Saving Charlie (Stories of Serendipity Book 9)

by Anne Conley

  By the time it was dark, Charlie had managed all the doors and most of the windows, having filled her trailer and exhausted her body. She waved at Mr. Hickerson with a pasted-on smile, and got in her truck to drive home. He didn’t say a word.

  Her week continued along the same vein. Keeping her body busy, her mind focused on her work, Charlie didn’t have time to think about Les, or The Man. She just worked. The second day, she got the tiles from the backsplash in the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the tin ceiling pieces. Removing tiles without breaking them was tedious, involving a chisel and endless patience, but she managed.

  Wednesday was the plumbing fixture day. She removed the claw-foot bathtubs, using her dolly to get them out of the house, and all the fixtures. The kitchen sink was another beast to move, but the deep, old porcelain double sink would sell in a heartbeat and she couldn’t leave it behind. Then she started on the molding around the doors and windows.

  Thursday, she finished prying the molding out of the house and Friday, she decided to make Mr. Hickerson talk to her. He’d sat in his truck the entire week, watching her but never speaking.

  Friday morning, she walked up to him.

  “I just have a couple more things to get out today. I was going to work on the flooring that’s not rotten and try to get as much as I could, but I was wondering if you would let me come back for a couple of days once the house is on the ground. These old bricks are beautiful, and I would love to have the columns too.”

  “How much?” He spat a stream of tobacco juice into a styrofoam cup in his console.

  She fired a number off the top of her head, and he seemed to mull it over.

  “You know, I had my doubts about you, little lady.” She hid her distaste at the moniker, and forced a smile at him. “I didn’t think you’d get much done this week. But you surprised me.” He shifted in the seat he hadn’t gotten out of the entire week. “I’ll tell you what. You can come back on Thursday. You get the columns and all the bricks you want. I’ll even help you load them.” He flashed his stained teeth in what could only be a smile, and Charlie let out a pent-up breath.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  All week, Les had kept in touch without crowding her, for which she was thankful. He’d sent her texts, and called her occasionally, just to say hello and he was thinking of her. She could tell he wanted to do more, but was trying to give her the space she thought she so desperately needed. But Charlie missed him. She missed his face, his smile, his guitar, his presence. Something about Les soothed Charlie, anchored her. She missed the feeling of having him around.

  She’d never thought she’d feel that. Charlie was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

  His song kept playing in her head; the formal words brushing her mind clean of all the filth that had ever been spoken to her. She missed him. Les made her feel clean, worthy, wanted.

  If she thought about it enough, Les was opening windows for her. Windows that brought air to her insides, windows that opened to show her what it meant to be loved, what it meant to have faith, what it meant to have fun.

  And all of that scared the hell out of her. She didn’t know how to do any of that.

  Any love she had to return to him would be tinged with the pain and sorrow of her past, no matter how much she tried to stop it. She had to tell him; it would be unfair not to. But she’d always believed that dwelling on the past gave those ghosts the power to rule her life. And she’d made such strides in taking control over her life and living it the way she wanted to. She didn’t know how to open that window for Les.

  She just had so many secrets, she didn’t know where to start. Maybe with the least shocking one? She’d already told him about being a child-bride, and he hadn’t seemed too fazed by that one. Maybe if she told him about Trent, that would be a start?

  Might as well do it like a band-aid. Get the pain over with quickly. It may help the pain to rip it off fast, but maybe she’d only succeed in stabbing herself in the heart. It didn’t matter how fast or slow you did that, you still bled out.

  Chapter 22

  From Charlotte’s Journal — four months ago

  I’m tired of being an emotional fuck-up. Logically, I know I have every right to be, but that doesn’t make it okay. I’m a grown woman, for Christ’s sake. I watch TV and movies, I see people in town. I see people being together, and I can admit to myself that I’m lonely. I haven’t talked to Shrinkage about this, because I know what she’ll say. She’ll ask me a bunch of leading questions until I draw the conclusion that I need to go out and meet people.

  Well, I met a guy at the Diner last night, and it occurred to me that I can try the whole relationship thing with him, and see if it works. But I don’t just want a boyfriend. I want friends. I don’t have any friends. But I don’t want to be the needy girl who shows up everywhere wanting to swap numbers with other women whom I have nothing in common with. I have no idea how to make friends. I’ve been alone my entire life, even when I was with other people, and I’m tired of it. I need someone else in my life.

  I could go into the Refuge and introduce myself as The Liberator. That might make me some friends. But it might also piss off whoever’s sending me the notes. Not knowing his or her agenda, I might be spoiling things for them, and I don’t want them to come after me. I’ll admit my fear here, in these pages, even though I wouldn’t admit them to anyone else. But I wish I knew who was setting me up with these girls.

  When she got to Les’s parents’ house Friday night, grateful she’d insisted on meeting him there, his mother answered the door. She was a tall woman, blonde, with dancing blue eyes, and a huge grin on her face.

  “Charlie, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Rhonda. Come in. The boys are playing in the music room.” She opened the door and led Charlie down a hallway.

  Music room indeed. It held multiple wooden drums, like bongos, only all shapes and sizes. One wall was covered with guitars—acoustic, electric, six-strings, twelve-strings, and basses. There was a keyboard and a drum set, as well as amplifiers in one corner. A comfy-looking sofa leaned against one wall, and a recliner was next to it. Les and a smaller, older version of him sat on bean-bags in the center of the room, playing Let it Be.

  Charlie was severely uneasy, her hands rubbing up and down her thighs as she sat on the edge of the couch. One foot tapped spastically, and she felt the familiar fight or flight response rise in her chest. Her hear pounded, and blood rushed in her ears, before she managed several calming breaths.

  It’s just his family. Not a wedding, Charlie. Chill out.

  Rhonda came back in with a tall glass of lemonade for Charlie. “You need a splash of vodka in it, Honey?”

  Charlie smiled at the gesture, her discomfort must be obvious. She forced herself to relax under the woman’s scrutiny. “No, thanks.”

  Charlie forced her gaze on Les, instead of focusing on the fact she was here with his parents. His perfect parents, whom seemed to enjoy his presence. She focused instead on his strong face, his mocha eyes, his smooth voice. Just the fact he was in the same room as her centered her, made her calmer, tamed the need to run. So instead of thinking about his parents, she watched him. While he was watching her.

  And his gaze stripped her bare. Made her feel raw. Even with its soothing quality, there was some primal desire in his eyes that saw her insides. Made her want to feel whatever this was between them.

  Les knew she was about to bolt. Like the motel room that first night, he saw something flicker in her gaze that told him she was miserable here. He was honestly surprised she’d shown up. Pleasantly surprised. Whatever she wanted to talk about must be important for her to put herself through whatever was going on in her mind right now.

  “Supper is ready,” his mother announced when they’d found a place to stop in their session.

  “I’m starved,” Les’s dad said, before rising with creaking joints and a groan. “I guess it’s about time to get some stools in here, like normal musicians.” When
his eyes fell on Charlie, he extended his hand. “I’m Thomas, you must be Charlie. It’s nice to have you here.”

  Les watched her wooden smile as she shook his dad’s hand and felt her discomfort like a palpable entity in the room. Wanting to comfort her in some way, he kept his gaze glued to hers and walked toward her, gently resting his hand on her back. He hoped his touch would ease her a little.

  They made their way to the kitchen and seated themselves at the table. Les managed to seat himself next to her at the round table, and he squeezed her thigh, eliciting a less-wooden smile from her.

  “I hope you don’t have an aversion to tofu, dear.” His mother was passing around the casserole dish, and Les groaned inwardly.

  Whispering out of the side of his mouth, he said, “I’ll take you for a burger afterward. Promise.”

  “I heard that, Lester.”

  Charlie nearly dropped the dish she was holding as her eyes danced with mirth, and her smile was finally genuine. “Lester?”

  He felt his face get hot, but was still grateful for the joy radiating from her. “Yeah…” he grumbled.

  She seemed to recover enough to dish out her casserole, a tofu, marinara sauce and cheese mixture his mother swore tasted just like lasagna. Suddenly, inspiration hit him. He knew how to loosen her up.

  “Mom, Charlie gets a kick out of stories about stupid stuff I did when I was a kid. I know you’ve got some of those.”

  Rhonda must have known what he was up to, because her face lit up with a broad grin. “Of course, I’ve got tons. Let’s see…” She put a forkful of nastiness in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “There was the time you, Max, and Brent got busted for vandalizing Mr. and Mrs. Cranes’ Christmas decorations. They were beside themselves. We almost had to change churches.”

  “You vandalized Christmas decorations?” Charlie’s eyes were wide, and her sweet little mouth had a frown on it.

  Les shrugged. “We weren’t really trying to hurt anything. We just thought they needed to be re-arranged. You couldn’t see Santa behind all the elves they had out.”

  “When he wasn’t out with those boys, he was holed up in his room, playing guitar or watching Logan’s Run. That was his favorite movie. His first VCR, and all he did was watch that movie…I never really saw the appeal, myself.”

  Les cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. Of course his mother would remember that. That was his way of keeping her out of his room while he was abusing himself, thinking of his latest girl.

  “I liked Logan’s Run, too. I watched it every time it came on TV.” Charlie piped in, to Les’s endless amusement. Quickly enough, the image of Charlie doing what he called ‘watching Logan’s Run’ wiped the smirk off his face. She shot him a weird look, and he thought he’d been busted.

  “Yeah, I played a lot of guitar. Sort of had to in this house. Dad let me try out his new creations.”

  “Les used to want to be a famous musician, like one of those grunge rockers in the nineties.”

  The conversation continued along the same vein until they were finished eating. Charlie offered to help clean up, but Rhonda shooed her off.

  “You guys go do something fun. You’ve had enough of us old people for one evening.” Les’s insides turned to mush at Charlie’s smile.

  “Well, it was very nice to meet both of you guys.” Charlie held out her hand to shake Rhonda and Thomas’s hands, but they both pulled her into a hug instead. He saw her stiffen initially, then relax into their embrace.

  Outside, he whispered in her ear, “Follow me to Sam’s. I need a double-bacon chili cheeseburger after all that mess.”

  She laughed and nodded, hopping into her truck. Les vowed to make her laugh more. The sound buried itself into his flesh and he didn’t want to let it out.

  At Sam’s Diner, he ordered his coveted burger, while Charlie picked at his onion rings, silently stewing over whatever it was she wanted to talk about.

  Finally, she broke her silence. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  Les shrugged, “Nothing.”

  “You want to go to a high school graduation with me?”

  “Sure. Whose is it?”

  Her eyes pleaded with him. “Please don’t ask me a lot of questions about this, Les. I’m trying really hard to let you in. Just…let’s take this slow. Okay?”

  He’d thought he was asking a legitimate question, not being nosy, but he squeezed her hand and agreed.

  “I don’t want to go alone. That’s all.” She said it so quietly, he almost didn’t hear her.

  “I understand.” She looked at him with a question in her eyes, but didn’t voice it. He was dying to reassure her he would do his damnedest to make sure she didn’t have to do anything alone ever again. But he knew she didn’t want to hear those words.

  “After this, you want to go somewhere and take a walk?”

  “A walk?” Eyebrows raised, she quit chewing on the onion ring she was holding.

  “Yes, a walk. There’s a real pretty park down the road, with trees and stuff. We can walk, hike through the woods, hold hands. It’ll be fun.”

  “Okay.”

  Les wasn’t sure what was going on with Charlie, but it looked like she was putting forth a herculean effort, and he was going to do what he could to help her out. If she didn’t want to spend time with him, she wouldn’t have come, right?

  The Dogwood park was a sight to see a couple of months ago when the dogwoods were all in bloom. It was still pretty, even without the white blossoms everywhere, but not as breathtaking. When they got out of their trucks, Les entwined his fingers with Charlie’s relishing the feel of her tiny hand in his before leading her down a trail into the woods. The sun had just set, but residual light and the rising moon gave them enough light to see.

  The park was eighty acres, donated by someone a zillion years ago that the city had a hard time maintaining. With all the underbrush, it was pretty wild in some places, almost like a virgin pine forest, especially during years of adequate rain. Right now, everything was green and lush.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, Charlie gently swinging their hands back and forth between them.

  “Your parents seem nice.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty great,” Les agreed.

  “You’re lucky. Mine weren’t.”

  “I’m sorry. Did they pass?”

  She shook her head. “No. They’re still in jail.”

  Les didn’t say anything, momentarily stunned. He knew people that had spent time in jail, but not for anything worse than a minor pot possession, or vandalizing property. But the way she said the words, he got the impression they were in for something serious. He wouldn’t ask though. As much as he wanted to, he was going to respect her privacy and trust that she would tell him when she wanted to.

  Completely changing the subject, Charlie asked, “Did they ever find out who killed the motel owner?”

  He went along with the topic change, staying in her obvious comfort zone. “Yeah. It was two guys who’ve been suspected of trafficking girls and selling them for sex. The feds think they’ve been using the motel to work from.” If only he knew who The Liberator was. She might be able to testify to that effect. “But there’s not really evidence of that. Just their fingerprints on a shell casing they found, so they’ve got some evidence to work with on the murder. I wish we could get them on the trafficking charge too.”

  She was silent for a bit, walking along beside him. When she finally spoke, it sounded resigned, tired. “Well, at least they won’t be bringing in any more girls.”

  “Yeah, at least. I just wish they would pay for everything. With one count of murder, they’ll probably plea out and get a reduced sentence or something. The trafficking laws are stricter. If we could get them on that one, we could get their supplier and maybe shut down an entire ring.” He climbed up on his soapbox, his voice rising in pitch, “I mean, I love what the Refuge does, how it helps the girls re-integrate into society and stuff, I just wis
h they weren’t there to be saved in the first place.”

  He looked over at Charlie, to make sure she understood him and was surprised to see tears tracking down her cheeks. “Hey.” He stopped walking and turned her so she was facing him. “What’s wrong?” His thumbs made their way to her cheeks and wiped the tears from them. He couldn’t stop his thoughts from turning to Rachel’s speculations about The Man being Douglas Manning and somehow having ties to Charlie.

  The shadow was back in her eyes, eyes that held a sadness the depths of which he couldn’t comprehend. She didn’t speak, only shook her head slightly before leaning it against his palm. Les pulled her into a hug and felt her body tremble in his arms. He squeezed her as tightly as he dared, hoping to stop the trembling that was racking her body.

  He had no idea what to do to help her, make her feel better, ease the sadness. He missed the smile that lit up her face at unexpected moments. He wanted to hear her laugh, but he also knew there was something that she’d buried deep. Something that was coming to the surface, she wanted to tell him, but didn’t feel confident enough, or trust him, or something. Something important.

  If he asked, would she answer? The question was on the tip of his tongue, to ask about The Man, but she had finally relaxed into his hold, and he didn’t want to upset that again.

  He held her, feeling the deep breaths she was taking to calm herself. Eventually, she took a step back, out of his embrace, and he felt her absence, a sense of loss that was almost overwhelming.

  “I need to go home,” she said quietly, with a sniff.

  “Uh…sure.” They turned and started walking back to where they’d parked the trucks. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Charlie stopped and faced him. “Les, you’ve done everything right. I’m just trying to figure out how to deal with everything. I’ve had so many feelings and remembered so many things that I’d forgotten since I’ve been around you. I have to figure out how to live my life with all of this…” she gestured vaguely around her, “shit going on inside my head.” He saw the briefest flash of a smile on her face, and it lightened his heart considerably. “I like being around you. So I have to figure out how to get used to the feeling inside my head.” She lowered her eyes, looking at him through her lashes. “…and my heart.” If he hadn’t been looking at her face when she said that last part, he wouldn’t have heard it. “Just…just keep being patient with me?”