by Marina Adair
Nothing.
She sat on the toilet to remove her shoes, and, thinking that he must be at that garage or maybe out with his brothers, pulled out her phone. She was about to hit his speed-dial number when she noticed the sink.
It was practically empty.
His toothbrush was gone. She fumbled with the side drawer, the drawer she’d cleared out for him, but it was empty as well. Kind of like the feeling starting at the pit of her stomach. She pulled it all the way out, dumping it on the counter.
“No.” No razor. No deodorant. No body spray that made him smell like a Scottish laird from one of her romance novels. Nothing. Even the box of ribbed-for-her-pleasure condoms he’d brought with him. Gone.
Convincing herself that there must be some mistake—they’d talked about Little League and rain checks, both things that implied going the distance—she ran into the bedroom and yanked open the closet. Nothing Jace-related.
Then everything inside of her went cold and Charlotte spun around. Racing to the bed she hit her knees. She looked behind the bedpost, lifted the bed skirt, even checked behind the pillows that had fallen on the floor.
She found nothing. Nothing to still that sharp ball of ice swirling in her stomach. Nothing to stop the panic from rising. Because his boots, the ones he’d been so adamant about, were gone.
She blinked her eyes and waited for them to clear, afraid that because her heart was pounding so hard it was causing her to become disoriented. Because that was what panic did, it flooded your system with cortisol, which raised your heart rate and blood pressure and could, under extreme situations, impair your judgment and comprehension.
That’s what it had to be, because what she was seeing couldn’t be comprehended. For the empty bathroom and closet she could come up with some rational explanation. He was doing laundry, toothpaste exploded in his bathroom drawer and he had to buy new things, a dog ate his boots. All sound, rational reasons when compared to the alternative.
No, what was limiting her lungs’ ability to work at full capacity was the stack of papers sitting on the nightstand. Who knew that printed paper, ink, and a staple could be so detrimental to one’s heart, but the signature at the bottom, right above JACE DONOVAN MCGRAW, carried enough lethal force to rip her heart right out of her chest.
She looked down to see if her chest was still moving, and it looked fine, which she chalked up to the cortisol again. Because she could feel a gaping hole in there, raw and painful, the ache so deep she was sure it was a fatal wound, but when she looked down she saw nothing. Just the neckline of her top and her great-great-grandmother Rose Holden’s strand of pearls.
Which she was certain would go to her cousin Joyce in Magnolia Falls, because if she did manage to survive this, it was certain now that she wouldn’t have a daughter to pass it on to.
Charlotte closed her eyes, squeezed them shut as tightly as possible, and that’s when she remembered her phone on the dresser. With shaky legs, she made her way over and picked it up. Then she took a photo of the annulment and the signature and hit send.
Setting the phone on the end table, she sat on the bed and waited. Every second she waited the dread built and questions flew at her, to which she had no answers. None.
A few seconds, or maybe a few hours later, she heard a muffled vibration against the top of her 1789 Thomas Affleck Chippendale nightstand that she’d picked up at an auction in Atlanta a few years back. She looked at the phone and knew it would hold the answer to at least one question.
Only her fingers wouldn’t pick it up, all she could manage was a single finger swipe over the screen. Her whole body shook when it lit up. Taking a breath, she looked at the screen and saw that there weren’t possibly enough words to make her understand. Five, maybe ten words is a small explanation, surely not big enough to be considered world-shattering. She took heart in that. Until she read the message: I WILL EXPLAIN. I LOVE YOU. —J
Charlotte read it again, hoping that it would make sense. And then she didn’t want it to make sense, because he’d explained to her once before why he had to leave, and it didn’t change things. Didn’t make the pain any less debilitating.
She knew what it felt like to only have part of the answers, and she didn’t want to go through that ever again. Jace might be a runner, but he wasn’t a liar, and if he said he’d explain, then she was going to give him the chance.
So she waited, on her bed, in her dress and pearls, for him to come home. For him to explain away the hurt and the sadness and the big hollow space in her chest that grew with every breath. She waited until it hurt too much to stay upright, until the sun started to crest the hills, and when the time came and passed for their morning ritual, Charlotte couldn’t wait anymore.
And that was when she let the tears take over.
Chapter 21
It was past nine in the morning when Charlotte finally dragged herself into the clinic, her body rebelling from what felt like an endless night. She’d managed to change clothes and cover up some of the shadows under her eyes, but the grief she saw every time she looked in the mirror—unfortunately there was nothing she could do about that.
She reached the third floor and saw Glory standing at the nurses’ station and wondered if she had made the right decision.
With everything she needed to do to prepare for the endowment, hiding in her house for a week and crying into a gallon of ice cream wasn’t an option. Neither was facing his family. Not after they knew everything. She didn’t want to spend her morning fielding questions of where Jace was, if he’d left town, and how she was holding up. Charlotte had enough questions of her own to deal with, so she headed the other direction.
Nope, she didn’t want to talk to anyone, just go into her office, see her patients, and then go home. Only she remembered that Joie was coming in today for Lily Anne’s checkup, so she turned right instead of left and went to find Ben. To ask him to handle Joie’s appointment.
Because the only thing more painful than the questions would be to know that he’d cared enough to give his family the answers she desperately needed.
She tapped on Ben’s door then let herself in. He was sitting at his desk looking handsome and familiar and safe. His head was free of a hat, no scruff on his chin—he looked, in a word, dashing.
“Oh God.” She was crying, which seemed impossible since there should be no way her tear ducts could produce more fluid.
“Charlotte?” Ben gave her one look, then he was on his feet and taking her by the shoulders. “He told you. What a son of a bitch! Whoa, are you going to pass out on me? Here, sit down.”
She didn’t want to sit. Not after that. “He told you?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, fussing over her and looking a little too panicked for a man who had started his career as an army medic. “Yesterday. At the fair.”
“He told you yesterday? At the fair? That he was leaving?” she asked, going from shock to denial to pissed off in less than twelve hours.
“Why are you repeating everything I say?” Then Ben closed his mouth and cocked his head to the side. “And what are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” she countered, but Ben remained tight-lipped. “Ben, I have spent the last twelve hours crying because of a man. I am tired, and hungry, and angry. And a little on edge, because castration is sounding reasonable and right about now I’m not really choosy about my subject.”
Ben dropped his head with defeat. “Okay, but sit first.” She did, then skewered him with a glare. “Your dad offered me the medical director position yesterday.”
And just when Charlotte thought she couldn’t feel any more pain, she took another hit. It welled up in the pit of her stomach, coiling tighter and tighter until she was sure she would crumble. Or snap. “Why?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Ben said softly. “I assumed it was because you were getting serious with your mechanic, but then this morning your dad told me that the position was to be yours, and if and when the time c
ame for a new medical director I would be his top choice, then he asked me not to mention any of this to you. I assumed Jace convinced you to stay.”
“I was never leaving, and…Wait? Jace knew about this?” Red-hot frustration laced with sadness rushed through her veins as she thought back to yesterday at the loading dock, when Jace had been so determined she’d get the promotion. So adamant that she would see her dream fulfilled.
“Yeah, I told him that I wouldn’t take the position. That if you were staying in Sugar that it was yours,” Ben said. “He promised that you wouldn’t leave.”
Some of that pain she’d been carrying seemed to fade, to make room for the guilt. She could only imagine what Jace had felt, the conclusions he would have come to—most of them true. She knew Jace, knew how protective he was of the people he loved, and he loved her—enough to walk if it meant her getting the promotion.
Part of her was mad, so incredibly mad that he didn’t consult her. That he once again made the decision for her, had chosen the noble path instead of the right one. Then she remembered what Hattie had said, that she was his home. Yet she’d never even given him a key. She’d shared her bed, her shower, her problems, her responsibilities. But when he’d asked to share in her world, be in her family, she’d told him no.
The McGraws didn’t hide their love or put restrictions on it or save it for a special day. They celebrated it, paraded it through town in a flashy car.
“Where’s my dad?” Charlotte asked.
“He’s in the conference room. I guess the Sugar Peaches are here to talk about who will get the Founder’s Day pot.”
Charlotte stood and flapped her hands in the air. “How is it that I am a sixth-generation doctor, graduated top of my class, head of pediatrics, and a two-time regent of the Sugar Peaches, and yet people seem to think I don’t need to be informed when important decisions are being made?”
Ben’s hands covered his boys. “Are you going to castrate me?”
“Not today,” she said, and marched straight down the hall to the conference room. She burst through the door to find the hospital’s board on one side of the table, the Sugar Peaches on the other, her mother clutching her pearls in the middle, and Darleen holding the Golden Peach.
Although the moment she walked in everyone turned to stare at her.
“I’m glad you’re all here,” she said, clapping her hands and taking her place at the head of the table, taking the Golden Peach from Darleen. “I must have missed the memo.”
“We were just getting started,” her father said. “It seems there is a question about who will receive the donations collected at the fair.”
“The terms of the agreement were that if the parade and sheep scurry went well, then I would remain regent and the decision would be mine.” She looked at the board. “Correct?”
“That’s what I heard,” Hattie said, giving Charlotte a supportive wink. “So I think this is all a waste of time. Give the pot to the Grow Clinic so we can all go home. I’ve got a pie in the oven.”
“That would be nice,” Mabel said. “But there have been some concerns voiced about people withholding pertinent information and, well, mixed-up priorities.”
All eyes went to Darleen, who took that as her cue to speak. She pressed down her skirt and took in a deep breath as though about ready to give a speech on how she was going to cure world hunger. “Charlotte purposefully waited to give me the number of cars that were coming to the show, which made it impossible for me to plot out how many tents we had room for.”
“But the whole day was a success,” Babette said, and sent Charlotte a proud smile. “In fact, my daughter’s efforts resulted in a nineteen percent increase from last year’s total earnings. I know, I tallied the money myself this morning.”
Babette took a stack of spreadsheets and divvied them up. As they made their way around the room, impressed whispers began circling.
“Why does everyone assume that she is responsible?” Darleen said, her bony finger pointed at Charlotte. “We all chipped in. In fact, I bet if we divided what money came from her part and what came from my part, I’d be the winner.”
“You told people where to put up booths,” Hattie said with a dismissive wave. “How hard is that? Plus, this is about the community, not about winning.”
“Exactly.” Darleen clapped her hands with delight. “This is about the community, which is why we have all sacrificed a lot of time and energy to make this amazing. But what Charlotte didn’t tell you was that if her clinic doesn’t get the pot, then Mr. Neil and those fancy city boys wouldn’t invest, either. She used us and didn’t say a word, which is not very forthcoming or neighborly.”
At the horrified gasps, Charlotte held up a hand. “Both times I ran for regent, I made it clear that my platform centered on the medical center and the Grow Clinic. Both times you elected me on that platform, so yes, while Mercy Alliance is intent on ensuring that the local support won’t dry up, that requirement came after we had already put the Grow Clinic on the table as the recipient.”
Charlotte glared at her father, as if to say just how complicated he’d made things. He had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Maybe I should have been more forthcoming,” she admitted. “But we have never required other organizations to disclose their financial partnering.”
“Okay,” Darleen said, hands on hips. “Explain why, while we were all scrambling to get the fair stepped up and organized, you were making whoopee with her grandson.” This time the pointer went to Hattie, and shocked gasps, and a few titillated ones, filled the room.
“I don’t understand,” her mother said to her father as though she needed him to explain the theory behind time travel. “I thought Cal was marrying that nurse.”
“Not now, Babette,” Reginald said, running a hand down his face. With an exhausted sigh he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Everything about him looked tired. Sad. And suddenly Charlotte saw a side of her father that she hadn’t known existed. He was disappointed. Not in her, but in himself.
For not protecting her? For putting her in this position? She wasn’t sure.
Her mother, on the other hand, almost delighted in the fact that Charlotte might be marrying Cal. Darleen was delighted that she’d won. But it was Hattie who drew Charlotte in.
Hattie with her spiky hair and loud tracksuits and mama bear love for her family, who was silently waiting for Charlotte to explain. Explain that Charlotte Holden, local MD and former Miss Peach, loved her youngest grandson. Then give that love what it deserved, what he deserved.
To be claimed by her.
Charlotte had been so angry when he walked out that she never considered why someone walks to begin with. Because they don’t know where they belong. Even though Jace belonged to her, with her, she’d never told him that. Never gave him any reason to believe that it was the two of them, through the good times and the bad.
Sure, he’d run, but she’d known he was a runner when she married him. And she’d taken a vow to bring him home.
“I didn’t come here today to argue over who did what with you, Darleen,” she said, and Darleen rolled her eyes. “I came here as the current regent to inform the board of two decisions. The first, I will do my duty as your elected officer and put forward to the board that all of the proceeds from the Founder’s Day pot go to the Grow Center.”
“You can’t do that,” Darleen said. “She can’t do that!”
“As your elected leader, I can and just did.” Charlotte looked back at the board. “Which brings me to my next point. Effective immediately I will be stepping down as regent.”
Confusion erupted as everyone started talking over one another.
“Did she say she’d quitting? My hearing’s acting up!”
“Lord have mercy, if she quits we’re stuck with Darleen!”
“She must be delirious from all that whoopee!”
“One time I had whoopee so long I got confused, forgot who I was.”
Charlotte wasn’t confused. Not at all. She knew exactly what she wanted, and this was the last step.
“Nope. Not happening! Do you hear me?” Darleen crossed her arms, shaking her head as though that alone had the power to make it not true. “There is no way you are resigning, because I am im-peaching you.”
“You can’t im-peach anyone,” Dottie chided. “Plus, the girl already resigned.”
“But if she resigns then I get to be regent by default,” Darleen screamed, knowing that the only way she’d ever be voted in as regent was if Charlotte wasn’t the opposition. “And I am not a default leader!”
“Honey, that’s the only way you’d ever get it.” Hattie took Darleen’s hand and yanked her back when she went to grab the Golden Peach. “And before you start shooting spit and making more enemies, remember that while you get the position by default today, come January we have to reelect you. And I’m already voting for the other guy.”
Darleen opened her mouth only to look at the disapproving faces and take her seat. Even crossed her legs and folded her hands politely on the conference table, but she didn’t look happy about it.
“Now,” Mable said, sliding the Golden Peach back toward herself for safekeeping. “As the adviser I want to encourage you to reconsider. You have done so much for this group and are an asset we’d hate to lose.”
“You women gave me more than you could ever guess,” Charlotte said thickly. “But you all deserve a leader who has the time to put your needs and this organization first. And after today I can’t do that. If I am promoted to medical director of the Grow Clinic, that will need all of my professional attention.” Charlotte shifted her focus to her father and the hospital board. “If not, then I will be leaving Sugar and taking a position at Atlanta Memorial.”
That made her father nervous. Without Charlotte, the medical center would be floundering at a time when the Grow Clinic needed to be sound. She wasn’t just the idea behind the clinic, she was the heart, the warrior who kept pushing through all the noes until they found their yes. The doctors who had come on board, the staff who had spent the last year training to be a part of a ground-breaking center, were all there because of Charlotte.