Chapter 5 #2
He continued toward the clubhouse, chuckling to himself.
I looked back at Bishop.
"She started saying 'my Sunshine.'"
"I noticed."
"When?"
"This afternoon."
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"I don't think Sunshine even realized."
"I don't think Charlie did either."
The realization settled somewhere unexpectedly deep.
Children didn't use possessive words carelessly.
They claimed the people who made them feel safe, the places where they belonged, and the relationships they trusted without question.
Charlie had done exactly that, and I wasn't sure Sunshine realized she'd just been welcomed into my daughter's heart.
I wasn't sure Sunshine understood she'd just been claimed by a three-year-old.
Something told me Charlie had already made up her mind.
Across the yard, Daisy intercepted Sunshine before she could disappear into the crowd.
"There you are."
She leaned over to kiss Charlie's forehead.
"Have you been keeping Sunshine out of trouble?"
Charlie looked offended.
"I'm helping."
"I don't doubt it."
Daisy laughed before taking the casserole dish from Sunshine's free hand.
"Come on."
She nodded toward the long tables beneath the oak trees.
"We'll introduce you to everybody."
"I've met most of them."
"Not like this."
Sunshine looked around uncertainly.
During the past hour, the yard had quietly transformed into something that felt more like a family reunion than a motorcycle club gathering.
String lights glowed between the oak trees while children chased one another across the grass, veterans argued good-naturedly over baseball and barbecue from the porch, and brothers drifted easily among Harbor House volunteers as though no line had ever existed between the two groups.
Perhaps there wasn't one anymore. We'd built Harbor House to help others heal, but somewhere along the way Harbor House had quietly rebuilt us as well.
Daisy gently touched Sunshine's elbow.
"Relax."
"I'm trying."
"I know."
She smiled knowingly.
"You've spent months taking care of everybody else."
Sunshine looked down at Charlie.
"I don't mind."
"I know you don't."
Daisy's smile softened.
"But tonight..."
She gestured toward the yard.
"...let us take care of you for a little while."
Surprise flickered across Sunshine's face, followed by something that looked remarkably close to disbelief, as though no one had ever suggested she deserved to be cared for instead of always caring for everyone else.
I found myself watching them longer than I intended.
Long enough that Toxic noticed.
He flipped another burger before looking sideways at me.
"You planning on helping?"
"I am helping."
"You've been standing there."
"I've been observing."
Steel snorted from the other side of the grill.
"That's what Bishop calls people watching."
"I wasn't people watching."
"You absolutely were."
Mace wandered over carrying another tray.
"Who're we judging?"
"Nobody."
Steel grinned.
"Remedy's pretending he isn't watching Sunshine."
"I wasn't—"
All three of them looked at me.
None of them said a word. They didn't need to. After years of riding together, the silence between us often carried more meaning than an entire conversation.
I sighed.
"I was making sure she felt comfortable."
Mace's grin widened.
"Mhm."
"She looked nervous."
Steel nodded thoughtfully.
"Reasonable concern."
"I thought so."
Toxic finally spoke.
"You done lying to yourself?"
I stared at him.
"What?"
He flipped another burger.
"You weren't watching because she looked uncomfortable."
"I wasn't?"
"No."
He didn't even look up.
"You were watching because Charlie looked comfortable."
The words settled heavily in the pit of my stomach because every one of them knew they were true.
None of the brothers laughed—not even Mace.
They understood exactly what Toxic meant, because every one of them had watched Charlie grow up and knew how fiercely I'd tried to protect the little world we'd built together.
Steel quietly handed Toxic another tray of burgers.
"You've spent three years making sure Bug never wondered whether somebody was going to stay."
I looked toward Charlie again.
She'd climbed down from Sunshine's arms and now walked hand in hand beside her toward the drink table, talking so animatedly that Sunshine could barely keep up.
"So?"
Steel continued.
"What happens when she decides somebody already has?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know.
And maybe...
I wasn't ready to.
"Sunshine!"
Lark waved from one of the picnic tables.
Several Harbor House volunteers already occupied the benches while children darted around them carrying paper plates and plastic cups.
"Come sit."
Charlie immediately pulled Sunshine toward the empty spot beside her.
"Right here."
Sunshine smiled.
"I thought you were sitting with your daddy."
"I am."
She patted the bench.
"You're next to Daddy."
Charlie said it with such simple certainty that it never occurred to her there might be another arrangement. In her mind, Sunshine belonged beside us because that was where she'd decided she belonged.
Sunshine hesitated just long enough that Charlie noticed.
"Don't worry."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically.
"He shares."
The table erupted into laughter.
Even Sunshine couldn't stop herself.
Remedy approached carrying three glasses of lemonade balanced carefully in one hand.
"I heard that."
Charlie smiled innocently.
"I was helping."
"So I've been told."
He set one glass beside Sunshine before placing another in front of Charlie.
"You remembered."
Sunshine looked at the lemonade.
"I didn't ask for one."
"I noticed."
He shrugged lightly.
"You looked thirsty."
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
The lemonade wasn't a grand romantic gesture, nor was it an attempt at flirting.
It was simply one observant person quietly noticing the needs of another before they noticed them themselves, and somehow that small act carried more meaning than either of them realized.
Lark caught Daisy's eye across the table.
Daisy smiled into her tea.
Neither woman said a word.
Across the yard, Bishop noticed too.
Sometimes love didn't begin with flowers.
Sometimes...
It began with remembering someone might be thirsty before they remembered themselves.
Charlie immediately wrapped both hands around her lemonade.
"Can we toast?"
Remedy smiled.
"What are we celebrating?"
She looked around the table as though the answer should have been obvious.
"Everybody."
Steel, who had just claimed the seat across from them with a paper plate piled high enough to concern any reasonable physician, lifted his cup without hesitation.
"I can drink to that."
One by one, everyone around the table raised their glasses.
Lark.
Daisy.
Bishop.
Melissa.
Evelyn.
Even Mr. Dawson, who loudly complained that sweet tea would have been a far better choice before lifting his lemonade anyway.
Charlie stretched as high as her little arms would allow.
"To everybody!"
Plastic cups clinked together with far more enthusiasm than precision.
Sunshine laughed as Charlie accidentally splashed a few drops of lemonade onto the table.
"Oh."
Charlie looked horrified.
"I spilled."
"You barely did."
Sunshine reached for a napkin before Charlie could panic.
"There."
Charlie watched her wipe away the tiny puddle.
"I was helping."
"I know."
"I always help."
"I know that too."
Charlie seemed satisfied with the answer.
Across the table, Steel leaned toward Remedy.
"You know..."
He kept his voice low enough that only the brothers could hear.
"I don't think I've ever seen Bug sit still this long."
Remedy looked toward his daughter.
She wasn't sitting still.
She was leaning comfortably against Sunshine's shoulder while nibbling on watermelon, happily telling Evelyn about the dragon family she'd created that afternoon.
Every few minutes she absentmindedly reached over to show Sunshine another bite of food before taking it herself, completely unconcerned about personal space.
It wasn't unusual.
Charlie had always been affectionate.
The difference was...
Who she'd chosen.
"I noticed."
Steel followed his gaze.
"She's attached."
"She likes Sunshine."
Steel looked back at him.
"No."
He smiled knowingly.
"She trusts her."
There it was again—that word. Trust. It seemed to find its way into every conversation surrounding Sunshine and Charlie, and the more often I heard it, the harder it became to dismiss what everyone else already seemed to recognize.
Before Remedy could answer, Charlie tugged gently on Sunshine's sleeve.
"You forgot."
Sunshine blinked.
"Forgot what?"
"You have to eat."
She looked down at her plate.
Somehow, while helping Emily cut her hamburger and finding extra ketchup for Nathan, she'd barely touched her own dinner.
Charlie pointed at the sandwich bun.
"You always tell us food helps."
Sunshine laughed softly.
"I do."
"So..."
Charlie folded her little arms.
"...you have to."
The entire table had gone suspiciously quiet.
Sunshine looked around.
Everyone was smiling.
Even Mr. Dawson.
She picked up her burger.
"There."
Charlie nodded once.
"Good."
Then, apparently deciding the matter had been successfully resolved, she returned to her watermelon.
Laughter rolled around the table.
Daisy leaned toward Sunshine.
"I'd get used to it."
Sunshine raised an eyebrow.
"To what?"
"Being reminded."
She smiled.
"Charlie notices everything."
"I've figured that out."
"No."
Daisy laughed.
"I mean everything."
Sunshine looked toward the little girl now happily explaining to Mr. Dawson why dragons shouldn't be allowed to drive motorcycles.
"I believe you."
Dinner drifted comfortably into the evening without anyone paying attention to the time. No one seemed eager to leave, and for a little while the worries waiting beyond the clubhouse gates felt far enough away to ignore.
Paper plates gradually emptied while conversations drifted from one picnic table to another.
The children eventually abandoned eating altogether in favor of chasing fireflies beginning to appear beneath the trees.