1
“Death comes unexpectedly.”
It was a line from the old Disney movie Pollyanna, from a scene Charlotte Page had never forgotten. She’d been terrified by that minister, slamming his fist and yelling such a horrible sentiment—but she understood now. Because death did indeed come unexpectedly.
The thought waged war with her emotions, but she held it together—barely. She wasn’t prone to tears, and even though this funeral was only the second she’d attended in her thirty years, she’d decided in the car on the way here not to cry.
Or maybe she simply couldn’t because she was still in shock. Maybe losing your best friend only months past her thirtieth birthday was the kind of life event that never made sense, no matter how long you lived.
Nothing about it felt real. From the second she got the phone call, she’d been in a sort of thick fog, and as of this very moment, sitting in the pew of a little church in Harbor Pointe, Michigan, it hadn’t lifted.
I’m so sorry.
The words pelted her without permission. She hated that they did. She hated that she’d never said it in person. She hated that Julianna was gone now and she’d lost her chance.
Death comes unexpectedly.
The Harbor Pointe Community Church hummed with conversation, appropriately low and quiet in tone and volume. Charlotte spoke to no one. After all, she knew no one. She wasn’t a part of Julianna’s community. Their friendship stretched back years, but there was a gap now because their paths had diverged so smartly nearly a decade before.
At the front of the church, on an easel, was an enlarged photo of Julianna, taken just last year, beaming, as she always was, and surrounded by her young children. The frozen image smiled back at Charlotte, a bittersweet reminder of how it felt to be the recipient of her undivided attention. Jules never did anything halfway, including friendship. She was the most genuine soul Charlotte had ever known.
And this—her death—was one of life’s great injustices.
That hot, burning lump in the back of her throat flared up, reminding her that she would carry this sadness inside her for a very long time. Maybe for the rest of her life. How would she ever get over this loss? It was too tragic, too sudden, too soon.
Too unfair.
Music signaled the start of the service and Julianna’s family entered. Her husband, Connor, walked in with their three beautiful children, bigger than Charlotte remembered.
Connor’s lifeless eyes focused straight ahead, like a man in a trance walking a straight line to the gas chamber.
Charlotte looked away, not wanting to stare. Her eyes fell to Julianna’s oldest, a daughter named Amelia. A dancer.
Julianna’s mini-me.
The little girl held her dad’s arm as they walked down the aisle, stoic and somber. Alaina, the baby, was in Connor’s other arm. A twinge of guilt and sorrow mixed together at the back of Charlotte’s throat.
Why did this happen?
She pulled her eyes back to the aisle, thinking it was strange for the family to be on display like this. Wouldn’t it have been less conspicuous for them to have been seated first so they could avoid what she had to imagine was unwanted attention?
Her thoughts had run away from her, but the sight of a familiar yet unfamiliar face pulled her back to the present.
Cole.
Julianna’s brother had grown up and filled out. He was a man. A solid brick of a man—not the “cute boy” she remembered from all those years ago.
Teenage insecurities pummeled her, renewed like an overdue library book.
Sometimes Julianna’s letters had mentioned him, and even seeing his name sent a strange shiver down her spine. Charlotte had always been somewhat sheltered, but she knew a cute boy when she saw one. Cole was cute. More than cute. He was older and cooler and so very good-looking.
And Julianna clearly adored him, even back then.
After she met him when she was a young teen, Charlotte wondered if he’d ever cross her path again. He came for the occasional performance, but mostly he remained a mystery. An unsolved mystery. Which meant her mind could conjure whatever image it wanted to of him, and it did. She didn’t know Cole in real life, not really—but that wasn’t stopping her heart from racing now.
Her eyes followed him down the aisle where he slid into the pew next to Connor. Gently, Cole took the baby from her father, then motioned for AJ, the middle child, to move closer to him. He might be a solid brick of a man, but he clearly loved those kids.
And she could practically feel the weight of his broken heart.
Julianna’s father—a little grayer than she remembered—sat in the pew behind Cole with his “other family,” as Jules called them.
The music quieted and a man in a suit stepped onto the stage. He spoke about Julianna like he knew her, said she was a member of this church—not the kind who simply attended, but the kind who got involved. She ran a tutoring club and attended women’s events. She served in children’s church and—
Charlotte stopped listening, choosing instead to focus on the movie in her mind.
She closed her eyes, a clear picture of herself at age twelve, small-chested and slim and self-conscious, making up for all of her insecurities with a brave, albeit sour, face.
The summer dance intensive was held in Chicago every year, but this was her first year to attend. According to her mother, she’d outgrown her current dance instructor and needed a new challenge. They called it “dance camp” but it was unlike any camp Charlotte knew of.
There were no cabins, no outdoor adventures, no sunshine or swimming. There were only dorm rooms and dance studios.
Charlotte was thrilled with that arrangement. She’d never been good at socializing, so when she found herself standing at the barre, waiting for her first class to begin, she didn’t feel the need to say anything to the blond girl standing beside her. The two girls were each dressed in their mandatory black leotard, pink tights, and pink ballet shoes, their hair pulled neatly into a tight bun, looking like clones of each other and every other girl filtering into the room.
Charlotte lifted her hand to the barre and glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes darted to a pair of big, bright eyes trained on her.
“You’re Charlotte Page, right?” the blonde asked, her smile wide.
Charlotte nodded but didn’t speak. Her mother had warned her about making friends in ballet class.
“You’re not here for socialization,” Marcia had said. “You’re here to tighten your technique, to get a competitive edge. You’re here to be the best.”
“But then the other girls won’t like me,” Charlotte had said.
“Good,” her mother said. “You don’t want to be liked, Charlotte. You want to be respected. You want them to fear you.”
No, I don’t. I want them to like me.
But Charlotte had only nodded.
“I’ve heard about you,” Julianna said with a smile. “What’s it feel like to be the best dancer in our form?”
Julianna didn’t seem to be flattering her—the expectant look on her face suggested she genuinely wanted an answer to her question. Charlotte had been taught to believe she was the best, and though she knew about humility now, she certainly didn’t then.
“My mother says I’m the best dancer in the entire camp,” she’d said.