It shamed her to think about how she’d lost herself.
Or maybe she’d never really known herself in the first place. Had it really taken the death of her only friend to wake her up?
The door opened and a young boy stood on the other side, staring at her through the screen.
“AJ, I told you not to open the door to strangers,” a man’s voice called out before Connor appeared behind Julianna’s middle child.
“Hey, Connor,” Charlotte said.
Surprise splashed across his face. “Charlotte? What are you doing here?”
At least he remembered who she was. “May I come in?”
Connor tossed a worried look over his shoulder. She probably should’ve called first. She didn’t know a lot about social etiquette—it wasn’t like she spent a lot of time visiting friends in Chicago.
“Amelia, come watch your brother!” Connor called over his shoulder, then shooed AJ away, joining Charlotte on the porch. “Sorry, it’s kind of a disaster in there.”
She gave him a sad smile. This man that her friend had fallen so head-over-heels in love with looked like a shell of himself. Not that she knew him well, but the guy standing in front of her was a very different version of the guy Jules described in her letters.
A pang of jealousy resounded in her chest.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, not accusing, but not friendly either.
“I didn’t get to say anything at the funeral,” she said. “I didn’t want to impose.”
He frowned. “You were there?”
She nodded quietly. “It was a beautiful service.” Was that what people said about funerals? Should she comment on how lovely the luncheon was?
He looked away. “I hardly remember it.”
Her heart tightened in sadness. It didn’t surprise her. He’d seemed in a daze the entire time. And who could blame him? How did you say goodbye to the person you loved most in the world? “I got a letter from Jules, a few days after—” She couldn’t say the words. If she said them out loud, that made them true. And even though she knew they were true, she didn’t want them to be.
Connor leaned against the post at the front of the porch, refusing her eyes. His jaw twitched, and she couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe he was working—hard—to keep from crying.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said quietly. “That and to see if I can help you.”
He scoffed. “Help me what?”
Charlotte tried not to let his tone deter her. “Help with whatever—anything you need.”
He looked at her then, his eyes glassy. “Where’ve you been all this time, Charlotte? Her thirtieth birthday, the births of all of our kids, our wedding—” He glared at her now. “Do you know how much it hurt her that you could never be bothered?”
Charlotte deserved this. She hadn’t been a good friend. She was always on the receiving end of goodness. Julianna’s goodness. And yet, Jules never made her feel badly for it. She understood the demands of the ballet. She understood Marcia. She understood in ways that nobody else did.
“I’m sorry, Connor,” she said.
He shook his head. “She always made excuses for you. Said your life was harder than people realized.”
Charlotte’s gaze dipped to the porch beneath her feet. She wouldn’t claim to have a hard life—not to Connor—but the reminders that Julianna understood made her feel all the lonelier now.
“Why are you really here?”
“I was actually wondering what you plan to do with the dance studio.”
An accusing thought ran through Charlotte’s mind: You’re only doing this to ease your guilty conscience.
She shoved it aside, willing it false. Sure, maybe a piece of her wanted to be sure Julianna’s life had been good enough—that it didn’t pale in comparison to the life she would’ve had in the ballet—if Charlotte had not intervened.
But that’s not why she was here.
“I know you have no reason to trust me,” she heard herself saying. “I wasn’t nearly the friend to Jules that she was to me. But I want to change that. She made me want to be better.”
He blew out a heavy sigh. “Me too.” His voice quavered, and she hated that her presence on his porch was causing him pain.
“I’d like to buy the studio,” she said. “Take it off your hands. Make it a priority to take care of the students Julianna loved so much.”
“Isn’t that a little beneath you?” He dragged his gaze to hers.
She smiled sadly, knowing that her elitist attitude had not gone unnoticed. “Like I said, I want to change.”
He looked away. “I haven’t figured out what to do with the studio yet, but I guess you’re right—I probably need to sell it or shut it down.”
“Don’t shut it down,” Charlotte said. “It’s part of her legacy.”
From somewhere in the house, a baby started crying. Connor swore under his breath and looked at Charlotte.
“Julianna’s assistant is there now. Ask her if you want to help with the studio. I have to deal with the kids.” He pulled the door open and stopped, as if he had more to say. He must’ve thought better of it, though, because he snapped his jaw shut and walked inside, closing the door behind him, but not before she caught a glimpse of the mess in the living room.
She didn’t know Connor well, and admittedly, what she did know of him was mostly from his wife’s letters, but even she could see he wasn’t coping well.
She stood on the porch for a long moment, and a wave of grief thick and strong nearly knocked her over. It had come from nowhere, and now it lingered, leaving Charlotte unsteady on her feet.
Charlotte pulled out her phone and searched the address for Julianna’s dance studio. She plugged it in to her GPS, but as she pulled away from the curb, she glanced back at the quaint house situated in the middle of the Harbor Pointe neighborhood. In the second-story window, she spotted the face of a little girl, watching her.
Caught, Amelia dropped the curtain and disappeared, doing nothing to calm Charlotte’s overworked nerves. She wanted to help. For once, she wanted to do something for someone other than herself.
Slowly, she pulled out into the street and drove across town toward what she discovered was an adorable little studio situated on Mulberry Street.
She peered down the block at the rows of brightly colored buildings, the colors of the sky in the midst of a summer sunset. Pinks and yellows and teals all winked back at her, as if the town itself had a personality that deserved to be recognized.
Jules had described Mulberry Street in her letters, and while she was an excellent pen pal, even her beautiful words didn’t do this place justice.
Charlotte locked the doors of the beat-up Jetta, reminded herself to call the rental company, and made her way to the brick building that Jules had converted into a dance studio.
The lobby was much more spacious than she would’ve expected, with a reception area and the school’s logo neatly positioned on a brick wall behind it. The entire vibe was very Chicago, very upscale. Very Julianna. Her friend had always had impeccable taste.
“Can I help you?” A voice caught Charlotte’s attention. A girl, probably in her early twenties, stood in the lobby, looking disheveled.