Chapter 3
Charity
Hand in My Pocket – Alanis Morissette
“Liam.” I kept my voice steady despite my hammering pulse. “Fancy running into you here.”
His green eyes darted around me, toward the door, like a trapped animal looking for an escape route. The flowers in his hands seemed to wilt under the tension radiating from his shoulders.
“Charity.” He cleared his throat. “How’s it going?”
Wasn’t that just the question. I’d been chasing him for three days, leaving unanswered voicemails and shoving planning materials under his door because I knew it would get left in the mailbox. I’m sure his neighbors thought I was some kind of stalker.
“Oh, you know. Trying to organize a dinner that my host seems determined to avoid discussing. I’m considering setting Carla on you.
” I stepped closer, noting how his knuckles had gone white around the bouquet stems, but I doubted it was the mention of my assistant that had him looking so tense.
“Beautiful flowers. For anyone special?”
“For Tally. I missed her housewarming party.” A muscle ticked beneath his eye. “And about the dinner—”
“Liam, I’ll just get the—” Brandon didn’t get to finish before Liam cut him off.
“Yeah, great.”
“Another order? I asked, smiling. “Apologizing to someone other than Tally?”
“No.” I didn’t think his shoulders could draw any tighter, but it looked like he could smash through a wall with them.
The silence fell with a thud, heavy and awkward, like a boulder dropping.
Thankfully, Brandon soon returned carrying a small plastic container.
Instantly Liam’s demeanor shifted. His guarded expression softened into something raw and careful as he took the box from Brandon.
I could see that inside was a single blue rose.
The pieces clicked together with devastating clarity.
The date. His avoidance. The way he’d looked when I’d asked who else he was apologizing to.
It had been common knowledge at high school and around town what happened to his son and when.
It was the night of the Spring Ball, the news spreading around the gym hall, a whispered rumor that turned out to be devastatingly true.
“I should let you get going with your day,” I said quietly, my chest tight with sympathy.
He looked up sharply, as if surprised by the gentleness in my tone, and for a moment, I thought something passed between us. An acknowledgment of grief, of understanding.
“Thanks.”
Then his walls slammed back in place, sealing everything off. I knew because I’d seen that look on my sister, many times.
“See you around, Charity.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Brandon, call me if my guy isn’t here in an hour.” His gaze then whipped to me. “About the dinner. I’ll do it.”
“What?”
“I’ll host the damn dinner, so you can stop pushing things under my door. And I don’t want to be asked endless questions about napkin colors or music choices.”
My heart leaped as I tried to process this sudden turnaround. “That’s… great. When do you want to—”
“I’ll call you.” He pushed through the door, leaving me standing in the overheated flower shop with more questions than answers.
Five minutes later, my heels clicked against the sidewalk like a metronome, each step keeping time with the smile I wore for the world.
It was easier to keep smiling than to let anyone see how much I sometimes wanted more.
More than being the reliable daughter, the dependable businesswoman, the one who never got chosen first. Sometimes I wondered if anyone would ever look past the practiced smile to glimpse the woman beneath.
The one aching to be chosen, not for her brightness or her steadfastness, but for her shadows too.
Plastering on that smile, I began counting my steps. Concentrating on not stressing about Liam Brown. He’d agreed to host the dinner and that would have to be enough for now, even if my head was spinning with ideas I wanted to run past him.
Needing more distraction, because I was close to sliding into his DM’s, I looked up to count the streetlights. There were nine leading up to my car which I’d parked outside the hotel. It was only then that I felt like I could focus on something other than dinner settings and chair covers.
The spring air pressed unusually close, warm enough to make my silk blouse cling, a reminder of how even comfort could turn suffocating. At almost three and with no more meetings for the rest of the day, I decided that maybe a glass of wine in my small yard would be a great end to a busy day.
Beeping the lock of my car with one hand, I dialed my dad with the other.
Every time I called him, my heart held its breath until his voice came through.
Ever since Mom had her stroke, I worried every single day about them.
I also realized that they wouldn’t be here forever, and it scared me.
I'd learned too young that families could be broken in ways that never fully heal. They were everything to me—my only family. I had a younger sister, but Faith was what could only be described as trouble. I only saw her when she needed bailing out of her latest drunk and disorderly charge. Sometimes I wondered what it would feel like if someone worried about me that way. If there was someone who’d call just to make sure I made it through the day, instead of me being the one checking on everyone or trying to put out the fires started by my sister.
“Hey, sugar.”
I heaved out a breath of relief. “Hi, Dad. How’s your day been?”
“Good. Mom and I walked to the grocery store today.”
“Dad.” I threw my oversized purse onto the passenger seat, mentally cursing when my wallet fell out into the footwell. “Why didn’t you call? I would have taken you.”
They lived in a cute little bungalow in Silver Peaks, overlooking the park on one side and the mountains at the rear.
They’d moved there from our sprawling family home on the edge of town after Mom’s stroke.
It had been the best thing they’d ever done, especially as there wasn’t room for Faith.
Their spare bedroom was full of crap they refused to get rid of.
“It took us ten minutes, and you know she’s supposed to get exercise.”
“I know, but I worry.” Turning the key in the ignition, I pressed the button to lower the window and let in some breeze. “How is Mom now?”
“Taking a nap. But she’s fine. I promise.”
“Okay.” I looked across the street toward Marti’s Taphouse, the local bar. “You heard from Faith?”
“No.” Dad sucked in a breath. “It’s been a couple of weeks, which worries me.”
“She’ll be fine,” I lied, knowing deep in my gut that she was probably causing havoc with a bottle of bourbon somewhere. “Want me to bring lunch over tomorrow? I have a couple of hours free.”
“That would be great, sugar. We look forward to it. So, tell me about work—how are the plans for the cooperative dinner?”
“Very funny, Dad.” He knew I was having a hard time getting Liam Brown to agree.
I think the whole town knew. Everyone was aware of the shadows that he carried, though no one talked about them, which was probably why I’d been left to be the one knocking on his door and trying to wear him down. Like an irritating fly.
“He still not playing ball?” Dad’s deep chuckle was another salve to my conscience that I didn’t help him with Mom enough.
“No, he’s actually agreed, finally.” As the Bluetooth in the car kicked in, I threw my phone into the center console and unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled them back.
“Big surprise, but I’m taking it as a win even if he doesn’t want to help with any of the organization.
Any words of wisdom on how to get him more interested? ”
“Oh God, I don’t have any. Maybe ask Google or A one.”
“I think you mean AI, and believe me, not even that can help me with Liam Brown.”
“I knew his mom back in high school.” He chuckled. “Once. Under the bleachers, if you know what I mean.”
Groaning, I looked out of the windshield, admiring the hair of a girl walking along the sidewalk. It was long, bouncy, black curls and she walked with the natural confidence I could only wish for.
“That is an image I don’t want, Dad. Tell me something else to replace it.”
“The eggplants were a little hard at the food market this morning.”
The Sauvignon Blanc burst across my tongue in bright notes of citrus, like sunshine breaking through a storm.
That was how good it tasted—it had been so long since I’d had a glass.
Keeping fit, according to my personal trainer, Dom, included no alcohol.
Well, screw that. And screw getting buns of steel.
I was sick of wasting hundreds of dollars on something I hated.
My house sat in a new development on the edge of town, just a handful of homes along maple-lined sidewalks, with beds of drought-tolerant plants softening the streets.
More than four walls, it was my sanctuary built with care for the world and for me.
Solar panels, heat pumps, sustainable materials—it was perfect.
As for the interior, I’d trawled every furniture store imaginable to get the perfect furniture to match my bold and eclectic taste.
My most expensive purchase, aside from my couch, was my beautiful vintage bed and handmade patchwork quilt.
But, best of all, was the fact that it was mine and the day I’d gotten the keys had been the proudest moment of my life.
Sitting with my feet up on my emerald, green velvet sectional, looking through my patio doors, I let my mind scramble through the day’s events.
The blue rose. Liam’s agreement to host the dinner.
The pain I’d glimpsed in his eyes before he’d shuttered it away.
Finally, my call with Dad and the mess that was my sister.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling to Faith’s number. Part of me wanted her to answer, but a bigger part hoped she wouldn’t. Faith’s moods flipped without warning, sunshine one moment, hurricane the next.
When she answered with a sigh, I knew it was going to be a hurricane day.
“What?”
“Nice way to answer, Faith.”
“You never call unless I’m in trouble, and I haven’t done anything wrong, so what do you want, Charity?”
There was no point beating around the bush with her. “Dad said he hasn’t heard from you. Just checking in to make sure you’re okay.”
The silence on the other end felt interminable, but I knew that wouldn’t be it. She wouldn’t be able to help herself. Faith was no wallflower—that was for sure.
“Did he not think that he could call?” she shot back, words sharp as glass, cutting before I had time to brace. “You know, instead of getting you to do it.”
My throat bobbed with the anger brewing inside me. My free hand gripped the arm of the chair so tight my knuckles went white. “He didn’t ask me to, so what’s wrong with giving my sister a call?”
“Nothing, if it was a regular thing.” She coughed—throaty, full of gravel.
“Are you smoking again?”
“Nope. Anything else?”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I tipped my head back, gripping the black wool fabric of my skirt. “Are you okay for money?”
“Wow, you really do live up to your name, don’t you? Well, I don’t need your damn charity, Charity.”
The way she spat my name told me she was spoiling for a fight. Since she was fifteen, our family had spent our lives navigating around her moods.
“You know where I am if you need anything. I’ll let Mom and Dad know you’re okay.” I sucked in a breath. “Take care of yourself, Faith.”
“That it?”
“You sure that you’re okay?”
“Yep, you can report back to Mom and Dad that the bad daughter is doing fine.”
The line went dead, leaving me with nothing but silence and the lingering image of a blue rose in a plastic container.