“Please, please, call me Babet,” she grinned openly eyeing the man standing beside her daughter. “Charlotte isn’t he quite the looker. You did good, sweetheart.”
“Mom . . . I thought you said that dad was sick? He isn’t in the hospital?”
“Hospital? Lord no. He’s fine.”
“But you left me a message saying that daddy was sick and that he needed to see me . . . I thought-”
“Well I had to say something to get some fire under that stubborn hind of yours otherwise you would have never come back,” Babet explained her kind smile never faltering. “Nicholas let me take your coat.”
“Mom!” Charlotte yelled. “This is not okay.”
“Charli Brown!” Manuel Toutant called as he turned the corner quickly making his way down the long narrow hallway.
“Daddy,” she groaned throwing her arms around her father’s shoulders. “Mom’s message . . . I thought . . . I thought . . . I didn’t know what to think,” she cried.
“I told that crazy old bat not to leave a worrisome message, but she was determined to do things her way,” he said apologetically.
“And look this ‘old bat’ got the results we all hoped for. Charli’s home for Christmas.” Babet clasped her hands together in quiet accomplishment. “This is the best present you could have given us,” she pouted pulling her daughter to her.
Charlotte heaved a sigh of frustration. “This isn’t my present to you. You tricked me into coming here,” she said through grated teeth combing her fingers through her hair.
“Oh My Sweet Jesus! Manuel look at your daughter’s hand,” Babet shrieked grabbing hold of Charlotte’s hand admiring the sparkling diamond that sat comfortably on her ring finger. “You’re engaged,” she exclaimed wiping at her moist eyes. “Manuel introduce yourself to your new son- in- law.”
Manuel smiled warmly at Nicholas who had still been standing in the foyer. Extending his right hand he pulled the younger man into a gentleman’s embrace quick and informal. “I forgive you for neglecting the formalities,” Manuel said his voice low. “You can make it up to me later.”
“Sir?” Nicholas frowned. “Formalities?”
“Mhmm. There’s a certain decorum when asking a woman’s hand in marriage, especially when that woman is my daughter.”
“I didn’t ask-”
“Baby don’t be modest,” Charlotte interrupted, withdrawing from her mother’s arms and quickly making her way over to Nicholas who was staring at her quizzically. “Cat’s out the bag now, right?” she giggled sweetly her eyes pleading with him.
Arching an amused brow, he said, “Right. Cat’s out the bag, indeed.” Wrapping his arms around her thin waist he drew Charlotte closer smiling into the hollow of her neck. “An explanation is going to be mandatory,” he whispered before taking a step away from her.
“What’s done is done,” Babet defended. “The important thing is that you’re both here. Where are your bags? Manny help Nicholas bring in their things,” she ordered grabbing hold of her daughter’s left hand once more. “Charli, I’m so happy for you. So happy. Wait until your sisters’ see-”
“We’re not staying,” Charlotte explained pulling away from her mother. “Daddy’s fine . . . .”
“But-”
“I came because I thought something was wrong with my father, but he’s fine- so I’m leaving.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” Manuel said. “Still, you’ve been traveling for hours, and I’m sure Nicholas is hungry. Why not stay for dinner?”
“Daddy-”
“What’s a few hours amongst family? What do you say Nick- can I call you Nick?” Manuel asked the younger man.
“Yes, sir. Dinner sounds great,” Nicholas agreed avoiding Charlotte’s heated gaze. He could feel the anger radiating from her in deadly waves.
“I just bought a new pool table for my Man Cave. Come check it out . . . are you a Ravens fan? It’s black and purple everywhere,” the stout older man bragged pleased by his personal taste.
“Uh- I can’t say that I am, sir,” Nicholas frowned, laughter in his voice. “Giants fan all day. Blue and white runs through my veins.”
“Born New Yorker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’re forgiven.”
Charlotte stared after Nicholas as he followed behind her father her expression was a bleak one. Their sole purpose of making the trip was to check on her ailing father beyond that she had no interest in being back in Baltimore- let alone of being around people who preferred to hurt her rather than respect her feelings.
“Dinner,” she said to her mother. “Dinner, and then we’re leaving.”
Chapter Eleven
The sound of laughter and dramatized merriment filled the dining room as the fifth round of English brew was passed around the dinner table. Charlotte looked on with blatant annoyance as her mother filled Nicholas’ glass. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” she asked snidely rolling her eyes when he winked at her. He seemed to enjoy the art of riling her up, and was quite unashamed in his lack of concern over the matter.
“Oh Charli, let the man enjoy himself, won’t you?” Babet intervened. “We’re celebrating.”
Charlotte sighed. “Any excuse will do I guess.” Stealing a glance at her watch she smiled brightly at her parents forging sudden happiness. “Would you look at the time?” she gasped. “Hours feel like minutes when you’re having a good time. I’ll grab our coats.”
“But it’s so late,” Babet complained. “Nick it’s too late for you to make such a long drive back tonight.”
Nicholas turned to face Charlotte with an uncertain look in his eyes. Don’t you even think about it, she grimaced. Enough was enough and she would be leaving with or without him.
“Nick?” Babet whined reaching across the table to touch his hand. “What’s one night?”
“He drives long distances for sport, three hours is nothing to him, right Nicholas? A three hour drive is nothing to you?” Charlotte’s expression held resolve, and it was apparent in the way she regarded him that she was at her breaking point. They had stayed long enough.
“Thank you for the offer,” he began, “But-”
Babet looked from her daughter to the man sitting next to her and then back again. Narrowing her eyes at Nicholas she pressed, “Then if not for your own contentment . . . do it for mine.”
Nicholas laughed uncomfortably. Looking at the older woman was like peeking at a glimpse of Charlotte in the future, their physical similarities were uncanny. “We don’t want to impose,” he said finally looking to Charlotte for confirmation.
“I insist,” she grinned. “How can you say no to your mother- in- law within the first few hours of meeting her? Shouldn’t you be trying to win me over?”
Charlotte rose from the table placing her hand on Nicholas’ shoulder as she did so. “Don’t let her manipulate you . . . she’s good at it.”
Babet sighed outwardly. “Charlotte.”
“Let’s go,” Charlotte said dismissing her mother’s feeble attempt at changing her mind.
“What’s one night?” Manuel cut in rising from his seat he walked over to stand beside his daughter. “One night, and you can be on the road by noon tomorrow . . . what will it hurt?”
My mood, my pride, everything, Charlotte thought decidedly. “Daddy-”
“What do you say Nick?” Manuel smiled bearing a full set of pearly whites.
“Uh- sure, sir,” he answered.
Manuel clasped Nicholas’ shoulders. “Good man,” he said before winking at his daughter. “What you have right here is a good man.”
***
A bittersweet pain lingered in Charlotte’s chest as she walked the stairs of her childhood. Passing old photos that lined the walls caused a sharp ache to linger in her chest. Long forgotten memories of her youth led the way to her once beloved bedroom. Charlotte froze when she reached the upstairs hallway curiosity getting the better of her. Pulling her bo
ttom lip into her mouth she took small steps toward the back room stopping just short of the doorway she closed her eyes briefly before turning the knob to the door she had years ago helped her younger sister decorate. Marguerite’s room hadn’t changed. Abstract art lined her walls from ceiling to floor amidst a bright sun kiss yellow gloss paint that set off large window panes and a sponge streaked ceiling fan. The room in its entirety was chaotic, chaos at its best, yet while standing in the midst of it Charlotte couldn’t help but smile whether it be from her failure to read between the lines all of those years ago, or from her ability to see through those lines now . . . she didn’t know- still she smiled. Marguerite never played by the rules, confusion was her canvas, and disorder were the tools she used to create the madness all around her. Is that what turned his head toward you . . . your lack of order . . . your ability to act on a whim with no regard for anyone else’s feelings . . . your ability to create chaos . . . .
“Charli!” bellowed a familiar voice, “You’re really here!”
Turning quickly to face her youngest sister, Charlotte gasped, “Adeline!”
“I can’t believe you actually came home,” Adeline laughed. “I thought I’d have to catch a mega bus to New York if I was ever going to see you again.”
Charlotte’s smile reached her eyes. Adeline had no filter, always saying whatever came to mind. “You’re words are still as slippery as ever,” she laughed. “What has happened in two years, Adie? You’re taller than me . . . .”
“You’ve always been the short one,” Adeline giggled. “That’s nothing new.”
Adeline resembled their father taking on his sun kissed complexion and slanted hazel eyes, traits that skipped over both Charlotte and Marguerite. It was fair to say that of the three Adeline had inherited the more attractive features though she was too placid to take notice, or maybe it was her humbleness that made the apparent contrast unnoticeable, Charlotte never really knew.
“You cut your hair,” Adeline smiled. “I like it,” she said combing her fingers through Charlotte’s thick hair. “You look good, Charli.”
Charlotte closed her eyes at the feel of her sister’s gentle caress on her scalp, her small hands giving her comfort and a momentary peace- both were needed in abundance.
“I met your fiancé,” Adeline said drawing Charlotte from her thoughts. “He’s very attractive.”
Oh. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”
“Mom has him wrapped tightly around her finger . . . you should have warned him about her.”
“I hadn’t planned on staying long enough for her to get her claws into him,” Charlotte admitted shaking her head at her mother’s foxlike ways. “That woman hasn’t changed one bit,” she laughed in spite of herself.
Adeline’s laughter mirrored her sister’s. “No, she hasn’t . . . not at all. When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately.”
Adeline laughed. “One night won’t kill you . . . it’s not like-”
“Did you know, Adie?” Charlotte choked out the words regretting them as soon as she had said them, but the question was already posed and she wasn’t above making her younger sibling temporarily uncomfortable if it had meant finding out the truth. “About Marguerite and Todd, I mean . . . did you know?”
“No,” Adeline answered without pause, her golden stare penetrative. “Do you believe me?”
Charlotte regarded her sister in silence for a moment as if in quiet deliberation with her thoughts. “Yes,” she replied not sure if it was the truth.
Adeline smirked at her, her bright eyes alight with wry humor. “No, you don’t,” she said decidedly. Raising her hand to Charlotte’s face she traced the outline of her brow. “Your eyes became hard just then,” she smiled. “They tell on you every time . . . your eyes tell so many secrets.”
“Is that so?” Charlotte smiled sadly.
“That’s so.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just-”
“It’s just that everyone around you found it more convenient to lie to you rather than finding the courage to open their mouths to tell you the truth, and seeing how you were lied to by everyone else I understand why you wouldn’t believe me . . . but I’m telling you the truth, I knew nothing about the two of them.”
Charlotte nodded her head, satisfied by Adeline’s words. It was an odd acknowledgement knowing that her seventeen year old sister had more common sense than the other members of her family.
“Have you and Marguerite spoken since-”
“No.”
“Oh. Do you think-”
“I have no thoughts in regards to her, none that are worth discussing at least.” Charlotte’s tone was curt as was her demeanor.
“Message received,” Grabbing hold of her sister’s hand Adeline led her out of Marguerite’s bedroom and down the hall toward her own. “We have so much to catch up on Charli, tell me everything about your life in New York, and I mean everything,” she giggled raising a suggestive eyebrow at Charlotte.
A faint flush brightened Charlotte’s cheeks. “Adie!” she squealed. “You’re so- raw!”
“What? I’m curious . . . .”
“Well don’t be . . . there are certain things between a man and woman that shouldn’t be discussed in open conversation.”
“What does that even mean?” the younger girl laughed an amused smirk on her lips.
“Privacy- some things should be kept private, you know, not up for discussion.”
“In our family everything is up for discussion . . . nothing is private,” Adeline said pulling Charlotte into her room and closing the door behind them.
Swallowing her response, Charlotte mediated over Adeline’s words in silence. Words of foolery and deceit. Her family had insisted on keeping hard truths private, and had left nothing up for discussion. She had been forced to live with the choices that others around her had made, and had yet to see the repercussions of their actions. Still, knowing all of this made no bit of difference and so contradicting her sister’s understanding on their family’s ethical values was a pill she’d rather not share.
“So are you going to tell me about New York, or not?” Adeline asked interrupting her thoughts.
Meeting her sister’s gaze Charlotte forced a small smile. “New York is nice . . . life is good there . . . .”
“And?”
“And, I like it there.”
Adeline shook her head discontented. “After two years of being away all you can say is that New York is nice, and that you like living there?” Smacking her lips she playfully pushed her sister’s shoulder. “You have a fox down stairs with whom you happen to be living with in the liveliest city in the States, and you have no stories to tell?”
Charlotte nodded her head in silence.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Engaged and in the Big Apple with no stories to tell . . . it seems unbelievable.”
Charlotte’s soft laughter filled the room. “You have no idea,” she snickered pulling at her hair with busy fingers. No idea at all.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte walked into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar adjacent to the stainless steel sink. With her hands folded in front of her she stared blankly at her mother who had been braiding dough. The sight brought back memories of her childhood, of fresh baked holiday breads, warmed butter, and stovetop jams. Lost moments invaded her conscious reminding her of lightly burned fingertips and cartooned themed bandages. Memories of sitting in the kitchen for hours anxiously awaiting the opportunity to help her mother set the table, happy to be the eldest daughter- the daughter who earned the privilege of claiming the first slice of warmed bread. Thoughts of happier times filled her mind challenging her fury until she couldn’t quite grasp the tightly wound rope that levitated her anger.
“Are you going to help me, or just sit there and watch?” Babet asked intricately weaving h
er small fingers through the thick dough. Charlotte disregarded her mother’s question with a side glance that spoke volumes. “Aren’t you a few days short . . . since when do you bake braided bread before Christmas Eve?”
“That’s usually how I go about it, but this year is different.”
“How so?”
“Well, you’re hell bent on leaving first thing in the morning . . . and Nick hasn’t tried my bread yet, and the two of you won’t be here on Christmas, so I thought it’d be nice to bake a loaf tonight.”
“That’s a nice gesture for someone you barely even know,” Charlotte mused, her tone sarcastic.
“Knowing him well is of no consequence, he’s your fiancé shouldn’t that alone warrant kind gestures and such?”
If you say so . . . “Where is he, anyway?”
“Out back with your father piling salt in the paint buckets.”
“Salt? Is it supposed to snow?”
“The forecast calls for a few flurries, nothing to trouble yourself over,” Babet explained. Carefully knotting the layers of dough at each end she dipped her fingers into melted butter spreading the gloss evenly across the stacked twirls. Her hands worked quickly, confidently distributing their expertise without thought. “You should take Nicholas downtown. He mentioned that he’s never been to the Inner Harbor.”
“Oh.”
“That would make for a nice date. I’m sure he would enjoy a night out in Baltimore before the two of you head back to New York.”
“So now you’re an expert on what Nicholas wants . . . you’re baking him bread . . . making suggestions on his behalf . . . I guess the two of you hit it off pretty well for you to know so much about him in the short amount of time that he’s been here,” Charlotte retorted indignantly.
“Well excuse me for making a suggestion. My God, Charlotte what is wrong with you? You’ve been short with me since I’ve opened the door for you, and you’re just as crass as can be . . . if I’ve done something to offend you, please, let me have it, and let’s move on from it already, for peace sakes.”
Charlotte sighed awed by her mother’s timely amnesia. This woman cannot be serious right now? Has she done something to cross me? Really? Is omission not a committable offense? Seriously! “Well if you have no recognition of slighting me- I must be the one with the problem,” she offered pushing against the counter space as she stood. “Good chat, mother, as always it was very informative.”
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