Julianna blinked twice, her big eyes trained on Charlotte. “My mother told me to have fun.”
Charlotte looked away, her gaze catching those of two girls on the other side of the room. They whispered to each other, looked Charlotte up and down, then giggled.
“Don’t pay attention to them,” Julianna said. “They’re just jealous.”
Charlotte looked at her. “I know they are.”
That Julianna wasn’t deterred by twelve-year-old Charlotte’s attitude was still something of a miracle to her. They’d joked about it many times, but in truth, Charlotte had Jules to thank for teaching her what it meant to be modest and humble. Lord knew her mother wasn’t going to teach her either of those things.
Julianna had shown Charlotte that it was possible to be liked and respected, despite what Marcia told her.
And how had Charlotte repaid her? With a stab in the back.
No. I’m not thinking about that now.
Connor hadn’t moved a muscle since he sat down. At his side, Cole handled the kids like a pro, like a man clearly involved in their lives. She knew nothing about Julianna’s brother anymore, only that he was the Harbor Pointe High School football coach, but seeing him with those kids told her he was kind and tender, in spite of how he must be feeling at the moment.
Would he remember her?
What a ridiculous thought. Of course he wouldn’t. They weren’t friends, after all. In Charlotte’s life, only Julianna seemed to wear that title.
What did you do when your only friend died? How did a person recover from that?
The pastor was still talking, regaling the crowd (and it was a crowd) with tales of Julianna Ford, a light in their community, a woman known for her infectious joy, her zest for life, her passion for teaching her young students. Charlotte tried to listen, but it was hard. Her own memories were coming quickly now, as if a projector had been switched on and now played through her and Julianna’s greatest hits.
Auditions, rejections, victories, good reviews, bad reviews, professional tours, and finally—after a lot of hard work—both of them becoming part of the company of the Chicago City Ballet. When they were apart, they wrote letters, and when they were together, Charlotte felt an ease in her loneliness.
It was the kind of friendship that couldn’t be replaced, no matter how many years passed. Charlotte knew in that moment there would never be another Julianna.
She’d never known a truer friend or had a bigger cheerleader. To Jules, they were never competitors. It shamed Charlotte to think that she had never been able to offer that in return.
Alaina, Julianna’s youngest, let out a squeal. Cole shifted her on his lap and the baby quieted. She was only ten months old. She wouldn’t have a single memory of her mother.
How did this young family have a hope of moving forward without Julianna? She was the kind of mom Charlotte wished she’d had. Kind. Attentive. Involved. Fun. The kind who held families together like glue.
By contrast, Charlotte’s mother was controlling and manipulative and, in all ways, not fun. Once a prima ballerina in her own right, Marcia Page had been sidelined by an injury, and Charlotte was pretty sure she still carried a grudge against the world over what she viewed as one of life’s greatest injustices.
Marcia had turned all of her attention to Charlotte when she was just a child, pouring every professional hope and dream she’d had into the daughter she said wasn’t naturally talented but who, with her help and a lot of hard work, could learn to be great.
How cliché.
As it was, Marcia Page was now a renowned dance instructor. One of the greats, if Charlotte was honest, and she had turned her daughter into a superior, enviable dancer.
But as a mother, the woman left much to be desired. Charlotte’s relationship with Marcia had always felt a lot like a business arrangement, which was probably why Marcia deemed it her place to try and convince Charlotte that leaving to attend the funeral was a huge mistake, one that would open the door for up-and-coming dancer Irena Duryea to step in and steal all her solos.
“You’re not the hottest new thing anymore, Charlotte. Don’t give them a reason to realize it.”
By now, Charlotte recognized that her mother’s greatest manipulative tactic was fear. Still, she struggled to make decisions for herself. How pathetic was that? She was almost thirty, and she was still checking with her mother before doing just about anything. Still allowing herself to question whether or not taking a few days off to mourn the loss of her only real friend was a good idea.
The thought of it made Charlotte’s stomach turn. Julianna had forged her own path. She’d made her own choices, even ones that seemed crazy, like leaving the ballet. Like marrying Connor. Like having kids and opening a dance studio in this tiny tourist town.
She was fearless, and Charlotte was a coward.
The organist began playing a hymn Charlotte recognized, not because of her stellar church attendance but because somewhere along the way, Julianna had introduced her to it. People around her stood and sang along as the pallbearers moved into place beside the casket.
The casket that would be her best friend’s final resting place.
The crowd began to sing “It Is Well with My Soul” and Charlotte wanted to scream because nothing was well with her soul. Realization settled on her shoulders. She and Julianna no longer occupied the same world.
And that left her feeling horribly, terribly alone.
2
ONE MONTH LATER
“Get over here, twenty-two!”
Cole Turner, or “Coach” as he was usually called, watched as a lanky kid with a crazy arm ran toward him.
“What are you doing out there, West?”
Asher West tugged his helmet off and spit on the ground. “Doing my best, Coach.”
“Well, if that’s your best, we might as well pack it up now,” Cole shouted. “Don’t give me that—that wasn’t your best. That wasn’t even close to your best. If I’m going to make you my quarterback this season, you need to prove to me you can handle it.”
Asher looked away, and for a split second, Cole thought maybe whatever was going on with the kid wasn’t about football at all. But he needed Ash focused on the game. “Well?” he barked.
“I got it, Coach.” Asher shoved the helmet back on his head and took off in the other direction as Matt Bilby, Cole’s assistant coach, fell in to line at his side.
“Maybe go a little easy on him today, Coach,” Bilby said.
Cole pulled his baseball cap down lower over his eyes. “Why would I do that? He’s got big shoes to fill.”
“He’s going through some stuff,” Bilby said.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Family stuff. You know his situation.”
Cole did know his situation. Everyone knew, though Asher didn’t like talking about it. They ran the play again, and this time, Asher threw a perfect spiral, right into the hands of the wide receiver.
Cole shot Bilby a look, as if the spiral was justification for Cole’s brand of tough love. What was he supposed to do? Treat Asher with kid gloves while he kicked everyone else’s butts into gear?
There was a lot riding on this next season, and his team was young. Asher was only a junior, and he was their top prospect for a quarterback to replace last season’s star senior, Jared Brown. More than half of last year’s team graduated, so the way Cole saw it, he had three months to get these boys into shape, to turn his young team into a strong team, and even he knew three months wasn’t long enough.