The Redemption (Charlotte Bloom Book 2)

The Redemption

Charlotte Bloom Book #2

Amanda Richardson

The Redemption

Amanda Richardson

Published by Amanda Richardson

© Copyright 2015 Amanda Richardson.

Cover Design by Amanda Richardson

Cover Photography obtained legally via http://www.123rf.com/profile_massonforstock

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Preface

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About

Also by Amanda Richardson

DEDICATION

To anyone who ever took a chance on me.

Thank you.

PREFACE

“Come back. Come back to me.”

— Ian McEwan (
Atonement
)

PROLOGUE

December 2014

It's strange how I don't mind being alone until I actually feel alone.

***

I took the single cupcake out of the oven and placed it on the stove to cool. Stepping back, I realized it looked unbalanced. That one little cupcake was surrounded by empty cupcake holes on all sides. I should’ve just made the entire batch, but I knew I wouldn’t have been able to consume twelve cupcakes alone. I took the oven mitts off and leaned against the unadorned wall opposite my stove, watching the steam rise from the single cake into the cool December air. I rubbed my hands together and went to go turn on the heater. As I set the thermostat, I heard a clunking sound and then a loud bang. I felt the vent on the floor — nothing.
Ah, well.
I guess I didn’t need heat anyhow.

I slid on some wool socks and went back to my cupcake. I scooped it out of its tin and frosted it quickly with chocolate frosting from a can. It was evening now and the darkness had crept in slyly. I placed a single candle in the center and lit it. The flame illuminated the dark kitchen. It was beautiful but I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I quickly blew out the flame, and I was submerged in darkness once again.

Happy 31st fucking birthday to me.

PART ONE

“Mrs. Bloom, I’ll just need you to sign here, here, and here,” Allen Healding dictated, as I sat across the table from my husband, Harry. Except Allen was handing me my copy of the divorce papers so, really, Harry and I wouldn’t be married for very much longer.

“And then it’ll be done?” I asked, as if I was asking about murdering someone and dumping the body somewhere.

“Yes. Once each of you signs the papers, it’ll be done. I’ll file them, and you’ll get an official divorce certificate.”

“A divorce certificate,” Harry repeated, looking at me solemnly.

“We can hang it next to our marriage certificate,” I suggested, sarcastically.

***

It was 5 a.m. as I lay awake in bed the morning after my birthday. I couldn’t tell if I was sad because my birthday was over or because I was just sad in general these days. I didn’t have to be at work for four hours. I got out of bed, threw on an old college sweatshirt and slippers, and went to go make coffee. I didn’t have to walk very far. My new apartment was a studio. It was barely 300 square feet. I almost tripped over the small red carry-on suitcase I kept stashed near my bed. That damn suitcase taunted me every single day. I’d been tempted to chuck the whole thing into a trashcan and forget everything it contained, move on, yadda yadda… but I knew I couldn’t. I hadn’t opened it since returning from Wales. That suitcase was the only evidence of the happiest six weeks of my life. Part of me never wanted to forget that time.

And yet, I was desperately trying so hard to forget.

Amara, my best friend, had gotten me a job as an administrative assistant at her husband’s production company. The pay wasn't great, but it was enough for now. Lately, I was a barely functional human being. People usually laughed when I said that, but what they didn’t know was that I was being completely truthful. I was becoming a caricature of myself.

I turned on my phone and waited for it to power up. A text message appeared—an international number with a +44 in front of it.

I hope you had a wonderful birthday, Charlotte. I miss you so much more with each passing day. Come back to me. Alec
.

I sat up in my bed, heart racing. Like every other text, email, and letter I’d received, I debated writing back.

I miss you, too.

I am only half a person without you.

I love you.

Things like that ran through my head constantly, though I knew those thoughts would never reach him. And just like every other day that I received a text/email/letter from Alec, I swiped the message to the left and deleted it.

***

When I arrived at work thirty minutes early, I saw Amara sitting in my desk chair. I walked up behind her.

“Have I been replaced?” I joked, leaning down to hug her.

“I was just bringing Sam his lunch. He forgot it this morning,” she said, smiling as she swung around and stood.

“You’re such a good wifey.” I set my bag down on my desk. “Will you stay and keep me company? If I have to input another fucking number into another fucking spreadsheet, I might slit someone’s throat.”

“Watch it. That’s my husband’s company you’re insulting,” she giggled. “I wish I could, but I have a walk-through with one of our furniture vendors at ten. What about lunch? We haven’t even celebrated your birthday yet.”

I always forgot Amara had a real day job, one that she actually
loved
. I tried not to be envious. Her schedule was amazing (meaning, she hardly had to work) and being a set designer was definitely her calling. Her eyes lit up every time she talked about it.

“I packed a lunch today,” I said, gesturing to the brown paper bag that was sticking out of my tote bag.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll see you at twelve.”

She gave me a peck on the cheek and left, blowing Sam a kiss as she walked out.

I waved good morning to Sam and took my seat in the tiny cubicle adjacent to his office. I shimmied into my cardigan. The maintenance guys loved to turn the A/C up full blast. I sat down and sipped my coffee as I booted my computer up. I had about twenty minutes to check my personal email before my official work day started.

A new message appeared when I signed in. It was from Katie, a friend I’d had in Wales.

Hey Charlotte!

I hope all is well in Los Angeles. We miss you here. Alec especially. He mopes around all day and he’s grumpier than ever, and that’s saying a lot.

Anyways, we’re having a Christmas party on December 21st. I don’t know why I’m asking you to come. I know you probably can’t just up and come to Wales with two weeks notice, but I wanted to invite you nonetheless. Alec doesn’t know that I’m inviting you.

Everything else is good here. I’m dating this man from the next town over, and it’s going well. Helen and George are getting a lot of business thanks to your PR expertise, and Mary and Henry send you their love. I think Mary might even miss you more than Alec.

Please come back. It’s not the same without you. Everyone agrees.

Xx,

Katie

My heart sank. This was only one of many emails from the various staff at Parc-Le-Bouveret begging me to come back. I received weekly updates from Helen and George. Mary and I had a standing Skype date every Wednesday evening. Parc-Le-Bouveret, the bed and breakfast I’d worked at on the outskirts of Swansea, had been my refuge when Harry left me in June, on the night of Amara’s wedding. It had been a chance encounter, a slow dance with destiny—and I’d loved every minute of my life there.

But, alas, everything good always came to an end, and I had to fly back to L.A. to deal with the divorce and everything that came with it. My life in Wales had been my real life. My life in L.A. felt like some temporary existence. But realistically, what could I do about it now?

I’d done some PR for the Parc while I was there in exchange for room and board and a small weekly stipend. Public Relations were my area of expertise, what I’d gone to college for, and what I had been doing until I fled to Wales. Upon my return to Los Angeles, I had taken the first job I could get, which was a job Sam had created for me. I’d come back as a shell of my former self, and not because of Harry. We’d been
over
for a while leading up to Amara’s wedding.

No, I was a shell because of everything I’d left behind. Best friends, a great job, a beautiful environment… and the love of my life.

Mary and Henry, my two married friends who ran a pub down the road from the Parc, never mentioned Alec. I wasn’t sure if they knew he’d been trying to contact me. I felt the tears creep into the corners of my eyes, but tried to blink them away as people entered the building to begin their work day. I debated shooting Alec a quick email, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

I’m sorry I left and broke your heart.

Yeah, that didn’t sound great to me, either.

Lunchtime rolled around quickly considering I was inputting boring data all morning. This wasn’t the most exciting job, but it left no room to think of other things. That’s what I needed. I signed out of my computer and pushed back in my chair, staring at the one picture on my desk. I’d received the picture anonymously in the mail, though I had an inkling as to who’d sent it. It was a picture of the staff of Parc-Le-Bouveret. I’d actually taken the picture when I worked there, to use on the front page of the website that I’d built for them.

Tommy, George’s uncle and the resident taxi driver, was front and center. That seemed fitting, because he’d been the one to pick me up from the airport in Swansea and drive me to the Parc. Behind him were Helen and George, the older couple who ran the place. Beside them was Katie, the young, raven-haired cook, Henry, the hunky night guard and owner of a pub down the street, and Mary, his wife and my best friend in Wales. Just behind them, standing in the doorway, was Alec, the groom. He was glaring into the camera—the same smoldering stare that haunted me every day. My eyes scanned his face, trying to remember his smile, his kiss, his touch…

“Earth to Charlotte,” Amara sang, waving her hand in front of my face.

“Oh, sorry, Mar. Didn’t see you.” I got up and grabbed my purse. “Ready?”

We got into Amara’s jeep, making small talk about the weather and my job at Sam’s company. She never asked about Wales any more, which I was grateful for, mostly because I’d burdened her with everything that first night back. I was pretty sure I had been nothing more than a blubbering pile of flesh when she’d picked me up from the airport. I’d stayed with her for a couple of weeks while I searched for an apartment and a job. I was miserable.

I still am miserable.

We arrived at our favorite Italian restaurant on Ventura Boulevard. I grabbed a table as Amara went to the bathroom. I didn’t even need a menu. I knew what I’d be ordering. I’d lost weight since returning from Wales. The depression that followed my return home had left me with almost no appetite, and I’d been running everyday to take my mind off of things. In any other instance when I’d been depressed or anxious about something, I’d tended to stuff my face with every unhealthy thing available—not this time. I looked forward to the calorie-dense pasta dish coming my way in a few minutes. I needed it. I was embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. Food didn’t taste anywhere near as good as it had in Wales.

“So…” Amara said, sliding into her end of the booth stealthily. “How would you feel if I set you up on a few dates?”

“What?”

“If you’re not ready, I completely understand. I have this acquaintance who is also recently divorced, and he mentioned that he was ready to date again. I met him on set. He’s an actor. I think you two would hit it off.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. I just don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“Because of Harry?” I shot her a look as I sipped my water slowly. I hoped my eyes would convey that Harry was not a factor in this scenario. It wasn’t Harry and our subsequent divorce that had broken me. It was leaving the tall, dark Irishman in Wales. “Oh. Of course it’s not Harry.” She quickly ordered and tried to change the subject, but we just sat there, awkwardly.

“He’s an actor?” I was trying to appease her.

“Yeah. He’s not famous. You wouldn’t know him. He mostly does commercials.”

“I don’t know, Mar.”

“Look,” she shifted in her seat and took my hands. “I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you like this, and I’ve known you since we were ten. We’ve been through everything together. Please… what can I do to help you?”

I scrunched up my face and looked away. I was so damn emotional lately. I felt a tear escape my left eye.
Damn it.

“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do to help me. I left him, Amara,” and as I said this, I felt a sob escape my lips. “I left Alec after he’d told me he would always love me. I chose my life here over him, and I have to live with that every day. If I could change anything, anything at all, it would be that day. But I can’t.” As I cried into my other hand, Amara came over to my side of the booth and put her arms around me, kissing me on the cheek. “I could’ve stayed. Tommy said he could turn the car around, but I was scared, Mar. It all happened so quickly, and it was so intense.” I wept thinking of my last night at the Parc, spent in Alec’s bed… I missed him so much I could feel my entire body breaking itself in half just thinking of him. “I had the chance to stay and I chose to leave.”

“I know. Shhh…” She held me closer as I heaved heavy sobs into her shoulder. This wasn’t uncommon. Any one thing could break me; I was prone to crying fits. Amara was used to it by now, although she never really asked too many questions. “Has Alec called or emailed recently?”

“Yes. But I delete and/or throw away everything he sends. It hurts too much.”

“Why don’t you go back?”

“What?”

“Come on. It’s the obvious choice. Why are you so scared to admit it?”

“I can’t, Mar. I can’t go back. Not after three months of no communication. I’m walking around with my tail between my legs. I fucked up. I could’ve fixed it two months ago, maybe, but now I can’t.”

“Why? I hate seeing you so miserable. I mean, no offense Char, but you’re no fun to be around. You’re weepy all the time, you sleep constantly, and you’re not eating, which is very unlike you. Please, if it’ll make you happier, just go.”

I thought about her proposition. I’d thought a lot about going back. I imagined hopping on the next flight to Wales and showing up tomorrow, but I couldn’t. Something was holding me back. It was a barrier I wasn’t willing to cross yet, and I didn’t know why.

“It’s been too long. It’s time to move on. I’m embarrassed. It’s best for everyone if I just move on. It’s not like I’m going to move to Wales for Alec. And he’s not going to move here. It was a stupid vacation romance. It wasn’t real. My life is not a fairytale.”