Charlie's Angels

by Cheryl St. John

  She switched off the phone. “Day after tomorrow.”

  This was Christmas Eve. The day after Christmas she’d be gone. An empty feeling yawned in Charlie’s gut and he fought back an adolescent urge to hit something.

  “I feel responsible for the bonus you lost,” he said, his throat thick with the things he couldn’t say.

  “You’re not.”

  “But I want to repay you somehow. I could make up the difference in what you lost.”

  “Don’t insult me, Charlie,” she said, her tone the most severe he’d ever heard.

  “But my daughter is the one who—”

  “Unforeseen circumstances,” she interrupted. “If I’d had you come to meet me instead of driving back here, maybe I would have missed the worst of the storm and you’d have been the one stuck somewhere for a few days. Who knows? It just happened, and my dad understands. There’ll be another bonus. Trust me, he’s not hard up.” She glanced over the menu. “Why have truck stops never heard of fruit?”

  “There’s a strawberry waffle.”

  “And the strawberry glaze comes from a can.”

  “There’s orange juice.”

  “I’ll have juice and toast.”

  When Shirley sauntered over she asked, “Where’s Meredith?”

  “Spent the night with my folks,” Charlie replied.

  The woman didn’t say anything, but Charlie knew where her thoughts traveled. And her assumptions were on the money.

  Starla ate her toast and drank a cup of coffee that didn’t taste nearly as good as the cup she’d shared with Charlie that morning.

  They ate and Charlie paid, and then he delivered his projects. Starla got to see a beautifully constructed rocking chair, a small chest with drawers and decorative legs, and a wall shelf. Each piece was uniquely crafted, the wood smooth and finished with detailed carved designs. Charlie was a craftsman, but an artist, as well.

  His customers paid him and called holiday greetings. He drove to a grocery store and they shopped, Charlie buying fruit and vegetables and asking Starla to pick up ingredients to cook a meal that evening. She did so and they paid and loaded the groceries.

  He drove to a brick home in a lovely neighborhood and parked in the driveway beside a basketball hoop.

  Disappointment dampened her spirits. Their brief interlude was over. The end was almost here.

  “Is this where you grew up?” she asked, working to sound more cheerful than she felt.

  He nodded and took her hand as she got out of the vehicle.

  Charlie opened the door without knocking and ushered Starla inside the house. Marian Phillips was a collector. Every wall and each surface was covered with a collection of something, from teddy bear figurines to miniature Victorian houses. She had several pieces of furniture that bore Charlie’s signature carvings.

  “Hello!” Charlie called.

  “Out here,” was the reply.

  He took her coat and hung it beside his in a closet, then led Starla through a doorway into an enormous kitchen. The walls were covered with spatterware pots and utensils, and braided rugs covered the floor. It was a warm and inviting room with a round table and cushioned chairs, a china cabinet and even an old wooden high chair holding a doll.

  Meredith jumped up from the table where she’d been coloring with marking pens and ran to hug her father.

  Marian was stirring something aromatic on the stove. “You’re just in time for lunch. Starla, I hope you like minestrone.”

  “I adore minestrone.”

  Meredith released her dad and immediately hugged Starla around the hips. “I missed you, too!”

  “Well, thanks, sweetie.” Starla touched Meredith’s hair with affection. The child’s spontaneous gesture touched her deeply. Children were a new experience for Starla, and she had grown fond of this special one in the short time she’d known her. She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat and blinked away the threat of tears.

  Marian ushered them onto chairs at the table and pushed an intercom button. “Del, it’s lunchtime. We have guests.”

  “Be right there.”

  “He’s putting together another model airplane,” she said. “As though there aren’t enough in his den. Ah, well, it keeps him busy.”

  Meredith climbed onto her dad’s lap and batted those big blue eyes up at him. “It’s Christmas Eve, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a special night tonight.”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Daddy, can I be ungrounded from my book just for tonight? Will you read it to me for a Christmas story?”

  Silence hung in the room and Starla’s and Marian’s attention focused on Charlie.

  He’d taken the book away as punishment. No doubt he was torn, wanting to let Meredith enjoy her book on this special night and yet knowing he needed to be firm in teaching her the consequences of her actions.

  “Meredith, what you did was wrong,” he said. “You could have been badly hurt. You didn’t know Starla was a nice lady who would bring you home.”

  She nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. I knew she was a angel lady, and angels are good.”

  “She was a stranger to you,” he insisted.

  The child’s expression clouded and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  Charlie resolutely stood his ground. “Starla was hurt because she brought you back. She lost…some of her paycheck because her load is late. All of that is very serious.”

  Starla felt like the bad guy now, though she knew Charlie was right and that children learn by the results of their behavior. She probably wouldn’t make a very good parent, because she’d have given in immediately.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t never do it again.”

  “I forgive you, Meredith,” he said. “You’re just a little girl who can’t imagine the bad things that could happen. But I have told you many times that you have to ask permission and that you must stay away from people you don’t know. Those are the reasons for your punishment.”

  Meredith didn’t cry or display a temper. She simply leaned trustingly against Charlie’s chest, her hair touching his chin, and splayed her hand on the front of his shirt.

  Starla’s heart tugged with empathy for the child and admiration for the man. She glanced at Marian and read similar feelings in the expression on her face. The woman quickly brushed at her cheek and resumed stirring the soup on the stove.

  Charlie met Starla’s gaze then, and it was plain in his eyes how difficult it was for him to disappoint his daughter in any way. But he obviously loved her so much that he knew the rules were imperative. The glimpse into a very personal part of their lives reinforced feelings of admiration and affection that had taken root in her heart when she hadn’t been looking. At the same time, she felt even more like an intruder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Starla got another glimpse into Charlie’s life when his father showed up at the table. He was a delightful gentleman, and Starla recognized qualities in both of the Phillipses that had led them to take in a child and raise him as their own. They quite obviously loved him as their son. And Meredith held the unique position of being the offspring of both their beloved children, biological and adopted.

  Marian’s soup was delicious, and Starla told her so. “You used cumin,” Starla said with an appreciative smile.

  “Don’t you love it?” Marian replied. “It’s such a robust seasoning.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes.

  Starla laughed. “Marian, you speak my language!”

  Charlie chuckled and caught Meredith’s spoon before it fell off the table, placing it back in her bowl as though it was second nature to run interference at the dinner table.

  “Wait til you see our gingerbread man cookies,” Meredith said. “I got some to bring home, and Gramma gots some to save for tomorrow.”

  “There’s enough for each of us to each have one for dessert, too,” Marian said.

  Meredith clapped her hands and Charlie caugh
t her glass of milk before it tipped over and placed it farther back on the table.

  Meredith chattered about their baking and playtime, and Starla recognized the importance of the older woman in Meredith’s life. She had missed special times with her mother, but remembered her aunt fondly for those reasons. Every girl needed a maternal influence.

  The soup was so good that Starla ate a second bowl before accepting a cookie from Meredith. Marian poured her a glass of milk.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Starla said in appreciation. “This one has silver buttons.”

  “You can eat ’em!” Meredith said. “They’re candy!”

  “This is the best gingerbread man I’ve ever seen.”

  Charlie bit the leg off his and walked the cookie around as though it had a limp.

  Meredith giggled and bit the leg from her cookie to mimic her father.

  Marian placed a tray laden with fudge, divinity and chocolate-covered pretzels on the table. Wide-eyed, Meredith immediately leaned forward, and Charlie halted her with, “One of each, and that’s it.”

  Eventually Starla helped Marian with the dishes, enjoying the chore because of the woman’s pleasant company. Del returned to his model planes, and before long Charlie bundled up Meredith to leave. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”

  Marian kissed his cheek, hugged Meredith and gave Starla a warm hug, as well. “I can’t wait to see you again tomorrow. You’ll get to meet Charlie’s brothers and their families. They’ll be here late tonight.”

  Starla was touched by her sincere invitation. “I bought a few things at the store. May I bring a dish?”

  “Certainly,” Marian replied.

  Settled in the Cherokee on the way home, Starla said, “So I get to meet the brothers.”

  “Both of them.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Older. They were in junior high when the Phillipses took me in. I think I was in fourth grade.”

  “You said you never knew your dad, but you remember your mother?”

  He nodded. “I was lonely and miserable for some time after she was killed and after the Phillipses took me in. But they treated me so well and were so understanding that it was hard not to love them and feel loved in return. I owe them my whole childhood and upbringing. I never had to go to a foster home. It could have been a lot worse, but they gave me a home and a family.”

  “It’s an incredible story,” she agreed. “They are terrific people.”

  Charlie had experienced extreme loss. He’d lost his mother at a young age and his wife in the prime of her life. No wonder it made him uncomfortable to talk about his losses.

  “Daddy, we have to wrap Gramma’s present,” Meredith called from the back seat.

  “Yes, we do, but we have to put the hinges on first.”

  “Did we make something for Grampa, too?”

  “We made him the shelf for his airplanes, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah, he will like that.”

  When they arrived at the house, Charlie pulled into the garage and they carried in groceries.

  He and Meredith headed for his shop and Starla began the meal. While the dough was rising for rolls, she cleaned all the vegetables and stored them in plastic bags for later use. Then she prepared a seasoned brine and poured it over a rib roast in a bag, sealed it and stored it in the refrigerator to fix and take for Christmas dinner.

  Later, when Charlie and Meredith came in to wash, he said, “Something smells wonderful.” He glanced in the pot of boiling water. “That can’t be what I think it is.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because spaghetti isn’t gourmet cuisine.”

  “Preparing food is an art,” she said with a smile. “Even the most simple fare can be elegant when approached with skill.”

  “So it is spaghetti?”

  “Actually, it’s linguine. Roasted vegetables and rolls to go with it.”

  He raised a brow. “And our little grocery had the things you needed?”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “I improvised on a couple of the ingredients.”

  She looked at him, saw the amusement and appreciation in his eyes and wanted to move into his arms…or simply touch him…but they both remained standing where they were. Meredith had gathered her crayons and a tablet and was seated on a stool at the nearby counter.

  They enjoyed the meal together, and later Charlie took over dish duty while Starla and Meredith played Chutes and Ladders. Starla worked to simply enjoy the time together, deliberately avoiding thoughts of how temporary this domestic scene would be.

  Charlie’s thoughts focused on the coming days. Life would not be the same after Starla had swept through and left her mark in a hundred ways.

  Evening fell over the log home, and he lit a fire, reminding him painfully of the night before and his time alone with Starla.

  “Daddy, let’s remember the angel story, okay? Without the book and the pictures.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, grateful for the distraction.

  Meredith went through the story by memory, describing the pictures and the characters with vivid recall. He added a line here and there, having read the book aloud so many times. It had been an obsession with Meredith for the past several weeks, and as he heard her tell it in her own words, he heard the story from her perspective for the first time.

  He could now see that Meredith missed having a mother. Charlie spent a lot of time in his shop—avoiding life, but all the same, avoiding her. She saw the angel and the miracle dust as a magic solution to having a family come together happily. He couldn’t give her back her mother. But he could give her himself.

  “Meredith, does this story remind you of us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think it does. I’ve spent too much time working and not enough time being your dad. I’m sorry about that. From now on, we’re going to spend more time together. You’re more important than anything else.”

  “I don’t want you to be sad anymore, Daddy. I want you to find us a new mommy.”

  His chest ached with the pain of her childish logic and the impossibility of explaining it on a level she could understand. “It just doesn’t work that way, sweetie.”

  “I like Starla a lot, and she cooks real good. She could stay with us if you asked her. Couldn’t she?”

  Charlie couldn’t look up. He felt as though he’d lost his balance on a sheet of ice. In a split second he was going to fall and break something, and he scrambled to stay upright. Meredith was freely voicing feelings and wishes as only a child could. He didn’t want to burst her childish bubble of hope, but he didn’t want her getting her hopes too high, either.

  “I like Starla a lot, too. But she has her own life far away from here. She has a new restaurant and people working for her and friends who miss her.”

  “I will miss her, too,” Meredith said.

  Charlie let himself glance up then, but Starla wasn’t meeting his eyes. She was probably embarrassed by the wild assumption on Meredith’s part. “I know,” was all he could say.

  Any more words regarding Starla’s leaving would be hollow, so he kept silent. And dreaded the moment when it would happen.

  Meredith knew her daddy didn’t believe in angels, that’s why he couldn’t believe in Starla’s powers. Meredith hadn’t exactly seen the miracle dust, ’cept for that little tube of stuff in her bag on the bathroom counter, but this week she’d seen her daddy smile and laugh a lot more. Since Starla had been with them, he didn’t seem as sad as before. He came out of his shop and played games and listened to music. They’d worked on Gramma’s and Grampa’s presents together and they’d cut down their tree and decorated it.

  Daddy said Starla wasn’t a angel. Starla said she wasn’t a angel, too. Gramma didn’t say she wasn’t, and Grampa just smiled when she asked him. Starla did seem too real to be a angel, even if she was as pretty as one. She ate and slept and she didn’t fly or nothing—at least not when they were looking—but she could fly up to
heaven at night when everybody was asleep, though.

  Magic things had been happening. Daddy just didn’t believe. When Daddy tucked her into bed, Meredith squeezed her eyes closed tightly…and believed.

  Late that night, after Meredith was sound asleep, Charlie went to the storage room and gathered the gifts he had wisely ordered online well in advance of Christmas and set them around the tree.

  He was surprised to see Starla carrying a small package from upstairs.

  “I found it at the grocery store,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a Barbie she doesn’t have.” She set it with the other gifts.

  Among all her good qualities, he could add kindheartedness and generosity. Starla was thoughtful of Meredith’s feelings and had befriended her from the moment she’d met her.

  Charlie took one of her hands in his and kissed her fingers. He feathered the hair from the side of her face and laid his hand along her jaw, just looking at her. With his thumb, he gently touched the darkened bruise under her eye, which hadn’t diminished her beauty.

  He loved her smile, the way her eyes twinkled when she was amused. He appreciated her sincerity and her tender heart. He’d opened up and talked to her more than he’d ever talked to anyone. Maybe that was because she listened with her whole heart, sometimes not saying anything, but always interested, always understanding.

  Maybe he’d talked a lot because he’d been mostly alone with a child for the past few years and it was a treat to have an adult companion.

  Maybe it was simply because she was safe. The thought infused him with a dose of guilt. She’d be gone soon and he wouldn’t have to deal with an uncomfortable entanglement. Had he done this on purpose? Deliberately taken advantage of the situation? Christmas could be a lonely time for single people. Keeping things in perspective, it was natural for them to be drawn to each other.

  The closer the time came for her to leave, the more pressure built in his chest and the harder it became to remember this was a casual affair. He’d always wavered between thinking there was something wrong with him—some flaw in his character that he’d never felt passionately toward a woman—and wondering if all men felt that way but were better at making others believe they experienced love.