Who Kissed Charlie Fine?

Chapter 15

"I'm not sure," she said, innocently enough. "Go on and poke around if you're dying to. You think your mystery girl snuck into the closet that way?"

"Maybe. If there is a door on the inside that could explain it."

"Depends on where it was coming from and who knew about it."

"Well who would know about it?" he asked, unable to suppress a smirk.

"You'll have to ask Graham," said Mary, plainly. "I assume you're going to have a word with him before you leave."

She was distancing herself from events again. She started walking towards the kitchen. Charlie gave verbal chase.

"I guess I'm asking if you, specifically, would know about it. And if you do, and a secret door or passage into the closet does, in fact, exist, I'm asking if you, specifically, would've used it, say, the night of the senior's party?"

She looked back at him over her shoulder and said drolly, "That would be less than ideal, wouldn't it?"

"That's not an answer," Charlie called out, pretty pleased with himself as he heard his plate being placed in the sink.

Mary returned with a slow, easy shuffle and an impenetrable, humouring smile that immediately called his detective skills into question. She perched a hip on an arm of the couch and crossed her arms.

"Did I risk my life sliding down a Bat-pole so I could suck face with you in a closet and then not take credit for it?" Charlie was hopeful, but she wouldn't give him anything. "What kind of a girl do you think I am?"

He shook his head and shrugged for the lack, yet again, of a real answer. "I'm at a total loss," he admitted.

The notion of having to ask the same question a third time instantly soured in his belly as something absurdly indigestible. If Mary wanted to admit what she knew, or better yet confess, why wouldn't she? To spare him embarrassment? He was beyond embarrassment at this point, not that she knew it, but not pride or reason. What her non-answers were making perfectly clear was that she didn't want to be involved. She didn't want to be involved any further in matters of kissing or crushes or unexplored feelings with him. Maybe it was because cameras were rolling, or because her life was too complicated, or that she just wasn't as attracted to him as he was to her. What good would it do, then, to come right out and ask, 'Was it you who kissed me that night?', when it was obvious the answer would be no whether it was true or not. Either way, the result would be rejection, and in the worst case scenario, he'd have forced her to lie.

This business of thinking only of himself, of the whole world revolving around his place in it was getting tired. If Mary wanted to leave things where they were, the only thing to do was to take the hint, respect her wishes and part as friends, no matter how unexpectedly disappointing it would be.

As if that parting couldn't come soon enough, she tilted her head and asked, "When are you leaving anyway?"

"Saturday morning after the anniversary party. I'm having dinner with Calvin and Opal tonight and then – Oh. Pam is in town. Did you know that?"

"No," Mary said with a delicate sounding surprise.

"See, that's reason you should come to the party."

"No," was Mary's equally delicate refusal.

"I'm supposed to have drinks with her tonight."

"Lucky you," she said, lifting her eyebrows playfully. "Say hello to her for me and give her a big hug."

"Would you want to join us?" he asked, not knowing really why.

"No thank you, Charlie. You should have your dream girl all to yourself."