Charlie's Angels

by Cheryl St. John

  “Night, sweetie,” Starla said.

  “This was the bestest Christmas,” Meredith said. “Thank you for the Barbie.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for the chest you made me.”

  “You can put your jew-lery in it and then when you get out your rings and stuff, you will memember us.”

  “I certainly will.” Starla hugged her, wondering how people could bear it when they were separated from a child of their own through loss or divorce. Meredith wasn’t her own and she was already feeling the deprivation.

  She urged Meredith toward her room. “Sweet dreams.”

  Several minutes passed and she knew Charlie was reading a bedtime story. When he came out, he looked tired.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “You have a great family. I had a really nice time today.”

  He took a seat beside her. “They liked you.”

  When Charlie moved his arm behind her shoulder, she was grateful to snuggle into his strength and warmth and feel the connection between them. I’m going to miss you, Charlie. I’m going to miss this closeness and the way you hold me and touch me. I’m going to miss our talks and the way you smile and make me laugh. I’m going to miss everything about you and the new world I discovered here this Christmas.

  He picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV. “You watching this?”

  She shook her head.

  He jabbed the off button, sending the room into silence, and tossed the remote on the other end of the sofa.

  This was it. Tonight was their goodbye, because tomorrow, when she carried out her things and made polite farewells, when the tow truck came for her, Meredith would be with them.

  When Charlie lowered his head, she wrapped her arm around his neck and eagerly met his kiss.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning Starla stood in the cold and squinted down the highway, a narrow stretch of ribbon in the three feet of snow that blanketed the countryside.

  She’d carried her belongings to the Silver Angel, straightened the interior of the cab and retrieved her clipboard, fastening it to its holder on the dash. As she worked in the tilted cab, a speck of disappointment inched its way into her thoughts, but she dusted it away.

  No use making herself miserable. No use dragging the whole thing out. She was an adult and she’d entered into a physical relationship with Charlie knowing exactly what she was doing, and choosing to do it because she wanted to.

  The feelings that had crept in, feelings for Meredith, feelings for Charlie…that part had been unintentional and not of her own choice. But she’d known all along that she’d be leaving, and she was prepared for it when the rumble of a diesel engine reached her. In the distance, the enormous rig barreled down the highway.

  Charlie had stayed with Meredith, so she trudged back to the house through the path in the snow, seeing tracks everywhere, prints of deer and rabbits, prints they’d made themselves when they’d traveled to the truck and across the yard on their search for a Christmas tree. Another snow or a few warm days and that evidence of her visit would be gone, too.

  The lights on the tree twinkled from the window, raising memories best left buried. She opened the door and called in, “The truck’s here! I’ll be leaving as soon as he gets the Silver Angel out and hooked up.”

  Charlie bundled Meredith in her coat and hat and, after shrugging into his, carried his daughter outside.

  “Can we see you driving your truck?” Meredith asked.

  “I’m afraid not. The tow truck has to take it to a garage where the fuel can warm up before the engine will start. I’ll be riding there with the driver.”

  “Maybe you can come back and see us,” Meredith said.

  Starla avoided Charlie’s eyes, but looking into Meredith’s was nearly as disturbing. “Maybe,” she said lamely.

  Meredith leaned forward and Starla hugged her. At the same time, Charlie’s hand pressed the back of Starla’s coat, tugging her toward them in a concealed embrace.

  The enormous truck rumbled to a stop and the air brakes hissed. The driver got out.

  “I had a wonderful Christmas with you,” Starla said. “Thanks for everything.”

  Charlie’s dark eyes hid his feelings, if there were any. Meredith stuck a finger in her mouth as though she was going to cry. Starla gave them a last trembling smile and walked toward the driver.

  He had moved to the back of his rig where he was unrolling chain from a spool. It took a good thirty minutes to get the Silver Angel up on the road and securely hooked up for the tow to the garage. Charlie had taken Meredith back into the house and now he stepped out, his coat collar up around his neck. He raised a hand.

  Seated in the passenger seat of the tow truck, Starla returned the gesture in a final goodbye. The wind ruffled Charlie’s hair.

  The driver released the brake and put the truck in gear. Within seconds they were on the highway, big wheels turning, carrying them away from Elmwood.

  The CB radio squawked and a male voice spoke over the static, reporting a radar trap. The driver turned on his stereo, and a Garth Brooks song filled the cab. Starla had been in similar scenes so many times this felt like second nature. Everything was returning to normal—or would be as soon as she got the Silver Angel running, dropped this load in Nashville and returned the truck to her dad. She glanced in the rearview mirror and assured herself the truck was secure.

  Getting her cell phone out of her bag, she called her restaurant’s number. Geri answered the phone. “Hey, girlfriend.”

  “Starla! The tables and chairs are here! They’re gorgeous! Wait till you see.”

  She’d missed the delivery, but compared to others, the disappointment was an easy one to absorb. “It will be good to get back. I’m on the road now.”

  Already her Christmas with the McGraws was in the past.

  Starla sat at her desk in her office at the Hidden Treasure, her seafood grill in Beachtree, Maine, sifting through the mail and faxes that had arrived that day.

  She paused, holding a fax from a prominent reviewer in Augusta, and read it over.

  Definitely a hidden treasure, located in an out-of-the-way warehouse district, this is the quintessential seafood and steak house in the area. Upscale, sophisticated, yet warm and cozy with a blackboard menu that changes daily. Staples you won’t want to miss are the superb oysters, clam chowder, lobster bisque and tuna tartar. The pan-fried crab cakes are to die for, and the nut-crusted trout with ginger orange butter is a taste sensation. The excellent wine selection, comfortable atmosphere and friendly service are reason enough to make the drive. Simply the best seafood on the East Coast.

  Making note of the newspaper in which the review was printed, she made a quick phone call, asking the acquaintance who sent her the fax to mail her the original article. She would frame the piece for the restaurant wall.

  Taking the fax sheet, she carried it to her bulletin board and tacked it beside a colorful picture torn from a Barbie coloring book. She should be euphoric about the review. One of the most influential food critics on the coast had given her restaurant five stars.

  Starla raised her hand and touched the colored picture beside it, remembering the little girl who had given it to her two months ago.

  It was now the end of February.

  Her vision blurred as she stared at the coloring. A now-familiar ache opened in her chest, and she placed her hand over it as though the pain was a tangible reminder she somehow appreciated.

  On the pushpin holding the page was a pink plastic ring. Starla slipped it on her finger, and the familiar ache in her heart was like a bruise.

  Her life had gone back to normal in the days and weeks after Christmas. She’d had the stitches removed from her forehead, and a faint pink scar was the only visible reminder of those few life-changing days. That and this picture…the ring…and a carved wooden box that sat on her dresser at home, drawing her attention and her touch every morning and
evening.

  Such a pitifully slim collection of mementos. No pictures except those developed on her heart. Marian had e-mailed her a few times, twice attaching photos. Starla had downloaded and saved them, but she’d never opened the snapshots. She knew what they were and she wouldn’t subject herself to the pain of seeing them.

  Sometimes she’d be working and glance up to see a dark-haired man entering the restaurant. At each instance her heart stopped. A hundred times she’d imagined Charlie finding her here, so the appearance of someone who resembled him nurtured that fantasy. But the man would turn so she could see his face, or a woman would walk up beside him, and the illusion burst.

  Never Charlie. It would never be Charlie. She was foolish to allow the dream to perpetuate. Charlie had loved his wife, and no one would replace her.

  Starla had never for a moment felt a lack of respect from him; to the contrary, he was almost reverent in his regard and treatment of her. What they had shared was mutual attraction and appreciation. But Charlie held part of himself in reserve. That part which had been only for his wife.

  Starla admired him for his devotion. He was a man of integrity and sincere dedication. Kendra had been fortunate to have been loved by him, and Starla often wondered if the woman had appreciated the treasure she’d held: Charlie’s heart.

  “Starla, that’s fantastic!”

  She hadn’t heard Geri come up behind her. When she turned, her pert-faced assistant manager was grinning ear to ear.

  “Peter Austin gave us five stars! Oh my gosh! We’ve arrived!” She jumped up and down and impetuously hugged Starla.

  “Yes, can you believe it?”

  “I can, yes I can!” Geri released her. “We’ve worked so hard for this—you’ve worked so hard. Oh, Starla, what a triumph! Did you call your dad?”

  “No, not yet. I just got the fax.”

  “Make me copies, so I can show everyone.”

  Starla removed the thumbtack, placed the paper in the copier and ran off half a dozen duplicates.

  Geri took them. “We’ll celebrate tonight, with lobster and that bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc I’ve been saving, what do you say?”

  Starla nodded. “Okay.”

  Waving the copies, Geri danced out of the office, her dark hair swinging around her shoulders.

  Starla replaced the fax on the bulletin board. Why wasn’t she dancing like her friend? Her eyes were drawn once again to the coloring book page. Why did that silly thing suddenly hold more meaning than a review from Peter Austin? Maybe she should throw it away, erase that chapter of her life so she could move on.

  She raised her hand to the page, but the ring on her finger caught her eye. Instead of removing the picture, she smoothed the paper and repositioned it with another thumbtack.

  Maybe she would finally open those pictures she’d downloaded and face her feelings.

  Maybe throwing herself into next week’s menu was the safest thing she could do. Starla turned and found her tablet and pen.

  That night they celebrated, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “What happened at Christmas?” Geri asked in her quiet yet pointed way.

  Geri had asked before. She and Starla had been friends since the first year of college, and she knew something wasn’t right, but Starla hadn’t wanted to share her confusion with anyone. This time when she brought it up, Starla couldn’t hold back the words.

  “I met a man.”

  Brown eyes wide, Geri set down her glass. “I knew it. That man with the daughter who stowed away in your truck. What’s his name?”

  She hadn’t spoken it since she’d left all those weeks ago. “Charlie.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “He has a lot going on inside that he never lets on,” she replied. “He’s forthright, honest, loyal.”

  “What, no ‘thrifty, brave and true’? You make him sound like a Boy Scout. What is he like?”

  “He has eyes a dark-copper color. They’re warm, but they hold a lot in reserve. His hair is dark and thick, silky to touch. His hands are strong enough to shape wood and work with tools, but gentle enough to tie a pigtail or…”

  Geri leaned forward in her chair.

  Starla raised a hand to the faint scar line on her forehead.

  “You’re killing me here,” Geri said.

  Starla looked at her friend and shrugged.

  “You slept with him.”

  She nodded.

  “He’s not ready for a commitment.”

  “Oh, he’s committed. But it’s to his late wife’s memory and to the child he had with her. I couldn’t compete with that.”

  “You could compete with Jennifer Aniston and every female in the country for Brad Pitt. If you wanted him, he’d be yours.”

  “Geri, you know me better than that.”

  “Damn right I do. And I know that if you wanted him and told him you wanted him, he’d succumb.”

  “Succumb?”

  “You are a prize, you just don’t recognize it.”

  “Even if that was true, even if I pursued him—which I won’t—I wouldn’t want a relationship based on succumbing.”

  “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “Geri, if I’d thought he wanted me I’d have been all over that man, well, more than I was, but he’s still in love with his wife. You should see him when someone talks about her or when his daughter asks questions. It hurts him so much just to hear her name that he can’t bear it.”

  “In other words…” Geri tapped her fingers on the tablecloth. “You can’t play second fiddle to a ghost.”

  “Exactly.”

  “A ghost won’t keep him warm at night.”

  “But she can keep his heart for as long as he lets her.”

  “Then he’s an idiot. He could have you. Maybe someday he’ll realize that.”

  Starla didn’t hold much hope for that. He had never even asked for her phone number or her address. By now she was just a pleasant memory.

  Meredith closed her angel book, got out of bed and crept to the window. It was summertime, but not so hot that the air conditioner was on yet, and she liked the sound of the frogs out her window. Sometimes when she and Daddy went for a walk by the creek in the daytime, frogs jumped from the weeds into the water. They didn’t like to stay around people. But at night she heard them.

  Angels were like that. Sometimes you got close to one but they didn’t stay around people too much.

  Daddy spent a lot more time with her now. But he was still sad a lot. He smiled and didn’t want her to see his sad face, but she knew. First he missed Mommy. Gramma missed Mommy a lot, too, and she said that it was okay to be sad for a while. The person you missed would always be in your heart.

  And now Daddy missed the angel lady. Meredith missed Starla, too. And she missed how happy Daddy had seemed at Christmas. She wished she had Starla’s number so she could call her sometimes, but Daddy said he didn’t know it.

  In the pretty light from the moon, she could see Daddy. Sometimes when he thought she was asleeping, he went outside and stood like that, with the frogs making noise and the wind blowing his hair.

  Overhead the sky twinkled with shiny bright stars, just like the stars in Pinocchio. Meredith squeezed her eyes closed and wished on a star for an angel to bring her a new mommy and make her daddy not be sad anymore.

  Crawling back into bed, she hugged her bunny and reached out to touch the Barbie Starla had given her. The doll slept on the pillow beside her at night sometimes.

  The fairy made Pinocchio a real boy, so an angel could for sure bring her a mommy. She still believed.

  Charlie pulled weeds away from his tomato plants and stood, the late-June sun hot on his bare shoulders. Meredith had gone to stay with Sean and Robyn for a week, and he missed her more every day. He was glad she was getting to play with the boys, and Robyn was probably spoiling her like crazy in the city, but her absence sure made the days and nights stretch out long and silent.

&
nbsp; It gave him too much time to think, too much time to regret. Too much time to ponder his decisions and his life and the direction it was taking.

  Life went on. That’s all. Just as it always had. Life just happened. And he dealt with it as it came.

  That was another of his flaws, never taking control and making life happen.

  As his thoughts did all too often, they settled back on Starla. He admired her for a hundred reasons. She’d broken away from her father’s expectations and forged a new life for herself. She hadn’t gone along with the flow and ended up middle-aged and unhappy because she’d never taken the paddle and worked her way up a different stream than was expected. As he had.

  Charlie had never cared enough to buck people’s expectations. He’d been content to flow with the current, learn his craft, marry his childhood friend, sailing along placidly.

  Even when his marriage to Kendra had soured, he’d thought it was honorable to stay married to her, raising his daughter, providing a home, even though he and his wife slept separately and neither of them seemed to care.

  Why had he never jumped out of the boat and made his way to shore for a new start? He’d thought about it, but living up to his parents’ expectations had been more important. He owed them, after all.

  Charlie turned on the garden hose at the outdoor spigot, took a long drink that tasted like vinyl, wet his perspiring chest, then placed the hose and the flow of water at the base of his tomato plants.

  And he had always believed there was a flaw in his character, because there was such a thing as love. He’d seen it between friends and family. His parents had been in love for thirty-odd years, his brothers had loving relationships with their wives.

  He was the one who had never felt passion for a woman.

  The sun beat mercilessly on his head and shoulders, searing a realization into his soul. That wasn’t true. That was not true.

  But if he admitted feeling the passion he had tamped down, it would mean he had never loved his wife, because he’d never felt the same way about her. If he was completely and totally honest with himself, he would have to admit that he was not as brokenhearted as everyone thought he was. And somewhere in his barren black heart, he would unearth the ugly suspicion that his wife’s death had been a…relief.