“Good for you!” There was something warm, real and simple she noticed as she gazed into his deep green eyes, kind-looking and even a little mischievous. She couldn’t help but notice how long his eyelashes were, thick and black, and she smiled shyly.
Charlie came around from behind the counter and extended his hand. “I’m Charlie Petersen…the Charles behind the Saint Charles.” What a dumb thing to say, he thought, embarrassed. He felt his cheeks blush hotly. “Sometimes I find the name I chose for this store a little embarrassing, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You needn’t feel that way; I think it’s perfect.” Lauren laughed as she accepted his hand. “So nice to meet you, Charlie; I’m Lauren Donahue.”
Charlie smiled despite the heat of his awkwardness warming his face. He knew she was just being kind to ease his embarrassment, and was grateful. He was unable to stop staring at the unusual violet shade of her eyes. “Is there anything special I can help you with? We’ve got just about everything, including vintage toys I’ve repaired myself.”
Charlie released her hand and Lauren looked around the room. “Is it okay if I browse? My son is a patient over at Brannan’s Point Pediatric, I had a few moments to myself while they run some tests, so I decided to come here and look around.” She looked back at Charlie. “You have lots of interesting things!”
“I’m sorry to hear about your son, but by all means, please feel free to browse. Too many people are in a rush these days to buy their Christmas presents and get it over with. I realize people are more pressed for time than ever, but I’ve always thought that shopping for a gift should be a thoughtful and pleasant experience.”
Lauren sighed and smiled at Charlie. It had been a long time since she had heard anyone talk that way. “I thought I was the only one left with that mindset.”
Charlie and Lauren stared at each other for what seemed a very long time. Charlie liked looking at Lauren’s lovely face, but it was her smile, filled with warmth and compassion, that struck a chord in him. While her teeth were pretty and her lips nicely shaped, they were not what made her smile special. No, it was something sensed, yet unseen that radiated outward from deep within her heart.
Lauren felt a strange fluttering. She realized, perhaps for the first time, that she was lonely, that there was an emptiness she had lived with since Darryl’s death. There was something about Charlie that was comfortable, that appealed to her….
The “ting-a-ling” of the door’s bells as it opened broke the moment, and beckoned them both to look toward the direction of the sound. “Why, Brownie!” Lauren called out with a smile, unaware of the strange expression on Charlie’s face, the sudden pale cast to his complexion as she greeted the blond man. “You just seem to turn up everywhere!”
At the mention of the name ‘Brownie,’ Charlie held his breath. It can’t be… there has to be someone else in this town with that name besides him, silently screamed the thoughts in his head.
“Hi, Mrs. Donahue,” Brownie replied and then his eyes met Charlie’s. He grinned boyishly. “Hello, Charlie.”
“Hello,” Charlie managed. He studied the blond-haired stranger with the clearest pale green eyes he had ever seen. While he could not explain why, he knew this was his Brownie, a teddy bear angel staying in his spare bedroom. “Uh, what’s up?”
“Not much,” Brownie replied. He watched as Charlie’s eyes scanned the photo ID hanging from the lanyard around his neck, saw a question about his identity flicker in his host’s eyes. “Just thought I’d drop in and say hello. Would you by any chance have some of that awesome tea handy? I would love a cup.”
“I’ll leave you boys alone.” Lauren excused herself and moved off to browse the items on Charlie’s shelves.
Charlie shook his head. “Kevin Browne?” he whispered when she was out of ear shot. “How did you manage that?” He pointed to the lanyard and struggled to keep his voice low. “You practically gave me a blooming heart attack.”
“You’re over-reacting, my friend. There’s nothing at all wrong with your heart, Charlie. You have a long life ahead of you.”
“How do you know that?” Charlie asked, still speaking in a hushed whisper. Realizing what he had asked, he rubbed his hands over his face as if trying to remove something stuck there. “Dumb question, I know.”
Brownie was still smiling. “Relax, Charlie. Everything is fine.”
“That’s easy for you to say. This doesn’t happen to me every day. I was just getting used to you as a teddy bear, and now you’re this tall, blond guy ‘nurse’ who works at the hospital using a fake ID? How would you feel?”
Brownie touched Charlie’s tense shoulder. “Nothing has changed.”
Charlie was still in awe of the handsome young man with Brownie’s voice wearing a believably angelic face. “You call this nothing? Look at you; you’ll have half the women in town falling in love with you.”
“I don’t think so.” Brownie laughed. “I’m just doing my job. This gives me the mobility I need to do what I must. Would you by any chance have any tea here, Charlie? It’s been a very busy morning.”
“You and your tea.” Charlie smiled. “There’s some in the back room, by the microwave. Cups are on the mug tree. Help yourself.”
“Thanks, my friend.”
Charlie shook his head as he watched him walk away. “Lord, have mercy! What have You done, Lord?” He told himself he was getting way too old for these kinds of surprises.
Chapter 8
The late afternoon sun streamed through the large set of windows and warmed the Coles’ master suite the way only sunshine could. The room overlooked the terrace, so pretty in the spring and summer when the hydrangeas and geraniums bloomed, somewhat stark during the winter months. Angela had always loved the terrace and had given tea parties there for her dolls, with cat Lovebug as the guest of honor, but in winter, it was barren and empty and reminded Morgan that life had changed drastically when the world leukemia become something more than the name of a disease a TV character suffered from.
Morgan sat at her vanity table, studying her reflection in the mirror, framed by professional-style makeup bulbs capable of illuminating every imperfection. “Where did these wrinkles and crow’s-feet come from?” she asked her reflection. Her imagination revealed wrinkles that weren’t there, deeply exaggerated those few fine lines near her eyes, and she frowned. Angela’s illness, or more to the point having to deal with it, had aged her. She forced a smile, decided it looked phony and that her teeth were no longer white enough. She leaned forward and rested her elbows against the white marble top of the vanity table. It felt cold enough to penetrate into her bones as the chill crept through the silken fabric of her robe. She told herself her looks were gone, the only thing that had ever given her an edge in life…gone. It isn’t fair that my child has leukemia. It isn’t fair that my husband and I have become strangers, her thoughts tormented her
“Why did my life turn out this way?” she asked her reflection and was surprised when a voice from somewhere deep within her reminded her that things could have turned out much worse—she could have been the one to die as a child instead of her sister, Miranda.
Lately, any unexpected sound startled her practically to the point of jumping out of her seat. The sudden knock on the bedroom door brought her almost to her feet and caused her heart to immediately pound in her chest. She turned toward the bedroom door with a perplexed expression and a frown on her lips. “The door is open.” Morgan knew it was Marcus as she was the only other person home.
Marcus opened the door. “You didn’t need to knock,” she admonished as she looked up at him. Morgan found him every bit as handsome as he had been the very first moment she laid eyes on him in New York. He had crossed his arms as he leaned against a wall, his gaze fixed on her, and he stood out among every other man in the room, or the world for that matter. Somehow, despite the sea of faces holding up cameras, vying for her attention, Marcus’ blondness, his wry smile and
the casually confident way he stood drew her attention unlike anyone before him, or since. If anything, the few lines that had etched their way into the areas surrounding his eyes, the slight crinkling when he smiled, made him even more attractive.
For Morgan, it felt as if a lifetime had passed since that evening long ago when the world opened its doors to her and brought her into the presence of the man she would share her future with. Sadly, she was acutely aware of the current distance between them, which she did not know how to bridge, and blamed it on the collateral damage caused by dealing with their terminally ill daughter.
Fleetingly, it crossed her mind that Marcus might have another woman in his life and her pulse quickened at the thought. There was little that could be referred to as intimacy between them lately; more likely just physical need that popped up now and again. He often came home late, without offering an explanation, and afraid of what the answer might be, Morgan never asked.
“I thought you might be napping,” Marcus explained. He slowly entered the room with his hand on the antique crystal doorknob, and found it uncomfortably cold to the touch as he closed the white-stained wooden door behind him. He noticed his wife’s loveliness as she sat at her dressing table adorned in a pink silk robe, the way the sunlight adorned her head like a halo. Marcus doubted she had aged a day since they’d met. Regrettably, he wondered if they would ever be able to close the continually expanding gap between them, that there would ever be warmth in their home again.
Morgan clucked her tongue at his remark. “It’s three in the afternoon! Why would I need a nap, for heaven’s sake? That’s for children and old people.” Annoyed, she turned back to the mirror and brushed her hair. “What are you doing home so early? I looked at those papers for FabuYou, they look fine to me. What did Hillman say about them, or have you spoken with him yet?” she asked, referring to their corporate attorney.
“Hillman is reviewing them now and he’ll let us know tomorrow.” Marcus forced himself to remain calm, to not allow Morgan’s comments to become a stumbling block as was often the case, or lead him off in a different direction.
“Morgan, we need to talk.” The leather soles of his shoes moved silently across the plush, pale green carpet as he walked toward a pair of green-and-white patterned brocade chairs facing each other near the fireplace that served as a sitting area. In happier times, they would often sit and discuss whatever was on their minds, just be with one another. He sat down and glanced briefly at the portrait of Morgan and himself that hung above the hand-carved mantle. The painting had been done shortly after they announced their engagement, at a time when life was full of promises and rainbows. An attractive couple smiled from the canvas, an image of perpetual happiness. Had they ever been that young and carefree? He wondered. Had it all been lost when Angela fell ill?
“How long is Jack going to be here?” Morgan asked of her brother-in-law’s status as she applied a shade of coral lipstick. She pressed her lips expertly together to blot them so that the correct amount of product remained. “I didn’t hear him arrive last night. I was a bit shocked to run into him in the kitchen. Did he bring Lovebug? Why is that cat here, Marcus? Did your mother kick them both out? He’s a pest, but I’d have kept Lovebug and just kicked out Jack. Too bad they both can’t go to the pound.”
“Morgan, please come over here. Sit with me so we can talk.” Marcus ignored her sarcasm. “Please?” he asked, a bit more commanding this time. He was determined to speak his mind in a calm and reasonable manner, had planned on the drive over what he wanted to say. The plan to bring their daughter home was in motion; there would be no turning back, no backing down.
Morgan proceeded to unhurriedly apply a rose shade of blusher, taking her time as she worked a large sable brush with an expert hand, accenting her world-famous cheekbones as she had been taught long ago by world-renowned makeup artist, Giuseppe Carroll. “I didn’t hear you come home last night either, come to think of it.” She looked up at him from the mirror. “But then again, we’re not exactly a traditional couple these days now, are we, Dear?”
Marcus silently counted to three. “Morgan, I have something to tell you and you’re not going to like it,” he said in a firm voice. “You could at least pull yourself away from that mirror and look at me.”
Morgan took her time putting away her makeup before she turned in her chair to face him, crossing her long tanned legs at the knee. “What is it that I won’t like this time?” She frowned. “I don’t seem to like much of anything these days, at least that’s the impression you convey.”
“Angela is being released from the hospital tomorrow,” Marcus stated, folded his hands in his lap and waited for his wife’s reaction. “She’s coming home…for good.” He watched as her famous shapely lips opened in surprise and her eyes narrowed at him.
“That’s impossible!”
A sudden calm came over Marcus, the blissful calm that came from knowing he was doing the right thing. Ordinarily, at this point they would each be screaming until one of them stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy wooden door so hard the walls shuddered. Besides, all the screaming in the world would not cause him to change his plans, not this time.
“No, Morgan, it’s not impossible. I don’t know why you’re so damned convinced that our daughter is going to die the second she sets foot in her own home, but right now it doesn’t matter to me what you think.”
Morgan cleared her throat which was suddenly thick with saliva she seemed unable to swallow. She felt a shiver of fear touch her spine like the chilling touch of an icy fingertip on warm skin. “I’m convinced that our daughter is going to die because she has a terminal illness. No, she is not coming home, Marcus, Angela is not going to die here.”
Morgan’s reaction disturbed Marcus as he had no idea why her feelings were so intense. He deeply regretted that it had taken so long for him to take a stand against her ridiculous insistence that Angela remain in the hospital indefinitely. It occurred to him how little he actually knew about Morgan, despite their years together. He could not recall how long it had been since he had seen his in-laws. None of the Clarkes ever called—at least not to his knowledge—and there was never so much as a Christmas card from them. It was difficult to consider them as family, though Marcus wasn’t sure whether the cause of the breach was caused by Morgan or the Clarkes’.
Morgan never offered any information about them, and eventually Marcus stopped asking. It was almost as if they didn’t exist, which he found rather odd. Life was odd these days, and he avoided dwelling on matters beyond his control.
Marcus did not physically react to Morgan’s pronouncement as he knew from experience, especially when it came to the subject of Angela leaving the hospital; that would only make things worse. “You have no say in the matter,” he told her firmly, aware of the further narrowing of her gray eyes, the flash of unyielding steel he had become a frequent target of. “I’ve spoken with Doctor Hastings and Angela’s release is done. I’m picking her up tomorrow morning, with or without you. You’re welcome to come, of course, and I hope that you will. It’s up to you, but it won’t affect my decision to give Angela her life back.”
Marcus continued. “I’ve got an expert nurse and nanny on call, just in case. If we need her, she can live in and take the room that adjoins Angela’s. She comes highly recommended by Dottie Quill, whom I know you trust, and she can see to Angela’s needs. We will have a professional right here to be sure that Angela’s health is monitored as it should be, so you shouldn’t have any anxiety about our daughter being allowed to come back home where she belongs.”
Morgan shook her head, the corners of her lips turned up into a sour sort of smile, ugly, like an intensely bad taste one couldn’t hide. “And I have no say in this? Is that what you’re telling me, Marc? I have no say in the matter of my own daughter?” She swore under her breath.
Marcus rose to his feet, ignoring the daggers he saw in her eyes. “You’ve had your way in this for far too long.
Angela’s wish for Christmas is to come home and she is going to get her wish, so deal with it. Be the adult, the mother, for a change.”
“Just what has brought this on?” Morgan demanded to know. “You know how hard it is for me, knowing that I’m losing my daughter! How can you do this to me? Has our relationship deteriorated to the point that you can’t understand my feelings about not wanting her to die in this house? While I’ve known you don’t agree with me, this is the first time you’ve actively gone against me. It’s like you planned it behind my back,” she complained.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. “This isn’t about you, Morgan. This is about our child, who has been very sick, and thanks be to God is now well enough to come home. This is about not just your daughter, but mine as well; something you seem to forget. I’m ending the power struggle that’s been going on between what’s best for Angela versus Morgan Cole’s self-centeredness. I’m taking charge of my family, and it’s about time. Being torn between my daughter and my wife has been a horrible experience—which I will not repeat nor allow to continue—and I’m not going to deprive Angela of this chance to be happy.”
“I’ll fight this, Marcus. Mark my words; this will not happen!” She locked her gaze in his eyes. “Do you really want to fight me on this?” she challenged.
Marcus scoffed at her childish threats. He recognized them for what they were: threats. “How can you fight this, Morgan?” he returned her challenge in a calm voice, confident that there was nothing at all she could do. He supposed she could leave, but he knew Morgan better than that. “Are you going to run to your pal, Clay Parmenter, this time like you did to help to get rid of Kenni Hastings? It won’t work, Morgan—and just an F-Y-I here: Hastings has been reinstated, thank God, and our daughter is coming home whether you like it or not.”
Marcus eyed his wife’s face as he slowly made his way across the room to the door. She was visibly pale and upset, but she would get over it. “I want you to think about something, my love. Angela told Jack that besides coming home for Christmas, all she wants is to see her mother smile, Morgan Cole’s famous smile. It seems she has expensive tastes as right now it looks completely out of her reach.”
BROWNIE: An Angel's Visit Page 11