“I know that,” Charlotte said. “But this is still stuff I need to know. I could have done something about it before now.”
“Like what?”
“Like maybe find out who is doing this and put a stop to it.” How could she do her job if she didn’t know what to fix?
“Oh Charlotte. We already know who is doing this. Julia refuses to do anything about it.” Resignation filled Sheila’s voice.
“Really?” Why was she not surprised? Of course Julia wouldn’t do anything. But that didn’t mean Charlotte couldn’t.
“Hopefully you can get someone down today, with it being the weekend. Thank you.” She pushed her phone back in her pocket and sighed. She dropped the bag from her hand and climbed the steps to Julia’s front door.
She knew Julia was home, the front window curtain flickered as she stood at the door.
“Julia, it’s Charlotte,” she called out.
She was met with silence.
“Julia, honey, I know you’re in there. Please open the door.”
Charlotte leaned her hip against the door frame and listened carefully. Small noises came from the other side of the door, like feet sliding on the tile and the light thud of a body touching the wall.
“I have someone coming over today to clean up your yard. I’m sorry it keeps happening.” Charlotte decided to make conversation, even if it were only one-sided. Maybe if she talked enough, Julia would open the door, or at least talk back to her.
“And I have something for you, from Paige and Camille. They said it was your birthday.” She couldn’t imagine Julia was feeling anything remotely similar to happiness today.
“Please take it back.” Julia’s voice was muffled.
Charlotte shook her head, even though she knew it wasn’t seen. “Can’t. It’s from them personally. They miss you.”
“Just put it down then. I’ll . . . I’ll grab it later.”
“Why not open the door and I can give it to you.” When was the last time Julia had stepped out of her home?
From the neglected wither of her front gardens, Charlotte would guess it had been quite a while since Julia had ventured outside. Was she eating okay? Was anyone looking out for her, trying to help her through this time?
“I’d rather not.”
Charlotte glanced behind her and noticed there were a few people watching her, not being bashful about it at all. It was a small town, and unfortunately, Julia didn’t live in a secluded part of it. People would always be around. “Julia”—an idea just came to her—“how about if I meet you at your back door?” There would be more privacy then.
She was prepared for Julia to disagree or even just to walk away.
“Okay.”
She made her way toward the back, ducking under the tall hedges between the properties that needed to be trimmed, and stepped into Julia’s tiny oasis. With large hedges all around, Charlotte was thankful that at least this part hadn’t been touched. There were two white wicker chairs in the middle of the yard and some small flower beds that still held blooms. A small table between the chairs held a partially empty coffee cup and a ball of yarn with two needles sticking out of it.
A soft smile spread across Charlotte’s face. Knowing that Julia wasn’t holed up in her home in depression eased her heart until the woman opened the screen door, and Charlotte saw firsthand how well Julia was, or rather was not, doing.
She set the basket down on the table and crossed the few steps that separated her from Julia and placed her arms around her. The woman was flesh and bones, her skin tone a soft gray, and her stringy hair trailed down her back in a loose ponytail. This wasn’t the woman she was used to seeing.
“Oh honey,” she whispered. Julia stood straight, her arms tight against her sides, but Charlotte didn’t let go. She couldn’t.
“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte whispered. She found herself rubbing Julia’s back and stopped. Julia’s body language told her she didn’t want to be held, so she dropped her arms and took a step back and almost gasped at the deadness in her gaze.
“For what?” Julia sidestepped her and sat down on one white chair. She sagged back and stared down at her hands.
Charlotte sat down in the other chair but leaned forward and took Julia’s hands in hers. They were cold to the touch.
“For not coming sooner.” She angled her head to gain Julia’s attention, but the woman wouldn’t look at her. “For not realizing you needed . . .” Her voice drifted off. What did Julia need? A shoulder to cry on? Someone who would listen and not condemn? “A friend,” she said.
“You don’t need to apologize to me.” Julia looked at her for a second before looking away. She tried to tug her hands away, but Charlotte wouldn’t let her.
“Of course I do. What kind of friend have I been to you lately? I should have been here for you.” The guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders as she struggled with the small understanding that she’d once again failed.
“Should have been there for me? You were.” Tears rimmed Julia’s eyes. “You were the only one who was in the beginning.”
It obviously hadn’t been enough. She knew it hadn’t been enough. Charlotte thought back to the few times she had visited Julia. The day after the shooting had been the first. She would never forget that day, when police cars and media had swarmed Julia’s home and wouldn’t leave her in peace.
“I’m sorry that all this is happening to you. I have people coming to clean it up,” Charlotte said.
Julia shook her head in denial. “And it’ll only happen again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. There’s no sense in cleaning it.”
“Of course there is. It shouldn’t be happening, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” She let go of Julia’s hands and leaned back. “You should have told me.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Mayor. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Julia must have read the disbelief on Charlotte’s face because a slight flush colored her cheeks.
“I’m here as your friend. And as your friend, I’m telling you, you don’t have to handle this alone.” Charlotte gazed around the yard and noticed things she’d missed earlier. Like the overgrown weeds in the flower gardens, the stray pieces of garbage, and the fact that a lot of the handmade wooden signs or figurines that normally dotted the gardens were missing.
“But I am alone,” Julia mumbled.
“Not anymore. If you won’t take care of yourself, then let us. When was the last time you had a shower? Are you even eating the things Lacie leaves for you? Since when did you become so selfish?”
Julia threw herself back as if slapped. Charlotte knew she’d been harsh, especially that last bit, but there was something in Julia’s expression, the way she’d reacted, that confirmed the woman didn’t want or need to be coddled.
“I’m not,” Julia whispered. “I’m trying to make life easier for everyone here. I’ve even thought of moving away, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as she drew up her knees close to her chest and hugged them tight.
“But this is where Gabe is,” Charlotte completed her sentence.
Julia nodded.
“When was the last time you left the house?”
Julia shrugged. “A few weeks ago maybe. I tried to go to the cemetery, but there was a large crowd already there.”
There had been a few funeral services earlier in the month, private ones for each of the families. Charlotte tried to be at each one if she were welcomed.
“Would you like to go see Gabe? Spend some time with him?”
A small light of hope filled Julia’s gaze before it was quickly extinguished. “I can’t. There might be others there . . . I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for anyone.”
Charlotte stood and reached out her hand. “Why don’t you go get dressed, have a shower,
and I’ll take you. You need to spend time with your son, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She wasn’t sure what did it, maybe it was the tone of voice she’d used or the fact she offered Julia something she couldn’t seem to do herself, but when Julia stood, it was all Charlotte could do to keep the smile off her face.
There was a quiet hush to the air as Charlotte walked alongside Julia as they made their way toward Gabriel’s grave marker.
The cemetery was quiet and they were alone, something Charlotte was thankful for. She’d sent her assistant an e-mail asking her to cancel any appointments for the rest of the day. Julia needed time with her son, and Charlotte wanted to ensure that happened. She’d also asked Sheila to send someone over to clean up Julia’s home while they were gone and perhaps take out one of the many casseroles Lacie had left and have it ready for when she brought Julia back home.
From the way Julia shook the whole ride here, Charlotte knew this was a much-needed visit and that it wouldn’t be quick. And that was okay. Charlotte would sit on a bench and enjoy the stillness while watching over her friend to ensure she wasn’t disturbed.
Every grieving mother deserves the time to mourn and say good-bye, and Charlotte didn’t think Julia had done that yet.
“Are you sure it’s going to be okay?” Julia asked. She carried a bouquet of flowers Charlotte had picked up on their way in her hands.
“Of course it’s okay. You have every right to be here as much as anyone else.” Charlotte lightly touched Julia’s back. Julia seemed to crave touch, and it made Charlotte realize just how much pain this woman was in.
Charlotte led the way to the simple white cross where Gabriel Berry was laid to rest. There were no flowers, nothing to mark the grave, but at least it hadn’t been desecrated like Charlotte had feared.
Apparently Julia had worried about the same thing. The moment she saw the small cross, she stumbled and almost tripped. Charlotte grabbed her arm to steady her.
“I thought . . .” Choked up, Julia covered her mouth with her hand and just stood there.
“I’m going to walk around for a bit. If you need me, I’ll be over on that bench.” She pointed to the black wrought-iron fence a few feet away. Far enough to give Julia her privacy, but close enough to keep an eye on her as well.
Julia’s eyes widened as she looked around the empty grounds.
“No one else is here, you’ll be okay.” Charlotte kept her voice low and gentle, hoping to soothe her friend’s fears.
It seemed to work. Julia nodded and then sank down on the ground beside her son’s grave. Charlotte watched as she gently placed the flowers beneath the cross before resting her hand on the grass.
Knowing that giving Julia time was all she needed right now, Charlotte made her way through the park. She’d bought extra flowers and wanted to visit each grave of the victims while they were there.
It was hard not to let the emotional impact of seeing all the small white crosses hit her. There were too many children at rest in this cemetery and too many of them unnecessary deaths. Deaths she should have stopped from happening if only she’d seen the signs.
No matter what anyone said, no matter how many times Jordan told her it wasn’t her fault, she knew it was. Maybe not all of it, but she held partial blame.
She was pleased to see small arrangements on all of the graves she visited, signs of love and remembrance. There was a small park bench close to Bobby Crowne’s grave, and it brought tears to see the assortment of small toy cars, trucks, and boats. She’d seen similar ensembles at other graves, some with little horse figurines, others with hand-drawn pictures or framed letters. These little touches, things so personal to the children, touched her heart.
Why couldn’t Arnold Lewery, the newspaper editor, write up stories about these types of things, small memorials to the families, perhaps some stories from the children for the children? Rather than harping on Julia and her son’s mental health issues. She made a note to set up a meeting with Arnold and discuss how they could work together to focus on the small victories rather than their past defeats. Maybe that’s all their town needed, a little push in the right direction . . .
“Charlotte?”
Charlotte glanced up at Samantha Hill. Sam stood there holding a bag in her hands.
“Of all the places we’ve run into one another, I would never have thought to add the cemetery to that list.” Charlotte scooted over on the bench and tapped the spot beside her. She liked Sam, had found the woman to be both down-to-earth and sensitive. Of all the reporters that had swarmed their town, Sam was the only one who had been able to look past the tragedy and see the town as a cohesive community.
“I like how quiet it is here.” Sam sat down and placed the bag she’d been holding between her feet.
“I noticed Julia Berry over by her son’s grave,” Sam said.
Charlotte nodded. She kept an eye on Julia and was thankful the woman’s back was to them.
“I haven’t seen her here before.” Sam’s voice was filled with curiosity.
“How often do you come here?” Charlotte found it hard to believe that Sam would keep tabs on those who visited here. It was morbid and . . . wrong.
“Enough. Like I said, it’s quiet. I usually sit over there.” She pointed to a bench set on the far outskirts of the cemetery. There were a few older grave markers there and then a small wooded area with a path that led down toward the lighthouse.
“But why? Of all the places where you could seek quiet, why come here?”
Samantha glanced down at the bag between her legs and shrugged.
“What’s in the bag?” Charlotte leaned forward while Sam pushed the bag farther beneath their seat.
“Nothing important.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, are you babysitting or just visiting?” She glanced over at Julia.
Charlotte sighed, “She just needed time with her son.”
Sam’s brow rose. “You don’t need to defend her, not to me. Did you bring her?”
Charlotte nodded.
“I’m glad. I haven’t seen her out in weeks and was starting to get worried. Is she doing okay?”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking as a—”
“As a woman who understands grief. Not as a reporter.” She gave her head a small shake. “You should know me better by now.”
Charlotte noticed the bags under Samantha’s eyes. “Are you okay?” Every other time she’d seen the reporter, she looked refreshed, alive as if ready to meet whatever came her way. Today she looked . . . old, tired, defeated.
Sam shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Charlotte didn’t believe her, but she didn’t pry.
“Julia didn’t feel . . . welcome . . . to visit Gabe’s grave. She was worried other people would be here and be upset by her presence.”
“But that’s her son. She should be able to visit his grave whenever she wants. With no ramifications.” Sam’s lips thinned.
“Have you seen her home lately? The way people are treating her?”
“The graffiti, you mean?”
Charlotte nodded.
“I have. You know, I thought this town would be different. You’re all so close-knit, it’s almost as if you function as a family. I expected you to close ranks on Julia and shelter her from all of this, but . . . it’s like she’s your black sheep and it’s easier for you to ignore her. It’s sad, really.”
“She’s not our black sheep.” Even as Charlotte denied the accusation, she knew it to be true. That’s exactly how Julia had been treated, and it was shameful.
“I call it like it is.”
“Then help me change it.”
Samantha looked over at Julia and smiled. “Is that a challenge?”
“The media has vilified her since day one instead of seeing her for who she really is. Why no
t tell the whole story?”
“And what about you? How are you going to help?”
Charlotte set her shoulders back. “I don’t need to do anything. We’ll be doing this together, because I want to. Because . . . you’re right. Stillwater Bay is a community, a family, and it’s time we started acting like one.”
“Why don’t I come by your office on Monday and we can discuss this? I already have some ideas.”
This surprised Charlotte. Did that mean Sam had been thinking of this before now?
“Come by in the morning. I’m free after ten o’clock.” Charlotte pulled out her phone and added in the appointment. “We can talk about your short interview with Jenn regarding the school as well,” Charlotte added.
“I kept my promise. You asked me to stay away from the school, and I did.”
“I know. And thank you.” Charlotte had to give her credit for that.
Sam reached for the bag beneath her and stood. “I’ll see you on Monday. If you provide the coffee, I’ll bring the croissants.”
Charlotte nodded in agreement. She’d never say no to a pastry from Sweet Bakes, and Samantha knew it.
Charlotte turned her attention to Julia once Sam walked away. She was glad Julia had this time, and she’d do everything she could to ensure Julia knew she could visit her son’s grave anytime she wished. As Jenn had reminded her this morning, the grieving process was complicated.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JENNIFER
Jennifer quickly sent Robert a text explaining dinner was in the oven and that she’d forgotten about a committee meeting for the July Fourth festivities.
It was partially true.
She had forgotten, and dinner was in the oven, but the meeting wasn’t for another few hours. She needed some time alone, time to think about everything that had happened today. Her emotions had been all over the place, inconsistent, and she didn’t like it. Where had the old Jenn gone? The one who could handle whatever life threw her and plan accordingly? Where had the woman who could take the hard times and figure out a way to make them good gone?
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