by Jenny Hale
She picked up her own frame that had been leaning beside her chair and turned it around, revealing a black-and-white photograph of her and Pappy on their wedding day in the back garden. She was in his arms, her white gauzy dress draped down to the grass below in a frozen swirl, her head thrown back in laughter, her arms outstretched as he spun her around.
“This is my memory.” She made eye contact with each of them before continuing. “I’ve saved both the company address of the frame maker and piles of the wood in the back shed, so if your children would like frames, they can have them when they’re ready. There are so many little remnants of lives past in this house that I thought we should put our mark on the place.”
It was only obvious because Scarlett knew about the possible sale of White Oaks, but she could feel the rise in tension in the air as the family’s eyes discreetly shifted between one another beneath their happy smiles and the buzz of conversation, as they all talked among themselves about the thoughtful gift Gran had gotten them.
“You might not have your memory yet, and that’s okay,” Gran said. “We can make them now. And over time, we’ll fill the wall. There’s no hurry.”
But there was a hurry. In fact, they were out of time. Unless Scarlett could make something happen right now. She needed to see Charlie. He was their only hope.
While the living room would be closed to guests for the remainder of Christmas Day, the fires were going in the parlor for the visitors who wanted a Christmas morning common area with views of the mountains. The living room was reserved for family, and it had certainly seen its share of great moments today. The floor was littered with Christmas paper and the stockings were lumped on the hearth, the little prizes they concealed long gone. Mugs of cocoa were scattered on tables… The place was a festive Christmas mess.
Scarlett wanted to freeze time right then, with the remainder of the afternoon stretched out lazily in front of them. Her family was sprawled across sofas, Janie and her aunts laughing at something. The twins and Trevor were playing with their toys, Stitches was pawing at the loose ribbon on the floor, and Archie could be found in the corner behind the Christmas tree, trying to bury his new holiday bone in the mass of balled-up wrapping paper.
Scarlett didn’t want to leave that beautiful scene, but she buttoned up her coat and slipped on her boots, headed for Charlie’s. While she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him have Christmas alone, she also knew that it was time to find out for certain if he could help them with White Oaks in any way. She asked her dad for the truck keys and he didn’t even question where she was going. She could sense that he felt the squeeze of time just like she did. All Scarlett could think about was the betrayal Gran would feel when they all sat her down to tell her the news, her brilliant idea of framed memories crashing to the floor, and her realization that they’d all known while they were thanking her for such a thoughtful gift. The whole thing soured in Scarlett’s stomach.
She’d been careful not to tread on Charlie’s emotions over the holiday, dancing around the subject of his work, but she’d reached that moment where she had to face the music. She was going to ask him outright—the inn’s future depended on it. She’d texted him to let him know she was coming, and she hadn’t asked; she’d simply stated that she needed to talk to him.
When Scarlett arrived, he was already standing at the door waiting for her under the patch of new shingles on the roof. The workmen had gone and the cottage was back to normal. Charlie locked eyes with her as she went inside, as if he knew the discussion would be a heavy one. She slipped off her coat and boots.
“How was your morning?” she asked, sitting down on the sofa across from the fire. A book was open, face down, on the coffee table next to a near-empty glass of orange juice.
“Good.” Charlie sat slowly beside her, his eyes wary, clearly sensing her tension as she tried to find a way into the conversation. He could read her easily.
“Okay,” she said nervously, preparing herself for the big question. “I’m going to get right to it,” she said. “What’s going on with your work? Why won’t you talk about it?”
She waited for the backlash, for the frustrated look or the loud exhale as he avoided an answer, but he just sat there, quiet, pursing his lips in thought as if he were trying to formulate the most efficient answer.
When he didn’t say anything, she decided that she’d have to just be honest with him. “Cappy gave me your business card when I arrived last week. He said you’re looking for a property to acquire in Silver Falls.” She swallowed, her hands trembling. “White Oaks is for sale.”
He remained silent, the information obviously settling in.
“That’s why I came to see you the day I got stuck in the snow. I want you to buy it, Charlie.”
Suddenly, he stood up, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He looked back at her and then away, visibly upset with himself or the situation—she couldn’t figure it out.
“So all the time we spent together—that was so you could sell me the inn?” He nodded to himself. “That’s why you were so quick to offer me a room and why you wanted me involved in the festivities… You’re good, Miss Bailey.” He peered down at her, his eyes like daggers.
“No,” she said hurriedly. “No, that’s not it at all!” She’d worried this might happen, but she’d been so concerned with Gran tomorrow that she hadn’t planned out the right way to explain it all to Charlie.
He picked up her coat in his fist and thrust it onto the sofa next to her, then opened the door. “I’m not in the market anymore.” He looked away. “You can leave now.”
Scarlett left her coat where it had landed and ran over to him, pushing herself between him and the open doorway, the icy air slithering down her spine. “Charlie.”
With a deep breath, he pulled back, but she wouldn’t allow it, taking his hands with her own. A tiny fizzle of hope fluttered around inside her when he didn’t let go.
She pushed her face up toward his, forcing eye contact, and she saw the hurt again that he was working to conceal. She squeezed his hands affectionately. “That’s what brought me to you originally,” she said, “but it isn’t what made me stay. You were what made me stay. And whether or not you buy the inn, I’ll still be here. For you.”
The anger in his eyes lingered while he pondered her admission. He pulled away from her and turned toward the door, and her heart dropped. Panic rose in her throat as she saw the pain she’d caused him. His wounds were still too fresh to believe her with confidence. Scarlett held her breath, fear coursing through her. When she’d hurt him, she could feel that pain. Right then, it hit her that she didn’t want to spend another day without seeing him. No matter what happened with White Oaks. He grabbed the doorknob and paused. But then he closed it, sealing them back into the warmth inside.
“I’ll tell you about Ms. Farmer,” he said, picking her coat up gently this time, shaking it out and hanging it on the hook by the door.
Still shaken by the misunderstanding, Scarlett sat on the edge of the sofa, her whole body trembling. It was then that she realized how important it was to her that he believe her, because she was completely falling for him. When she turned toward him to listen, he was searching her face.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said, taking her shaking hand into his warm grip, stilling it. “That’s what I mean about needing time. I still feel like an awful person, so I immediately jump to conclusions, forgetting that you don’t know about me.”
“I only know what you’ve let me learn, and… I adore that person.” His gentler presence was calming her already. “Why don’t you tell me everything and then let me decide my opinion of you?”
“I was afraid to tell you because I worried it would rob me of that look in your eyes when you listen to me. You make me feel like I can do anything.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m not here to judge you on your past. I’ll stay by your side with or without the knowledge of it,” she said. “But it w
ould be nice to understand what you went through.”
He regarded her fondly. Finally, he said, “I’m only going to tell it once because I prefer not to relive it.”
“That’s all it takes. I won’t ask again. Nor will anyone else, certainly.”
He sat back, undoubtedly preparing himself. Then he began. “In my twenties, I found success as a developer,” he said. “Once I’d built myself up enough to have my own company, I worked out of a penthouse office in New York, building resorts across the U.S., and it all came very easily for me. I never saw any of my properties—they were numbers on spreadsheets; it was all a figures game, each one a trick of management and organization, a skill on which I thrived.
“I’d heard rumblings of complaints from small businesses in different towns here and there where I’d developed, but that was to be expected, and the success of the resorts in those areas spoke for itself. So whenever someone contacted me about a grievance, I sent him or her to my director of public relations who ‘handled’ the situation. How he handled it was up to him, as long as it wasn’t on my desk…” He shifted tensely on the sofa, the memory clearly getting to him. “Would you like a drink? Maybe a glass of wine?”
Charlie stood up abruptly without waiting for an answer and went into the kitchen, returning a minute later with two glasses of white wine, handing her one. She’d never said she’d have one, but she didn’t mind. This was clearly difficult for him to tell, and he needed the moment to regroup.
“When I first arrived at boarding school, I cried every night, missing my father. A young teacher by the name of Mrs. Beasley comforted me. She had the kindest smile… I still remember her humming and braiding her hair as we sat together in the common area outside my bedroom. It was sort of a way of filling the time for me, and taking the pressure off of the situation. She’d ask me questions about my artwork and sports to keep me company, and eventually I associated calmness with her.
“Years later, I finally decided to scope out the locations myself because I was touring areas of Tennessee for my newest venture, and I wanted a firsthand look at the options. It was just after leaving my card with Cappy. Ms. Farmer must have gotten wind of the resort I was visiting, and as I sat in the boardroom, she burst through the doors to the horror of my administrative assistant, who was fielding questions outside.
“The woman bursting through reminded me of Mrs. Beasley and I remember smiling at her at first, but then realizing how upset she was. She started screaming at me, telling me she’d used the very last of her money for gas to get there, to tell me what an awful person I was and how I’d ruined her life. She wanted her shop back.” He shook his head at the memory.
“Her eyes were red from crying—I could see it through her anger. She said she’d worked as a puppeteer in a children’s shop. I remembered it from the spec research; it wasn’t profitable, had barely been hanging on financially for years… She said she’d worked there her entire adult life, and it had been the best job she could imagine, but I’d bought out the owner and leveled the place. She had to waitress to pay the bills, but the hours weren’t working for her because she had a son to take care of. She’d been through three jobs and they’d fired her for taking off too much time, but it was because of the hours they’d given her. So with limited options, no one would hire her because she was now known as someone who didn’t show up for work.” Charlie cleared his throat, emotion welling up, but he pushed through.
“She got in my face and shouted at me. She said, ‘I’ll bet you’ve never awakened in the middle of the night to find that your only parent wasn’t there because she was at work and the worthless sitter—the only one I could afford—had never shown up! And the reason you woke was because your tummy was so hungry that you couldn’t sleep, because the free preschool food program didn’t include dinner, and your mom had to choose between keeping the heating on in freezing temperatures or feeding you.’” With tears filling his eyes, he said, “She fell onto my chest and sobbed before pushing me away in anger. She said her son had been having terrible asthma attacks recently due to their living conditions, and the medical bills had piled up.” Charlie searched Scarlett’s face. “Trevor. It’s Trevor.”
“That’s heartbreaking,” Scarlett said, barely able to get the words out through her emotion.
“Ms. Farmer reached into her bag, grabbed a stack of papers, tossed them onto the table where I was working and then walked out.” He took in a jagged breath. “I thought about those nights without my parents at school and I ached for little Trevor. She’d had to leave him alone to go to work, with no other options.” He tipped his head up at the ceiling, the pain etched across his forehead. “When I gathered up the papers she’d left, they were all articles of others who had the same sort of experience. They said terrible things about me: I was heartless. An unemotional tycoon. They debated the benefits of the rise in tourism my resorts created versus allowing someone like me to invade their towns. My director of PR had done a bang-up job—I had no inkling at all that people thought these things of me. I honestly had no idea of the impact my business decisions were making on their lives.
“After that, every time I lay in bed at night, I was haunted by the woman’s red eyes. I tried to find her to help her, but she hadn’t left her name. I had no idea who she was. I tried to track down the owner of the shop where she’d worked, but when he passed away the inheritance went to his children in another state, and they didn’t know who he’d employed. He didn’t have any documentation of employment in his records. I hired a lawyer to try to track down tax documents, but that information was confidential.”
“None of it is your fault if you didn’t know it was happening.”
“Yes, it is my fault. I should’ve known.” His jaw clenched tightly in frustration and emotion. “It was my company. I was out of touch at my own doing.” He dragged his fingers down his face and squinted his eyes shut, shaking his head. In a whisper, he said from behind his hands, “When I dropped off my business card that day, I was on my way out of town to catch a flight, and I didn’t even stop to see my father.” He looked up at her. “He was already gone, but I should’ve stopped then. I hadn’t spoken to him in so long that it seemed odd to pop by when I only had a few minutes. I figured I’d rather catch him when I had time to talk… What kind of person does that? Not a very good one.
“My father had been silent, and quietly fell away from my life without ever confronting me with the hurt I’d caused him. But Ms. Farmer changed me that day. She let me have it; she showed me how I’d hurt her. I wanted to find her and make things better, and I couldn’t. That made me realize how important it is to act in the present, and not to wait until later to set things straight. I’ve been working as hard as I can to do the right thing ever since.
“I gave everyone at the office generous severance packages, found them each alternative employment opportunities, and provided my endorsement whenever needed. Once everyone was well taken care of, I tied up all the loose ends with the resorts, and closed the company. Then, after many long months of notifying creditors, filing articles of dissolution and tax paperwork, and completing everything I had to do to dissolve Crestwood Development, I did what I should’ve done long ago: I went to find my father.”
“And he wasn’t here,” she said, the pieces all fitting together now. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged helplessly, his pain still very clearly with him. “I wanted to be as far away from that life as possible, so even once I got here and realized my father was gone, I decided to stay. This house was left to his sister, my aunt. She let me buy it from her.
“After purchasing the house, I’d planned to save back some money to renovate the home and then donate the rest of what I’d made to charities. I didn’t even want the money in my bank account; not when I’d acquired it the way that I had. I wanted to make sure the money went toward some good, so I researched different charities and donated as much as I could.”
“And you bought all
those gifts for Janie and Trevor…”
“They need it more than I do.”
“Would you see her? Perhaps you can make things better for her somehow.”
“If you think it wouldn’t hurt her any further, then I’d be happy to talk to her. If there’s anything more I can do…”
“I definitely think you should. She’ll easily see your kindness, Charlie. All you have to do is show her.”
He looked at her thoughtfully, and it was clear that her support meant a lot to him.
Then, something occurred to her and the blood rushed away from her face, her hands feeling clammy with the realization, dread settling upon her. Charlie probably had neither the kind of funds required to buy the inn, nor his company, so he couldn’t put an offer in on White Oaks. She pushed the thought away. Right now, she needed to focus on Janie.
At the back of the inn there was a glass room that overlooked the rounded edges of the Smoky Mountains. On a summer’s evening, the sky would turn pink and orange, the hills and valleys a deep purple. It had originally been a covered porch, but Gran had enclosed it with giant glass-paned doors that opened up onto little balconies, to allow them to be shut so that the views could be enjoyed all year round. At the end of the room was a double-access stone fireplace with openings to the glass room as well as a formal sitting room on the other side, in the interior of the main house. Gran had the mantle draped in fresh greenery for Christmas, the spruce color complementing the gray stones.
With a roaring fire and the views of the snow-capped mountains to keep everyone relaxed, Scarlett thought it would be a perfect spot for Janie and Charlie to have their discussion. She’d asked if they’d like her to leave them alone to talk, but both had assured her that they’d prefer her to be present. They’d all settled on the wicker furniture.
“Before you say what you’ve come to Silver Falls to tell me,” Charlie began gently, as if he were trying to mend what she’d been through already, “I just want you to know how sorry I am. Truly.”