Charlotte's Homecoming

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Funny, Charlotte thought, how easy it is to forget the good parts of having a sister.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “YOU’RE GOOD AT RETAIL,” Faith told Charlotte. “That table yesterday, and the armoire today. Those will really help the bottom line.”

  They sat in the dining room, which offered more room to spread out papers than the smaller kitchen table. The TV in the living room was on, but Dad had fallen asleep in the middle of one of his favorite shows. He seemed to be doing that a lot. Charlotte guessed the pain pills were pretty potent. Once he started to snore, she and Faith had retreated, Faith to pay the bills and Charlotte to go through some of their father’s files. He’d been too fuzzy to remember the details of their insurance coverage. A talk with the agent had already told them that the retail items lost in the fire weren’t covered. Tonight, Charlotte was determined to make sure they knew where they stood otherwise. Thanks to their deductible, they were already bearing most of the cost of replacing the stretch of barn wall that had been burned. The man Gray recommended had started work two days after the fire and planned to finish tomorrow. He’d salvaged old wood from somewhere, so there was no raw wood to stick out like a sore thumb.

  She looked up from the homeowner’s insurance policy. “The woman who bought the table had made up her mind before I said, ‘May I help you?’ The couple with the armoire…I guess I did push a little. Scared ’em into thinking it would be gone if they thought about it too long.”

  “I can never push,” Faith said sadly.

  “Oh, bull!” Charlotte snorted at her sister’s startled expression. “You can’t tell me you didn’t have to push all kinds of people to get the farm business going. Starting with Dad. And you must have gotten business permits, and found connections for the nursery plants and antiques. Not to mention bullying all the artists into paying a commission to have their stuff here!”

  “Bullying?”

  “And what you said to Dad the other day, about not being able to afford dignity.”

  “That was mean, and I wished I hadn’t said it the minute the words were out of my mouth.”

  “No, it was blunt. And in this case, true. It’s not always bad to be blunt.”

  Faith’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, I should have been blunt with Rory.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about him,” Charlotte said, and meant it. “Blunt wouldn’t have cut it with Rory. Too subtle. He needed a knee in the balls. Or to look down the barrel of a shotgun.”

  Faith blinked. “Too subtle?” Then she cracked up.

  Okay, that was a surprise. Charlotte had been afraid she’d offended her sister again. But it seemed like she’d been loosening up the last couple of days. Or maybe I’ve been loosening up, Charlotte thought. Spending time with Faith, talking to her—really talking to her, not just making conversation—had been easier than she’d expected. And…nice.

  The phone rang, and Faith sprang up. “Damn it, that’ll wake Dad!”

  She made it to the kitchen phone before the third ring, but came back to the dining room almost immediately. “Nobody there.”

  They looked at each other uneasily. Dad had complained earlier of at least two hang-ups.

  “Did you hear anything?” Charlotte asked.

  “No. Whoever it was hung up right away. No heavy breathing, no giggling in the background. It probably was just a wrong number.”

  “Isn’t there some way we can check the caller’s phone number?”

  Faith frowned. “Yes, but I don’t remember. I suppose it’s in the phone book.”

  “No, that’s silly. Unless we keep getting these.”

  For a woman living alone—as Faith had been until Charlotte came home—phone calls like that could be scary. But with three adults in the house, hang-ups were more pathetic and annoying than anything.

  Faith nodded. They worked in semisilence for half an hour, Charlotte occasionally sharing some tidbit she unearthed, like the fact that Dad didn’t have flood insurance, which could be bad in the event of a hundred-year flood.

  “The house is built up high enough,” she said, “but the barn isn’t. Dad used to just get the cows to high ground if the water was rising, but moving everything in the barn wouldn’t be that easy. You might want to think about adding the extra coverage before winter.”

  Faith rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know if I can afford to add anything.”

  “Once I have a job again, maybe I can help some.”

  Faith offered a twisted smile. “No, if we can’t become self-sustaining, we’ll have to give up. I can keep working this hard if we’re making it, but not if it’s taking every penny of my paycheck from the school district and bailouts from you, too.” She shook her head. “No.”

  Charlotte was about to ask why it was okay for Faith’s salary to go to keeping the family farm but not hers, but she was distracted by something outside the window. Movement, or a sound, or…? She turned her head, puzzled.

  The window imploded and something smashed onto the table, then rolled to drop on the floor. A rock that had to be eight or ten inches across, Charlotte realized as she leaped to her feet. Faith was doing the same, but because she’d been closer to the window she was shaking off shards of glass and—oh, God—had blood streaking her cheek and dripping from a cut on her upper arm.

  In the living room Dad was bellowing.

  “Don’t try to get up!” Charlotte yelled, starting around the table to her sister.

  She saw another flash of movement outside, in the dark. An arm swinging. It lobbed something else through the window, something that had a sparkling tail, like fireworks. Sizzle, sizzle, crackle.

  Boom!

  The stunning explosion had them both hitting the floor, covering their ears. Too late.

  A cherry bomb, she thought. Some son of a bitch had just tossed a cherry bomb through the dining-room window. She scrambled to her feet and raced for the back door.

  She couldn’t hear anything but ringing in her ears, but she flung open the door and all but fell down the steps, then ran for the side of the house. Damn, it was dark out here. Darker for her, with her eyes adjusted to indoor light. Even so, she saw someone running. Headlights from a passing car on the highway glinted off metal—an SUV or pickup pulled onto the shoulder. She sprinted after the bastard who’d thrown the cherry bomb, but the vehicle was moving long before she reached the highway. Fishtailing on the dirt and gravel, it accelerated onto the highway without lights. She could barely make out the shape of the vehicle, much less the color.

  Gasping, she stopped, bent and braced her hands on her knees. As soon as she could fill her lungs with oxygen, she straightened and headed back to the house at a trot.

  Faith. She’d been on the floor bleeding when Charlotte had raced out of the kitchen. And she’d been closer to the cherry bomb when it went off.

  Dad. Oh, Lord. What if he’d tried to get out of bed and fallen?

  She was terrified by the time she stumbled back into the dining room and saw Faith sitting up, her back to the wall. Her face was pale, and she was bleeding from half a dozen cuts that Charlotte could see at a glance. Her terrified gaze lifted to Charlotte.

  She said something. Her voice was tinny and far away.

  “I couldn’t catch him,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry.”

  She could hardly hear herself, and could tell that her sister had no idea what she’d said.

  “Dad?” She went to the living room. He was propped up on his elbows. When he saw her, he dropped the phone onto the bedcovers and held out one arm.

  Tears in her eyes, she let him hug her, just for a minute, before she pulled back. “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  He nodded and talked. She had to shake her head. “I can’t hear you. Faith…Faith was closer. She’s okay, but she has cuts from the glass, and…”

  The ringing in her ears was getting higher and higher pitched. No, she realized, as she hurried back to the dining room. There was a siren outside, flashing lights. She stopped,
squeezed Faith’s hands, then went to open the kitchen door.

  Ben Wheeler came in so fast, she stumbled back. Urgency in his dark eyes, he asked her something. She shook her head again and touched both her ears.

  “Faith?” he yelled. “Your dad?”

  She motioned toward the dining room. Two EMTs bounded up the steps and came into the kitchen. She waved them forward, too, then sagged for a minute onto a kitchen chair. She was shaking all over and wasn’t sure she could have stood.

  I’m scared, she thought. Scared, and mad. That son of a bitch. It was him. It had to be him.

  The ringing in her ears seemed to be subsiding, and she could hear voices. Faith had to be in much worse shape than she was. Quit being so spineless, she told herself, and managed to get to her feet and go back to the dining room.

  Ben Wheeler was crouched, one arm wrapped around Faith. Her cheek lay against his chest. The EMTs were cleaning up her cuts, dabbing gently but making her wince with the sting of whatever disinfectant was on that gauze. Dad had made it out of bed and stood in the doorway to the living room, propped up on his crutches. He looked stunned and angry and helpless.

  Charlotte went to him and rested her forehead against his chest. One crutch clattered to the floor, and once again his arm wrapped her. She let herself burrow for just a moment, treating herself to the illusion of security her daddy’s arms gave her.

  She couldn’t give herself more than that fleeting moment. She hadn’t leaned on anyone in so long, it felt unnatural. Straightening, she smiled at her father. “You need to go back to bed.”

  He swayed, and she saw how gray his color was.

  “Now.” She bent to pick up the crutch.

  “Van Dusen,” he said.

  Huh? Did Dad think Gray had something to do with the cherry bomb?

  Straightening with the crutch, she realized her father was looking past her. Without much surprise, Charlotte turned to see Gray striding through the dining room. He wore jeans, a faded blue T-shirt and athletic shoes.

  He didn’t even stop to talk to Ben, sweeping him and Faith with a comprehensive look that made Charlotte cringe. Ben’s tender care of Faith made it pretty plain to anyone with eyes that he’d asked out the wrong Russell sister.

  Just what she needed to go with the ringing ears, Charlotte thought. A dose of humiliation.

  He stopped just short of her, his eyes darkened to charcoal. “You’re not hurt.” His voice was ragged.

  “I… Just my ears.” She touched one. “Bells are ringing. Everything else is muffled.”

  “God,” he said with suppressed ferocity. “When I heard this address on the police scanner…”

  A shudder traveled down her spine. It hadn’t reached the base before Gray took her in his arms. His grip was stronger than her father’s, his chest broader. His heart slammed in his chest, where her face was pressed.

  He’d been scared for her. Really scared.

  And that scared her.

  She wanted—oh, she was ashamed at how much she wanted!—to stay in his embrace. To let him hold her forever. But the strength of that need had her pushing away, almost frantically.

  “Dad. I need to get Dad back to bed.”

  Her father had been watching her and Gray. “I’m going,” he said.

  Gray gave her arm a squeeze and smiled at her father. “Let me give you a hand, Mr. Russell.”

  “Goddamn poor timing for me to be laid up,” her father muttered. Or said. She didn’t know, since she was partially hearing, partially lip-reading. Dad clumped into the living room, laboriously turned himself, then leaned against the bed as he propped the crutches up within reach.

  He braced a hand on Gray’s shoulder and let the younger man half lift him onto the bed and help him stretch out. He was breathing hard by then and he closed his eyes. “Give me a minute.”

  Gray turned to Charlotte. “What happened?”

  She told him. He scowled when she got to the part about her running outside to try to catch the bastard who’d just thrown the rock and the cherry bomb.

  “What in hell were you thinking? It didn’t occur to you that he might hurt you?”

  “If it was Rory…”

  “How many times did he put your sister in the hospital?” He shook his head as if in disgust, his eyes hot with anger.

  She fired back, “If we can’t identify him—”

  “You intended to do that from the hospital bed?”

  “I’m not completely helpless, you know!”

  Gray swore and turned his back on her.

  Charlotte would have liked to kick something. Maybe him. But she also felt as though her chest were being compressed. She didn’t know if it was embarrassment at her own foolishness, because she had put herself at risk, or shock at the genuine fear she’d seen on Gray’s face.

  Her father put a hand out and she took it. She hated the way he watched her so sadly, as though he thought he’d failed her.

  “You couldn’t have done anything, Daddy,” she whispered.

  Gray turned back around, his gaze resting for a moment on Charlotte’s hand, linked to her father’s. Then he met her eyes. “You think you have to take care of this yourself. Don’t you expect Wheeler to do anything?”

  “I don’t think he can,” she corrected. “The rock is too rough to hold a fingerprint, and the cherry bomb blew itself to smithereens. I saw movement outside the window, but I didn’t see the person.” She shrugged, trying with nonchalance to hide her deep sense of helplessness. “We didn’t learn anything. Anything at all.”

  “Did this guy leave on foot or in a car?”

  “He was parked by the highway. Since he didn’t turn on headlights, I can’t be sure what he was driving. I think an SUV or pickup. Definitely not a car.”

  “Then you did learn something.” Gray was suddenly closer to her again, his voice gentle. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  “Did you?”

  His mouth twisted. “I don’t know. I wanted to.”

  Her knees felt wobbly. The temptation to lean against Gray again was powerful enough to awaken a flutter of panic in her belly. All the same, he was being nice, and deserved honesty from her.

  “I suppose it was stupid to run out there. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

  “Turn your head,” he said suddenly, sharply.

  “What?”

  He cupped her cheek with one hand and pushed her face away. Then he swore again, viciously enough to widen her eyes. “You have a shard of glass sticking out of your neck.”

  “Don’t touch it!” She batted at his hand. “You’ll cut yourself.”

  “Have the EMTs even looked at you?” He sounded pissed.

  “Not yet. Faith…”

  “Come.” He all but pushed her into the dining room and said, “Sit.”

  “Do I get a Milk-Bone?” Charlotte asked, full of sarcasm.

  Faith was gone and so was Ben Wheeler. One of the two emergency medical technicians was cleaning up. After a couple of words from Gray, he was instantly at her side.

  The shard of glass he extracted from her neck was half an inch long. The deadly point was red with her blood. She blinked at the sight of it lying on the table.

  “I didn’t even feel that,” she whispered.

  “You’re probably in shock,” the medic told her. He was a stocky man with beefy shoulders and thick fingers that still managed to touch her delicately. He was checking her over carefully now, and had already found a couple more bits of glass embedded in her flesh. “How’s your hearing?” he asked.

  “Coming back, but still strange. Faith? Were her eardrums damaged?”

  “Doesn’t look like it, but Chief Wheeler took her to the hospital to get her checked out. We didn’t realize you were in the room, too.”

  Charlotte pointed at her chair. “That’s where I was sitting.”

  The two men looked at the glass littering the table, at the scar in the finish made by the rock that looked obscenely out of pl
ace on the faded Oriental rug, and at the charred remnants of the cherry bomb.

  Gray made a sound, as if his breath had been punched out of him. Charlotte was careful not to look at his face. She didn’t want to know what she’d see there. The EMT grabbed his otoscope and peered into her ear.

  He declared her eardrums to be intact and cleaned up her few cuts. “I’d recommend you have a doctor check you out, too. Tomorrow is probably okay, unless your ears start to hurt or your hearing deteriorates.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Gray was frowning at the window. “I wonder if Wheeler called anyone to board that over.”

  Charlotte had seen some planks in one of the outbuildings. Despite the exhaustion that had taken the place of her intense adrenaline, she said, “I could probably do that.”

  Gray’s frown deepened to a scowl when he looked at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you have some boards, I’ll do it. You need to go to bed.”

  “No, I need to check on my father….”

  “I’ll do that.” His large hand, suddenly gentle, squeezed her shoulder. “I’m staying. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes filled with tears, which should have infuriated her. She never cried. But the idea of being able to collapse in bed without having to lie there, stiff, listening for every little sound, was so seductive it called for tears. She sniffed. “Dad snores.”

  Gray laughed, deepening the creases in his cheeks. “Who knows? Maybe I do, too.”

  She shouldn’t ask. Asking invited…something. She did it anyway. “Don’t you know?”

  “No.” Voice a notch huskier, he said, “I don’t usually do sleepovers.” He paused. “What about you?”

  “Um…none of your business?”

  His grin flashed. “I was asking whether you snored.”

  “That’s none of your business, either.” She allowed a small smile. “Okay. I’m going to stand up now.” Her body seemed disinclined to obey. “Any minute now.”