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  Don’t go there, she cautioned herself. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them, and it wouldn’t be fair to a little boy who had already lost more than any child should have to endure when she went away. Because she would go away, she told herself firmly. She couldn’t let herself down.

  “You said you had some projects you need help with?” Paul’s question brought her focus back to the phone conversation.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m happy to help,” Paul said in a cautious voice, “But I don’t need ‘make busy’ work because you’re making me into some kind of project.”

  “No, I really could use your help,” Charlotte assured him. “It just makes sense to me that we can help each other at the same time. Like I mentioned, you do have to commit to learning the basics because you won’t get anywhere without them, but I was hoping to help you put the basics together, sounding things out, knowing what letters make what sounds and that kind of thing, using the things that interest you and that you work with every day. What do you think?”

  The silence on the other end of the phone didn’t unnerve her. She could visualize the intent expression that Paul got when he was thinking something through.

  “What about Tyson?” he asked. “I mean, I can see how something like that would help me with the class on Wednesday nights and with my job, and that’s all great. But the only real reason I’m doing this is for Tyson, and if I can’t help him with the things he’s going to need help with, what good is it?”

  “Because once you start to learn,” Charlotte hurried to reassure him, “you’ll begin to discover that there are patterns to words and to reading that are applicable in all cases. I really think this could work. Are you willing to give it a try?”

  “I...guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Paul said slowly. “Maybe we could pop by tomorrow night?”

  “That should be fine.” Charlotte quelled the pleasure that wanted to tap-dance through her. It wasn’t a date; it was an opportunity to help one another.

  “By the way,” Paul said, a note of humor coming into his tone, “whatever projects you’ve got planned, I don’t intend to do them for you, but I’m happy to supervise while you do them.”

  “Excuse me?” Charlotte said, matching his bantering tone.

  “Don’t you want to prove that you picked up at least some skills on Wednesday nights? I need proof that I’m right when I think we make a great team.”

  The statement hung between them for a moment and, even though Charlotte knew they were joking around, it felt heavy with implications.

  “No answer to that?” Paul prodded gently. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time, right?”

  “I know.” She made herself laugh. “So you and Tyson will come by tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Speaking of Tyson, there’s a certain someone here who knows who I’m talking to and is bouncing off the walls. I’d better get going.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Before I go,” Paul said, “did you, um, catch up with Mavis?”

  She could hear his effort to make it sound like a casual question, but he didn’t quite pull it off.

  “No, I didn’t,” she answered. She didn’t add any further details because there was no point in doing so. She knew he would feel better if she had little or nothing to do with them, and she couldn’t abide by that. It was her job. Michael was her student, too.

  “I hope you watch yourself around them,” Paul said darkly. “I don’t trust either of them.”

  Charlotte knew that he hadn’t noticed the signs of domestic abuse on Mavis’s face. It wasn’t her place to mention it, but surely he would have empathy for Mavis if he knew.

  “I think,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “there is usually more to people than we first realize, and that everyone has reasons for doing what they do, even if they keep those reasons hidden.”

  As she said the words, she thought about Anna and how Paul didn’t even know that she used to have a sister. Despite the town’s tendency to get involved and share news, she knew that, out of respect for her family and because of the dreadful circumstances of it all, there wasn’t anyone who would tell Paul. They would leave it up to her whether or not she wanted to share what happened. She wondered if she did, whether it would strengthen their bond of friendship or if he would feel like it was another of the many betrayals in his life that she hadn’t told him sooner.

  “I suppose,” Paul said, sounding thoughtful. “Anyway, I really better go now. Hope to see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, tomorrow,” Charlotte echoed, her heart singing as she hung up the phone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Paul walked Tyson to school on Monday morning. Since his conversation with Charlotte was still on his mind, before he dropped him off, he asked Tyson, “How’s it going with Michael? Be honest.”

  “It’s pretty good,” Tyson said cheerfully.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s good. He likes turtles, too.”

  “Oh? Well...that’s great. You know I just want you to be safe and happy, right, bud?”

  “Sure, Uncle Paul, I know. You tell me that all the time.”

  As he continued on to Harold’s, Paul thought he would have to give Charlotte her due for getting positive results out of the situation. Although he still struggled with trusting that it wasn’t just the calm before another storm. He still worried about dealing with Mavis that morning at the shop. He wished that he’d been able to tell Charlotte about the appointment and how he felt about it, but she had made that comment about there always being a reason behind the way people acted, and it had touched a nerve. She had a way of doing that—of challenging his perception of things—and perhaps the thing that unsettled him the most was that he knew how readily he had come to rely on that.

  She made him want to be more than who he was.

  He had hoped to have time to gather himself before the appointment, but Mavis was sitting outside the shop in her car, one that would be referred to as a clunker. She was obviously anxious to get things done.

  He caught her eye through the car window and gave her a terse wave, then signaled “two minutes” with his fingers. The woman, nodded, unsmiling, and it struck him that she would be no more thrilled to face him than he was to deal with her—she was only doing so out of sheer necessity.

  Inside the shop he took a deep breath and tried to calm and prepare himself with something that felt uncannily like prayer. So, God, I haven’t forgotten how to talk to You... I just didn’t want to remember why I needed to do it...

  When he unlocked the door for Mavis, he still wasn’t looking forward to it, but he felt the certainty that he could deal with it. Whatever her attitude, he promised himself that he would be professional, calm and tactful. He wanted to be the kind of person who Charlotte would be proud of, but pressing even more on his heart at the moment was that he wanted to be the kind of person who God could be proud of.

  Mavis stepped into the shop, and Paul immediately noticed that she was wearing sunglasses. But then something in Mavis’s careful, self-conscious body language and the angle she held her head at signaled to him that she was hiding something—not in a malicious way, but in way that he all too readily recognized.

  It’s none of your business, he tried to tell himself. But immediately a thought battered at him: There were too many people minding their own business when they could have been helping you.

  “Are you all right?” he asked before he could talk himself out of it.

  “What do you mean?” He could sense Mavis putting up an invisible shield.

  God...? I’m out of practice with this prayer business, but I think You know I need help here.

  The answer that came into his heart was Do unto others. No matter what his feelings were about Mavis and no matter what his worries were
about Tyson and Michael, he knew that he couldn’t allow himself to ignore what he suspected.

  “Are you...are you hurt?”

  “Hurt? What are you talking about?” She threw the words back at him, attempting to make a mockery of his question.

  But he recognized the caved-in shoulders, the retreating into oneself with such acuity, he could feel the answering memory of his own body language.

  When he’d started high school, he’d found himself in a sea of new, uncertain students, not doted over but finally no longer bullied, although the inner scars would remain. It had taken him almost a year to learn how to stand up straight again.

  In grade ten, he’d hit a growth spurt, found a natural affinity for running and made the track team. He was suddenly accepted, even popular, but he never forgot his past, and he’d kept his heart hidden from everyone. Including his family.

  Then Charlotte Connelly had come along, and he found his heart heading into dangerous territory.

  “Do you need help?” he asked Mavis. “Someone to talk to?”

  “Of course not!” she snapped at him. “I came in here to get my car looked at, not to get psychoanalyzed or whatever it is you’re trying to do. In fact, I’m finding your attitude very inappropriate. Where’s your boss?”

  “Harold had an appointment this morning. I’m very sorry, I meant no disrespect. Will you let me have a look at your car?”

  Her posture and expression showed that she was in a battle with herself. No doubt she wanted nothing more than to bolt out the door, but her car needed fixing and there was nowhere else she could go unless she wanted to risk driving it into Regina. Finally she turned back to him and, sounding like she felt disgusted with herself for her own weakness, said, “I think it’s the battery.” Then she suddenly burst into bone-shaking sobs.

  Paul hurried her into the office in back, grabbing a handful of tissues out of a box on the way.

  It was amazing that no matter how long it had been since he’d done so, when there was a crisis, praying for guidance felt surprisingly natural.

  He ushered Mavis to sit down and handed her some tissues, which she balled into her fists, unmindful of the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Paul sat down in the chair across from her and didn’t say anything, just let her cry, willing to wait for as long as she needed. When she finally made the snuffling, hiccupping sounds that signaled the end of a cry, he handed her a clean batch of tissue and said, “Please tell me what I can do to help. I really do want to help.”

  * * *

  It had been a particularly busy day at school, and the students were more rambunctious than usual for some reason.

  Paul had left a cryptic message on Charlotte’s phone. “Call me as soon as you can. I need to talk to you about Mavis... How does Michael seem? Never mind—I’ll talk to you when you phone me.”

  She simply hadn’t found a minute to spare, and she hoped Paul didn’t think she was purposely ignoring his call.

  As Charlotte ate her chicken salad sandwich during her lunch break, she considered popping in on Paul at the garage. But just as she had swallowed her last bite, taken a sip from her water bottle and reached for her purse, her phone rang, and the call display showed that it was Bridget.

  “Hi, Bridge, What’s up?”

  “I should be asking you that.” Her cousin’s voice came over the phone petulantly. “I feel like we never get a chance to talk these days.”

  “I see you at family dinner every week,” Charlotte reminded her.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Bridget said. “We don’t really talk there—we listen to our parents talk.”

  Charlotte realized then that Bridget sounded genuinely upset and wasn’t just vying for attention.

  “I just finished lunch and was thinking about taking a walk,” she said. “Are you free right now? We could meet up?”

  “Seth’s in five?”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Charlotte ended the call and sighed. Okay, God, I get it. It seemed like she was being perpetually reminded that she wasn’t in the place in her life where she could pursue whatever it was that might be worth pursuing with Paul. Someone in her family always needed her for one reason or another, and if she begrudged them that, then didn’t that make her a horrible person? Especially when there wasn’t any way she could possibly make up for what happened to Anna.

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed toward Seth’s Café, trying her best not to think about Paul’s earlier call. She promised herself that she would phone him back when she could, but she couldn’t leave Bridget feeling neglected, either.

  Soon, she sat across from her cousin at a corner table in Seth’s. Seth himself stopped by their table shortly after they arrived.

  “Are you here for lunch, ladies?” he asked, grinning widely. “I have some beef stew that would hit the spot on a day like this.”

  “Just coffee for me, thanks, Seth,” said Charlotte.

  “I’ll have coffee, too,” Bridget said. “Sorry, Seth, I’m just not that hungry.”

  “No worries,” Seth said cheerfully, filling their mugs with the pot he carried. “Charlotte, if you see my lovely wife this afternoon,” he added, “could you remind her that we have choir practice tonight?”

  “I sure will.”

  As soon as Seth departed, Charlotte asked, “Okay, Bridge, what’s the matter?”

  Bridget looked for a moment like she was going to deny that anything was wrong, but then she shrugged her shoulders and said, “I’m not exactly sure. I’ve just been feeling out of sorts. There’s nothing wrong that I can put my finger on, but things don’t feel exactly right, either.”

  “I wonder if that’s just life,” Charlotte said, thoughtfully. “I mean, I hate to say this, but maybe it’s only when we’re really young that we believe that we’ll suddenly have everything figured out when we’re grown-up. Maybe life—and faith—isn’t anything more than just seeing what each day brings and doing our best with it.”

  “Not helping, Char,” Bridget said in such an exasperated tone that Charlotte couldn’t help chuckling.

  “I’m at a bit of a loss,” she admitted. “I count on you to be the dreamer, Bridge. I’m the responsible one, remember?”

  Bridget attempted a smile, but it fell flat.

  “Please talk to me,” Charlotte insisted, feeling a sudden stab of apprehension.

  “I don’t know, Char... I just feel like you’re drifting away from us. Even if you don’t go overseas, I can see how interested you are in Paul Belvedere, whether you want to see it yourself or not, and I can see how important he and Tyson have become to you. Maybe I do just wish things could have stayed the way they were when we were kids and everything seemed so carefree.”

  “Bridget?” Charlotte swallowed an emotional surge. “Do you...ever think...about Anna?”

  Something hard and flinty came into Bridget’s eyes. “Let’s not talk about her.”

  “But, Bridge...”

  “Please.”

  Bridget picked up her mug and took another swallow of her coffee.

  “I guess I’ve kind of messed up your lunch break,” she said as she set her coffee back down again.

  “No, it’s okay,” Charlotte said, though she was feeling troubled by what Bridget had said—and by what she had refused to say. “But I guess I should be getting back. Bridge, you know that family means everything in the world to me, right?”

  “I do. I know we’re important to you. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t want other things—other people—in your life.”

  “But so do you, Bridge,” Charlotte pointed out. “You might be going through a bit of a rough patch right now, but I know you hope to meet someone who’s right for you. Maybe...maybe I just want the same.”

  And what’s wrong with that, Charlotte thought as
she walked back to the school, unsure of whether she was asking the question of herself or of God. But the anguishing perpetual question of whether she could please others and still be happy herself remained unanswered.

  Then her phone rang, showing Paul’s number again. She might not have the answers she was looking for but she wasn’t going to keep him waiting any longer.

  “Paul? Hi. Yes, I got your messages—it was a very hectic morning, and then I used what I had left of my lunch break to meet up with Bridget. She’s going through kind of a tough time. You said you wanted to talk to me about Mavis?”

  “It’s okay,” Paul said, and she heard relief in his voice. “Listen, I know you have to get back to class, but you’re still expecting Tyson and me at your place tonight, right?”

  A small butterfly of anticipation fluttered through her, one that she quickly netted.

  “We can talk then,” she said. “But remember that we’ve got other work to do.” She was reminding herself as much as Paul.

  “I know,” he said. “But I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t tell you. Mavis needs help.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Is this where you live?” Tyson asked, awestruck, as he and Paul stepped into Charlotte’s house.

  “It sure is,” Charlotte replied, smiling at Paul over the boy’s head in a way that did unfamiliar but not unpleasant things to his heart.

  He loved the way Charlotte’s house was full of the same appealing contradictions as she was, with its warm colors and collection of furniture, pictures and knickknacks, each one chosen, as she’d explained to him, because it appealed to something in her and not because it matched a particular decorating scheme. It reminded him again how intriguing he found the different facets of her personality.

  I could spend the rest of my life getting to know this woman.

  Where had that thought come from? He liked Charlotte and he no longer bothered denying to himself that he was attracted to her. But there was no happily-ever-after in the works here—not with her intentions to go overseas. Somehow, he managed to keep forgetting that.