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Chapter 23

Charlotte half-expected her car to break down again, as if some cosmic event had brought her to this moment in time for history to repeat itself. Instead, the light turned green and she sped past the stoplight, no problems. She glanced in her rearview mirror to the side of the road where the nice stranger had helped push her car.

If she were a vampire . . .

Charlotte pushed aside the thought. That wasn’t going to happen.

Torr had been abundantly clear about that on Sunday morning. And to punctuate his decision, he hadn’t called, texted, or otherwise tried to contact her in three days. Breaking down Tuesday after work, she’d walked to The Vault, expecting him to be there.

But he wasn’t.

She stayed to help, but Toni teased that she was so focused on the door it was a miracle she didn’t trip over her own feet. Eventually, her friend had shooed her home, begging her to get some rest.

“You look terrible” were her exact words. Great.

Finally, after two more days of torture, Charlotte had decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She’d taken another day off, packed her bags, and drove to her parents’ house.

She would, of course, never miss the opening night of the bar and had promised Toni she’d be back Saturday for the soft opening, a Halloween eve costume party. Charlotte figured she’d worry about the actual costume later.

As she pulled up her parents’ drive, she seriously contemplated turning back around to return to Stone Haven. It wasn’t as if she would find the kind of comfort she needed here. Her mother had never really been that kind of mother. But she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, it was bear archery season, and her stepfather wouldn’t be around much. Which usually meant her mother was slightly less high-strung than usual.

Thank God for small favors.

This time, no attendant took her car. Parking it at the end of the circular driveway, Charlotte grabbed her bag and took a deep breath.

“Well, this is a surprise.”

As usual, her mother greeted her just inside the door. She never missed a beat. Charlotte would give her that.

“I heard a car—”

“Evening, Mother,” she said. “Where’s Marc?”

If her mother’s pursed lips were any indication, he still hadn’t come home from work.

“He’s meeting with a potential client—”

“Client? Since when does he have clients?”

Tossing her bag in the foyer, Charlotte followed her mother into the kitchen.

“There’s a new piece of software he’s working on . . .”

She waited, but her mother never finished. Like her father, Marc never stopped trying to “hit the big time.” Why couldn’t “comfortable” just be enough?

“Did you eat supper?”

“I did.” Her mother hated to cook, so she’d assumed it would be better to grab something on the way.

“Good. Your stepfather is supposed to bring something back for me, but I don’t know what time he’ll be home.”

Charlotte sat at the counter as her mother grabbed them each some lemon water from the fridge. It was all she drank, something about her gut health. Charlotte briefly considered asking for a diet soda but stopped herself. She was here for some peace and quiet. That goal would not be achievable if she admitted to drinking soda.

Imagine if her mother knew even a fraction of the truth about Torr.

“So, are you going to explain what you’re doing here on a Thursday night?”

“Taking tomorrow off.”