“I’m sorry, Mac. All of this hasn’t been fair to you.”
He sat back on the bed and laced his fingers through hers. “No. It hasn’t been fair to me. But all of this hasn’t been fair to you, either.”
“She’s my mother. Her choices…”
“Aren’t yours. I know your side of your relationship with God is just starting, but His relationship with you has been eternal. He died for your sins and Stasi’s. He didn’t sacrifice so you could inherit your mother’s guilt. You have to let her baggage go. It was never yours to hold in the first place.”
She nodded.
Faith seemed so easy in her head. She knew God loved her. She even could reconcile He had forgiven her. That He had taken away all of her sin and guilt. And if God had forgiven her, how could she not do the same for her Mama?
49
“Knock, knock.”
At the soft lilt of Georgie’s voice from the doorway, Charlotte lifted her hooded gaze to the alarm clock on her bedside table: 7:46 AM. Better than six in the morning, but still her bubbly, early rising sister was pushing the bounds of familial grace. The ache surrounded her head like a halo but didn’t make her feel like much of an angel. “Unless you have black coffee and a cinnamon roll, you will need to return in an hour.” Charlotte said, stuffing her face into the fluffy down pillow.
“I have both!”
Georgie’s steps creaked against the old floorboards. The aroma of chicory coffee mixed with the spicy sweet roll lifted Charlotte’s head from the pillow. Her sister lowered a wide breakfast tray on to the white duvet, filled with two coffee mugs, a tall carafe, and barely enough room for the half dozen rolls teetering against the edge.
“Georgie, there’s just two of us. Do you want us to go into a sugar coma?”
Georgie chuckled. “The thought is kind of appealing.”
Charlotte reached for the carafe and sloshed coffee into her mug, feeling the caffeine perk her system through the intoxicatingly rich scent. Taking a tentative sip, she snuggled against the pillows stretched against the four poster bed and lifted an eyebrow to her sister.
“But,” Georgie sighed. “We have some business that needs to be resolved.”
Pinpricks raced along the back of Charlotte’s neck. What had Georgie and Mac found while she had been recuperating? Charlotte reached for a cinnamon roll. “Lay it on me.” She sank her teeth into the toothache-inducing sweetness, allowing the empty calories to be the filter for Georgie’s message.
“Cole was siphoning funds from several different entities, but the majority were taken out of the funds supporting the Watershed Foundation. He was deftly recording the donations, but the funds were transferred to a shell corporation with the outward appearance of being able to properly distribute resources to designated charitable organizations. The corporation is a known front for Dorokov and his partners. Despite what appeared to be healthy books, the Foundation is nearly bankrupt.”
“Oh, no, Georgie.” She laid her roll on a plate, wiping her sticky fingers on a napkin as she reached for her sister’s hand. “The music and arts program?”
Georgie shrugged. “Until we are able to reestablish the Foundation with clean books and cash flow, approved by the IRS, the program will be a non-starter.”
The cinnamon-sugar syrup turned to tar in Charlotte’s mouth. Georgie should not be suffering for her family’s mistakes. “I’m so sorry. We will find a way to get the program started. Maybe other benefactors? People in Beaufort County?”
Georgie shook her head. “I think we should just focus on stabilizing Watershed and having a winning Bombers season. The need for an afterschool program isn’t going away. But right now we should focus on our family. Our business.”
Charlotte yanked Georgie into a hug, the fading bruises at her neck burning her vision. “I’m so sorry for everything, Georgie. I don’t deserve you or Savvy or anyone. This is all my fault.”
Georgie gently disentangled herself from Charlotte. “Stop.” She cupped Charlotte’s cheeks in her hands. “Stop blaming yourself. Believe it or not, you are not in control of the entire universe, Charlotte Dixon.”
Resting her forehead against her sister’s, Charlotte sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. “That’s a hard lesson for me to remember. It’s harder for me to believe.”
Settling back onto the bed, Georgie clasped Charlotte’s hands between hers. “Forgiveness is the most difficult thing we are asked to do as Christians, because true forgiveness cannot coexist with lingering guilt. Charlie, you have to forgive yourself. Did you handle the situation perfectly? No. But did you have the best of intentions? Yes. Every decision you’ve made, since finding out about what was happening at your art gallery, has been about protecting the people you love. Your error wasn’t in trying to help. Your error was in trying to fix things by yourself. You are not being asked by God to do penance for your mother’s sins. And He is not asking you to flay yourself with the whip of guilt for the next thirty years to earn His grace for your own sins. He already sacrificed enough for you to have forgiveness. You have to take the big, difficult step to accept His grace.”
“This seems to be a reoccurring message from Mac and my grandmother.”
“Maybe three times is truly a charm and you will accept you are loved and forgiven? Do not keep wallowing in what can’t be changed. Instead look to what can be made new and whole in the future.”
“How did the younger sister come to be the wiser sister?”
Georgie lifted a shoulder. “Age does not parlay wisdom.”
“Touché.”
Georgie poured a mug of coffee and lifted it to Charlotte in a salute. “To new beginnings.”
Charlotte lifted her own mug. “To new beginnings.”
They clinked cups and sipped the warm, dark coffee. The bitterness of the dark roast melded with the remnants of the cinnamon roll in Charlotte’s mouth creating the perfect balance of flavors. A harmony of what her life could be. Strength and kindness melded together.
She listened to Georgie discuss the coming weeks of meetings with different government officials to clear Watershed of any wrongdoing associated with Cole Vasil and Anton Dorokov. Charlotte’s heart seemed to swell five sizes bigger as she listened to her sister. Her meek Georgie, who six months ago could not decipher the difference between a balance sheet and a box score, exuded serene confidence as she outlined the multipoint plan to shore up the security breaches in the company and ensure the growth of Watershed.
Her sister didn’t need her anymore. Watershed would be well managed with or without Charlotte at the co-CEO helm. The knowledge relieved her lingering doubts. The decision she made in the hospital after reading her mother’s letter took root in her spirit. Now, could she make the ultimate sacrifice? Could she be like Jesus?
50
“The jet will be leaving at noon tomorrow to head to Florida. We will have one extra seat if you have anyone you want to invite.” Mac looked across his desk at Georgie, who stared out his office window toward the ballpark. Closing the folder, he placed it in a matching stack on his desk. “What gives, Slugger?”
“Huh?” Georgie shifted her gaze to face him, but her eyes were cloudy.
“What’s the worry of the day? It isn’t Murphy, is it? If he hurt your feelings, I will make him wish he’d never set foot in South Carolina.”
Georgie chuckled. “No. Cade is fine. We are more than fine. And you really should start calling him by his first name. He has one, you know.”
Cade? He could try. “OK, if it isn’t you and your…friend. What’s bothering you?”
“Have you noticed Charlotte has been working overtime since she returned to the office? She has barely been out of the hospital a week. It’s like she’s trying to make up every hour she’s missed in the last two weeks in a few days. I know we are ramping up for the season, but it’s Sunday and we are all in the office. Do you know why?”
He reached his hand to knead the knot forming in his shoulder muscle. “I�
��m not sure. But my best guess would be she’s trying to get back to normal. Whatever normal is for this group.”
“But she shouldn’t be working so hard. She’s had so many traumatic things happen to her…both mentally and physically. Don’t you think she should take it easy?”
Mac glanced at the greenish-yellow marks still visible at Georgie’s neck and wondered the same about her. “I think work gives her something to focus on.”
Georgie picked up the Johnny Bench autographed baseball his father gave him for his thirteenth birthday. His stomach flipped on its side. “Slugger, I love you like the sister I never wanted, but if you smudge that baseball, love will take a backseat.”
She gently returned the ball and laced her arms across her middle. “I understand wanting to focus on anything but what she’s endured or what her mother is currently enduring. I get it, but I’m afraid she’ll break. She’s tough, but she’s not as tough as she thinks she is. No matter how many conversations we have, it always seems to be weighted with a sense of guilt Charlie can’t or won’t release. That’s just not healthy, Mac.”
“No. It’s not. But I’m not comfortable talking about your sister behind her back. When she is ready for help, she will ask. You need to trust God is working through her. He will help her find her way.”
Georgie nodded and stood to exit his office. She opened the door and smiled over her shoulder. “My plus one’s name is Cade Murphy. He’s wrapping up a few things but should make it back down in time to make the flight. He’s got pretty high security clearance so he shouldn’t cause a problem when he’s vetted.” She sauntered out of his office.
Mac twisted his chair to face the ballpark, increasing the pressure as he kneaded the muscles connecting his neck and shoulders. His little Georgie was quickly growing into a full-blown woman. He blew out a slow steady breath. “When did that happen?”
“About six months ago.”
Mac swiveled and his stomach dropped.
Charlie leaned against the doorframe of his office draped in a high neck, soft pink, sleeveless blouse tucked into a formfitting navy-blue pencil skirt skimming her too long legs to just above her knees. His gaze raked over her form to the four-inch high stilettoes she favored. “You’ll break your neck in those things.”
She slipped into the room and lowered onto the edge of the visitor chair. “Nope. I can run a fairly fast forty in heels. Men’s flip-flops might be a different story.”
He couldn’t help the chuckle, despite the agony of that particular memory. “What gives me the great honor of a visit? I thought you were going up to Charleston to see Remy.”
“I am. His mama said he squeezed her hand yesterday.”
“Ah, Charlie, that’s wonderful.”
She nodded. “I wanted to discuss the itinerary for Florida before I headed out.” She laid her folder on the desk. “I need to arrange different travel.”
Mac felt his brow furrow. “Why? We’re all leaving tomorrow. Stella booked us a block of suites in the hotel closest to the training facility. We have two days of practice games where you can pick apart every prospect we, and the big-league team, have on our rosters. To me it sounds like your little slice of heaven in Florida.” Mac had been counting the hours until they could enjoy the carefree warmth of Spring Training days. The sweet relish and mustard combo hot dog had his mouth watering for over a week. His emergency cell phone pinged in his desk, dragging his thoughts from the welcoming sunshine and popcorn only hours away.
He held up a finger to Charlie as he pulled out the antiquated flip-phone he kept specifically for family emergencies. “Sean? What’s wrong?”
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to get you for the last twenty-four hours.” His brother’s panic stretched through the phone.
“My phone was dead, and I left the back-up at work. Hold on a second.” He placed his hand over the bottom of the phone. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this in a minute? It’s my brother.”
Charlie nodded, and if he were a betting person, he would have doubled down on a wave of relief washing over her. “I’ll just leave you to it.” She rose and closed the distance to the doorway. With a glance over her shoulder, she lifted a smile, but the gesture didn’t quite fill her eyes as she exited.
The door closed with a soft click, igniting a burning desire to slam the phone closed and run after Charlie. Something wasn’t right.
“Mac…bro? Are you there?” Sean’s shaky voice drew him back to the phone pressed to his ear.
“What is it?”
“It’s Sprout.”
Mac’s eyelids slammed shut against the glare of the midmorning sun. “What did he do this time?” His little brother, Joey, was one of the best centerfielders Mac had ever seen play the game. He also managed to hold the title of the biggest moron.
“He was in an accident. It’s bad.”
His pulse quickened as he listened to Sean relay the details of his little brother’s latest mess up. And it was bad.
“Is he conscious?” He listened to the additional details of the near-death car accident. His brother had been using something to dull his endless cycle of pain and was now looking at extensive rehab. His mind began to flash through the variety of rehabs where he’d sent both ball players and executives. “I have a place in mind. I’ll make a call.” Mac rolled through the details of moving his brother to South Carolina. He would have to delay his trip to Florida, but he couldn’t worry about the work-play excursion of spring training baseball. His baby brother needed him.
Family came first. Always.
~*~
Charlotte slid onto her white leather, high back desk chair and swiveled toward the stadium.
Bombers Stadium. The place of her childhood comfort and her adult longing. She drew in a deep breath and bowed her head. God…Jesus…Not really sure how these conversations are supposed to start. I know I’ve asked more than my fair share lately, but I was hoping you could watch out for Georgie, Savvy, Baba, and my Mac. Continue to help Remy heal. I’m not sure how my decisions over the next few days will impact them, but I’m afraid I will hurt them once again. I know they always have You. They all love You more than I could have ever imagined. Please be near them, Lord. Please. With an exhale, she lifted her lids and stared out at her greatest dream. The morning sun glinted off the wrought iron gates. “Daddy, if you can…watch over them too. I’m sorry I couldn’t do what you asked. I hope God lets you know I’m sorry. And I love you.” She knew what she needed to do.
Family came first. Always.
A single tear splashed her hand as she stacked four long, plain white envelopes together and placed them in the center of her desk.
The top one simply said: Mac
51
The cramped clerk’s office had thick faux mahogany wood paneled walls lined with unorganized rows of photos, awards shouting far-flung successes ranging from ‘best new employee’ to bowling league champs and bulletin boards stuffed with every take-out menu and dry cleaning coupon Charlotte imagined existed in the five boroughs.
Less than eight miles by car to her childhood residence, and yet she might as well have been a continent away. Her view as a child was of Central Park and the gentle whispers of Upper East Side luxury. As an adult, she had the hipster-chic of SoHo rhythm surrounding her. She knew her city by the sounds and the sights, but the gritty world of law and justice hummed a tune off pitch and raw to her spirit. The mixture of postmodern grandeur and intimidation built on part of the historic Five Points, what once was one of the worst slums in America, seemed fitting. The halls of blind justice were helping to redeem the country from the clutches of the modern mafia on the playground of the original gangs of New York.
Glancing out the window to the surprisingly quiet Pearl Street, she pressed her hand against the cool glass, offering a silent prayer of thanksgiving she was able to be in this place today. Despite her unsettled state, Charlotte was confident she made the right choice in coming to New York.
The preliminary hearing for Anton was today, and likely would stretch into tomorrow. Mama was being called by the U.S. Attorney to confirm the depositions she’d given to Dylan and Cade. Despite the swiftness with which the hearing had started, Cade had informed Charlotte today was only the beginning of what would begin a multiple months’, potentially years’, long process of bringing the New York City Bratva to some semblance of justice.
The Assistant U.S. Attorney assigned to the case was as giddy as a schoolgirl when she met Charlotte early that morning. The evidence Cade, Dylan, and their team had curated over the last two years, coupled with Mama’s corroboration of specific events and dealings, allowed for the swift transition from arraignment to the preliminary hearing. The A-USA believed a plea deal was probable. One she promised would ensure Anton and his cronies wouldn’t see the sunrise in Little Odessa for the rest of their lives.
Charlotte was proud of her mother’s choice to testify against the man who had been her protector, benefactor, lover, and ultimately, her tender vulnerability for decades. But her mother’s uncharacteristic choice caused a knot of worry to grow in Charlotte’s belly since she read her letter over a week and a half ago. Up to today, she had the letter, Cade’s reassurance, and the U.S. Attorney’s excitement to confirm the radical change in her mother. Her heart and her mind were struggling to believe the transformation of Anastasia Bickford.
The same woman who had twisted her life in knots giving and withholding her love as if it was a carnival toy, only won by the most skilled and tenacious of champions, was supposedly sacrificing the luxuries of her life to ensure her daughter’s safety and the dissolution of the Russian mafia.
Charlotte wrapped her arms around her middle. A slight chill seeped through the pane, reminding her winter very rarely recognized March as spring in New York. Thankful for the oversized cashmere turtleneck and wool pants, she cupped her hands around her mouth and blew warmth into the icy cavern they created.
Girls of Summer Page 26
