Be safe, Charlie.
Logan said a quick prayer for the deputies who were watching over her—for their wisdom and insight and their ability to stay awake—then turned his bike toward home.
“So, any progress on the van?” Logan slipped into the booth across from Liam and accepted a cup of coffee from a new recruit he didn't recognize. “Thanks, man.”
Liam waved off the offer of coffee. “I’ve got tea here, but cheers, lad.”
Once the young man was out of earshot, Liam leaned over the table and slid a piece of paper to Logan. “It's not much. I followed him like you asked, lost him around the downtown area. Must have pulled into a garage or something, but I did ask around a little bit. Everyone I approached was most unwilling to talk, if I'm honest, but from what I did gather…the owners of that van are your typical unsavory types. Motorcycles, tattoos, you know.” Liam chuckled as he described every member of their own ministry.
Logan nodded. “Okay. You know, having bad guys move into the area who look and sound like us only makes our job harder.”
Liam grew serious again. “I do realize. Anyway, doesn't sound like they've been around for long. A few weeks at the outside. I’m afraid I didn't get much more concrete information than that.” He gestured at the paper he’d given Logan. “That's the address, roughly where I lost sight of them. Sorry, it's not more, brother.”
Logan folded the piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket. “I knew it was a long shot. I appreciate your help. For all I know it wasn't even the same van, but it sounds like maybe it was.”
Liam took a sip of his tea. “Shifting gears a bit, we haven't really talked lately.”
Logan knew what he was asking. Or rather, very pointedly wasn't asking. He wanted to know about the girl. Of course, he did. Liam was a good friend. The best one he had outside of Doc. But he was nosy and a hopeless romantic…had to be all that Shakespeare he heard growing up, being English and all. Logan groaned and leaned back against the booth cushion.
“I don't know, man. I feel completely two ways about it. Or…I guess three.”
Liam chuckled again. “Oh, no! Three whole emotions! However will you cope?”
Logan drained his cup and motioned for the new kid to bring him more. “Who's this guy again?”
“I don't know his real name. Everyone calls him Curly.”
Logan glanced at the kid’s straight short-cropped hair and raised an eyebrow. Once the kid moved off again, Liam shrugged.
“I don't know why, makes little sense to me, I have to admit. Maybe it's a joke.”
Logan chuckled. “Probably, and we are decidedly outside of it. Very uncool.”
Liam grinned. “The uncoolest, my friend. So about your three feelings.”
Logan shook his head.
“Really…I could do this all day,” Liam said.
Logan had been thinking, praying, attempting not to agonize for going on three days. Maybe getting an outside perspective would be a good idea, and Liam, well, at least Liam would understand why one of the emotions was an awfully big deal.
“Okay. Emotion number one. Guilt.”
“Because you blame yourself.”
“Yeah. I mean, it is probably the most likely explanation at this point. It’s my fault she's in danger. So yeah, there's this underlying guilt in every interaction. Everything that happens, it's like if I hadn't made all those stupid choices. If I hadn't been in prison. If I hadn’t—”
Liam held up his hand to stop him. “Whoa, there. But you did.”
Logan sighed. “But I did.”
“And you can't change it. Now you've prayed about it. It's covered by grace. You gotta let that go, brother.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Fair enough. Number two?”
“Fear, I think.”
Liam's eyebrows shot up. He looked genuinely surprised. “Fear. You? What do you mean?”
Logan thought for a minute, trying to force the swirling storm of memories and thoughts and feelings into words that came even close to expressing it. Talking about this stuff wasn't his best thing. “When Doc first came to see me in prison, the last thing I wanted was to be forgiven by anyone. I knew I didn't deserve it. And I didn't want it for a while. Every time I thought about accepting God's grace…His forgiveness…all I could think about was that young guy’s face a split second before I hit him.”
Liam just nodded, listening.
“I ever tell you about my sentencing?”
Liam shook his head.
“The guy’s mom spoke.” Logan paused, cleared his throat. “And she said she forgave me. And that God did, too. And that she had hope for me. Nothing in my life has ever hurt as much as her words did—spoken in love, extending an inhuman amount of kindness to the one person in the world she should hate. So after a while, when I would talk to Doc or think about God, slowly that image of the guy I killed was replaced by the memory of his mother, and the knowledge of her prayers for me. And I was able to accept this gift that I had done the opposite of earning.”
“And where does the fear come in?”
“Fear of hoping, I guess. I've accepted God's forgiveness, his mom's forgiveness, but I've dedicated myself to living a life of penance, of service. This place,” Logan gestured around the diner. “Gives me a purpose. I guess somehow I’ve been thinking that even though I don't deserve it and I can't earn it, that maybe if I work hard enough, and live perfectly enough, I'll become somehow worthy of it. I don’t know.”
Liam push this teacup aside and clasped his hands together on the table top. Logan continued.
“But how can I ever become worthy? After all I've done, after who I've been. How could I ever be worthy of grace, much less a gift like her? Of that kind of happiness?”
“Why is that hard for you to accept? If you can accept forgiveness for your sins, why not this?” Liam paused, choosing his words carefully. Logan always knew he could trust his friend to speak truth…even when he didn’t want to hear it. He braced himself.
“We serve a God of extravagance. When it comes to love, brother, He’s not the God of bare minimums. We've all been given far more than we could deserve or be worthy of every minute of every day and telling yourself anything else is a lie. And we don’t listen to lies, right? We certainly don’t build our lives on them.”
“No, you're right. I know you're right.”
“It’s simple truth, but it’s not easy.” Liam grinned. “And the third emotion you're feeling?”
“…Is the most complicated,” Logan said. He sat up straighter and forced himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “She's hurting, right? Fighting God. She has turned completely away from her faith. I understand why—pain can do that to a person—but I walked away from her three days ago because I didn't know what else to do. At the time, I told myself it was to keep her safe, just in case there’s any chance they’ll change their minds about her connection to me and leave her alone.”
“That’s…a very long shot, Logan.”
“I know. I know, and it’s not really why I had to walk away. I know I can't make her open back up to God, any more than Doc could make me accept grace. But I think I’m in love with her.” Logan ran a rough hand over the top of his head. “I love her, and I don't know what to do. I'm powerless to do anything but pray for her.”
Liam reached out and put a reassuring hand on Logan's forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “Prayers for you changed your life. From what I understand about your Charlie, she's got
a whole lot of people praying for her. Try to trade some of your fear for hope, brother. It's never too late for grace to win.” Liam leaned back and grinned. “Or love, for that matter.
Chapter 15
Charlotte paused, took a deep breath, and ran a nervous hand through her hair. She felt like she'd been in a walking daze since the last time Logan came to her rescue. It was like the memories of three years ago and her fears about her safety were combining in her head, sharing space, only there wasn
't enough of her for both.
She'd surprised herself when she told Logan that the pain of losing Greg felt more real than her memories of him. In retrospect, it was true. But she hadn’t realized it, not really, until the moment she heard the words coming out of her mouth. The fact was, the girl she was back then and the woman she'd become in the aftermath were two very different people. And there was a part of her—a small, afraid, reluctant-to-admit-it part—that wondered if she knew Greg now, met him for the first time, whether she'd fall in love with him again. As the woman she was now.
She’d been so sure he was the one. Her soulmate. And it had taken nearly three years for her to admit, even to herself, that it might not be true. She’d loved him. Of that she had no doubt. And he had loved her. Of that she had even less doubt. But had he really seen her? Had he known her soul? Would they have grown together? Or would they have grown apart? Those were the questions that plagued her dreams.
Everyone says first loves are intense, that even if you move on, fall in love again and again, you never forget the one you loved first. Hardship had changed her, yes. But would she exchange who she'd become for the girl she’d been? A few weeks earlier she would have said yes, but facing danger again—this time in a way far more direct and visceral and real—and having Logan…
Logan.
Having a man like Logan come alongside her during this time had felt strangely right…and she wasn't ready to face that question yet. But the other questions? Those she knew it was time to face. If Greg had been her one true love, if such a thing really existed, wouldn't she live in love with him forever? She'd always thought so, despite growing up with a widowed grandmother who happily, joyously, youthfully fell so madly in love with her longtime neighbor and married for the second time when Charlie was sixteen.
When she asked her grandmother how she could replace her first husband, her Gran had said that it wasn't a matter of replacing, it was a matter of making room for love again. She’d said the human heart is capable of vast loves. Not, perhaps, simultaneously. But over a lifetime? There is room to be found. Charlie smiled at the memory, even as she cringed at her own naïveté in asking such a bold question.
Charlie took another deep breath. She couldn't stand outside forever. As she pulled open the glass-paneled wood door and entered the preschool where she’d worked as a teacher for the last five years, Charlie let the smells and sounds and memories wash over her. She’d taken a leave of absence right after Greg died, but had never seriously considered quitting, in spite of the fact that she would always directly connect this place, especially the main office, with the news of his untimely death.
But she loved her job. She loved the children, their noise, their hugs, their joys and fears and sense of wonder. Nothing had been more comforting to her during the most raw weeks of grief than the little bodies pressed against her during story time or the goodbye hugs at the end of the day. In their way, her students had healed her heart and helped her keep feeling at least some kind of love, even in the darkest time of loss. And for that reason, this place still filled her with a sense of deep contentment, even if it was occasionally somewhat bittersweet.
Listening to her own shoes clack on the worn linoleum in the hallway as she walked to her classroom, Charlie remembered looking down at her ring glinting in the light as the secretary’s shoes made the same noise in the moments immediately after her mother told her about Greg. Yes, the memories felt fresher now, more raw than they had in months, if not more than a year. Was it all because of what she’d said to Logan? Or was it partially because parts of her heart that had long been dormant were suddenly growing warm again, coming back to life somehow, as though they’d been frozen in a polar ice cap and discovered by curious scientists. She chuckled to herself. Had she really just compared her own broken heart to the wooly mammoth?
Get a grip, Chuck. Get lots of grips.
“Good morning, Miss Charlotte,” said the preschool director as she stepped out of Charlie's classroom. “I was just looking for you. How are you this morning, honey?
“Oh, I'm good,” Charlie said. “How are you?”
“As good as anybody can be on a Super Monday, I suppose.” Her director laughed. “Why is it that the Tuesday after a long weekend is always the hardest day of the week?
“Maybe because it seems like the kids forget every single thing we ever taught them between the Friday and Tuesday?” Charlotte chuckled. “But we still love them, don't we?”
“That we do, Miss Charlotte. That we do.”
“You were looking for me?”
“Oh! Yes! I was. You have a new student starting today. His name is William. he's the nephew of somebody or other. Your mama probably knows. Anyway, he's just moved here from England. I figure he's bound to feel a little out of place. His parents seem like good folk, but if they are fish out of water, you know he has to be.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Charlie said. “I’ll be sure to make him feel welcome.”
“I know you will.” Her director patted her on the shoulder. “You've always been good with children, but I don't think I tell you often enough what a joy it is to watch you continue to grow in that gift. You are a blessing to me. I hope you know that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I appreciate you telling me that. I don't take the responsibility of working with these little ones lightly at all. At this age everyone they meet is teaching them about their world and where they fit in, how to love and be loved. Those are pretty big things, you know?”
“I do know, and that's exactly why you are brilliant at this.” The director checked her watch. “Oh, my goodness, it is a quarter-to already. Best go open those doors. Have a good morning and be sure to let me know if you need anything, or if William has any trouble at all.”
“I will. Thank you!”
As Mrs. Johnson hurried off down the hall, Charlie entered her quiet classroom. She took a moment to turn on the lights and open the blinds, then she went to her desk. A plain manila folder sat waiting for her, filled with everything she might need to know to help William have a good first day. The director might think she was good at her job, but there was no one in the world who understood children better than Mrs. Johnson. It was like she could read their little minds or something. Or their hearts.
William Charles Marsters. Age four. Parents Charles and Lily Marsters. No mention of the aunt or uncle Mrs. Johnson had alluded to. There weren't that many English people in Willow Bough, but her mama probably would know. Her mama knew everyone. Somehow. It was like her superpower. Or whatever the opposite of a superpower was if you were trying to get through a restaurant or leave church or just walk around the block without stopping to talk for an impossible amount of time. Charlie smiled at the thought of her mom. They were very different from each other, but they’d never really struggled with loving each other well. Not even after Greg. Except when Charlie let the grief and her own bitterness get the better of her, which happened more often than she liked to admit. Especially when it came to God and church.
As the first sounds of children began to echo through the building— running footsteps, kind reminding voices about walking indoors, squeals, good mornings, and the murmurs of tired parents—the day had officially begun. Whatever it held, Charlie would be ready. At least on the outside.
“Hello, Miss Charlotte.” The little boy standing at the edge of her desk had a wild mop of golden blond curls and the bluest eyes Charlie had ever seen. He offered her a shy grin and continued, “My name is William Charles Marsters, but I like for people to call me Liam. My mum tries to call me Wills, like the prince, but my father says that's pretentious.”
Charlie laughed. “I am so glad to meet you, Liam. I think we are going to be good friends. Most of your new friends aren’t here yet, but if you'd like, I can introduce you to the ones that are.”
Liam stuck his hands in the pockets of his short trousers and took in the rest of the room. He turned back, gave her a cheeky wink, and said, “
Oh, that’s alright. I'll make the rounds on my own.”
“Okay,” said Charlie, suppressing another laugh. “You go right ahead. Let me know if you need anything. Class will start in just a few minutes.”
She watched as Liam sauntered over to a little girl playing in the moon sand under the window on the far side of the classroom. He sat down on the stool next to her, introduced himself, and then went happily to work building some sort of structure. Charlie shook her head. A fish out of water indeed. He was going to be just fine.
The rest of the work day flew by in a blur of activities, alphabet practice, and as much outdoor play as they could manage. They were a year-round preschool, which meant they didn't take a summer break like most of the other programs in the area, but that also meant they could stretch their curriculum out over twelve months instead of nine and maintain a steadier pace. And usually there was more time for extra activities like creative activities and outdoor play.
It was nearly time for parent pickups to begin, and Charlie stood outside in the shade of an old oak tree watching her little group run around the playground.
“Oh, hello. Do you remember me?”
Charlie turned, using one hand to shield her eyes from the sun, to see one of the men from Prodigal Brothers approaching around the side of the building.
“I’m here to pick up my nephew, but I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing.”
She smiled. “You're one of the Prodigal Brothers, right? You work with Doc?”
“Sort of. I mean, I am one of the Prodigal Brothers, sure enough. But I'm more of what you'd call a volunteer. My actual work is separate from the ministry.”
Faith by Fire (Prodigal Brothers MC Book 1) Page 9
