Chapter 5
Remedy
The smell of charcoal reached us before the clubhouse came into view.
Charlie sat in the backseat humming to herself while Mr. Pickles occupied the passenger seat beside her, secured by his own seatbelt because, according to my daughter, "safe bears wear seatbelts too."
I'd learned not to argue with logic like that.
She bounced excitedly in her booster seat the moment we turned into the long gravel drive.
"We're here!"
"I noticed."
"Toxic's cooking."
"I can smell that."
"Mace is probably gonna burn something."
I laughed.
"Probably."
"And Uncle Steel will say it wasn't him."
"Definitely."
Charlie nodded with complete certainty.
"They do this every cookout."
Some traditions never changed.
The clubhouse parking lot had filled steadily throughout the afternoon. Harleys lined one side of the lot while family vehicles occupied the other, the mixture somehow perfectly capturing what the East Coast chapter had become over the past several years.
Harleys stood in neat rows beside minivans and pickup trucks, while children's bicycles leaned casually against the porch railing and a tiny pink scooter rested where its owner had clearly abandoned it the moment something more exciting demanded her attention.
The mixture should have looked out of place, yet somehow it captured the East Coast chapter better than any clubhouse emblem ever could.
No outsider would have guessed this place belonged to a motorcycle club.
Not anymore.
Music drifted across the yard as laughter mixed with the familiar rumble of brothers arguing over who was responsible for turning the burgers too early.
If experience had taught me anything, Mace was almost certainly responsible, even if none of us could ever prove it.
Charlie pressed both hands against the truck window.
"I see Lark!"
Sure enough, Lark stood beneath one of the large oak trees helping several children hang strings of paper lanterns between the branches while Daisy arranged flowerpots around the picnic tables.
Beyond them, Steel and Toxic stood beside the massive grill pretending to debate cooking temperatures.
Neither of them expected to change the other's mind. They'd been having the exact same debate for years, and I suspected both of them secretly enjoyed the tradition more than the outcome.
I shut off the engine.
"You ready?"
Charlie didn't answer.
She was already trying to unbuckle herself.
"Bug."
"I know."
She sighed dramatically before holding her arms out toward me.
"You have to help."
"I thought you were in a hurry."
"I am."
"Then why aren't you climbing out?"
"'Cause Daddy has the button."
I smiled as I released the buckle.
"There you go."
The moment her feet touched the ground, she grabbed my hand.
Then immediately started pulling.
"Hurry."
"I'm coming."
"We're gonna be late."
"For a cookout?"
"Yes."
"I don't think that's possible."
"It is if the cookies are gone."
I considered that.
"Fair point."
We had barely reached the front porch before the clubhouse door flew open.
"There she is!"
Steel's booming voice echoed across the yard.
Charlie squealed.
"Uncle Steel!"
He scooped her effortlessly into the air, spinning her once before settling her against one tattooed shoulder.
"How's my favorite troublemaker?"
"I'm not trouble."
"So I've heard."
"Toxic says you are."
Steel looked toward the grill.
"Toxic lies."
"I heard that!"
Toxic shouted without turning around.
"You were supposed to!"
Steel shouted back.
Charlie dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.
I shook my head.
"You two are hopeless."
"We prefer entertaining."
Mace appeared from around the side of the building carrying a tray piled high with hamburger buns.
"Who's entertaining?"
"You."
Steel answered immediately.
Mace looked offended.
"I resemble that remark."
"You absolutely do."
Charlie leaned toward Mace.
"Did you burn dinner?"
He gasped dramatically.
"I'll have you know..."
He looked toward the smoking grill.
"...nothing important caught fire."
Steel snorted.
"Told you."
Laughter rolled across the yard.
It wasn't forced.
Or polite.
It wasn't polite laughter offered for the sake of conversation. It was the easy, familiar sound of people who had spent years showing up for one another until friendship had quietly become family.
I glanced toward the parking area.
More vehicles continued arriving.
Harbor House volunteers climbed from one SUV carrying covered dishes while several of the women we'd rescued over the past year slowly made their way toward the yard, some still hesitant in large gatherings, others already laughing with Daisy and Lark as though they'd belonged here forever.
This was why we hosted these evenings.
We didn't host these evenings because anyone needed another excuse to eat burgers.
We hosted them because healing looked different around picnic tables than it ever could inside counseling offices.
People laughed more easily, conversations happened without effort, and walls seemed to lower all on their own.
Around a shared meal, people relaxed without realizing it. Conversations unfolded naturally, old fears loosened their grip, and children quietly reminded adults that joy didn't always have to be earned.
Sometimes that accomplished more than months of therapy.
Charlie suddenly bounced against Steel's shoulder.
"They're here!"
I followed her gaze.
A white Harbor House van rolled slowly into the lot before coming to a stop beside the garden fence.
The passenger door opened first.
Several children climbed out with Evelyn, each carrying a casserole dish far too large for them while she pretended not to notice they were doing more carrying than helping.
Then Melissa.
Then two volunteers.
The last person to step down from the van was Sunshine.
She wore faded blue jeans tucked into worn brown boots and a soft cream-colored sweater despite the cooling evening air. Her long blonde hair hung loose for the first time since I'd met her, gentle waves catching the late afternoon sunlight as she looked around the property with quiet uncertainty.
She paused beside the van for only a moment, quietly taking in the bustling yard before joining the others.
It wasn't hesitation born from wanting to leave.
It was the cautious uncertainty of someone still trying to decide whether she truly belonged in a place that already seemed to have claimed her.
Something about that thought settled unexpectedly heavily inside my chest.
Charlie, of course, solved the problem before anyone else even realized there was one.
She wriggled free from Steel's arms.
"My Sunshine!"
Before I could stop her, she sprinted across the yard.
"Charlie!"
I called automatically.
"No running!"
She slowed...
Slightly.
Close enough.
Sunshine looked up just in time to catch thirty-five pounds of excited little girl launching directly into her arms.
"My Sunshine came!"
Sunshine laughed as she caught her.
"I told you I would."
"I know."
Charlie wrapped both arms around her neck.
"I just wanted to make sure."
Sunshine hugged her tightly.
"I wouldn't miss it."
Watching from several yards away, I realized Charlie wasn't greeting Sunshine the way she welcomed visitors. She ran to her with the unquestioning certainty she usually reserved for family, as though Sunshine's place among us had already been decided without anyone bothering to hold a vote.
And judging by the way Sunshine held her...
She wasn't treating Charlie like someone else's child anymore.
She held her like she already loved her.
I wasn't prepared for how much that realization affected me.
Because somewhere, without either of us noticing...
The line between helping and belonging had quietly begun to disappear.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
The conversations around the grill continued.
Children darted between picnic tables.
Someone laughed loudly enough that Toxic pointed toward the smoker and announced that if anybody distracted him again, dinner would consist entirely of hot dogs.
Life carried on around us.
Yet my attention remained fixed on the woman standing in the middle of the yard with Charlie wrapped around her like she'd always belonged there.
It wasn't just the hug.
I'd seen plenty of people hug Charlie.
It was what happened afterward.
Sunshine didn't immediately set her down.
She adjusted Charlie on her hip with practiced ease, one arm supporting her while Charlie happily continued talking without taking a breath.
"...and Nathan says dragons need neighbors but Emily says they need castles and Mr. Pickles says castles don't have enough pancakes."
Sunshine nodded thoughtfully.
"I think Mr. Pickles might have a point."
"I told them!"
Charlie threw one little hand dramatically into the air.
"No dragon should ever be hungry."
"Absolutely not."
Watching them together stirred an unexpected sense of familiarity.
It wasn't Sunshine herself that seemed familiar, but the feeling the two of them created together.
Charlie wasn't performing for attention or clinging because she felt uncertain.
She simply looked comfortable, secure, and completely at home in Sunshine's arms. Seeing that quiet contentment affected me far more than I wanted to admit.
A warm hand landed against my shoulder.
"You see it."
Bishop.
I hadn't heard him walk up.
I glanced sideways.
"See what?"
He smiled without looking at me.
"The difference."
I looked back toward Charlie.
"What difference?"
"Watch your daughter."
I frowned slightly but did as he suggested.
Charlie had begun introducing Sunshine to every single person who walked past.
"This is my Sunshine."
The words came so naturally she didn't even seem to realize she'd changed them.
Not Sunshine.
My Sunshine.
Steel grinned as he walked past carrying another cooler.
"Good to see you again."
Sunshine smiled warmly.
"You too."
Charlie pointed proudly.
"My Sunshine made dragons."
Steel blinked.
"...Should I be worried?"
"Only if you don't like pancakes."
"I love pancakes."
"Then you're okay."
Steel nodded gravely.
"I'll remember that."