Page 41 of The Healing of Christmas

Charlotte felt the edges of her heart crack.

“How else do you explain these men being at the diner?” Louise demanded. “They’re like vultures, waiting for the Cherry Inn to die. And Charlie was the one who brought them here. Think about it, honey. When was the last time you even saw Charlie?”

Charlotte wanted to lie. She wanted to tell her mother that she saw Charlie all the time, that he hadn’t abandoned her right when she was beginning to trust him. But Louise recognized something in her eyes; she saw the pain.

“Oh, honey,” Louise breathed. “We always get ourselves wrapped up with the wrong men, don’t we?”

Charlotte bristled. All at once, she was twenty years old again, listening to her mother belittle her and her life choices. How could it be happening? She’d thought she was smarter. She’d thought she’d overcome her past.

“Mom?” Charlotte’s voice cracked. “Why don’t you want me to be happy, huh?”

Louise’s face fell. “That’s not what I said.”

“You see how painful this is for me,” Charlotte said, “and you poke and poke at that pain until it gets so much worse. Why do you do it?” Her voice rose. It was probable that everyone in the living room could hear, but she didn’t care.

Louise flared her nostrils. “I won’t be spoken to like this.”

“Fine,” Charlotte said. “You’re not wanted here tonight.”

Louise glared at her and said, “Fantastic. I have places to be.” She turned on her heel and bolted back into the night. Charlotte remained in the foyer with her palm on the door. The wind rushed against the old house and made the door rattle, and her body quaked with fear. None of this made sense.

“Mom?” Van entered the foyer, her face marred with worry. “Did Grandma leave?”

Charlotte nodded. “She has to work early tomorrow.” The lie came out easily. She knew, even as she said it, that Van wouldn’t believe it.

Van collected Charlotte in her arms and held her. Charlotte let out a single sob, marveling at how wonderful it was to be held by her own daughter. Van was a mother, now— and she knew the comfort that emanated from her body, from her heart.

“It’s going to be okay,” Van whispered. “We’re here together in the Cherry Inn. We’re safe.”

ChapterEighteen

It was late, nearly midnight, and Charlie was wide awake, still dressed in his jeans and a flannel, feeding the fire. It was the 20th, just five days till Christmas, and he hadn’t spoken to Charlotte in what felt like ages. The loneliness that came with missing her was heavy on his shoulders, and he’d begun to neglect himself— not trimming his beard, showering only every other day. The only person he had any sort of communication with was Rudy, Charlotte’s cousin— who’d stopped by twice since their heart-to-heart. “I’m here for you, man,” he’d said as they’d sat by the fire together. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But I don’t want you to think you’re alone.”

His thoughts filled with Charlotte. Charlie pulled up their last text exchange from five days ago— when he’d caved and allowed himself to say hello, even when he’d already told her he probably couldn’t see her anymore. He was weak.

Their last exchange looked like this:

CHARLOTTE: I’m going to pull out my Grandma Dee’s chocolate orange cookie recipe in time for Christmas. But be warned: they’re going to stop you in your tracks. Your entire life will be different afterward. Some people who taste these particular cookies go insane because they don’t know how they ever went without them.

CHARLIE: Haha. Those sound like dangerous cookies.

CHARLOTTE: I’m sorry to change your life like this.

CHARLIE: Maybe my life needs to be changed.

CHARLOTTE: About that…

CHARLOTTE: I’m sorry if I came on too strong.

CHARLOTTE: I haven’t dated in a really long time. I probably don’t really know how.

CHARLOTTE: Not that we were dating. I don’t know what that was.

Charlie had taken a full ten minutes to respond. During that time, he’d felt Charlotte buzzing with anxiety all the way back at the Cherry Inn. She’d put herself out there, over and over again, and Charlie had been forth and back, never fully there and never fully gone. He was her Christmas ghost. And he hated himself for it.

What he’d answered with was this:

CHARLIE: Don’t worry about it.

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