The creak of the door opening behind her pulled her from her endless prayer, and her heart sped at the vision entering the office.
Mama was led into the room by Cade, but the air of superiority infusing her every move throughout Charlotte’s life seemed to have evaporated. In its place she saw an aura of humility draping her mother. For the first time in Charlotte’s memory, her mother was dressed age appropriate. Her mound of over-processed hair was tamed into a twist at her neck. She wore a black wool suit, with a high neck, silk blouse, accessorized with her debutante pearls. The clothes hung loose, beautifully tailored. She looked professional. Cool. The air of the Upper East Side floating on the scent of expensive perfume. But no amount of tailoring could hide the flurry of expression in her dark eyes when she caught sight of Charlotte. Love. Fear. Trepidation. Anxious joy.
All of the emotions Charlotte had coursing through her own frame reflected in her mother’s gaze.
“Charlotte? What are you doing here?” She started forward her arms lifted, but she quickly let them drop to her sides as she halted her steps.
Charlotte swallowed. “I wanted to see you, Mama. To talk to you. I read your letter. I wanted to tell you thank you for…” She glanced at Cade who had laced his arms over his chest and leaned against the overstuffed bookshelf to the left of the door. He lifted an eyebrow and gave a subtle nod.
“For saving my life.” Charlotte wrapped her arms tighter, tugging her wide sweater into an accordion fold across her chest.
“Oh, malyshka, of course. I’m so sorry…” Tears glistened against her mother’s deep-set eyes, twisting Charlotte’s heart with the echo of memories. Her mother always begged for forgiveness with tears.
Charlotte drew in a cleansing breath. “Mama, I wanted to talk with you for a little bit. Agent Murphy arranged this time for us.” She glanced to Cade who stretched tall, twisting to the door. “We will have a meal. Talk. If that is OK with you?”
Mama snapped her hands to her mouth sucking in delight. “Charlotte that is more than I could have hoped.”
Nodding, Charlotte closed the few steps to the door and accepted the take-out bag from Cade filled with lunch she doubted she would be able to swallow. But food made talking easier. Less formal. Less an interrogation.
“If you need anything,” Cade whispered into Charlotte’s ear. “Dylan and I are right outside.” He clamped a hand on her shoulder and gave a soft squeeze.
“Georgie’s a blessed woman,” Charlotte said.
The slightest pink hue tinted Cade’s cheeks before he retreated into the hallway.
She opened the bag and allowed the garlic and tomato infused aroma to roll through her body. “Mmm, I love caprese pasta.” She set the bag on the desk, clearing a small spot for a makeshift table. Placing two brown recyclable to-go containers on the emptied desk, she reached in the bag and pulled out plastic ware. Nodding toward the chair opposite hers, Charlotte said, “Mama, won’t you join me?”
Her mother lowered onto the chair, the shadow of the once much lauded debutante lingering. Reaching for one of the boxes, she nodded. “Thank you. This smells divine. The food hasn’t been Manhattan quality in the last few weeks.” Her head shot up and she glanced at Charlotte. “Not that I’m complaining. The Marshals taking care of me have been lovely. They really have.”
Charlotte reached her hand across the desk and squeezed her mother’s clenched fist. “It’s OK, Mama. I miss Manhattan food, too.”
Mama’s shoulders softened. A slight smile graced her lips. “I never thought I’d see you again. I promised myself if I ever did, I would be better. No complaining. Or whining. Or making you feel…feel less than loved. I’m so sorry it took you being in danger for me to realize what a horrible mother…person I was. Am.” She shook her head and twisted the wrapped plastic ware between her hands. “I never thought the situation would escalate to where it did. Your grandfather tried to get me to quit gambling. And when he died, I was able to stop. For a few months, but the draw to the game. To feel the exhilaration of the bet. The lure was too strong for me to resist. I’m weak, malyshka, but you know, don’t you? You always have.”
Charlotte looked at her mother.
The woman deprived her of a relationship with her father. Unabashedly stole from her. Twisted and misshaped her love for decades.
Saved her life.
Charlotte wanted to hate her. She wanted to rail at her for all of the injustices. But all she could see was the scared mother, with mascara shadows, who dragged her from her bed to flee South Carolina. And the scared mother who raced to South Carolina to save her life. The bookends of their relationship. She didn’t want those to be the opening and the closing chapters. Charlotte wanted more. She wanted a relationship with her mother. She wanted to be a daughter. Not a caretaker. “I forgive you.” The words slipped through Charlotte’s lips. More of a whisper than a bold proclamation.
Mama snatched her hand and squeezed with such might, Charlotte winced.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She lifted Charlotte’s hand to her lips and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. Warm, wet tears slid over their linked fingers. “I could never have expected…I hoped…but…”
Charlotte cupped her free hand around her mother’s. “It’s OK, Mama. We can start over.”
A wide smile stretched Mama’s lips. Her eyes sparkled with looming unshed tears, matching the ones Charlotte was desperately trying to keep from spilling over her cheeks. Charlotte squeezed her mother’s hands.
They could start over. But their new beginning would mean the end of everything else.
~*~
Twilight stretched over the city. Charlotte lifted the mug of tea to her lips as she watched the transition of evening roll through, announcing the close of business life and the start of social. Pin pricks of light popped up like lightning bugs on a hot summer night. Her mind numbly flipped through the countless nights she’d armed the alarm, securing the locks on the gallery, before strolling to meet friends for a casual drink or dinner. In reflection, they were acquaintances, more than friends. She now knew what real friendship was. And with that real friendship, she had found home. And surprisingly, home was not in Manhattan where she had spent years of her life.
Home was a baseball park in a town so small it didn’t make the county map.
Home was a rambling, centuries-old, drafty house complete with a pushy aunt, a nosey sister, dozens of second and third cousins, aunts, and uncles, and one fine man who was a conduit of all of God’s grace.
“Why not you brings My Mac to your New York, dorogoy?” Baba asked.
Her grandmother’s reflection marched alongside hers in the floor to ceiling windows.
Meeting her gaze, Charlotte shrugged. “Mac is helping his brother. He was in an accident.”
“Is he OKz?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Why you not with him? You supports one you loves, no?”
“Baba, Mac needs to take care of his brother by himself.” And I couldn’t do what I need to do if I saw Mac. Charlotte turned away from the waking city and padded to a high back chair angled toward the brocade loveseat. Lowering on to the plush surface, she set her mug on the end table and scrubbed her face.
“She not your responsibility.”
A shudder rippled through Charlotte’s frame. Squeezing her eyes shut against the tears, she let out a steadying breath. “How can she not be? She’s my mother. She saved my life. Does a life not equal a life, Baba?”
Her grandmother perched on the edge of the loveseat beside her. “She is mine. But she is her decisions. Her decisions not your decisions. You not owe her life. She your mother. She give life. She no choice but save life. That what mamas do. If I could save Anastasia, I would. But she must save self.”
Charlotte dragged the back of her hand across her cheek. Lifting her gaze, she painted the image of her grandmother on the canvas of her mind.
Shock of white hair. Black brocade suit. A single white gold ban
d stretching nearly to her knuckle on her left ring finger.
Charlotte tried to burn the image into her heart. “Baba, I’ve decided I’m going with Mama.”
“What? Why?”
The tears threatening to overtake her flooded her vision. “I don’t want my ending with her to be this…today. We had so many tense, awful years. I want a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“A chance for a real mother. A relationship that means something more than fear and trembling. Is that too much to ask?”
Baba shook her head. “But to have this chance, means you close door to all others, yes?”
Sucking in a shaky breath, Charlotte nodded.
“Anastasia would not want.”
“But she will be all alone.”
“She has chance to start new life. No more Anastasia. But better.”
“Won’t you miss her?”
“Of course. But Russians, we say good-byes. I say good-bye to Motherland. I say good-bye to husband. I say good-bye to daughter. We Russians bear tragedy. It honor to be sorrow. You Russian. You say good-bye.” She patted Charlotte’s hands. “You say good-bye to Anastasia. You spend life sacrificing for her. You need live life. Not sacrifice.”
“But I will never see her again.”
“No.”
“How can I let her go, now that I finally found her?”
52
The quiet of the early morning chaffed Charlotte’s frayed nerves. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, she glanced across the narrow hall adjacent to the secluded courtroom where Cade and Dylan sat.
Dylan appeared every bit a man of leisure, with his folded Post propped against his crossed legs, his chubby fingers gliding against the words on the page.
Cade hunched over a pint-sized book. His forehead rested against his palm. His fingers were firmly stuffed in his short hair. His lower lip clamped between his teeth. No steely-edged special agent in sight.
Swiping her thumb against the smooth surface of her phone, she sipped her second latte, wishing she had something more distracting to read than work emails. Even having Cade’s present state of confusion would be a welcome respite from the heavy weight of waiting.
The second day of her mother’s testimony began promptly at eight in the morning. They shared a quick coffee, before Charlotte watched her slip into the courtroom for the closed proceedings. With the muffled click of the doors, the countdown clock ticked silently in the back of her mind.
She narrowed her focus on the contract outline for a new port acquisition, but the backlit screen blurred in her vision. Sliding her phone onto the smooth bench, she closed her eyes. She’d lost count of how many times her eyes closed against the world in the last two days. “Father, help me know. I’m new to this faith thing, but I’m trying. I’m trying to be faithful to You. To this gift You’ve given to me in the new relationship I’ve found with Mama. But, leaving with her I leave the home You’ve given to me. Georgie. Savvy. Remy. Mac…Help me have the strength to do Your will, rather than my own. Amen.”
With a deep sigh, she lifted her lids and caught a glimpse of long legs stretched out alongside her. She let her gaze drink in his lean body before glancing into the welcome dark depths of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Mac drew her to his side and tears flooded her vision. The heat from his chest warmed her cheek through the soft cotton of his pressed shirt. His fingers barely touched her arm in a soothing caress, but the contact shot wild fires burning through her frame.
He was here.
Mac had come to her. When she needed him most, he came. Without being asked. How could she not love this man? How could she leave him? Drying her cheeks with the back of her hand, she sat straight. “Hi,” her voice barely registered a whisper.
A small tilt of his lips deepened the dimple in his cheek. “Hi.” He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “How’re you holding up?”
She shrugged, sucking in a deep breath willing the tears to retreat. “It’s been a long couple days. How’s your brother?”
Mac kneaded the space between his neck and his shoulders. “He’s been better, but I think Sean and I have him convinced to get the help he needs. He’s not quite ready to own all of his choices, but I’m praying he will take the time to not only heal his body, but his spirit as well. Baseball might be over for him, but he still has a lot of life left to live. Superstar Joey Taylor might be done, but Joe Taylor can be whoever he wants to be. He won’t be famous, but he can have something different. Sprout will have to find his way. It’s an amazing opportunity. A chance to start a new life. Something better.”
“She has chance to start new life. No more Anastasia. But better.”
Baba’s words pounded inside Charlotte’s mind. Could she rip the gift of starting fresh away from her mother? Could she willingly throw the gift away for herself? “Mac, can we go somewhere private to talk?”
His whole body tensed, but he nodded and extended his hand to her. Nestling her fingers in his wide grip, she nodded toward the empty office where she’d met her mother before the sun rose this morning.
The room was tight. The aroma of the coffee and rolls she shared with her mother clung to the walls. The vision of Mama sipping her coffee and daintily eating a pastry as she regaled Charlotte with the tale of her morning commute with her assigned U.S. Marshals guarding each of her steps, warmed Charlotte’s spirit. She had a happy memory with her mother. An odd thought. The happiest memories with her mother included law enforcement and her mother’s admission she was connected to horrific crimes. Charlotte was pleased their lives together wouldn’t only be marked by disappointment and anger. Could she give up the potential of future happy memories with her?
“Charlie…”
She glanced over her shoulder.
Mac’s arms were laced across his chest. His hip rested against the table, allowing his long legs to stretch wide in front of him. He exuded calm assurance, but she knew the litigator was ready to pounce.
Matching his posture, she rested her shoulder against the door, and wrapped her arms tight across her middle. Opposite of the calm she hoped to project, her mind sputtered and slogged through the words she wanted to say. The questions she needed to ask. She wanted his reassurance. Leaving with her mother was the right course of action. She needed him to say abandoning Georgie would be OK. She longed to know her future wasn’t a pinpoint of happiness swallowed up by a lifetime of regret.
“Charlie,” His voice was low, the sound of rumbling thunder on a warm spring evening. “I read your letter.”
Fear rippled through her frame. “You did?”
He nodded. Closing the tiny gap between them, he placed his hands on her shoulders and met her gaze. “Don’t do it,” his words were a whisper.
Mac flooded her vision. Wide shoulders. Graying temples. Tiny lines at his eyes. Kind eyes. My Mac. Raising her palm to his cheek, she stroked the day’s growth of salt and pepper stubble coating his chin. “I just found her. The mother I’ve always wanted. How do I let her go?”
“You just found us. How can you let us go?”
Her entire body shook with the force of her ache. She wrapped her arms around his waist, longing to find her center in him. His grip slid from her shoulders and tightened across her back, lengthening her against his lean body. Pressing his lips to her cheek he whispered, “Please don’t do this to us. I can’t breathe without you. How can I live without you?”
Charlotte tightened her arms, trying to burrow deep into him. When she wrote the letters to Mac, Remy, Georgie, and Savvy, she was letting them go of their obligation to her. They would have better lives without her. Her life would be less, but she could take comfort in knowing the lives of the ones she loved would be better. She had been carrying a similar letter in her purse for Baba. She hadn’t had the courage to leave it for her last night. Saying goodbye was easier when done from a distance. Being up close and personal yanked her well concealed emotions into the fray. Leaving face to fa
ce required courage she didn’t possess.
“I love you.” She said, through broken breaths. “I love you so much. But how do I choose between loving you and helping her?”
“You choose you, Charlie. For the first time in your life, you choose you. Your mother has chosen herself her entire life. This is her journey. Not yours. Don’t allow her decisions to eradicate the life you’ve created. If you choose her, you lose everyone.”
“But everything that has happened…Remy…the fire…Cole…all of it is because of me. How can I stay knowing the chaos I bring? Georgie, Savvy…you…You all deserve far better lives than ones attached to someone like me.” She stepped out of his embrace and swiped at her cheeks. “All I have done is bring chaos and destruction with me.”
“Charlie, you’ve brought love. To me. To Georgie. To Remy. To Savvy.” He stepped back and lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “I won’t lie to you and tell you it was sunshine and roses. You were, are, a challenging woman. But every obstacle you placed between you and the family, between you and me, was done as an outpouring of your love. Even writing those stupid goodbye letters was your way of trying to protect all of us. And yourself. I don’t know why you feel the need to punish yourself for other people’s choices, but you can stop being a martyr now.”
Pivoting from him, she stomped to the side wall. “I am not being a martyr.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve been a martyr your whole life. You can stop now.”
She whipped around. “How dare you? I’ve been trying to keep my family and friends safe. You have some nerve, Taylor.”
“Ahhh…there she is. There’s my Charlie.”
Burning anger fizzled to embers in an instant. “I don’t know what to do.”
Mac stepped to her, forcing her to look up to his six foot three inches. “Yes, you do.”
“I do?”
“You have to say goodbye. You have to let go so she can let go. Live the life she couldn’t.”
Live the life she couldn’t.
Peace poured over Charlotte with the softness of summer rain. She nodded. She had asked God for direction and He seemed to be shouting through two of the most important people in her life. God had given her these precious moments with her mother, not as a motivation to stay, but as closure to walk away. She needed to say good-bye to Mama, because God had a new journey she needed to start with this man. A journey including a whole new family in South Carolina.
Girls of Summer Page 27