AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He looked over his shoulder at the closed door. “She's sleeping. I'll make sure she gets it.”
Marybeth nodded. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
He stared out at the water. “When you come back here again, can you not wear black? My sister is a vibrant soul, and I want whatever part of her life that's left to be filled with color.”
Marybeth's eyes widened. “Oh my. I never considered.”
“Well, I never considered a lot of things before today.” He'd never considered having a family. Not one of his own, anyway. He'd seen what love did to people. It destroyed them. Nope, it was better to batten down the hatches and waterproof the heart because once you let people in, they had a way of drowning you. He’d seen love destroy enough people to know it wasn’t for him. The only person he'd ever loved was Chloe until Ivy came along. How could one not love her? Now Chloe was leaving, and his heart ached. Was Ivy a lifeline, or was she an anchor that would eventually pull him under, too?
“You're not alone.” She pointed to the big house on the right. “Dr. Robinson is right next door. I know she's been stopping by daily to check on your sister.” She pointed to the home on the left side of his sister's property. “That house belongs to Charlotte. She's been busy lately, but don't hesitate to ask her for anything. She's one of the kindest women I know.” Marybeth looked at his left hand. “And she's single too.”
“I'm not looking.” He couldn't wait to get out of the matchmaking South, where a best friend or a mama was always ready to take him off the market.
“It's when you're not looking that you're likely to be finding.” She handed him the envelope and the cookies. “Squeeze Ivy for me and don't be a stranger. I'm right around the corner. You can't miss the building. It's the white one with a cross on the steeple.” She turned to walk away but stopped. “Don't forget about Charlotte. That girl can turn a pig into a princess. If you need something, she'll find it. She's a good egg.”
He waved and walked inside to find Rachel calling 911.
Ivy walked over and took his hand. In her little trembling voice, she said, “It's just you and me, kid.” She buried her head against his hip and cried.
CHAPTERTHREE
As far as first days went, Charlotte couldn’t complain. Sometimes it wasn’t about counting the wins but tallying up the losses that didn’t occur. There wasn’t a flood or a hurricane. Of those who walked inside the shop, no one tripped and fell and would sue her tomorrow for negligence. She didn’t land a big wedding, but she talked to Sara Brighton about her daughter’s future nuptials. Poor Danika wasn’t even in high school, and her mother was already planning. She supposed that should make her happy because Southern mamas and weddings would be her lifeblood, but something sat heavy on her heart today, and she couldn’t pinpoint what that was.
Marybeth walked inside and sank into a chair before she burst into tears.
“What in the world?” Charlotte rushed over and took the seat beside her friend. “Are you okay?”
Marybeth swiped at the tears and nodded. “Your neighbor passed. I went there like I said I would. I met the brother and gave him Chloe’s plan. She had picked out the readings and the music and she wanted to have it in her end-of-life folder.”
“Wait. She died?” Charlotte sucked in her breath.
“Have you not listened to me?”
“I heard you. I’m just clarifying.” Maybe that was the heaviness that sat in the air around her all day. Her mama always told her she was a feeling person because she always knew when her friends were unhappy or when someone was sad. The emotions sat in the air like a fog that only she could see. “That’s so sad. How old was she?”
Marybeth flopped back against the chair. “She was forty, with a five-year-old. Can you imagine?”
“I can’t.” What a nightmare. When Charlotte was younger, she had plenty of dreams. She’d get married by twenty-five and have two children by thirty. The first would be a boy to make his father proud and the second would be a girl, so her life would be complete. None of her dreams came true, but then she imagined that poor woman’s didn’t either. “Do they need food?” She thought about what was in her freezer. Any good Southern girl worth her salt had a dish waiting for an event, whether it be a death, a birth, or an intervention. Nothing said I care like a casserole.
“I’m starting a meal train. Shall I sign you up?”
“I’ll take tonight.” It was better to get it done and out of the way. Until she helped with something, she’d feel like she was useless. “I’ll make my famous chicken and dumplings.”
Marybeth stared at her. “It’s only famous because you sent three people to the emergency room with food poisoning the last time you made it.”
“I didn’t defrost the chicken on the counter this go around. It’s been in the refrigerator the entire time.” She got a bad rap for that mistake, but it was an honest one. She honestly didn’t try to make anyone sick. It was bad timing. Poor planning, actually. She’d forgotten to defrost the chicken and thought it would be fine sitting out. Pesky bacteria. “You have to admit that it tasted good.”
“It was delicious. But try not to kill off the rest of the family while you’re at it.”
She looked at the clock and saw it was a few minutes to five. If she headed out now, she could drop off a late dinner and offer her condolences. “Are you okay?” She imagined it was hard being Marybeth who dealt first-hand with every death in town. Then again, she got to snuggle newborn babies, and send brides down the aisle too. There was a balance to things, and Marybeth seemed to have a good one.
Charlotte turned off the lights, got her bag, and followed Marybeth to the door. She turned the sign to closed and locked up behind them. On the sidewalk, she gave her friend a hug, got in her car, and made her way home.
As she walked into the house, she stopped on the porch and glanced next door. It was dark, quiet, and lifeless, and her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.
She opened the door and moved past the overstuffed sofas and the table that held found objects like sea glass and starfish. She left her bag on the sofa table and went straight to the kitchen to put together her version of chicken and dumplings.
An hour later, she had a bubbling pot of homemade goodness that would fortify and fill. It might not fill the emptiness left by a death, but at least it would put something other than sorrow in their bellies.
