Charlotte's Revenge

by Barbara Howard

  Traci cupped the side of Milo’s cheek. Wishing with all her might that she could freeze time for him, this man-child before the world pressed the weight of adulthood upon his shoulders. She wanted him to still hope and reach for better than anyone had shown him. And believe that he could have it. That he deserved to have it. For the first time in her life, she thought about the world, not in a generic sense. But, a world with Milo in it, right smack in the center of it. She placed her hand on his cheek and tried to imagine into the future. Who would he become? His eyes welled over. She let go and turned away to give him the privacy of his emotions. His tears were hidden from her now and that saddened her deeply. “He has to grow up,” she thought and pushed back her own tears.

  They walked toward the tall wooden arch modeled after the Torii gate that Josh had described seeing while he lived in Japan. Milo explained that everyone at the campground had pitched in to pay for the dedicated space. Dave had even sold his car. The others that had no money helped strip and cut the wood and build the shelter and bench.

  They approached the granite memorial stone embedded in the ground.

  Joshua Barnett St. John

  The Greatest Hero the World Never Knew

  Traci walked over to the stone, took out her green Sharpie and wrote in the top right corner the letters L and T with a jagged line in-between.

  “What does that mean?” Milo asked.

  “Lightning and Thunder.” She stepped back. “I was lightening, and he was the thunder.”

  They sat on the bench and stared at the memorial. Traci waited for the sorrow to come, but it didn’t. She didn’t miss Josh because it was like he was there, embracing them in the mist. This was his place, all he wanted in life and the best of him was still there. The community.

  Milo was part of that community now. Traci reminded him that he had to study. And that life had so many unexpected twists and turns but he could make it a good life. She wasn’t sure if any of it made sense, but it was from her heart. One thing was for certain, they were tied to each other for life. She promised to video chat with him each day to make sure he got his assignments done. Moe had set a small computer station aside in the tavern for him. It was the supply room, but whatever. Ms. McGee would check on him too.

  “We’ve got you surrounded.” She joked with him. He was getting so tall, maybe he could be a basketball player.

  “Everybody that’s tall don’t wanna play basketball.”

  “Of course, you’re right. When you decide, let me know. Promise?”

  “Yeah, I promise. Right now, can we just sit here?”

  “Yes,” she took in a deep breath. “Yes, we can.”

  One day she would ask him what happened to his parents, and what sent him into this solo orbit so young. But today was not that day. Today was about letting out everything bottled up inside her, now that the way was becoming so clear.

  “You know, I was always looking for someone to fight for me. Josh. Myra. Even Randall.” She looked down at the wet blades of grass adhered to the toes of her boots, then rested her hands on her knees and drew in a deep breath. “When I saw Charlotte Carter with that gun, all I could think was, ‘what if she takes him away from me, you know? Who would be left to fight for me?’ What a weird thing to think, but that was it. And in a split second, it was over. I don’t think I even knew what was going to happen next. I saw the gun in my hand. And, I saw her fall down in a heap covered in blood. But ... something just clicked in my head that I had to be the one to fight for myself.” She pointed to her belly and looked deeply into his eyes. “Me. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Josh can rest easy now, in my mind anyway.” She looked up through the crown of trees as Milo whispered ...

  “I will always fight for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Randall

  RANDALL HAD JUST FINISHED up a physical therapy session at Edenhurst Regional Hospital Integrative Sports Medicine when he got a call from Detective Pernell.

  “Just a heads-up, we got the results back. The weapon Charlotte Carter used matches the one that killed St. John. We're going ahead with this and you'll be hearing from the commissioner. Mayor Gundry too, no doubt. Hurry up and heal, buddy. Now that we’re in the same weight class, I don’t want to hear any excuses when I beat your record. I’m bench pressing two-ten now.”

  “You’re dreaming,” Randall chuckled. “And, thanks for the update.”

  He stopped by the administrative offices on his way out to review the invoices and make another payment. He was assured that the limp would not be permanent but pushing himself too fast would make it worse. He had not been in this section of the hospital since the last time he saw his father alive. Nothing had changed. He propped the ashwood cane against his leg, leaned over the counter and watched the clerk pull the tall shelving units back and forth until she found the folder for ...

  “Wells, Randall J.” She looked up and smiled at him, “Is that right?”

  “No, not for me this time.”

  “Ah, okay. Miss Doretha. Got it right here.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, took out a check, and scanned over the lists of treatments, medications, and recommendations on the pages of the medical bills. He didn't try to comprehend any of it. Paying these bills was simply a quarterly necessity, a mental reflex. It was not a time for introspection. “Just write the check and get out of here,” he told himself and picked up the pen, pulling the attached chain to its full length. He sighed. It was the little things that got to him these days. The clerk gently removed the pen from his fingers and replaced it with a hefty ballpoint. He gave her a half smile of gratitude.

  “Do you know if she is ...” He tapped the pen over the name section and cleared his throat. “How she's doing?”

  “No, we don't get any information about that down here. You can stop by the nurses' station in the H. M. Anderson Center and they can answer any questions you have.

  “Maybe another time.” He shrugged it off.

  “Sure, I understand. It's good to see you getting around, sir.” She reshuffled the documents back in the file, took his check and paper-clipped it to the top of the folder.

  “Thanks.” He grabbed the panther head carved handle of his cane, pivoted and started back down the corridor following the yellow and red stripes on the floor. Yellow led to the parking garage. He glanced at his watch. He was moving slow but there was still time to drive through Red Roasters, grab some lunch, fill up the tank and get back to Traci before it was too late. When he reached the corner, the yellow and red stripes split off in different directions. He followed the red.

  In the H.M. Anderson Center, the nurse stations beamed with large screen monitors on the walls and rolling in-patient processing carts were parked along each side. He ignored everyone and they graciously allowed him to pass unchallenged. When he reached room 33-S, he took a breath, knocked once, and walked in. If he had taken the time to imagine what to expect, he was sure this would not have been it.

  Doretha Wells laid in the hospital bed, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. The sheet shifting up and down over her chest was the only indication of life. Randall walked closer, rolled a chair next to her bed and sat down. He stared at her for a few minutes hoping she would somehow acknowledge his presence. She did not.

  “Mother, Brad's home. I mean, he's back with us ... here in Keeferton. I thought you should know.” He decided to start the conversation where they had left off twenty years ago. “We've got to figure some things out still, but I think he'll be fine. We'll work it out.”

  He stood up, left his cane against her bed, limped to the other side of the room and looked out the window. He watched the hospital personnel walking to and fro in the parking lot below. Shift change, no doubt. Too many smokers in the bunch standing around, though. That didn’t make sense for hospital folk.

  “You know, Brad brought up some things from our childhood the other day,
stuff between you and Pops. Funny how you can live through the same experience and see it totally different.” He adjusted the blinds up and then back down again to the halfway point on the window. “But we both believed you didn't love us. That you changed your mind about our family. And maybe that's how life works. People just leave, give up and walk out on you simply because they can.”

  His phone buzzed again with a text from Traci.

  “Don’t be late.” It said with little heart emojis. He sent a thumbs up and stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

  “But then I realized I never heard your side of the story. Something made you sad enough, or mad enough to leave your two boys. And, Pops. Maybe if we had done better, been better ... maybe you would have stayed. I don’t know ...” He shook his head, lost in thought.

  “You must be the son.” A woman in scrubs stepped into the room as if summoned.

  “Yes, Randall Wells.” He turned and shook himself back into the moment.

  “Ah, yes, I can see the resemblance. And, I recognize you from the news. You and Mayor Gundry about that shooting in Mag ...”

  “Yeah, yeah ...” He waved her off the subject and nodded toward Doretha. “How's she doing?”

  “Well, at this stage we don't expect much. We focus on keeping them comfortable for as long as they remain with us. But overall, we ... “

  “Okay, I get it. Thanks.”

  The woman checked the numerous monitors and charts in the room, then left as silently as she had appeared.

  He walked closer to Doretha and bent over her bedside. “I don't know how this is all supposed to work out. Nobody can predict the future. I just wanted you to know ... me and this woman, we're about to make it official. We've been through hell together already. I think we can make it through anything that comes our way. But there's this kid ... she's really attached to him and ... I don't know if I can be that guy to ... you know. Well, I just want her to be happy ... and to not be afraid to tell me if she's not. To trust me, I guess that's what I'm trying to say.”

  He sat down next to her and lowered his voice.

  “How can I tell ...” He wiped his hand across the top of his head. “I don't even know if you can hear me.” He let out a deep sigh, then retrieved his phone from his pocket, found his favorite picture and held it toward Doretha’s face. “Anyway, here's a picture of her. Her name is Traci, Tracinda. She's really pretty, right? Beautiful. Better than I deserve.” He grinned and sat down again. “See, I don't want to mess this thing up ... like Pops.”

  He plucked a tissue from the box next to her bed and cleared the drool from the edge of her mouth. Her eyes turned and focused on him for the first time. He slipped his fingers gently under her hand and she pressed back.

  A thousand memories rushed forward in a moment, pulling him back into the darkest days of his life. He recalled hiding liquor bottles from his father after the news about Bradford being MIA. The drinking, the anger and rage about every little thing. And finally, the scene on the highway where Big Remy had swerved in front of a tractor trailer truck. Yellow ambulance lights and rain coming down like sheets beating against him and the officers holding him back from trying to rush into the debris to help. The Jaws of Life prying open the mangled wreckage to retrieve his father's body, pierced through the windshield, no seatbelt. It would not have made a difference; the authorities had said. Randall had decided to believe it would have.

  Then back further. Nineteen-year-old Randall getting the news that his only sibling was lost in a war that no one could explain to him. What was the location? The purpose. The plan ... that failed and left him behind. What was the plan to find him? What was the plan to heal their family's pain and fill the void? No one answered him. No one was accountable for it. How could they get away with that?

  And, ten-year-old Randall with the neighbor lady standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders, as his mother cupped his face in her hands.

  “I'll be back and bring you something sweet. So, be a good boy, okay?”

  “Okay, Mother ...”

  He looked at her now, still looking back at him. His face in her face. He reached down and touched the wedding band that she still wore even though the divorce was final over decades ago.

  “Okay ... Mother,” he echoed aloud and cupped her hand against his face.

  Her fingers moved slightly under his touch. He could feel that dam of emotions trying to break forth. He kissed the palm of her hand and let the tears flow.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Traci

  TRACI DRAGGED A MILK crate from the shed and placed it along the new stone wall next to the kitchen garden at Hazelton House. The construction crew had finished all the exterior improvements, like railings and ramps, lighting and signage. Everything was spotless and quiet now. She sat alone in the garden and looked across to the fields of Bent Willow. The coyote was still in the vicinity, but the game warden had installed solar powered deterrent lighting to help keep it away. The growers took turns spraying down the perimeter with wolf urine and added a humane snare trap. Even with all the precautions, she kept alert for any signs of the predator lurking around.

  But she needed to be here today. Alone. After today everything would change. Hazelton House would be open to tourists. Concessions and souvenirs would flow from Miss Rowena’s kitchen instead of fried chicken and peach cobbler. Peter, James and John would be mini celebrity mascots and she would have a new title. And, a new office at K&S. Ray Winston was scheduled to return to work in less than a week and things were going to be ... “interesting” between them now. Whatever. All she knew was that her life was changing in every way, and she was okay with it.

  She stood up and took out the shiny brass key from her pocket. She walked around to the front door of Hazelton House, unlocked it and stepped inside. This was the first time she had seen the finished interior, and it took her breath away. It was beautiful. It felt like she had walked into the scene of a movie and all the actors were waiting in the wings for just the right moment to appear. She continued through the hallway to the closet door. This time she opened it and walked up the cedar steps to the attic. Everything had been cleared out except some vintage prints of the property hanging on the walls. She walked over to the window seat, brushed it off and sat down. She looked out the window through the trees at the roof of her house across the alley. Randall was there waiting for her.

  The ten-minute ceremony at City Hall with the Justice of the Peace had “sealed the deal” between the two of them. She was “officially” a Wells ... with in-laws! She shook her head and took a deep breath. The whole thing left her stunned, but she could handle it. There was so much to take in. Milo was successfully enrolled in Harvest Academy to complete his high school diploma online. He was happy and safe. No more falling through the cracks. And no more running away.

  She took out her phone, opened the email message at the top of the list. She had read it at least a dozen times, but she tapped the link in the message again and signed into her account on the website. She read through the records, closed her eyes and took another deep breath. Then, she read it again. A new email alert popped up, and she tapped on it. Kay McGee was contacting her with the information she had discovered about Charlotte Carter using a different last name. Traci responded, asking her to hold onto it for now. All of that had to wait. She couldn’t think about it. Maybe someday she would understand what had motivated so much hate, but not today. She glanced around the attic and imagined her plans for the space. So many possibilities.

  “My Heart, My Everything” ringtone broke through the silence. She answered, “Hi babe, I’m on my way,” and stuffed the phone back in her pocket. She walked outside and locked the door behind her. She crossed the porch and ran her fingers along the Hazelton House and Doone family engraving on the cornerstone. No one had expected to find this gem in the middle of Magnolia Grove. But somehow, she did and now it would live on forever. There was only one more thing that she needed to share with Randa
ll. One more deep belly breath, “Ready or not ...”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Randall

  RANDALL DROPPED THE basket filled with old mail onto the table, sat down and started sorting it in stacks according to urgency. Now and then he would glance over at Traci. She had been quiet and seemed preoccupied all evening. Maybe the trip to meet Bradford and his mother was too much all at once.

  “So, your mother had two boys and that’s all?”

  “Yep, Bradford Aaron after her father. And, then me. That’s it. And believe me, we were plenty.” He smiled but she missed it.

  “You and your brother, you look alike. Like your mother, I think, but you seem very different.”

  “Yeah, we are very much so. Brad is not a bad guy. He took a different road, that’s all. He’s always been tougher than me. It’s going to take a while and more surgeries but I’m pretty confident he’ll pull through it.”

  “He’ll need a place to stay afterwards. He is staying in Keeferton, right?”

  “Right, he can’t go back to Wyman’s. I don’t know how he survived out there that long. He needs a place with all the railings and such. My old place is already under contract with the realtor, plus it would need outfitted to make all that work for him.”

  “There’s grant money for that ... handicapped accessibility equipment and things like that, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Maybe we can build an extension off the kitchen, here,” she pointed to the wall adjacent to the door. There’s room on that side of the lot to build out. And it’s the lowest point so a ramp would work well there.”

  “Oh, that’s something to think about, isn’t it?” He looked at her, but she still was not making eye contact.

  “Yeah ...”

  “I’ll check to make sure it’s not a load-bearing wall and what the code requirements are ... You’re sure about this?”