Charlotte's Revenge Read online

  She listened to the fan humming and took a deep centering breath, alone in the little square room, and wondered why Randall had never mentioned the “M” word. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did. How did she feel exactly? Her cheeks warmed instantly at the thought of them together. Maybe it wasn’t that serious with him. Maybe he thought it was just for fun. Nothing wrong with that. But, still ... maybe she should bring it up. Women propose to men sometimes, don’t they? She patted her cheeks again. “Stop it. If Randall wanted to marry me, he would have asked by now. Don’t be stupid and ruin things, again. It’s not like I know anything about being married.” Her fingers traced along the lace imprint under the vinyl. “But, still ...”

  Donna pushed through the door again and almost slammed it into her nose.

  “Priscilla from Leroux Make Up Artistry LLC is here to fix your face.”

  “Show her to my office, please. We don’t have much time.”

  “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

  “Every day brighter ...”

  WHEN TRACI GOT THE “We’re waiting out front.” text, she grabbed her things, looked in the mirror one more time and rushed out of the office into the afternoon sun. Milo helped her climb into the cab of the Moe’s Tavern pickup and slide to the center of the bench seat. He folded the garment bag carefully across her lap and then he hopped in next to her, propped his feet on the large box cooler and slammed the passenger door. Sure, he wasn’t that little kid she met working the fields at Bent Willow anymore. Sixteen now. But still very sweet. He was taller than her by an inch, maybe more. Work, a steady routine at home and a full-time guardian in Moe had changed everything. His shoulders were broader, a prominent Adam’s apple, and hair had begun sprouting along his upper lip and chin. That was another thing. A moustache was against school dress code. Was Moe going to make him shave it?

  “Let them sort it out,” she could already hear Randall saying. He was right ... probably. Milo with a moustache, though. It made him look like ... “He’s growing up, of course. You can’t stop that, Traci,” she thought and felt an uncomfortable lurch in her stomach as she watched him from the corner of her eye. “But we’re definitely gonna talk about this moustache business.”

  “I appreciate the Cap’n helping me fix up my truck. She’s almost good as new,” Moe said as they jerked along in the stop-and-go traffic. “I’m going to get one of those magnetic signs to put on the side. And, a website. Milo says we gotta have one of them.” He shrugged and glanced at her. “That way folk can place orders and check out the daily specials. Stuff like that.”

  “That’s a great idea, Milo.”

  “Yeah, he’s got lots of ideas. He convinced me to put pictures on the menus. And you know what? Profits are up fifteen percent for in-house orders! We’re gonna offer gift certificates and party platters, and host tail-gating events. Whew, makes me tired thinking about it. Just need more hours in the day to get it all done, I guess.” He rolled down his window and waved a jay-walking pedestrian across the crowded intersection. “But pretty soon, he’ll be driving and making deliveries for me. That’s really gonna help during the holidays.”

  “I got my driver’s license, thanks to you. I could never ask Randall to teach me, I would be too nervous.” Traci smiled at Moe as they shared glances.

  “Has he let you drive that old car, yet?”

  “Not yet, but one day it will be mine and I’ll be ready. Not sure when ‘one day’ will get here. I don’t think he wants to finish working on it.” She laughed because she knew it was true. Moe smiled and nodded in agreement. She slipped on her sunglasses. It was a cloudless sunny day. Perfect.

  “Why’s there a cop following us?” Milo finally spoke up, staring intently at the side mirror. Would she ever get used to the bass in his voice now?

  “Randall overreacting, don’t worry about it.” She waved away the concern. She refused to give in to worrying. Life was good. Like Moe had said, the storm had run out of rain and she needed to embrace the long overdue sunny skies.

  It was a smooth ride in Moe’s truck this time due to the bed being weighed down with a cord of split hickory for the barbeque pit that ran almost twenty-four hours a day behind the restaurant. Moe’s eyes were red strained, hands calloused, and his clothing always smelled like smoke. That was the life of a Pit Master. And he lived for it. The addition of an extra lane and widening of War Memorial Boulevard to connect it to the Lincoln Highway bridge was causing traffic to back up. Once the work was completed, there would be even more traffic. Another catch-22 of growth and mission to make the Keeferton retail district central to the greater Faucier County economic boom.

  Moe turned off to head toward the back streets and the old Dodge rumbled down the red bricks of Coal Hill Road. Traci loved this historic section of town with its Victorian two-story homes embellished with the antique styled name plaques and fancy filigreed street signs that arched overhead. Orange and chartreuse coleus and sculpted boxwoods were flanked by tall white colonnades that were still draped with Christmas lights from the last season’s caroling festival. You could spot Mayor Gundry’s house immediately by the “Re-elect Gundry” and “Safety First” and “Keep Gundry for Keeferton” signs that filled the front lawn. She was sure it was against the strict Home Owner’s Association by-laws but who could they complain to? The red bricks of Coal Hill became covered with black asphalt streaked with creases and potholes as soon as you reached the Greenfield Avenue intersection where Moe turned to make their way toward Magnolia Grove. The tall Victorians were no more, and the area was cluttered with square brick bungalows from the post-WWII baby boom era. The lots were identical with small patches of grass and two cement block steps leading to a white-washed wooden door under a short aluminum awning. Every one the same. The city council was scheduled to vote on whether to demolish the entire corridor and offer displacement assistance for the residents or pay for lead paint abatement services to make the homes safe. In the meantime, occupants were required to cover their inside walls with plastic and use bottled water for everything.

  “Where will they all go?” Traci wondered as they rode past each house.

  Finally, they entered her familiar neighborhood of Magnolia Grove and charged straight up the pathway toward Hazelton House. Who would have thought when she made the turn down a dirt trail in that vacant lot behind Bent Willow she would end up with two true friends like these?

  “Bent Willow is still going strong.” she said craning her neck to look across the fields.

  “Sure is. Looks like we’re gonna have to rehome the chickens though. Coyotes been coming ‘round lately. I’m gonna pick a few things while we’re here, real quick. Milo came up with this recipe and we’re gonna try it out on the Tex-Mex menu. How’s it go? You take a hot pepper, fill it with cheese, then pack it inside a hamburger patty and wrap it in bacon. We need a name for it.”

  “Sounds like another winner. You should name it after Milo. How about ...” she stopped mid-sentence as they reached the driveway of Hazelton House. She had not seen the latest work of the restoration team from Arden Brothers Construction and it took her breath away. Hazelton House was shining brightly against the blue sky in full display surrounded by multiple gardens of native flowers like a necklace of gemstones. The power wash and sand blasting had removed decades of dust and grime. It looked like a brand-new structure. Along one corner of the house, the red and white siding had been carefully removed. The cedar log framing underneath was covered with Plexiglass along with signage explaining the origins of the materials, the names of the original owners and more. Looking at the building skeleton was one of her favorite things. There were piles of soot covered debris still lying around from the on-going restoration inside and out. Sometimes it was hard to tell if the house was being destroyed or revived. It was her heart’s work. She’d rather be here than anywhere on earth.

  Moe parked the truck, opened the cooler and immediately began passing out small box lunches of turkey club sandwiches, Re
ubens, chips and bottled water to the political leaders, dignitaries, media team and construction crew hanging around the set. Then he rushed off to Bent Willow to pick fresh produce and check the traps in the field.

  Milo walked over to stand with his friends that had wandered from Empire Row to watch the event. And that was another thing. Who were those guys? That tall one especially. Wasn’t he on the news for some report about a stolen pig? Or was it a pug? No, a woman’s purse was stolen while she walked her pug. Something like that. Well, whatever. Maybe she should ask Randall about them. No, bad idea.

  Traci spotted Kay McGee seated nearby and rushed over to greet her.

  “Hello Ms. McGee, thank you for coming over today,” she gave her friend a big hug.

  “How are things?” Ms. McGee said smiling up at her. She wore two rainbow striped plastic leis around her neck and the silver pinwheels attached to the arms of her wheelchair whirled in the breeze.

  “I’m a little nervous, but at least it’s not raining.” Traci tried to laugh but the butterflies in her stomach made her terribly self-conscious. She heard one of the boys with Milo let out a cackle and the others joined in. She turned back to Ms. McGee. “I'm worried about him. I don't think he's going to make it through high school, and if he doesn't, it's really going to limit him. I've got to do something, but I don't know what. The agency is demanding that he get back in school and rightfully so. He won’t even talk about it. We just don't want to lose him to the streets.”

  “Has anyone had him tested?”

  “Tested? For what?”

  “There may be something going on that no one has diagnosed. I'm not saying there's something wrong, you understand, but you never know until you test.”

  “No, I never thought about that, honestly.” She said and furrowed her brow.

  “That's okay, honey,” Ms. McGee said and patted her hand. “We'll take care of it. I know someone that can help.”

  Traci gave her another hug, then grabbed her things from the truck and worked her way past the small crowd milling around the setting to go inside and change for the photoshoot. She walked around to the North side of the house with her garment bag tucked securely under her arm. Two construction workers were sitting in the shade. A photographer from Blooms and Brooks was in the northeastern garden taking still photos of the monarch butterflies that had gathered on the milkweed as they passed through the area on their annual migration path from Canada to Mexico. They would only be with them for a short time. Traci longed to sit peacefully in the garden and watch them while reflecting on all the good things that had happened in her life. She caught the familiar toasted peppery smell and followed the smoke to the large silhouette in the shadows. “What are you doing here?”

  Josh St. John was sitting in the shade of a red oak with a lit Padron cigar chomped down tight between his lips and a rifle case balanced across his lap, opening a box of ammunition.

  “Hey T-babe, I heard some of your people was worried about losing their chickens at Bent Willow ‘cause of that coyote hanging around here.” He stood up and approached her. He hitched up the back of his jeans, the black leather vest stretched over his gray t-shirt barely fastened around his belly. “These builders taking over everything and keep encroaching on their habitat. What you expect gonna happened except they start showing up in your backyard? Bunch of greedy sons of ... Give me a couple days and I’ll take him out for ya.” He drew in on the cigar and examined the two inches of ash on the tip. “I meant the coyote,” he added with a wry smile.

  “Yeah, I’m a little worried about my cats now, Josh.”

  “Naw, don’t be. I left my Mossberg at your place under the crawlspace. If anything, or anybody shows up on your property that doesn’t belong there, you know what to do.” He winked, “Remember what I taught you. In the meantime, I’ll take a look around and see if I can find the tracks. I’d ask you to join me but looks like you’re a little busy these days.”

  “Yeah, a little busy,” she blushed and tugged at the back of her hair where the woven garland was too tight.

  “You look like a princess.” He leaned over slowly and kissed the top of her head. Then he stepped back, opened the case and pulled out the rifle. He dropped the cartridge into the chamber and strapped the Browning over his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” Traci said and pointed to the rifle. “Are you sure it’s okay to walk around like that?”

  “Who’s gonna stop me?” he smiled until his eyes became little slits under his wooly red brows. He lifted his black USMC cap and wiped his hair back. Then replaced it, gave her a little smile and walked away.

  She tugged on the garland again and adjusted the pins that were poking into her scalp. Then she walked past the construction workers sitting on the ground in the shade.

  “How you doing, Miss Traci? No clipboard today, I see.”

  “Congratulations on the cover.”

  She waved, opened the French doors and entered the small downstairs bathroom. She turned on the dim thirty-watt bulb and hung the garment bag on the door peg. She ran her fingers along the wallpaper and squinted at the tiny details of the faded scene in ruby and blue picturescape. Everything was to remain in the house as original except for Miss Rowena’s personal items that had been put in storage.

  “We’re still here, Miss Rowena. Everything is still here. I hope this is what you wanted,” she whispered.

  She glanced at her phone and hurried to get changed. The dress fit perfectly but she couldn’t help fiddling with it. She pulled the shoulder straps down slightly over her arms and adjusted the shawl. She pulled the hem down to touch her knees, then tugged it back up again. “Hurry up, hurry up,” she muttered to herself and grabbed her snakeskin gladiator sandals and buckled them at each ankle. She walked through the kitchen and past the closet door that led to the attic. Pausing for a moment, she touched the knob. She had not walked up those stairs in two years and would never again. She took a breath and stepped out the door into the garden.

  Miss Rowena’s kitchen garden had been tilled under after her death and seeded with Magic Roundabout sunflowers, her favorite. Now it was overflowing with their tall thick stalks and bright red and yellow faces bending under the weight of the giant seed heads that would feed the cardinals and chickadees this winter. Maybe it was the moment and memories of Miss Rowena, or the dust and bits of Hazelton House in rubble around her feet, or the startling glare off the photographer’s reflector kits that caused her to burst into tears. But whatever the cause, she was frantically waving at her face now trying to save her makeup. “Stop crying, don’t mess this up,” she thought and placed her hands on her stomach. Two deep belly breaths.

  “Four things you can see. Garden hose. Birdhouse. Camera ... Randall.”

  Chapter Five

  Randall

  RANDALL STEPPED PAST the crowd of onlookers and met Traci halfway across the garden path, took her hand and led her away to stand under a small honey locust tree. Her hand was trembling, and she had been crying.

  “I feel stupid,” she sniffled.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said and tried to kiss her.

  “No, my makeup. It took hours to make me look like a natural beauty.” She let out a tiny nervous giggle. “Hollywood kisses only.” She kissed the air next to each of his cheeks. “It feels so weird. Everybody’s staring at me.”

  “It’ll be fun. Enjoy yourself. You've worked hard to get here and deserve all the spotlight. They picked the perfect woman to be the spokesperson. I'm so proud of ...”

  “You're making me nervous. I think you should go.”

  He took off his sunglasses, looked deeply into her eyes and smiled. “I thought you wanted me here.”

  “I do.”

  He stroked her arm gently. This was no time for a panic attack. “Well, which is it? You want me to stay or you want me to go?”

  “Both.” She exhaled a short giggle. He could see her quick breaths as she tried to constrain the nervous energy.

&nbs
p; “And how am I supposed to do that, my angel?”

  “You're smart, figure it out.” More giggling and fear. He held her by both shoulders, lowered his face in front of hers and took a long slow deep breath. She placed her hand on her stomach then joined him on the next breath and he counted down the exhale.

  “You can do this.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  “Miss Traci, I need you in position,” the reporter called from the staging area.

  “Let me go ...” she whispered.

  “Never,” he whispered back and pulled her close. “No ...” he thought. “Nothing is going to ruin this day for you.” He waited for that familiar sensation of her muscles softening under his fingertips as she settled gently into his embrace.

  Two years and here they were, right back where they first met. He knew she was the one the moment he saw her wearing that ridiculous neon green Dependable Flyers helmet. When she said that she wasn’t ready, he waited. Through all her flashbacks and panic attacks, he listened ... and waited. It was worth the wait. Everything about her was worth the wait. Sure, she challenged him, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Soft and fierce with a matched determination to hold him accountable. Someone he could trust with his heart.

  “Miss Traci, we’re waiting for you!”

  That reporter “Lenny-somebody” waved at them, then snapped his fingers impatiently. He was some big deal in the local media so Randall gave him a pass and didn’t tell him where to get off. He looked over and caught a glimpse of Ray Winston standing next to Mayor Gundry.