A/N: Hello everyone! This new update might surprise some of you who are probably expecting something later in the week. The story is really done so I'm posting the remaining chapters a little more closely together because the things are going to happen are pretty much leading up to the end and I didn't want to drag it out too much.
Thank you!
***
You would think that a woman with an incredible amount of money would have no issue buying gifts. But when her father-in-law was not only a ridiculously rich man as well who not only cared about her a great deal but also made the incredulous move to matchmake her with his son, it wasn’t going to be as easy as it would seem.
It was two days later and I still had nothing to give Martin for his birthday this weekend.
Since Brandon left early this morning for a business summit in Stockholm, not returning until the end of the week just in time for his father’s birthday, I was left to my own devices. I would’ve come with him if not for the upcoming birthday bash we were finalizing and the little side fact that I was still sheltering Riley and Danny in my old house until Layla could organize her official escape from Don’s clutches.
My first instinct was to turn to Anna and Tessa but the sisters still had classes so I called up Jake to meet up for lunch and hopefully a quick shopping trip downtown right after. He was the only other person close to Martin who could offer me some gift-giving advice.
The trouble was, he didn’t quite know what to get him either.
Martin had everything he could ever possibly need and want—well, except for his wife, Evelyn, to still be alive but even I didn’t have the powers of resurrection, as handy as that might be.
In the past few birthdays he’d had since I knew him, I’d given him a small cake I made when he stopped by Marlow’s. The only time I’d given him anything that had some kind of monetary value was when I gave him a small book of sketches by an artist in Paris who drew the faces of different diners he could see from the glass window of a cozy cafe as he sat outside on a bench every day. I’d given it to him the first time I saw him again at Marlow’s after my abrupt return from Paris. He had, after all, given me the means to escape my reality even for a little while and head out on my own to the city of lights where I had hoped to start anew.
And just when you were resigned to the fact that you could never escape your life, he’d introduced you to a completely different one by squaring you off with his son. If fairy godfathers existed, Martin would be yours.
And since fairy godparents usually did the wish-granting, buying them a gift was like solving one of the great mysteries of life.
“I’m telling you. There’s only one gift you can give him that would put all his other gifts to shame,” Jake said as we came out of a very high-end designer store. “Grandkids. Tell him you’ll give him either a Brandon junior or a little Charlotte and he’ll be over the moon.”
I looked at him in exasperation. “I’d like to think of my future children as more than just some gift merchandise I can pop out, tie with a pretty bow, and send with express delivery.”
Jake grinned. “You know they’ll be very cute.”
“Just as cute as yours and Tessa’s little minions would be,” I shot back, wiggling my brows at him meaningfully. “If you’re so adamant on giving Martin grandkids, why don’t you and Tessa get to it, huh?”
I probably shouldn’t have teased Jake about it, knowing his heart was still bleeding in some places, because the moment I mentioned Tessa and their future children, his face went from being incredulous to pained to downright crestfallen.
“While I haven’t looked that far into the future, I will agree that Tessa and I are going to have some pretty adorable babies,” he said right after a long sigh. “If only they wouldn’t inherit their mother’s obstinacy.”
I snorted. “News flash, Jake—she’s not the only one with that gene.”
We were chuckling as we headed for his car parked at the end of the block when my phone rang.
“Hello?” I asked, since the call display only showed the phone number but no name.
There was no answer at first—just a series of harsh, ragged breaths.
“Hello?” I prompted again, stopping mid-stride.
I had this ugly feeling it was someone I knew but I couldn’t put a finger on it.
Layla’s prepaid cellphone came up as Poppy Pett (because I liked the name even though she thought it was ridiculous) and the other number we provided Danny and Riley with showed as Rusty Ruiz (because I liked it too).
“Char?” a faint, trembling voice finally came through the line.
My body stiffened into alert mode as I replayed the sound of my name over and over again in my head until I could tag the voice.
Bessy.
“Charlotte, is everything okay?”Jake asked, drawing me back to reality, his face etched with concern.
I held up a finger to my lips to quiet him before I lowered my head to focus on the sounds from the other line.
“It’s me,” I said gently, not wanting to startle her. “What’s going on?”
She burst into small, suppressed gasps, as if she was having trouble breathing. “I’m at the... the c-clinic to... you know? I thought I could b-but... I... I c-can’t!”
It felt like a fist pounded straight into my chest as Bessy’s words sank in.
“Where are you?” I asked, gripping the phone so tight in my hands, I could feel the sweat squishing on my curled palm. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“But I have to! I h-have to...” Bessy was full-blown sobbing on the other line now. “He told me I have to, Char... I h-have to...”
“You don’t have to do a damn thing, do you hear me?” I snapped, stepping out to the edge of the sidewalk and flailing my hand up in the air to get a taxi’s attention. “Stay put. Text me where you are. I’ll come get you and we’ll fix this, okay?”
“Charlotte, what the hell are you doing?” Jake demanded, gripping my shoulder and yanking me to face him. “Who’s on the phone? What’s going on?”
“I’ve got to go, okay?” I told him, cupping a hand over my phone. “I’ll call you later, Jake.”
A taxi pulled up in front of me and I scrambled into it. I tried to shut the door but Jake grabbed it and held it open.
“What’s the address?” I asked Bessy on the phone again as Jake and I played tug-of-war on the door while the hysterical woman on the other line just kept sobbing. “Focus! What’s the address?”
“For the love of God, Charlotte!” Jake hissed, glaring at me. “Wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you!”
I rattled off the address, growing desperate to reach Bessy without further delay. In her state of mind, God knows she might do something she would truly regret.
“Charlotte!” Jake barked to get my attention. “Something’s wrong and—Ow!”
I smacked his hand hard enough that he had to release his grip on the door, wincing when he shot me a scathing look.
“I’m so sorry, Jake!” I apologized haphazardly right before slamming the taxi door close. I turned to the taxi driver and pounded on the back of his seat urgently. “Let’s go!”
The clinic Bessy went to was fortunately within the outskirts of downtown so I was there in less than twenty minutes. Abortion was legal in the state but the place she chose didn’t look like the kind someone who could well afford the luxuries of first-class health care would pick.
As I hastily climbed out of the taxi, I glanced around the street that looked more like a back alley to me, and swallowed hard.
The building was short and a dull concrete-gray with a simple, faded white sign that said ‘Family Care’ in black letters. There were a few cars parked in front of the building and across the street, and the other store space next to the clinic was vacant, unsigned, and sporting boarded up windows and graffiti art.
It looked like the kind of place someone would go to if they wanted to stay well below the radar and where all transactions were done in cash and without any paper trail.
My blood boiled.
I was sure Don planned this little trip to the doctor for Bessy, not wanting to risk anyone recognizing the young socialite if she’d gone to more credible places than this dump.
Bessy, at least the girl I knew since high school, was certainly spoiled enough to ever consider this place.
I was still rooted to the spot, staring at the building and fidgeting with my purse, when I heard the loud screech of tires coming down the street.
I turned and spotted Jake’s car whipping into a parking spot in front of the clinic, barely a couple of feet away from me.
I inwardly cursed, grinding my teeth before taking a deep breath and facing the inevitable confrontation with Jake.
There was going to be one because he looked like he was going to skin me alive.
I sighed.
Of course, he’d followed me. I should’ve thought of that but I was too concerned about Bessy. And now I was risking her secret, and possibly her baby.
“What the hell are you doing here, Charlotte?” he bit off, grabbing my elbow and finally glancing around. “If you needed to go to the doctor, I would’ve taken you—somewhere a little less sketchy than here, for sure.”
“This is a different kind of doctor, Jake,” I muttered as I yanked my arm free from his grip and headed for the entrance with him dogging my steps. “You shouldn’t have followed me here.”
“I had to after you turned white while you were on that call,” he said gruffly, peering at the ratty posters and notices on the wall right next to the building entrance. “Brandon’s going to kill me if something happened to you and I did nothing.”
“You can see I’m in one piece so you don’t have to worry,” I told him plaintively, trying to get past him to get through the door. “You can go, Jake.”
When he wouldn’t move, I started tapping my foot loudly and impatiently.
Bessy needed me and Jake was literally in my way. “Jake, move your ass over!”
“Wait a sec,” he said, his voice odd. He slowly turned his head to me, his green eyes accusing. “What kind of health center is this?”
Abortion services, as far as I knew, were offered in many locations in the city, mostly in women health centers and such. This place, as questionable as it looked, seemed to only cater to specific ‘planned parenthood’ options. There were little posters on the wall with tips on how to prevent pregnancy, birth control options, etc.
It made no specific mention of abortion but it displayed enough material to give anyone an idea that it specialized in family planning.
“Charlotte,” Jake started in a low voice, swallowing with difficulty that I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down his throat. He was looking at me anxiously, a thin film of sweat shining on his forehead even in this cool day. “Why are you at this place?”
I let out a small but loud puff of breath and rolled my eyes. “I’m here for an abortion.”
His jaw dropped so fast and so hard, I could almost hear the sound of the bone popping out of place.
My words replayed in my head and I gasped out in horror when I realized just how my abrupt confession sounded.
My hand flew to my mouth for a mortified second before I grabbed Jake by the elbow, knowing that he was going to snap out of it in a moment and bring down the wrath of God upon my stupid head.
He let out a string of curses that made me shudder and nearly cross myself, his voice rising as the momentum of his outrage intensified.
“Jake! Jake!” I tugged on his shoulder, trying to shake him out of his rant but he kept going. “It’s not me! Hey, listen! Jake!”
Out of options and running out of time too, I stomped on his foot hard enough that he yelped and hopped away, scowling at me deeply.
“You can swat my hand and break my toes but there is no way I’m going to let you do what you think you’re doing, Char—”
“I said it’s not me, okay?”
I practically yelled that to his face so he didn’t miss it.
He blinked a few times and shook his head as if it would clear it.
“You’re not—so, why... Then who are you here for?” he demanded in exasperation, still very much in my way. Then his face paled, his eyes widening in horror.
“It’s not Tessa, is it?” he whispered scratchily, paling even further than I could imagine.
“No, it’s not!” I replied hastily, bolting to the side and around him, grabbing for the door but he successfully kept it firmly in place with one hand pressed against it. “Jake, please! I have to stop her, okay? She doesn’t want to do it but she’s so fried in the brain right now that I worry she’s going to just let it happen.”
His jaw clenched. “Who is it, Charlotte?”
I exhaled sharply and made a decision. Bessy was going to hate me for squealing but at least she’ll have her baby. Besides, she hated me already anyway.
“It’s Bessy, okay?” I said quietly, pleading at him with my eyes. “She’s pregnant and no one knows and she’s being pressured into this. But she doesn’t want to do it so I’m here to get her out as soon as humanly possible.”
“Let’s go.” Without another second of delay, the door swung open and Jake strode in.
There wasn’t a single person in the reception area except for the person at the front desk but I figured in a place like this, there was probably a secluded waiting room.
Who wanted to sit together for a couple of hours, leafing through magazines and discussing their no-baby plans for small talk?
I didn’t want to pass judgement—it was legal, after all—but I imagined it was still an awkward topic to bring up in a conversation.
I went up to the scowling woman at the front desk and asked for Bessy but she gave me a long-winded speech about patient privacy rights and such.
In short, she wasn’t going to tell us a damn thing about Bessy, let alone allow us to see her.
I rang Bessy’s phone again but she didn’t pick up.
Come on, Bess. Answer the damned phone so we can save you.
Pacing, I tried a couple more times before she finally answered.
My heart twisted when I heard her on the other line.
She was still sobbing on the phone but she was at least rambling out where she was in the building.
“She clearly doesn’t want to do this,” I told the woman, thrusting out my phone to her so she could hear Bessy wailing on the other line. “She’s very upset.”
“I know. We’ve been trying to get her to settle down in the last half hour,” the woman answered with an exasperated roll of her eyes.
“We’d really like to see Bessy Mitchell, please,” Jake said in a stern, serious voice as he levelled the receptionist the most intimidating stare I’d ever seen from him. “We’d hate to have to file a complaint about the treatment of patients and their trusted family and friends in this facility. I do own two of the top newspapers in this city, after all.”
Jake hardly ever called attention to his wealth and influence that I often forgot he was running a very successful publishing business. While I never thought of him capable of extreme vanity when it came to his social status, it was handy to see him turn up his level of self-importance at a time like this.
“And I happen to be a co-chairperson of the state’s most important charitable society—The Lady Championettes Society. You might have heard of them,” I added, tipping my nose so high in the air, it would’ve proved hazardous to a plane flying by.
While this wasn’t my usual strategy, questionable places such as a fly-by-night abortion center like this only cared about money, dirty or not, and staying under the radar so they could continue to run their operation without sticking to the strictly implemented regulations.
The woman scowled deeper as she contemplated our threat and I dramatically glanced at my watch. “I’m a very important person, you know, and you’re wasting my time.”
“And I’m the damned queen of England,” the woman muttered bitterly before pointing at the bay of empty chairs. “You two sit and I’ll go see about getting your friend who is not, for all intents and purposes, named Bessy Mitchell.”
She kept grumbling about people who couldn’t make up their damned minds and their stuffy friends before disappearing into a hall.
Jake and I glanced at each other before letting out matching sighs of relief.
“How did this happen?” he asked as he slowly walked to a chair and sank down on it.
I raised my brows uncertainly. “Uh, the usual way. Man and woman have sex, their reproductive cells meet and—”
“No. I mean, how did you end being Bessy’s extraction team for this?” Jake interjected with thinly-veiled impatience. “The last time I saw the two of you together, you were flaying each other with insults. What kind of miracle happened?”
“Nothing short of me just being there at the right place at the right time,” I answered wearily as I plopped down next to Jake. “It’s a long story and we’ll have to wait and see if Bessy’s in the mood to tell you. The reason she’s in this mess is because she hasn’t told anyone else—well, except for the asshole who got her into this situation in the first place.”
Just then, the receptionist came back and waved us over.
“The private exit’s in the back so you’re going to have to pick her up there—and I don’t care who the hell you are, so don’t even start—but it’s the clinic policy that no one exits from the procedure through the front door so in the back you go,” the woman said sulkily.
“I’ll go get the car,” Jake said, fishing out his keys.
The woman held up a hand. “First, we’ll need to settle some paperwork because this procedure was already paid for and it wasn’t done, not because of any issues on our end. If the patient demands for a refund, we’ll need to loop in the person who’d forwarded the payment to us but if you’d just like to call it quits, we’ll need to have the release papers signed by another witness attesting that it was not our—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I interjected, nodding to Jake. “Go get Bessy and pick me up by the front door.”
The paperwork took less than ten minutes. It was just pretty much to say that the clinic had done their due diligence in ensuring that the procedure happened but that it was the patient’s decision not to go ahead. They clearly wanted to hang on to the payment and wanted some kind of proof in case Don (I had absolutely no doubt about this) came after them for a refund.
I was so glad to be out of there.
When I came out of the building, Jake was already waiting in the car with a silently crying Bessy curled up on her side in the backseat.
“Where are we going?” Jake asked as soon as we hit a main road. “Are we taking her home?”
“No, no!” Bessy cried out from the backseat. “Don will kill me as soon as he finds out I didn’t go through with it. And I c-can’t go to my parents like this...”
“Don?” Jake asked, giving me a confused sidelong glance. “Don, who?”
I glanced at Bessy who’d turned her face down on the seat, soaking the luxurious suede with her tears, and turned back to Jake with an arched brow.
“How many Dons do you know in your circle?” I asked him quietly.
He frowned, his forehead wrinkling in thought for a moment, before the truth hit him.
His eyes wide with shock, he glanced at me and soundlessly mouthed at me, “Don LeClaire?”
I shrugged and turned back to face the road. “It’s not just messy. It’s a shit show.”
Bessy had calmed down a bit in the back seat just as we approached central downtown again.
“I can bring her home, I guess, and she can stay with me for a few days while Brandon’s out of town,” I said, biting my lip as we debated the best next course of action. “But it’s my turn to host our weekly tea meeting with the Championettes tomorrow afternoon, plus I’ve promised a sleepover with the sisters on Thursday night because Brand’s out of town. Then on Friday, I have a full day of Championette meeting just outside of the city.”
“She can stay at my place,” Jake volunteered as we sat at a red light. “I’ve got no one coming over, especially now with my all-celibate lifestyle.”
“You’re hardly celibate,” I shot back at him with a teasing smile. “You’re just monogamous now.”
I gently reached out a hand between the front seats to nudge Bessy who had been drifting off in the backseat, probably from sheer exhaustion of crying in the last hour or so since she’d been in that clinic. “Bess? What do you think about staying with Jake for a few days? He’s got a free guest room and no guests coming over, except for me because I’ll come by and see you to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Bessy opened her bleary eyes and blinked in surprise. “Jake? But he’s a womanizer.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence!” Jake grumbled, earning a light smack in the arm from me.
“He’s been reformed for the past few weeks now,” I reassured Bessy with a smile. “Besides, no offense intended but he’s not interested in you. You could say his affections are otherwise engaged.”
Bessy narrowed her eyes at us. “You two are having an affair?”
“No!” Jake and I both said in unified horror.
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to sound so put out about it,” Bessy said, sniffling as she slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position.
She wrung her hands together, her chin trembling again with another onslaught of tears. “It’s not that impossible, you know? I, of all people... I should know h-how easy it is to fall headfirst into that h-hole.”
“Good thing I’m handy with a shovel,” I told her brightly, hoping to God that she wasn’t going to start sobbing again. When her face crumpled again, I reached out and touched her knee. “Bess, come on. It’s alright. We got you out of there. Nothing happened. You still have your baby. You can still work things out.”
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to me and this time they didn’t just show her plain misery.
She was frightened.
“You have no idea how angry Don will be,” she said through choppy breaths. “He was like possessed by the devil when he came to see me the next day, after we talked. He’d made arrangements for me to...” She stemmed her tears with a quick swallow, clutching the base of her throat with a trembling hand. “He wasn’t going to let me keep the baby, Char, no matter what. Even if I promised to never bother him about it. Or not tell a soul who the father is. He wants it g-gone...”
My hands curled into fists so tightly I felt my nails dig into the flesh of my palm.
I tasted a tang of rust in my mouth and realized that I’d bitten the inside of my bottom lip. While I’d learned to fight back throughout the years and despite my verbally creative threats, I wasn’t really particularly prone to mindless violence. I only used physical force when extremely necessary, and usually only to defend someone or myself.
Right now though, I almost felt a perverted craving to claw Don’s eyes out and rip my nails down his face.
I had no great love for Bessy but Don, in my opinion, was pond scum.
“It’s easy to be scared, Bess, especially when it’s not just you anymore,” I told her solemnly. “I can’t tell you not to be scared. I know how it’s like to be at the mercy of someone. What I can tell you is that your fear is no good when you’re dead. So fight—fight with all you’ve got.”
***
It took a couple of days before Bessy was back to even being remotely normal.
When we dropped her on a bed in one of Jake’s guest bedrooms in his condo, she pretty much dozed off, wiped out from the emotional and physical drain of her situation.
I didn’t know where she lived and I didn’t want to risk running into Don so I went out and shopped for some clothes and essentials so she could have something for a few days while she was recuperating from her ordeal.
Jake called me from his office the next day to tell me that Bessy wasn’t eating. All she’d had since I left her was some tea and a couple of crackers.
She was pregnant. She couldn’t not eat but I suspected, given her frail appearance, that Bessy hadn’t been eating much for some time now.
As soon as Jake got off the phone, I grabbed a few things from the pantry and started filling a canvas shopping bag.
I had the Championettes coming for tea (which was really just lingo for a meeting where we all got to sit together, sip from dainty little teacups and nibble on pretty pastries) early in the afternoon but Felicity was there already preparing everything with the small catering staff we’d hired. She gave me an incredulous look when I told her I had to go out for a couple of hours but I didn’t give her a chance to interrogate me.
I strode out of there and had Gilles drop me off at Jake’s place.
Bessy was still moping around in bed when it was practically noon, but I let her be until I finished cooking a hearty soup. I brought it to bed and stood guard to make sure she ate every last bit of it along with the crusty bread and assorted fresh fruit I heaped on a plate for her.
Thinking that I wasn’t really Bessy’s ideal company, I asked her if she wanted me to call Anna but she frantically refused, saying that she didn’t want anyone else to see her like this—especially not her friends.
Right. Because I wasn’t her friend. Not really. But it didn’t make a difference to me.
I hung out with her until Jake came home early for lunch, bringing home a giant take-out meal that he promised was going to keep them fed until the next day. He’d sheepishly admitted to us that he didn’t cook but he knew how to order out extremely well.
When Jake walked me down on my way out, I stopped him for a moment, just before we stepped out of the building, to ask how he was coping with having a house guest—a female house guest.
“It hurts that you have to ask but I’m perfectly fine with it, Char,” he told me, pressing a palm to his chest as if he was deeply wounded. “I’m not some animal who’ll hump everything female within fifty yards of me, you know? Bessy’s been knocked up by a married man who’s forcing her to have an abortion—even I know how screwed up that is. I just want to be nice to the poor girl, that’s all. And I’d rather you help her while within my supervision. God knows the trouble you’ll get into trying to do this on your own.”
I resisted blurting out to Jake just how much else I had going on that I couldn’t tell people about.
Between the Championettes’ endless fundraisers this fall, my familial obligations to help host Martin’s party and my duties as Brandon’s wife, I had a runaway wife trying to escape the clutches of her abusive husband, a boy and his uncle in hiding at my old house, and a young girl who dabbled with the same abusive husband her cousin had the misfortune of marrying and was now faced with difficult choices concerning her baby and their future.
I hadn’t planned on saving the world but there seemed to be no alternative, really.
Someone had to do help and for the first time in years, I had the means to do it. I had no excuse.
“I just want to make sure I’m not putting you in the direct path of temptation,” I told him placatingly, resting a hand on his arm. “If Tessa gets wind of the fact that you’re housing Bessy, she’s never going to trust you. Bessy’s gorgeous, even in her current state, and she wasn’t exactly the most demure of the girls in our high school.”
Jake rolled his eyes and sighed, his shoulders dipping in defeat slightly. “You know what? I want Tessa, but I want her to want me back without reservations or some niggling doubt that I’m going to betray her one day. I’m giving her some time to figure out if she can trust me enough to be with me. I want her but I don’t want her half-hearted.”
“Oh, Jake.” My heart wrenched at his pain so I wrapped my arms around him in a hug, my hand gently patting his back. “I really wish things would work out between you and Tessa. You’re a great guy and she’s an incredible girl. But you’re right—there is no point in having a relationship where you each expect it to be over any second from when you started. It’ll happen, whether there may be a good reason or not, just because you believe it will.”
Brandon and I were acquainted with that feeling of doom, when we first started our business arrangement/marriage. It hung heavy over our heads, making us question every sweet gesture, every tender word. It ate away at every bit of trust we formed. The freedom from it made the difference between the inevitable end and the lifetime we would now spend together.
In the next couple of days after that, I kept dropping by to check in on Bessy while Jake made a few short trips home throughout his work day to look in on her as well. She was still a bit thin and pale but she didn’t look anything like she did the day we practically abducted her from the clinic.
Late on Thursday night, Jake called to tell me that Bessy had decided to go home and he was going to drop her off and make sure that she made it back without any hitch.
I wanted to come with them but Brandon had come home that evening and I’d welcomed him with an extravagant dinner date I’d prepared.
I was so tired that even though I’d missed Brandon terribly in the days he was gone, I did no more than close my eyes before dozing off the moment we hit the bed that night.
The next day, Gilles and I drove out to this address in Framingham, about a good half hour out of the city.
The Society had been quite busy putting together the last-minute details for the Masquerade Magnifique that was being held in two weeks, where the Championettes’ featured charity of the year would be revealed.
I’d successfully championed the new cause I’d picked for this almost wild-card round—the family shelter and transitional program in the city which offered housing facilities to those who were displaced or were in dire situations. While the centers the program provided primarily catered to the homeless, the new housing facility that the Society was going to finance and maintain would focus on families, may they be whole or fragmented. In this shelter, they would be cared for and connected with other resources that could provide them legal and financial aid, employment options, housing assistance, and other means of community support that would help them find their footing once again.
The Society had been looking at location options for the project, debating whether we should build or buy the property.
Simone had invited the group to this location with the pitch that it was something she’d been thinking of donating to the project.
While most of the members didn’t bat an eye at spending the money for this project, none of them could turn down the idea of a free property on the spot. It would free up a huge chunk of our funds and allow us to do more things for the project.
The location held a rural appeal, sequestered in the picturesque countryside on a vast acreage surrounded by thick trees and gently rolling meadows. The narrow road was quiet and private, leading up to a driveway where even taller trees stood as a fortress against the rusty, white wrought-iron gate. A weathered wooden board bore the name Oakley Stead. The cracked, bumpy driveway wrapped around a grove of trees before stopping in front of a massive building, its clapboard sidings painted a deep terra-cotta red.
It was a sprawling, two-story, older colonial style that showed its age and character well. While it would certainly need to be inspected to fulfill all building safety requirements, it had great bones and would provide ample housing space that we could start with before any additions or extensions.
"My mother's family had purchased this house more than sixty years ago from the original owners who'd built it," Simone told us at the beginning of the tour she was giving our small group. "It was built by a family fleeing the Salem witch trials in 1693."
"It was owned by witches?" Catherine asked with her nose scrunched up in dismay.
She'd been full of sunshine since we first saw the house, just brimming with positivity.
I wiggled my brows at her. "There's a cauldron in the dungeon where they cook up toads and bats to make potions that turn really whiny people into frogs."
Catherine glared at me for that but Simone just rolled her eyes and added, "It's very old and rich in history. More than that, it's rich in space. It has six bedrooms, a large kitchen, with an eating area, a large library, a servants quarters, and even a ballroom that was later added."
"Oh, great. A ballroom," Catherine muttered. "Very practical."
"Witches like dancing apparently," I snickered to Catherine. "They do need the occasional break from turning people into frogs."
"Kids, no fighting in this field trip," Melissa piped in with a wink and I giggled while Catherine just looked more cross as we continued our tour throughout the house.
“It still looks like a red barn,” Catherine pointed out later, once we arrived back at the front entrance of the house after doing a full loop around the property. "And I'm not sure of its structural integrity. It's over 300 years old."
“It's a First Period English Colonial and my great-Aunt was living here for the last thirty years before we had to move her to assisted living facility. She took pride in keeping this place in top shape," Simone said with an impressive attempt at politeness considering this was about the tenth time Catherine complained about it. “As for the color, it can be changed. You can paint it purple, pink, yellow—paint it all the colors of the rainbow, if you like—I don’t care.”
“We’ll call it the Rainbow Roof Project. How about that?” I asked with a broad smile as I leaned down and plucked a dried dandelion from the ground. "It sounds better than the Family Welfare Assistance Center Project."
Melissa’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Rainbow’s a good word. It represents hope and all kinds of bright and happy things—like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow!”
“Which doesn’t really exist,” Catherine said peevishly.
“You’re in charity work, Catherine,” Melissa shot back. “At least try to be a little optimistic.”
“Good thing Layla isn’t here or you’d get a good, long lecture about promoting positivity,” I said with a snort, reminding everyone of Layla’s little pep-talk about showcasing everything the Society did in such a positive light it would be practically luminescent.
Catherine scoffed. “Well, if only she was around a little bit more, she might get a chance. Hard to remember she’s leading this troop when she’s hardly around.”
“Hey, the woman may have some personal issues going on,” I chastised lightheartedly. “Besides, I’m still one-half the troop leader so we can limp on."
I walked ahead of the group to face them. "And I think this house is absolutely gorgeous and perfect for what we're looking for. It's got history but it's humble. It's got so much land around it that we can add extensions to it later if we wish. Or build a playground for the kids, or a sustainable garden or greenhouse that would help supply food to the center and also allow others to learn produce-growing skills. It'll need a little bit of TLC and maybe some creative touches, and I know a really good interior designer who would love to be part of our project. It's a good size property with lots of history and character and it's free. I say we have a winner."
Everyone else murmured their assent—even Simone was smiling with satisfaction—that Catherine looked around, sighed loudly, and muttered a grumpy 'Fine'.
I was already on a roll, the lightbulbs blinking in my head like a Christmas light show.
"Actually, I think it would be a great idea to showcase Oakley Stead to our guests who would be letting out their deep pockets come the night of the masquerade. It gives them tangible proof of where our efforts are going and it offers a unique setting for once, since we do the wild card charity round at Clifton House every year."
I glanced behind me and arced my hand in dramatic flourish to highlight the rustic charm of the house and the quaint mystery of the thick woods that surrounded the soft slopes like fortresses to a fairy land.
"With some firefly light effects outside, around the trees, and some elegant old-world touches, it could be the perfect setting for Masquerade Magnifique," I added with a near-twirl as I imagined the soft, smoky glow of candlelight in the ballroom, the fancy ball gowns and mysterious masks, the sweet, seductive music, the tinkle of wine glasses, the rippling laughter and humming conversations among the crowd. "I think it's going to be splendid."
The faces staring back at me all showed symptoms of dreamy excitement except for Catherine who looked at me incredulously. "But plans have been made to hold it at Clifton House! It's two weeks away. You can't just move the event to a totally different location."
I shrugged. "We have a long-standing partnership with the best event-planning team in the state who tote the esteemed reputation of being able to cater to our every whim and fancy considering how particular our standards are. I'm sure they can make it happen in all levels—from our guests, to our vendors, to the press. They can easily angle it as a means to showcase the home which will become the very center of this cause."
"I'm not sure that the place is quite party-ready, Char," Melissa added with an uncertain purse of her lips. "It needs some prepping."
I nodded. "I'm with you. From our tour, the place looks to be in pretty good shape given its age. Simone's great-auntie did her best with this ancient house."
"Thank you," Simone intoned with a solemn nod and an almost smug smile.
I grinned. “I’m sure that within two weeks, we can bring some professional cleaners in and someone who can stage the place to be this great house it once was."
"I know someone with a knack for staging a place so well you can sell it to anyone."
We all stopped at the familiar voice and turned around nearly in unison to find its source.
Layla stood a few feet away behind us, just by a large oak tree, with her mouth curled up in a smile and her arm around the slight shoulders of the boy she kept close to her side.
"Riley!" I blurted out delightedly, my arms extended as I was about to rush to the boy. I stopped in my tracks when the other ladies around me turned their heads in my direction and gave me puzzled looks.
My smile dropped along with my arms.
I smiled sheepishly. "Uh, Riley's a friend of mine."
That didn't seem to explain anything but their heads swung back the opposite way when Layla laughed softly and and walked over to our group without removing her protective arm around the boy who was grinning up at me crookedly.
"Hello, ladies," Layla greeted calmly despite the variety of expressions flitting across the faces of the other members. If they had bubble thoughts visible, it would've been flicking through like a comic strip.
"Sorry, I'm late. I was out of town in the past week and I just got back in this morning. I had to rush over here," Layla explained before gesturing to Riley. "I hope you don't mind but I brought Riley—my son."
I met Layla's eye in that split-second before the rest of the world erupted around us in a comical chaos of incredulous outbursts and shrill shrieks of disbelief.
Seriously.
Even Simone hadn’t remembered yet to shut her mouth. She was still gaping at her best friend.
I was a little bit stunned myself.
The fact that Layla showed up when I thought she was still in Seattle trying to come clean to her father, and announced to the world (which would be the equivalent of the Championettes) that Riley was her son when I thought the boy didn't even know, was truly epic.
The woman didn't do things in half-measures when she finally had her head screwed in place.
My respect for her grew when, despite the sudden scrutiny, she added to the fire by announcing that she was divorcing Don. She didn’t give out the sordid details, just simply explained that their marriage wasn’t working out anymore.
I listened patiently, hovering just outside the circle as the others grilled her, but I couldn’t help my reflex when Catherine blurted out, “Whatever could be possibly wrong with you, Layla? First you were a knocked-up teenager and next you’re divorcing your husband? Have you lost your mind?”
“You make it sound as if she just went and committed a crime and now has to be stoned to death,” I said sharply, grateful that Layla had encouraged Riley to go and wander off when the barrage of questions came. They boy was out of earshot, talking to Gilles whose hand gestures suggested he was explaining something about the car to the kid.
The other members turned in my direction and from the wary looks on their faces, I may have sounded more than sharp.
“I personally don’t appreciate being led on to believe that someone is of outstanding character when she isn’t,” Catherine said with a sulky pout. “Now, I question the wisdom of the decision we’ve all made based only on the facts we’d known at the time.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why? Because you wouldn’t have allowed her into the Society if you’d known all her dirty laundry? Don’t be overdramatic, Catherine. If outstanding character was a make-or-break qualification for membership in this group, the lot of us wouldn’t be able to get a foot in the door, including you. You may not have been weak or unwise when you were fifteen, or saddled with a husband who makes you unhappy—kudos to you—but to have you diminish the worth of those who had made mistakes makes you worse. You’re being deliberately mean and unkind.”
“I’m merely expressing an opinion!” she protested, red in the face.
I raised a brow. “Why don’t you make an informed one for a change, before you bluster it about? Do you think Layla would do this to herself, knowing what she risks losing, for shits and giggles?”
I knew I was getting angry but I didn’t realize I was trembling with fury until a firm hand clasped my arm, echoing the tremors running along it.
Layla gave it a reassuring squeeze before facing Catherine with an admirable calm, her chin raised ever so slightly. “While I’d like to keep the details of my personal struggles private, I understand your confusion. So let me put it this way—the comfort zone I’d kept myself in all these years was really nothing more but a gilded cage. While that perfectly insular world gave me a sense of protection, it did not give me peace because prison isn’t a place for that. Prison is where you serve your penance and I’ve served mine long enough. I have a son who is growing up fast without me, and Im not going to sit around and waste more time. While I know it’s not going to be friendly out there, my son is worth all the trouble in the world.”
Something thick and heavy was lodged in my heart, in an old crack that had long ago opened and never mended, as I thought of how lucky Riley was, to have a mother who loved him enough to fight for him. He was young enough that the broken parts of his heart could still heal and become whole again.
“It’s easy to make mistakes and even easier to leave them behind,” Simone spoke up in a measured tone, sweeping a daring glance at everyone listening. “I think that those who own up to them and do their best to rectify them, no matter how difficult and painful the process is, deserve another chance. Whatever your opinions are, I’m with Layla.”
I smiled in spite of my frustration.
Since day one, Simone seemed to be happy staying on neutral ground, happy to keep the status quo, no matter how unhappy or uncomfortable it made her. It cheered me up that when she finally took a stand, she took it next to her best friend who had a real cause this time.
“I don’t see an issue with Layla’s revelations either,” Melissa said, stepping forward. “The reality is, shit happens and it happens to everyone. So what? I’m glad she hasn’t let it put her life on hold. And if she’d like to continue serving the Society, I don’t see why we should try to stop her.”
“Thank you, ladies,” Layla said softly, a tremulous smile on her lips. “I wasn’t the best example when it came to open-mindedness and I don’t blame the others for putting me under the same magnifying glass and looking for everything that’s wrong. I’d like to stay. I actually take pride in what we do here, beyond all the fancy frills. My life is going to be chaotic for the next little bit but it doesn’t mean I won’t make time for my duties with you.”
“Then it’s settled,” I announced with a finality I dared anyone to challenge, especially Catherine who still looked slightly mutinous. “We’re not going to prosecute anyone who has had shit happen to them in hope that we’ll all be granted the same courtesy when it’s our turn to deal with the occasional mess of our lives. Anyone who’d like to insist on the point of perfection as a membership requirement can come up to me and receive the honor of being the first beneficiary of our completely impossible yet seemingly important standards. You’ll be escorted out at the first flaw. Do I make myself clear?”
Melissa had a twinkle in her eye, Simone looked solemn, Layla stood with quiet dignity and everyone else squirmed at my ruthless challenge.
When the group finally murmured their agreement, I turned around and headed for Riley who was now standing with two formidable-looking men—Gilles and a big, hulking giant who reminded me of a mammoth in a sharp black suit. Even Gilles looked nearly cherubic next to this man.
“Charlotte!” Riley was beaming from ear to ear as he ran up to meet me, knocking the breath out of me a little at the force of the hug he slammed into me. “It’s so good to see you! Your house was so nice! Uncle Danny said with a little refurbishing, you could sell it for a lot more.”
I grinned and put an arm around him. The last time we saw each other was when we rescued him from that little boxing match he’d wrangled himself into almost two weeks ago. I’d talked to him on the phone a few times but he looked a hundred times happier right now, with his eyes twinkling in the bright mid-day sun.
“I’ll ask him about it next time I see him,” I promised the boy. “Are you guys still there? I didn’t even know Layla was back until I saw her with you half an hour ago.”
Riley nodded. “Yeah, we’re still staying there. She just arrived early this morning and told us that we’re going to move. We’ll have to stay there for another week or so until Mom finds another house where we can all stay together—a bigger and nicer one!” His expression clouded over and he sent me an apologetic look. “Not that your house wasn’t big or nice. I liked it there very much. But it would be nice if we have our own house and Mom could live in it too.”
I smiled at the boy gently. “Mom, huh? You don’t seem surprised.”
Riley scrunched up his nose for a bit before smiling back crookedly at me, his voice hushed in a conspiratorial tone. “I kinda knew. A year ago, when she thought I was already asleep, she called me her son. Even if it weren’t really true, I’ll still want her to be my Mom. When she finally told me today, when she finally stopped crying for about twenty minutes, it was just kind of a bonus.”
“She’s very happy to be your Mom, I can tell you that,” I told him with a quick ruffle of his hair. “And yes, I’m sure you’ll find a nice, big house where you can live together and your Mom doesn’t have to leave you again.”
“And that bad guy she married won’t hurt her anymore,” the boy added gravely, his eyes all too knowing when he lifted them up to meet mine.
I gave his shoulder a firm pat. “That’s right. He can’t hurt her anymore.”
Riley glanced over his shoulder to look at the giant man standing next to Gilles, watching us. “That’s Boris. Mom said he’s her bodyguard. He’ll beat up anyone who tries anything funny with her.”
Boris certainly looked capable and as though he could see me through the nearly black tint of his sunglasses, he nodded at me in acknowledgement.
Yeah, Don may be savage but even lions heeded the physical risks before going for an attack.
I could literally tear a strip off him but Boris would make crumbs out of his bones.
“You two. It’s time for lunch,” Layla said as she came over to us, her smile genuine and bright despite the exhaustion I could spy on her face. “Simone had a small feast prepared in the solarium.”
Riley’s face brightened but he paused just right before he was about to take off in a sprint. “Will they let me join in?”
Layla grinned. “Yes, as long as you eat with your cutlery, avoid stuffing your face swollen with food like you’re in a contest, finish chewing before you speak, and say please and thank you when appropriate.”
Riley scratched his head a little, contemplating his mother’s summary of good table manners, before nodding and running off to follow the group of ladies who headed inside the house in a more leisurely pace.
“I’m glad you told him,” I told Layla as we walked. “He’s over the moon.”
“I know,” Layla replied with a sniffle. “The thing was, he seemed to have known it all along anyway. He just smiled and opened his arms to hug me. I don’t deserve to have this so easy but I’m not going to complain.”
“We’ll take our victories where we can find them.” I glanced at her and saw her soft smile. “I’m assuming you’ve talked to your Dad and it went well.”
She sighed. “I did talk to my father. It wasn’t an easy conversation—he’d yelled at me for not telling him about getting pregnant all those years ago, then he cried when I told him about Riley, then he railed about Don so much I was worried for a second he was going to have a heart attack. But I found that once I started telling the truth, I just kept going. It was draining but I’m so glad to be done with all the pretense.”
“Have you confronted Don since you got back?”
“Not yet.” There was a steely edge in her voice. “I’m setting up my safety nets first before I face him, hopefully to lessen the collateral damage I know we’ll cause. My father wants to put a bullet through his heart but he’s agreed to let me call the shots on how I extricate my life completely from Don’s. It’ll be a few more days. I’m working with a new lawyer right now. I hope you don’t mind if Riley and Danny linger at your place for another week or so. Val, Boris’s partner, will be keeping an eye on the place in case Don has some funny business in mind.”
“Stay as long as you’d like,” I reassured her. “I don’t mind helping in any way I can.”
Layla stopped in her tracks all of a sudden and I had to back up a step.
“And you really don’t, do you, Charlotte?” she asked quietly. “You don’t mind helping, even if it’s someone who’d done all they could before to make you miserable. Whether it be me or Bessy.”
I bit my lip. “Bessy told you?”
She grimaced. “I stopped by at her parents’ place this morning to tell them about my separation with Don but they’re away on a world cruise. I was surprised to see her there. She pulled me aside and told me the truth—about her affair with Don, the baby, the abortion, how you’d helped her.”
I rubbed the space between my brows, finding my spot in all of this mighty awkward. “You have every right to be angry at her for carrying on with your husband behind your back, but I hope you understand what she’d gone through when he cast her out and forced her to get rid of the baby.”
A sad, ironic smile lifted one corner of her lips. “To be honest with you, I’m not angry with Bessy at all. Don can be deceptively wonderful and Bessy’s always been the kind of girl who would seek approval anywhere she could find it. It would’ve been so easy for him and I feel terrible for her. I’m angry at Don for what he tried to get her to do. I’m angry that he couldn’t even be man enough to face up to the ramifications of his actions but I really shouldn’t expect better.”
“Is she going to tell her parents?”
“She’ll have no choice once she starts to show but I don’t think she’ll tell them who the father is,” Layla said with a resigned shake of her head. “I don’t blame her for that. It’s ugly. They’re going to be furious with her but they’re not going to cast her out. She’s going to stay with her older sister in Florida for now until her parents return.”
I smiled. “I’m glad to know that things are somehow going to work out despite everything.”
And I meant it in my heart.
No matter the past, I was relieved that both Layla and Bessy could escape the man they made the mistake of trusting when he was ultimately just going to destroy them both.
I was just getting in my car hours later, being one of the last to leave after I did another walk through the house to finalize the decision of moving the masquerade party here, when I heard Simone call my name.
“Did I forget something?” I asked with a frown, patting the pockets of my jeans and my bomber jacket to see if anything was missing.
Simone smiled and handed me a small tin container. “No. I just thought I’d send you home with these raspberry tarts. You seemed especially fond of them earlier during dessert.”
I eyed the container she was holding out to me, trying to figure out what her gesture meant.
Since our last confrontation during the Championette’s annual brunch, Simone and I had treated each other with distant civility for the sake of getting along enough for the Society. We rarely spoke to each other directly or have personal conversations.
I eyed her suspiciously.
She was resplendent, as usual, with her statuesque build, her remarkable beauty, her perfectly tailored clothes, and it was an effort on my part not to feel a bit inadequate especially since I was just in my scuffed black leather biker boots that barely added an inch to my height, well-worn jeans, a shirt and a bomber jacket, and a ponytail. The Championettes had grumbled about my casual style a few times but since I showed no signs of heeding their mutterings, they seemed to have dropped the subject.
Just because the ugly duckling realized she was actually a swan, doesn’t mean that she’s forgotten all the other swans in the lake and that they’re all beautiful too.
“Thank you,” I said politely as I took the tin box. “The tarts were heavenly. The pastry chef has my utmost respect and gratitude.”
“And you have mine, as much as it surprises me to say so.”
I froze for a second before I looked up to meet her gaze. “Pardon?”
“I tried my hardest not to like you—even from the very beginning,” she said bluntly. “Not when Brandon explained to me that you were just part of a scheme and I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Not when I met you for the first time and you were actually decent to me, even though I was horrid to you. Not when you fought back that day Layla tried to get you banned from joining the Championettes. Not when you stood your ground despite all the terrible things Layla’s minions did to you at the brunch. Not when you tried to save her by keeping her as a co-chairperson when it was clear who everyone else wanted.”
I snorted. “That sounds like a lot of attempts. How many more do you need?”
“Oh, I thought I could keep trying forever,” she answered with a small smile. “I didn’t want to like you because that would lead me to admit that maybe Brandon was right about you after all. And that meant he and I were a lost cause, although I should’ve probably realized that the night of your engagement party, when he kept craning his head around as he danced with me, looking for you while trying to apologize to me for having been put in an awkward position.”
And to think I was bleeding my heart out that night, wondering why I thought I could mean more to Brandon other than the black-and-white contract we’d signed for our marriage of convenience.
“I realized today, after listening to Layla tell me everything, from the truth about Riley, to her abuse at Don’s hands, to Bessy’s situation, that trying to hate you is a useless exercise because nothing would come out of it.”
Her eyes were bright and direct as she stared right at me, that small smile she’d started with widening a little more. “It’s hard to hate someone who doesn’t care about your opinion of her. It’s also harder to hate someone who can’t help but be generous and kind, despite all the nasty things you did to her. It makes one feel like a total bitch.”
Well. What do you know?
“It’s hard not to retaliate and dish back exactly what you’ve been given,” I told her. “The thing is, if I went that way and did that for every bad thing ever done to me, I would’ve become a miserable and angry person. There would’ve been so much bad coming in and out that I would've become horrible as an end result. With my limited options, I chose to be happy, making do with what I got without letting it eat me up.”
I recalled something someone once told me—a great wise man with silver hair and sky blue eyes and many interesting stories about the good, the bad and the in-between.
Sometimes, we become capable of magnanimity because we know what it’s like to be without it.
“You are a good person, Charlotte, and none of your rough edges can really detract from it, no matter how much other people wished they did.” Simone’s smile now stretched broadly across her face, genuine and quite radiant, and while there might always be a gap between us, at least the ice bridge seemed to have thawed.
“Thank you,” was all I could say.
Her eyes grew sad, her smile dimming just a bit. “I regret not having been there for Layla but I’m glad that she at least had someone to help her through this.”
“I’m sure that she would’ve turned to you as well, if it came down to it,” I reassured her. “I just happened to have literally landed smack into the middle of it when I chased down Riley, thinking he was a thief. It kind of snow balled from there.”
Simone shook her head. “No. I know she wouldn’t have come to me and I don’t blame her for it. You see, I avoided topics about Don and I’m sure that Layla knew this. He’d hit on me a couple times before, years ago, and considering that it happened a lot with men, I dismissed it. He’d come on to me too strong, I’ll admit, but I’ve dealt with powerful men like Don before who thought themselves entitled to everything, like my ex-husband for example, so I didn’t think anything more of it. I just avoided him to prevent any awkwardness with my friendship with Layla. I suspected that they were having problems but nothing I could put a finger on because Layla hid her troubles well. If I’d looked a little bit more outside of myself, maybe I would’ve noticed. Maybe I could’ve done something for her sooner.”
I tentatively reached out and touched Simone’s arm. “The world is going to be full of opportunities where we could’ve done something differently. They will keep cropping up because just like the roll of a dice, there are so many possible outcomes from a singular moment. We can’t eliminate the what-ifs but we also shouldn’t torture ourselves with them.”
Simone nodded, looking a bit cheered. "You're absolutely right."
"Even if I'm not, it's sound advice for us who want to stay sane." I grinned and tipped my baseball cap at her. "I have to go home. Thanks for having us, Simone."
She took a step back and gave a little wave of her hand, still smiling. "No. Thank you for having us."
And with that, I left.
***
What do you think? This is the last part before everything else comes together for the end so be patient. I'll try to post the next one soon.
Thank you to all those who found something in Charlotte and appreciated her for it. Hope you'll be with her through the good and the bad times because she'll have them. =)
Thanks!
***I picked this song even though it's an old one because I think it fits Charlotte well. ***
♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: She Is Love by Parachute ♪♪♪
I've been beaten down, I've been kicked around,
But she takes it all for me.
And I lost my faith, in my darkest days,
But she makes me want to believe.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
She is love, and she is all I need.
She's all I need.
Well I had my ways, they were all in vain,
But she waited patiently.
It was all the same, all my pride and shame,
And she put me on my feet.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
She is love, and she is all I need.