Charlotte thought it over. It was barely June. Plenty of time. “I can make it work,” Charlotte said.
“And you’ll perform?” Brinley appeared to be holding her breath now. “For Jules?”
“I’ll think about it,” Charlotte said, knowing full well that at this point, she’d do anything for Jules.
Brinley took out a notebook and walked over to the front counter. She opened the pad and began writing furiously.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked, peering at the sheet of paper. She tried—failed—to read the scrawled words Brinley was writing.
“Making a list of people to contact. Everyone loved Julianna. I think a lot of people are going to want to be involved. If we get the people here, could you choreograph something for them—maybe three or four numbers? We could have groups or couples.”
“I’m not a ballroom dancer,” Charlotte said.
“Well, you’re a lot better than everyone else in town, so I doubt anyone would care.” She tapped her pen on the paper. “I know a lot of people are going to want to be a part of this tribute. The high school football team. Julianna’s friends. Hildy and Steve, the people who run Haven House?”
She said it like Charlotte should know what it was.
“Jules told you about it, right? It was pretty special to her.”
She hadn’t, in fact, told Charlotte about it.
Brinley sighed. “I bet she never in a million years thought her own kids might end up there.”
Charlotte frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Haven House is this great transitional home, run by this sweet older couple who’ve been taking in kids for decades. Basically, it keeps kids out of the system if their parents are going through a hard time. So, say Connor realizes he can’t function and isn’t able to take care of his kids for a few weeks—he can take them to Haven House and they’ll give them everything they need until he’s ready.”
“And if he’s never ready?” What would keep people from dumping their kids at this place and taking off?
“Sometimes that happens, I think, and then the state gets involved. But mostly Haven House just provides a little bit of help when parents hit a rough patch. Julianna volunteered there every week. I’m sure Hildy and Steve will want to be a part of this. They were like family to her.”
Charlotte glanced down the hallway, then back at Julianna’s assistant. “You really think her kids might end up there?”
Brinley shrugged. “If they do, it will only be temporary. Connor loves those kids, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But . . . ?”
“It’s a lot without Jules. Did you ever see them together?”
Charlotte shook her head, not counting the time they came to see her in Cinderella. “Not really. She met Connor after she left the ballet, and that’s when things started picking up for me, so I didn’t really get the chance.” I didn’t really make our friendship a priority.
“As far as Connor was concerned, Jules hung the moon,” Brinley said. “I mean, they were so in love it was disgusting. But you know, in the best way.”
Charlotte’s heart sputtered. She’d never loved anyone like that, and she’d certainly never been loved like that. She couldn’t fault Connor for treating her the way he had—she couldn’t imagine how painful his loss must be. As it was, her own loss felt heavy enough.
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” Brinley said. “I’m betting there will be lots of people reaching out to make sure Connor and the kids are okay.”
“Like, her brother?”
Brinley nodded. “Cole loves those kids. And Jules has lots of friends. And like I said, Haven House is there for them if they need it.”
Charlotte’s mind wandered back to her visit with Connor. He certainly seemed to be struggling. Would this recital help bring some closure to this horrible tragedy?
Would anything do that?
“Why don’t we put together a planning meeting with volunteers I know would love to help?” Brinley said, capturing Charlotte’s thoughts. “There is a list of regulars who come in to do hair, makeup, help fix costumes, sell refreshments. Jules had a whole team—she never did anything small.”
“I bet she didn’t.” Charlotte smiled.
“Would this week work?”
“My schedule is wide open,” Charlotte said. “Count me in.”
Brinley handed Charlotte her phone, and she put her number in and handed it back. “I cannot believe I have Charlotte Page’s phone number,” she said with a sigh.
Charlotte laughed and gave Brinley a wave. “And you’re just about the only person in the world who thinks that’s something special.”
“I know that’s not true,” she said.
Charlotte flashed her a smile and headed for the door. “Keep me posted!”
“Bye, Charlotte!”
As she walked out, Charlotte heard Brinley say to someone she assumed was on the other end of her phone, “You are not going to believe who just came in to the studio.”
5
The next day, after football practice, Cole stared at the broken headlight on his old red truck. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but restoring this Chevy had been like therapy for him in the weeks and months following his split with Gemma. Making sure the truck looked its best had become a therapeutic obsession for him.
When he finished, he moved on to the house renovations. Apparently, this was his way of working through his feelings. Better than sitting on a couch spilling his guts to a stranger, that was for sure.
He’d have to search for replacement parts after the damage done by yesterday’s mishap, and he wasn’t happy about driving a broken truck around town until it could be fixed.
Practice that morning had been rough. He’d been rough. Bilby didn’t even have to say so—Cole knew. He needed to get his head screwed on straight or he’d do more damage to those kids than good. And that was the opposite of his goal as a coach. He loved football, sure, but he started coaching because he wanted to make a difference for the kids, get in their lives and make sure they knew they had someone on their side.
He blew out a heavy sigh. You’re doing none of those things.
He was riffling through his toolbox when the sound of a car behind him pulled his attention to the driveway. A familiar black Jetta with a smashed-in bumper came to an abrupt stop. Who had taught this woman how to drive?
He had no intention of making her pay for the repairs to his truck, but yesterday, after he finished his breakfast, he tore her number from the white paper bag and stuck it on the fridge before throwing the bag away. Why had he done that?
The car door opened and a tall, lean figure appeared.
Oh, yeah, that’s why.
If he saw her on the street, he’d do a double take. Her hair was pulled back in that slick bun again, but her face was soft and full of apologies.
And he’d been so rude to her. Why couldn’t he control that? He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands on it, holding her gaze.
She looked nervous. Why was she here? And how had she found him?
Who was he kidding—this was Harbor Pointe. He could think of four different older women who would’ve gladly handed out his address to a pretty young woman if it meant there was a chance at fixing his crankiness. Still, she was a stranger here, wasn’t she? He’d pegged her for a first-time tourist.