Prince Charming Can Wait (Ever After)

by Stephanie Rowe

  Harlan couldn't help grinning back. The dude looked so damned happy. "That's great."

  "Yeah." Jackson grabbed the front door of Wright's. "Trish is pregnant again. I need a bigger house. Can you find one for me? You know my budget."

  Harlan's smile faded. "Sorry, man. I'm only in town for two days."

  "You can find me one in two days. You always do." Jackson opened the door. "Harlan's back," he yelled into the store.

  Harlan barely suppressed a grimace as the place erupted. Hands slammed down on his shoulders, people asking where he'd been, reporting on the state of his cabin, which the townspeople had taken upon themselves to keep up. Apparently, they had plowed him out all winter and even picked the lock to turn off his water so his pipes wouldn't freeze. All that well-meaning gossip and attention that proved he had no privacy in this town.

  When had he lost his privacy here? He'd come here because no one knew him, and no one knew his past. This was the place he came to when he didn't want to be who he was, when he wanted people to look at him and see something that he wasn't. A nice guy. A guy who would get you the house of your dreams. A man who didn't have the blood of a thousand people on his hands.

  But now he felt like being here was a lie, and he didn't feel comfortable anymore. Managing affable smiles with the crowd, he looked over their heads to the corner.

  The table where his sister and her friends usually sat was empty. No Astrid. No Clare. And no Emma. Disappointment surged through him, a feeling of infinite loss.

  "Harlan Shea, you look too damned thin." Ophelia Wright, the wife of the former proprietor of the store, strode up to him, carrying a cup of coffee and one of her famous blueberry muffins. She was wearing a black blouse and her gray hair had gotten longer, tied up in a hairdo that looked a little fancier than she used to wear. A scarf was woven into her hair, which he suspected was Astrid's touch. "I'm whipping up your favorite omelet, so you have a seat. Your sister will be along shortly. She's always late now that little Rosie slows her down." Ophelia gave him a gentle shove toward the empty table, and Harlan let her push him.

  He eased down into the seat, gripping the cup of coffee as he took a gulp. Straight black with a shot of something stiffer. He almost spit it out when he realized Ophelia had spiked it. He glanced back at Ophelia who gave him a thumbs up. "You look like you needed it," she said cheerfully.

  Yeah, he did, but even he had limits. Eight-thirty in the morning did not go with whiskey—

  "Harlan?" Astrid's startled voice interrupted his thoughts.

  He spun around. She was standing at the front door, a look of absolute shock on her face. Her hair was tumbling down around her shoulders, her eyes were bright, and her skin was flushed with energy. She looked alive and vibrant, albeit somewhat startled to see him. Her baby was asleep against her chest, a tiny little thing that was too damned small to survive in this world.

  He stood up. "Hey."

  "Harlan!" Astrid hurried across the room toward him, her free arm held high for a hug. The hug was awkward, something they hadn't done much of, and she stepped back, her face was a little wary. "Welcome back."

  "Yeah, thanks." For a moment, they sort of looked at each other, and then Harlan pulled out a chair. "Have a seat."

  "Okay." Astrid sat down across from him, her dark brown eyes studying him. "Where have you been? It's been almost a year. I've sent you emails and—"

  "I know. I got them. Sorry I didn't reply." He sat down across from her, suddenly wishing he hadn't come back. "I was caught up in stuff."

  "In what?" She leaned forward, her hand cupping the back of the baby's head, the heart-shaped pendant of her blown-glass necklace brushing gently against the baby's shoulder. "What could possibly be so important that you couldn't send even a two-word reply to me? I thought you were dead."

  Harlan shifted restlessly. Three years ago, Astrid had reached out to him when she'd been in a desperate place. He'd bailed her out and brought her to Birch Crossing, but before that day, he'd met her only twice before. They had the same mother, but Harlan had grown up with his dad with no memory of the woman who had been his mother as a baby. She'd abandoned him, and he'd been fine with leaving her behind, until he'd been contacted by a teenage Astrid claiming to be his little sister, making him realize that he'd left behind a sister who'd had no one to protect her from the life their mother had thrust upon her. He still didn't know how to be a brother to her, to offer her the family she'd wanted so badly, but he'd done all he knew how to do. "Yeah, well, about that—"

  "Harlan!" Clare Gray sat down at the table. No, he reminded himself. It was Clare Friesé now that she'd gotten married. She was wearing a tee shirt that boasted the name of her new cupcake shop, and she was wearing silver earrings that had Astrid's signature flair to them. He liked seeing Astrid's touch on so many people. It meant that his sister was connecting with the town, that she'd found her place. "I can't believe you're back. It's good to see you."

  Harlan nodded at Clare. "Yeah, you look good, Clare."

  She smiled, her face positively glowing. "Thanks. You, however, look like you were dragged under a truck for about twenty miles and then spit out to crawl back here."

  Harlan ground his jaw at her honest assessment of him, keenly aware of how he didn't fit into this small town where everyone was considered family, even if they were almost strangers. Why had he ever thought he could play this game? He felt rough and dirty. "Yeah, well, that's what I do in my free time, so it makes sense."

  Clare raised her eyebrows. "Do you now? That's the glamorous job you've been hiding from us all this time?"

  "Yeah, of course." He looked back at Astrid, who was still watching him. "You happy, sis?"

  A smile broke out over her face, and she nodded. "So happy, Harlan." She turned the baby so he could see her better. "Her name is Rosie. I named her after Mom. Isn't she beautiful?"

  Harlan leaned forward, studying the tiny face. Her little hands were balled into fists, and her eyes were tightly shut. She didn't have much hair, but he could already tell that the auburn wisps were going to match Astrid's. She was wearing a light green tee shirt and matching sweatpants, like she was ready to go play soccer for a team of green beans. "She's really small. Is she okay?"

  Astrid smiled. "She's completely healthy. This is how small babies are, Harlan."

  "Oh." He examined the baby more carefully. Her hands were clenched, but he counted the right number of fingers, so that was good.

  "She's your niece," Astrid said softly. "Rosie, that's your uncle Harlan."

  Uncle? Unexpectedly, something seemed to tighten in his chest. "Are they always that quiet?"

  Astrid laughed. "She's still asleep, so she's quiet. When she wakes up, she'll be plenty loud." She held her up. "Do you want to hold her?"

  Harlan sat back quickly, fisting his hands. "No. I'll hurt her."

  His sister rolled her eyes. "You won't hurt her—"

  "No." He folded his arms over his chest. "How's Jason? Is he good to you?"

  Astrid sighed and tucked Rosie against her chest again. "Of course he is. He doesn't even hold any grudges against you for when you punched him."

  Harlan ran his hand through his hair, remembering all too well the incident that had driven him to leave town for this last trip, the one that had reminded him of who he really was. "Yeah, well, that's good, I guess."

  "Do you want to come for dinner tonight? You can meet him properly."

  Harlan thought of the beautiful house that his little sister had made her home, and he knew he had no place in it. He'd helped her find her place and her safety, and now he needed to step away so she could go forward with the life she wanted. "No, I have some things I need to take care of."

  Her brow furrowed. "You do? What kind of things?"

  Harlan leaned forward, suddenly knowing what he had to do. He couldn't dump his life on her and tell her that he was going to get himself killed one of these days, and he wanted her permission to list her as next of kin. How
could he bring that into her life? She'd been through so much. So, he simply said. "Some work stuff."

  She sat up quickly. "You aren't leaving again, are you? Not so soon?"

  He opened his mouth to answer her, then shut it when he saw the anguish in her eyes. How could he do that to her? Tell her that he wasn't coming back? He couldn't. He would just drift away, easing seamlessly out of her life without causing her any more anguish. She was good now. She had the life he wanted for her. She was all set. It was time to free her. "You turned out good, sis. I'm really glad you found Jason." He touched her cheek with his hand. "I gotta go. I'll...I'll be in touch." Then he turned and strode out without looking back. He couldn't look back. If he did, he would never do what was right.

  But it was hard as hell, harder than he'd expected it to be, to walk out the door of Wright's and free his sister and this town from who he was.

  It wasn't until he got back in his truck and was halfway to his cabin that he realized Emma had never arrived for breakfast. He wasn't going to see her again before he left.

  Suddenly, his bad mood got even darker.

  ***

  Mattie Williams wasn't in class.

  The five year old's empty seat haunted Emma for the entire two hours, though no doubt her mood wasn't helped by the fact she couldn't help thinking of the fact she'd skipped out on morning coffee to avoid Harlan. She'd wanted to go so she could see him, but the intensity of her need to see him had convinced her that she was already getting in way too deep, so she'd headed in early to work, and regretting the decision every moment since.

  Emma sighed as she looked again at Mattie's empty seat. Although her day job was a curator at an art museum, Emma volunteered as an art teacher on Monday afternoons at a local youth center in Portland, Maine. In the ten months since Emma had picked up the class when the previous teacher had decided she didn't have time, Mattie had never missed the class. Not once. Even when she broke her arm. Even when her mother had finally died after a long illness. Even the day that her brother had run away.

  Even on the days when tears streaked her cheeks and her pigtails looked like no one had combed them in weeks, Mattie was always there, her canvas bag of markers and paper that Emma had given her clutched tightly in her little fist. Every time she slipped in the door, her dark brown eyes would hungrily search out Emma as she crept to her seat at the front of the room directly in front of Emma's desk.

  But today, she wasn't there, and Emma couldn't think of a single reason for Mattie's absence that didn't scare her to death.

  The minute the last child left, Emma grabbed her phone out of her bag and dialed Chloe Dalton, the social worker who had been assigned to Mattie.

  Chloe answered on the first ring. "Em! How was your weekend? I have to tell you—"

  "Where's Mattie?"

  "Mattie?" Chloe repeated. "What do you mean? Wasn't she in class today?"

  "No. Where is she? Did she—" Emma's voice tightened up and she had to clear her throat. "She didn't leave, did she? To South Carolina?" Ever since Mattie's mother had died, her grandparents in South Carolina had been trying to gain custody of Mattie and her brother, Robbie. Emma had heard stories from Mattie about trips to her grandparents, stories that still haunted her, as well as the little girl, and she prayed that Mattie wouldn't end up there.

  "No, no, she's still in town. She's in a foster home—"

  "Foster home?" Emma gripped the phone more tightly. "Why?"

  "Her aunt and uncle ran into some issues and can't have her in the house anymore. The foster home is just temporary until her future gets sorted out—"

  "Where's the house? What's the address?"

  Chloe hesitated. "Emma, I can't give out that info—"

  "Chloe! What if she's in trouble? She never misses class, and you know it."

  The social worker sighed. "Okay, look, I can meet you there in twenty minutes. Don't go in until I get there, okay?"

  "Fine." Emma jotted down the address, and then was in her car two minutes later, her heart pounding. Something was wrong. Mattie was in trouble, she was sure of it.

  When she reached the address eight minutes later, her heart froze. Sitting on a narrow ledge on the third story roof of the multi-family house was Mattie. A woman was leaning out a dormer, apparently talking to her, but every time she leaned out, Mattie scooted further away...and closer to the edge. "Oh, dear God."

  Emma leapt out of the car and raced up the steps. "Mattie," she shouted. "Mattie, it's me. Don't go anywhere, I'm coming up!" Without even knocking, she yanked open the screen door and ran for the stairs, her feet pounding as she raced upstairs in what felt like the longest run of her life.

  At the third floor, it took an agonizingly long minute for her to find the room with the open window, but at last she saw the woman leaning out. Emma sprinted over to it and shoved her shoulders out the window, not even looking at the woman. "Mattie." The word croaked in her throat when she saw the bony shoulders hunched over, her thin arms hugging her knees. "Mattie, sweetie, it's Emma."

  Mattie's face was buried in her knees, the thick braids of her kinky hair dangling by her ears. She didn't move.

  "Mattie," Emma tried again. "Look at me, sweetie."

  Again, no response.

  "She won't say anything," the woman said. Her brown hair was slightly messy, and the lines on her face spoke of a life of too much struggle, though her eyes were kind. "I'm afraid to go out there and get her. I don't want to startle her into falling."

  Emma glanced down at the ground so far away, and her stomach lurched. "I'll go." Without hesitating, she hoisted herself up on the windowsill and swung her legs over the ledge. "Mattie, hon, I'm going to come out there and sit with you, okay?"

  Mattie didn't move, but she didn't jerk away either.

  Holding her breath, Emma inched along the roof, along the ledge that was barely two feet wide. She reached Mattie and sat next to her. She wanted to grab her, hug her, and pull her to safety, but she didn't dare move, terrified she would spook the little girl.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Emma's heart was thudding painfully in her chest, she was so terrified of saying the wrong thing and spooking Mattie. "I missed you in class today," she said finally. "We did clay butterflies."

  Mattie didn't lift her head.

  "I painted one purple with pink sparkles," Emma added, gesturing at the woman not to come out. "I named it Tom."

  "Tom is a boy's name," Mattie said quietly.

  Relief rushed through Emma when she heard Mattie's voice. "He's a boy who likes pink sparkles."

  "Boys don't like pink."

  "Tom does."

  "Tom must be a girl."

  Emma smiled. "He might be. I didn't actually ask him."

  Mattie finally looked up, and Emma's heart broke at the anguish in the little girl's eyes. Streaks of tears had dried in rivulets on her light brown cheeks. "You should have asked," Mattie said. "Butterflies like to be asked."

  Emma nodded. "You're right. I'll ask him when I go back to the center." She raised her brows. "Unless you want to talk to him?"

  Mattie looked at Emma. "I don't want to go live with Grammy and Pappy," she whispered. "But since Aunt Lucy and Uncle Roger can't keep me, they might make me go."

  Emma's heart tightened. "No one is going to send you to South Carolina—"

  "They will. I heard Chloe talking about it."

  "She was?" Emma had heard enough about the grandparents to know that wasn't a place for a child. Pappy had a temper that terrified Mattie, and Grammy wasn't any better. Emma struggled to keep her voice calm. "Oh, sweetie, it will work out—"

  "How? How will it work out?" Mattie lowered her voice to a whisper. "I hate it there. They ignore me. It's like I'm invisible. Like a ghost they can't see. One day, I sat in the barn for a whole day to see if anyone would look for me, but no one did. I even slept there, and my skin hurt from the hay prickles in the morning. No one came to find me until my mom came back from work in the morn
ing. She cared, but she's dead. No one thinks it matters that I'm like a ghost, or that it's a bad thing. But it is."

  Emma felt like her own heart was going to fragment. "I know it is," she said. "I was ignored when I was a child, too. It makes you feel like your heart is breaking every minute of every day."

  Mattie stared at her. "Yes," she whispered. "Exactly like that. Who ignored you?"

  "My parents." It wasn't simply being ignored. It had been so much more than that, but that was as far as she would take it with Mattie, though she knew that Mattie was dealing with far more than being ignored as well. Mattie was facing longings that Emma's arid childhood had evoked in her, the ones that had led her into a marriage she thought would save her. Instead, the marriage that she'd thought would be her salvation had destroyed her...but at the same time, it had also finally given her the courage to not need anyone anymore. Not a marriage, not a man—

  Her mind involuntarily flashed back to the previous night, to the encounter with Harlan. To his kiss. The haunting of his dark eyes. The depth of his pain.

  She immediately cut herself off from thinking about him. There was no space in her life for a man, for anyone who would betray her, the same way that life was betraying Mattie. She managed a smile. "It doesn't matter what other people think, Mattie. Ignore the ones who don't believe in you, and pay attention to the people that do care. Like me." Her voice thickened ever so slightly, and she had to clear her throat. "You matter to me."

  A small smile played at the corner of Mattie's mouth. "I do?"

  "Of course you do."

  "Pinkie swear?"

  Emma laughed and held up her hand. "Pinkie swear." They locked pinkies, and then Emma pulled Mattie into her arms, giving her a hug. "Now, will you please do me a favor and come inside so I can stop worrying that you're going to fall on your bum and squish all the flowers in the yard?" Or crack her head open, but she didn't want to put that out there.

  Mattie squinted at her. "There are no flowers in the yard."

  Emma grinned. "Then we should plant some."