I also know why she lied to you. I know you’re hurt and angry—rightfully so—but I think you’ll feel better once you let her explain.”
“No,” Charlie said, placing the pillow back over his face.
“Charlie,” Jonathan coaxed, “just give her a chance to tell you what happened. Otherwise, you’ll always regret not knowing the whole truth.”
“The truth is she chose not to be with me, thought she’d rather spend her time with some servant boy, and then lied to me about who she was. Why in the world would I ever want to see her again?” He had somehow managed to sit up and face Jonathan, who was sitting in the chair across from him now, though Charlie wasn’t quite sure where this new found physical strength was coming from, his inner rage, perhaps.
Shaking his head, Jonathan said, “You don’t understand….”
“I don’t understand? No, Jonathan, you don’t understand. How can you possibly take her side? You of all people who have watched me suffer over this for a week—longer than that, really, when you factor in all of my wallowing over why she never wrote a letter or sent a photo.”
Jonathan realized they were rehashing the exact same conversation they had, had the night before, though there was a distinct possibility that Charlie had no memory of it whatsoever. He repeated himself, however, simply because there was no other choice but to do so. “Charlie, I’m not taking her side. I’m taking your side. I’m always on your side. Listen, I know why Meg made the choices she made now. You need to talk to her yourself so she can explain it to you in person.”
“How do you know?” he asked, a confused expression on his face.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jonathan replied, preferring not to explain the entire situation again. “Just do it. You’ll feel much better about yourself when you do.”
Charlie absorbed what he was saying, but the thought of seeing Meg again, of sitting across from her and letting her elucidate some rationale for her behavior, was somewhat terrifying. As much as he would like to believe Jonathan—and Molly—when they said speaking to her would ease his conscience, he didn’t know how that was possible. He did believe, however, that seeing her again could easily make him remember just how much he wanted to be with her, which could potentially start this entire vicious cycle all over again, something he was not willing to subject himself to. “Listen, Jonathan, I appreciate the fact that you want me to have some closure, but not today. I can’t deal with that today.”
“I don’t want you to have closure. I want you to have Meg. And if you go and talk to her, I think you will.”
Charlie eyed him skeptically. “I don’t know how that’s possible. I can’t believe there’s anything she could possibly say that would make me forgive what she’s done.”
“I disagree.”
“How is that possible?”
“Go talk to her, and you’ll see,” Jonathan urged. “You can wait until tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, but ultimately, you’re just torturing yourself. Go, hear her out. Or I’ll bring her here. Whichever you prefer. You just need to hear what she has to say.”
Running his hands through his short brown hair, once again, Charlie considered what his friend was saying. Perhaps he was right. Maybe not. Either way, he was in no mental state to talk to anyone just now. “I’ll think about it,” he finally said. “But right now, I’m going to go utilize that bath tub I paid thousands of dollars for.”
As Charlie left the room, Jonathan shook his head, unsure precisely what he should do. He had spoken to Molly earlier that day, and she had filled him in on the state of the now very confused First Class socialites. Some people insisted that it was not Mary Margaret who had accompanied Charlie to dinner the night before—that he had simply invited a girl from Third Class, one he had rescued from falling overboard, perhaps. Others, such as Madeline Astor herself, insisted that she had spoken to Mary Margaret and knew for a fact it was her. Then there was the idea that the girl was Mary Margaret pretending to be someone else. The entire rumor mill was confused, and new speculations and inaccuracies were floating about by the moment. If Charlie were to truly patch things over with Meg, it would make it much easier to shut everyone up completely. And while that didn’t necessarily have to be done immediately, the sooner it happened the better.
It wasn’t often that Jonathan made decisions that went against Charlie’s wishes, but in this particular instance, he knew what he needed to do, and as far as he was concerned, time was truly of the essence.
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