Seeking Carolina (14 page)

She nodded. “I hate all the hurt I caused you, Charlie. I really do.”

“You didn’t just hurt me, Gina. You humiliated me.”

“How many times can I say I’m sorry?” The question trembled from her lips. It had taken a lot of courage to return to Bitterly, to face the children still so hurt they had refused to see her, the man she humiliated, and the town that had rallied around him. She was a villain. And still Gina came back. For her kids.

Several pairs of feet pounding down the steps had Charlie stepping away and Gina wiping her eyes. By the time the kids got to the kitchen, they were both smiling.

“All ready?” she asked, arms outstretched. Tony and Millie took a hand each. Caleb’s eyes strayed to his father, his smile unsteady. And though Will’s stony expression had not changed since the day prior and his earbuds were in his ears, his backpack hung from his shoulder.

“Say bye to Daddy, kids. He gets a few days of peace and quiet.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Millie chirped. “Charlotte’s staying and she’s the noisiest.”

“No, you are.” Tony shoved his twin.

“No, you are.” Millie shoved him back. Caleb grabbed his little brother by the backpack and hauled him to their father.

“See you in a few days, Dad,” he said, then leaned closer. “You sure this is all right?”

Charlie kissed his son’s cheek. “It’s fine. Have fun.”

* * * *

“You have everything you need?” Charlotte fussed over the groceries on the counter. Charlie took the potatoes she was inspecting out of her hands, reminding himself this was her way of avoiding the otherwise empty house, and her mother’s hand in that.

“Everything. Now stop—”

“You remembered she likes merlot?”

“Yes, Charlotte. I remembered she likes merlot. Will you relax? I’m the one cooking for Johanna.”

“I just want it to be perfect for you.”

“Honey.” Charlie took her shoulders in his hands. “Thank you, but I got this. Okay?”

Charlotte bit her lip. “I want you to be happy, Daddy.”

“I am. I have been. Getting to know Johanna again is a bonus, not the only key to my life’s happiness.”

“You don’t…I thought you wanted to, you know, marry her or something.”

Charlie let go of his daughter, took a step back. “It’s a little soon to start thinking that way. There’s twenty years between the kids we were and the adults we are. For now, we’re getting to know one another again.”

“If you say so.” Charlotte kissed his cheek. “I might be home late. Katie is not letting me go back to school until I hit up a karaoke night with her.”

“Katie has heard you sing, right?”

“Funny, Dad.” She smacked at his arm. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.”

She took her coat from the rack. Pulling her hat onto her head, she grinned at him. “And if Johanna’s here for breakfast, I promise not to torture you too much.”

“Get going.” He laughed.

“I’m just saying.”

“Go.”

Charlie pushed closed the door that never shut on the first try. The house wasn’t just small, it was old. Windows and doors didn’t open or close without a struggle. One window in the front room hadn’t opened in all the years they lived there. The floorboards in the kitchen didn’t always meet up in the winter, and buckled in the summer. He and Gina bought it with a down-payment loan from her folks. It was all they could afford. He remembered their excitement, their plans.

Charlie smiled sadly. Whatever their beginning or their end, there had been happiness. Family vacations, birthday parties, back-to-school nights and end-of-the-year picnics. What he and Gina had in common were their children, no more, and no less. They loved them, even if they hadn’t been in love themselves. And now he was making dinner for another woman in the house they had shared.

Cooking Italian seemed wrong, somehow. Johanna was the granddaughter of Adelina Coco, arguably the best cook in Bitterly. Her lasagna never made it through five minutes at a potluck. Instead, he dug out an old recipe from his Irish grandmother. Shepherd’s pie. All the ingredients lined the counter, checked and double-checked. Charlotte’s claim that he was a good cook did little for his confidence. Everything he knew how to make, Gina taught him. He’d never made anything this elaborate on his own.

He floured and browned the beef, added the stout, onions and thyme, and let it cook low and slow. The house was soon abundant with the aroma conjuring his grandparents so clearly he could almost see the stone cottage, the ivy-covered trellis, the mossy roof—their home created to mimic what they left behind in Ireland. Granddad even had a peat-burning stove installed. Charlie could still close his eyes and recall the scorched-earth scent.

Cork popped, he set the wine out to breathe. He stirred the vegetables into the pot, gave the mashed potatoes one last whip, smooth and creamy. He layered them thick on top. Brushing it with butter, he afforded himself a small swell of pride before he slid the pie into the oven to crisp. Charlie was setting the table when she knocked on the door. He looked at his clothes smeared with his cooking. No shower either. Where had the time gone?

Johanna stood on the porch much as Gina had earlier—her back to him, hair curling down her back. She was looking streetward, waving to someone walking a dog. Charlie took a moment to brush off his shirt, smooth his hair, and stopped. This was the girl he’d spent a summer exploring the woods with. She’d seen him sweaty and dirty and covered in worse than a bit of mashed potato, when he was skinny and next-to-hairless, when he was little more than a boy. Opening the door, he pulled her inside and into a kiss before she could even say hello.

“Well,” she breathed when he released her. “That was some greeting.”

“I missed you.”

“We saw one another last night.”

“Only for a minute.” He let her go. “Let me take your things.”

Johanna handed him her coat, stuffing her hat into the sleeve. Her static-charged hair stuck straight up. She didn’t seem to notice. “It smells amazing in here.”

“Shepherd’s pie.” He smoothed her hair, kissed her lips. “I hope you like it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

He led her to the kitchen and poured them both wine. She asked how the morning had gone with Gina and the kids. Charlie answered as casually as he could. They ate and they talked and they reminisced, all talk grazing the surface of things and safe. Pleasant, easy, comfortable. As they washed dishes side by side, Johanna telling him about how crowded Cape May got starting Memorial Day, Charlie felt as if the years between that teenage-summer and now had been otherwise spent. Without the kids in the house, he could almost convince himself it were true.

They took their wine glasses into the family room and sat together on the couch. The video game console, a bin of toys in the corner, the blanket Millie always wrapped up in when she watched television, shoved Charlie from behind, making him feel as if his earlier thought betrayed the kids somehow. Johanna curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He tried to regain the easy feeling, and failed.

“You want to watch a movie?” he asked.

“As long as it’s not scary. I hate scary movies.”

“Let’s see what’s available.” He clicked through the movie channels. Johanna’s hand shot out to stop him.

“Go back.”

“
Shaun of the Dead
? Sounds scary to me.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“No.”

“It’s hilarious.” She took the remote from him. “
Hot Fuzz
and
The World’s End
are on too. We could do a Cornetto trilogy marathon.”

“What’s a Cornetto?”

“Are you kidding me?” Johanna shifted so she was facing him. “Don’t tell me it’s been nothing but Disney movies for you.”

“There were a few others in there.”

“But not
Shaun of the Dead
.”

“No, no
Shaun of the Dead
. What’s it about?”

“Zombies.”

“A funny zombie movie. Sounds fantastic. Queue it up.”

Johanna snuggled back into him, clicked the remote. It took a few minutes for his pulse to ease and his body to relax with her so soft in his arms, but he managed. Halfway through the movie, Charlotte came home. Early. They paused the movie to hear about her abysmal experience at the karaoke bar with Katie, who she would never forgive for dragging her there.

“I’m just not a bar person,” she said. “Does that make me weird?”

“What would you rather be doing?” Johanna asked.

“Playing board games with my friends in the dorm.”

“You’ll be able to soon enough,” Charlie said. “Break is almost over.”

Too long a pause, then, “Yeah.”

Charlie and Johanna exchanged glances.

“That sounded like more than a yeah. What’s up, Char?”

His daughter picked at the already-chipped polish on her thumbnail. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

She looked up. “School.”

“I should go.” Johanna started to rise, but Charlotte shook her head.

“No, you’re kind of the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stay.”

“Uh-oh.”

“No, it’s good.” Charlotte’s laughter trembled. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I don’t think early childhood education is for me. I…I want to go to culinary school.”

“You’ve got two years into this degree—” Charlie began, but she cut him off.

“I know, Dad. It’s a lot of money spent, but most of it was on scholarship, and I’ll pay off the rest. This is my gig. I’ll cover it. Spending two more years working and paying for a degree I don’t want seems like even more of a waste, don’t you think?”

“It’s a degree that will always get you a job.”

“And that’s really the only reason I went for it to begin with. It’s not the reason to become a teacher, Dad. It should be my passion, and it’s not. Baking is.”

Charlie rose from the couch. Part-time caretaking at the cemetery was not lucrative, especially in a small town like Bitterly. He’d always worked as a handyman to compensate. It had been enough to support his family. Period. Scholarships and loans were the only way his kids were going to college, and now Charlotte spoke of tossing two years aside to start over again.

“It’s not as bad as you think, Daddy,” Charlotte told him gently. “I already looked into the CIA in Hyde Park. It’s in New York
—
state, not city. A lot of my credits will transfer, so instead of getting an Associate degree in baking and pastry arts, I can get a Bachelor’s. And there are grants and scholarships I can apply for.”

“Isn’t it a bit late to do that now?”

“For the spring semester, yes,” Charlotte said. “But my classes in New Paltz haven’t been paid for yet. That’s money I won’t have to put out. I’ll apply to the CIA for the fall.”

“So you’re not going back to school after break.”

“Just to get my stuff. Say good-bye to some friends.”

“You’ve already made your decision, then.”

“I want you to be okay with it.”

“And if I’m not?”

Charlotte’s chin went up in that way she had since earliest toddlerhood. “This isn’t a whim, Dad. I’ve really thought it out. It’s what I want more than anything.”

Charlie blew a breath through his lips. Paused on the screen, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost battled zombies frozen mid-shamble.

“I know it’s not a whim,” he said. “I trust your judgment, baby.”

Charlotte launched into him from her perch on the couch. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Holding his daughter, Charlie was overwhelmed by the sensation of time spinning away from him. She didn’t need his approval, or his consent. Charlotte was a woman grown, one who knew her mind. He trusted her completely and always had. It wasn’t the change in schools or money lost, it was acknowledging she no longer needed him that grabbed his gut in a fist and squeezed.

* * * *

Johanna tried to imagine the thoughts racing through Charlie’s head as he held his daughter tight. Parenthood was an alien thing, one she had never aspired to or understood. Her own parents had known nothing about children, about the care they required. No matter how much they loved their girls, in the end, it had not been enough. Wonky genes aside, the notion of loving so much only to lose it one day had helped to quell any inkling she ever had when she held a baby in her arms and thought,
maybe
.

Until now.

Cool heat rose to her cheeks. All the years denying herself any real and binding love had not been able to withstand Charlie McCallan’s freedom, his smile, the place she’d been holding for him in her life. Was it the same with children?

“I hope you really do want me to work with you, Jo.” Charlotte bounced onto the couch beside her. “It’s a prerequisite to attending the CIA, working in the food industry. I mean, I worked in the coffeehouse for three years, so that counts too, but an actual bakery is going to look great on my application.”

“Of course I want you to work with me.” The cool heat altered, making her belly a little queasy. Summer, Cape May, leaving Bitterly and Charlie and her sisters. “It’ll be great.”

“Oh, I just realized, I could—” Charlotte’s fair cheeks pinked. “Crap. Now I’m being presumptuous.”

“What do you mean?”

Charlotte pressed palms to her cheeks. “I was going to say I could go back with you when you go and help from now. But you probably don’t need help this time of year, and I can get some hours with the coffeehouse, and I didn’t mean to…and you and my dad and…” She bit her lip. “And I’m rambling. Sorry, Jo.”

“Don’t be silly. I can definitely use your help when I reopen, only…”

“Only?” Charlie asked.

Johanna gathered her courage along with a deep breath. She met Charlie’s eyes, held them, and let the words fall. “It’s really slow this time of year. When I came north, I closed for the season. I figured on opening again in the spring.”

Charlie’s smile was sunrise breaking the horizon. He moved closer, took her hands one at a time, studying each of them before lacing his fingers through hers. Johanna’s heart hammered something like fear, like joy. Charlotte muttered something that might have been goodnight, and beat a hasty retreat.

Charlie asked, “Does this mean I have a date for New Year’s Eve?”