Saving Charlie (Stories of Serendipity Book 9) (26 page)

Les was freaked out, but hiding it from Charlie valiantly, he thought. He’d pestered Rachel continuously about her findings since the banquet.

“Okay, all I’ve managed to dig up is that there is a Douglas Manning who was just released from prison on parole. He was in on organized crime charges, running a prostitution ring of underaged girls he’d kept in his home. He was sentenced before Human Trafficking was a felony or even a word. That’s why he’s out. I have no connection to Charlie, though. So I don’t know if it’s even the same guy, but he went by The Man.”

“Keep on it, Rach. Please? There’s got to be some connection.” Chills swept up his spine. “Maybe that’s not the right one, maybe The Man is somebody different.” The idea of Charlie being one of the girls he’d spent some time with at the Refuge was too awful to even consider.

“There’s one other thing about this Manning character though. I think it bears hearing.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“He’s suffering from liver failure caused by cirrhosis and is on a transplant list. But unless one comes through in a month or so, he won’t make it. They don’t put prisoners high on the transplant list, so he’s been waiting for a while.” She sounded odd, and Les wondered what else there was.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?”

“You know more. What are you not telling me?”

“You need to ask Charlie, Les. It’s not my story to tell.”

“What the fuck, Rachel? Don’t you think I’ve
been
asking her? If you know something, tell me, dammit!” Frustration rocked him to his core. He was shaking and couldn’t sit still.

He could hear the forced patience in her voice. “I can’t Les. I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!” Les punched
end
on his cell phone, feeling the glass give under the force of his finger. He didn’t care, and threw the phone across the cab of his truck. What the fuck was it with women and secrets? Jesus. He didn’t have a fucking chance.

Sighing heavily, he settled in for another night in his truck outside Charlie’s house. He didn’t know yet what all this was about, but he’d be damned if he’d let her push him away completely while the unknown was out there, scaring the hell out of her. So he’d planned on spending the nights outside her house, watching, waiting, and sort of sleeping.

The next Monday morning, Charlie was scheduled to do a reclamation on a house to be torn down in a week. She showed up at the work site with her trailer and tools, ready to work. She had a week to get what she wanted out of this house before they demolished it. Someone had decided the land was worth more without the house on it, so they were tearing it down.

Charlie didn’t get it. Sure, the house was in awful condition, but it had good bones. It just needed a facelift and it would be beautiful. Victorian era, it was a three story wood and brick house with cupolas, columns, and countless windows, most of which actually worked, although most were missing glass. It had been abandoned for years, and being out on a country road, had been targeted by vandals. It was the sort of thing that made Charlie sad, seeing this piece of history go, but she was going to take advantage of it, and get the pieces of it she could.

The Hickerson’s heir was on site, waiting for her. He didn’t say much, just eyeballed her up and down before getting in his truck to sit and watch her.

Whatever. I got this.

Charlie slung on her tool belt, grabbed her pry bars and went to work. Today’s goal was to get all the doors and begin getting the working windows out. That was a lofty goal for one day, but if she stayed focused, she could do it, no sweat. Starting on the top floor, she used her hammer to bang doors out of hinges, and humped them down the stairs. These heavy wooden doors were a hot commodity in her line of work. Especially if they were in good condition, which most of these were.

She got most of the regular doors out in a couple of hours. Then she grabbed the sledgehammer and went to work on removing sections of the wall to remove the pocket doors. Then she started on the windows. Back at the top.

The entire time, Mr. Hickerson sat in his truck watching her. She ignored him. Charlie was used to men thinking that she couldn’t accomplish what she said she would alone. They were good old boys who thought women should stay in their place, either in a kitchen or behind a desk. Charlie had never been good behind a desk, and she didn’t really enjoy cooking. Mr. Hickerson had had to be cajoled to give her this job. He was ready to demolish the house and haul the whole thing to a dump. Charlie had to practically beg him to let her have a few days to get stuff out first. She’d ended up offering him money for what she took.

Working with her hands and numbers was her thing.

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.

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.