by Kali Brixton
Chapter Twenty
Charlotte
Deacon was extraordinarily silent and distant for the next few days, and I hardly saw him on the site. He saw me leave with Caz for lunch that day, which I believe was the root cause of his silent treatment. A thought scrolled through my mind, which gave me chills: Deacon was actually jealous. As great as that feeling was to know I could do that to him, I didn’t like the outcome.
I sat here in Elsie’s living room, staring out the huge bay window, rain sheeting down it with fervor. The tick of her old grandfather clock never let a second go by without making its presence known. I hoped foolishly that the rain would wash away my sadness as well, but it only seemed to add to it.
“You know, I always found the rain to be a great companion.”
My unhappiness must have been all over my face because Elsie rarely said a word while knitting. It was her favorite quiet pastime, so I knew she was trying to lighten the mood for my sake. Bless this woman. I softly replied Really?, perplexed by her answer.
“It’s like having nature’s orchestra just outside your window.” She smiled while adjusting her glasses further up her long, regal nose. Her hands continued busying themselves with their latest project, her mood considerably improved today compared to her being so sick the other. “The light pinging of drops on a tin roof, the cascading thuds of a soft shower on the hard earth, a steadiness found in nature that reminds the world that everything dirty can be washed anew.”
“That’s a beautiful way of putting it.”
The snick of her knitting needles intensified, then stilled. “Sugar, what troubles you so greatly today?”
“I think I made a mistake.”
“About Caz?”
I kept looking out the window, searching for an answer that wasn’t there. “Yeah.”
“I think it’s kind of you to do that for your brother, but you have to stop putting your own happiness at the expense of making others happy all the time.” But how do you quit something ingrained in your nature? “Deacon seemed pretty upset when he stopped by the other evening.”
“He did?”
“Mmmhmm. I think you all are alike much more than you realize.”
“What you mean?”
She gave me a warm nod. “You both want to please others so much, you sacrifice your own happiness to do it.”
“How did he do that?”
“That’s a story he’ll have to tell you.”
My heart panged at our lack of communication over the last few days. “He’s not really speaking to me right now.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“I’m afraid he won’t pick up.”
She seemed shocked by my answer. “Deacon?”
I shook my head, and she chuckled. “Oh honey, you’ve got that one pegged all wrong.”
“I just wish he would have said something.”
“That’s because our Deacon is a mosaic of broken pieces. He had been let down by life, and I think he may have thought you wouldn’t be interested.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“It was written all over those handsome features of his. A person who has been broken by life’s circumstances is afraid they’ll break apart even more if they’re rejected. There’s not a thing in this world that boy craves more than your approval.”
“How do you fix that brokenness?”
“Sometimes, you can’t.” My heart sank at the thought. “But Charlotte, brokenness can be a beautiful thing.”
“What do you mean?”
She slowly stood from her favorite rocking chair and held out her time-worn hand. “Come with me.” We walked through the house and came to the door of a room I had seen a million times but had never been in or knew what it held. She motioned for me to pull the handle back. I did as she asked, and my eyes opened wide when I saw all the different colors and shapes of glass all around the room. There was a window to catch what little natural light the rainy evening had to offer, but it was magical none the less.
“Stained glass?”
She nodded proudly. “A former hobby of mine. When my hands began to give me fits, I couldn’t move the way I needed to continue creating, but I like to come and look at them from time to time.”
I took in all the many creations around the space, my eyes settling on one that held the image of a bird leaving its cage. “This one’s my favorite.”
“It’s just like you: a gilded bird too beautiful to be confined.” My heart warmed at her sweet compliment. “See how you have pieces of glass in all shapes, all sizes, all colors? That’s the beauty of a mosaic. You take broken pieces that others would see as trash to be discarded, and you use them to create something greater than they ever were.”
“Where did you get all the glass?”
“Here and there. For a time, I created them solely out of alcoholic beverage containers.”
“Like beer bottles.”
“Sometimes. Whiskey seemed to be the drug of choice.” I stared at her, not knowing where she was going with this story. “My son had a problem with the bottle in his early twenties, I’m afraid. To know straight-laced Carrington now, no one would ever suspect such a thing, but, yes. It nearly tore our family apart.”
I thought about Deacon and how he had had his own struggles with alcoholism, a problem that took him away from us for a while. “How did he stop?”
“Well, this went on for about two years. First, it was sneaking a 1/5th of bourbon under his bed. Then, it became several bottles at once. Then, there was no need to hide the bottles because I always could smell it on his breath. His father and I continuously fought with him. He began stealing from us to support his habit, with no thought to the hard work that went into making that money. There were many tears shed and prayers sent to the good Lord above on his behalf, but it seemed hopeless. My son was dying a slow death and I was helpless to stop him. I felt like a failed mother because I couldn’t get through to him; I couldn’t love it out of him, no matter how much I wanted to... It came to such a point after he almost killed himself and caused damaged to the Windermere farm down the road, my husband and I knew that if he couldn’t deal with his demons, that we had to remove him from our home. It pained my heart as a mother to think about throwing out my own child who was in desperate need of saving, but there was nothing more we could do.
“One day, I wanted to work on a mosaic piece, just to distract myself from the mess we were in with Carrington. I looked around the house for glass I could spare, but all I could come up with were the empty bottles of his I stored away. I thought maybe keeping them and letting them all stack up, I could show him how bad the problem was. Hundreds of bottles lined the back wall of our attic. I wanted to smash every single one of them to smithereens, but it seemed to be good fortune that I had not done so yet. I took each of the bottles down to this room,” her hand flourished around her to add effect, “and I began to take my frustrations out on each bottle. I cursed them for being a reminder of the hurt they had caused. I cried, angry at the cuts on my fingers from handling the jagged shards—angry that they reminded me of the jagged cuts on my heart from two years of torment.
“Halfway through the smashing of the bottles, an idea struck me—an idea that was a stretch, but an idea that gave me the tiniest glimmer of hope. If my son was still hidden inside the empty vessel of a man I saw when he entered our home, I had to give him this one last chance. I continued until every bottled had been broken down into smaller pieces, tumbled until each sharp edge became a smooth one, and sorted into large containers. I dedicated the next two months to make seven large mosaic windows, each one crafted with a special meaning. I completed the mosaics shortly before he came home from the hospital. When he returned, I asked him to help me take them down to a store owned by a family friend in town—Dowry’s Sundries. I’m sure you’re familiar?”
I nodded. Dowry’s was still in operation but had been modernized throughout its existence to change with the times. I had se
en black and white pictures of the original store, serving as an homage to a time long gone.
“Mr. Dowry was a wonderful older gentleman who displayed my mosaics from time to time, so I worked out a plan with him before I began making them. When we got to the store, I had Carrington help me unload them from my husband’s old truck and set each of them in front of the blank wall where they would be displayed. As we unwrapped the old blankets from each piece, Mr. Dowry whistled low and loudly, praising my hard work. He said they were the nicest ones I had ever brought to the store.” I watched a blush of pride paint itself across Elsie’s pale cheeks. “After we got each mosaic situated, I asked Carrington to retrieve a suitcase I had thrown in the truck. When he returned with it, I began to unroll part of the plan I had worked out with Mr. Dowry a few weeks ago. You see, Mr. Dowry had been a recovering alcoholic for several years and had had some success with counseling a few young men around town, helping them sober up when their respective families had reached their breaking points. Tough cases, hopeless cases—he had a knack for it. I told Carrington that he would be staying with Mr. Dowry until he sold all seven mosaics.”
I thought about how painful it must have been to watch your own child, “Was Carrington okay with that?”
“Oh heavens, no! He was livid, but I told him he no longer had a choice. He demanded that we get back in the truck to go home, but I told him that he was no longer welcome home until he changed his ways. He grew to like coming to the store and talking to Mr. Dowry, who imparted some of his own wisdom along the way. Over time, he sold the mosaics and started to earn back our trust, one day at a time.” She paused thoughtfully. “It’s funny. You seem to have a knack for attracting broken people, my dear.”
“I do?”
“Oh, yes. There are many others like our Deacon—like sweet Nikki and her sister Staci.”
“I guess I’ve never really thought about it, but now that you mention.” I took stock of all the friends I had made connections with over the years, and there did seem to be a pattern forming. “But why me?”
“It’s because you can be the solder that fuses them together. You see the value to each sharp piece, and you treasure them all the same.”
“You have this innate desire to mother and shelter those around you. You see a person hurting, and you make it your mission to help them. You see a person crying and you lend them your shoulder. You see brokenness in someone, and you cannot help yourself but try to put the pieces back together. You, my love, are a healer of hearts…” She paused to let her timeworn hands smooth away a few stray tears on my cheeks before continuing, “And that, my dear, is such a lovely quality.”
She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and raised my face to look her in her teary eyes. “My heart grieves for this old world that there aren’t more like you in it. You are a jewel in a box full of unpolished rocks. Don’t ever discount yourself, sugar...and don’t forget to always love those broken pieces.”
I mulled over her words on the way home, thinking about everything she said. The girls were doing their own thing tonight since I was going to be with Elsie, so I opened the door to an empty home and realized this must be what it sounds like when Deacon comes home. He had, in many ways, lived a life of loneliness and rejection, and I had added to that by not being brave and asking if he wanted to come to the ball with me. I picked up my phone, my heart aching at the loss of our teasing. I hit send after typing and rewording the message several times.
C: I’m sorry for not telling you.
A minute passed by before the vibration of the notification shook the phone in my hand.
Unknown: You still owe me a truth.
I smiled.
C: I thought those were for non-dates?
Another 20 minutes passed by and no answer, so I decided to extend the olive branch.
C: Truth. I wish someone else was taking me to the ball.
Unknown: I thought Prince Charming was.
Time to go for broke.
C: He’s no Prince Charming, just a stuffy ol’ business associate who asked my brother for a favor. Duty called, and I answered because I didn’t think there was another option.
More radio silence. I had given up hope on this line of conversation when he finally messaged back.
C: You owe me a truth.
A few minutes had passed by without a response.
Unknown: If I had asked you, would you have gone with me?
C: That’s a question, not a truth.
Unknown: Truth—I wish I would have asked you.
Unknown: Now, you.
I thought about a witty response, but simplicity was needed here.
C: Truth—I wish you would have too.
Unknown: Is it too late to change your mind?
As much as I wanted to, I knew I had to fulfill my obligation.
C: There will be other balls, Prince Charming.
C: If you’re still game.
Unknown: As I said, I’m not a quitter anymore.
Unknown: But you owe me a dance ;)
C: You’re going?
Unknown: Why wouldn’t I?
Unknown: It’s not every day you get to see a real-life princess twirl around the dance floor.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte
The evening of the policemen’s ball rolled around, and I was met with extreme excitement of seeing Deacon all dressed up and dread of having to be on Caz’s arm all evening. He had called and come by the office to visit a couple of times since he dropped the bomb to Deacon I was his date, but I tried to politely imply I only saw him in a professional capacity. He seemed to brush off my implications, so I decided I was going to have a talk with him after the ball.
Grey never asked Nikki to go with him because he wanted to keep Deacon company, but I had a feeling it had more to do with him being afraid of some rejection himself. I asked Nikki if she wanted to ride with us, praying that she would say yes, but she declined as she had some things to take care of before coming. Nikki’s distant behavior worried me, with our normal interactions down to texts and conversations about Elsie and mundane things. Granted, I hadn’t been forthcoming about my…whatever it was with Deacon, but I loved the idea of keeping something to just us while we figured it out.
A sleek black sports car pulled into the driveway, and a sharp-dressed man eased out of it. I had the door propped open so we could be on our way and was using the wall as a support to put on my heels.
A cleared throat filtered through the screen door, and I looked up to see Caz staring down, his lips licking greedily. “Good evening, Charlotte.”
I looked down and notice my neckline was drooping from leaning over, my cleavage on full display. I straightened up, wobbling in my heels the slightest bit. “Hello, Caz.”
“You look…delicious.” His dark brown eyes raked over my body like they were mapping every curve I had. This is the moment where I’m supposed to feel butterflies and tingly all over from the attentions of a nice-looking man, but it just felt odd—like a piece of the puzzle wasn’t fitting properly. Nothing like the praise from…
“Thanks.” I tried to calm the obvious redness that was currently washing over my face and décolletage from embarrassment. “You look handsome.”
He straightened his lapel and dusted off his already impeccable jacket. “A man can only hope to look passable when standing next to a beauty such as yourself.” Oh. Kay.
That stupid blush again. Why can’t there be an on-off switch for blushing—or any embarrassing behaviors for that matter?
I opened the screen door and locked the deadbolt, hoping to get this evening over with as quickly as possible.
“Shall we?” His muscular arm extended out. His build was nice, but he was missing that rough edge I loved in a man—that I loved in someone else. Elsie was right: broken pieces are exquisite, no matter how sharp the edges.
He helped me into the vehicle, ogling my body while I tried to pretend I didn’t notice. The drive was s
low and steeped in awkward silence most of the way. I was nervous, and even though he seemed entirely at ease, I could feel a slight restlessness emanating from Caz. “Would you like to listen to some music?”
“That would be wonderful.”
He turned on the radio with fluid movement. He had all the moves, but they were a little too smooth for my liking, an observation I had made of him over the few times we had interacted. As Ludovico Einaudi filled the air with the sweet sound of skillfully played piano, I couldn’t help but let a grin escape.
“Do you approve?”
I nodded with joy. “He’s one of my favorite pianists.”
“I agree. One of the great modern composers.”
Finally. Something we can use to stir the stale air. “His music fills the air with poetry.”
“A lovely way to describe it.” He patted my thigh and removed his hand quickly before I could extract it myself. “You are quite a charming lady, Miss Charlotte.”
A quiet thank you left my lips, the heat of his touch not at all pleasing.
“Do you listen to him often?”
“Just recently came to learn of modern classical myself.”
“What made you start?
“Your brother told me some of the things you enjoy, so I did my homework.” Yelp. A conversation was happening immediately after he brought me home tonight. “So, I now know you are a fellow lover of classical music. What else does the lovely Charlotte Kasen enjoy?”
Deacon
I don’t remember gasping out loud, but the grin on Grey’s face told me I apparently had, and it obviously didn’t go unnoticed. I thought she couldn’t be any more beautiful, but like with everything else in life, I stood corrected. Pale blonde wisps of hair floated around her face like a makeshift halo, with the rest in a loose bun at the crown of her head. A slight warm glow to her skin, making her even more radiant. The cat-like look of her makeup only made the jade in her eyes even more hypnotic. Her pouty lips coated in a glossy sheen of crimson, and her cheeks barely flushed with an innocent pink flush. A timeless beauty made to be admired for ages.
