“To answer your question, yes, I’m the girl they’re talking about in that article.” Donna slowly folded the papers back up and set them on the table. “And yes, that is my mother in that picture.”
Charlotte would always remember the malevolence contained on those pieces of paper and how it was contrasted with Aunt Marjorie’s bright yellow, sunflower tablecloth.
Seeking the comfort of his warmth, Charlotte settled herself back down against Hawk’s chest. His arms immediately went around her, and he rested his chin atop her head.
“For the next several minutes—with an unbelievable amount of composure—Mom recounted the nightmare she’d endured at the hands of Franklin Stewart and the others. She was very careful to leave out the details of the abuse.” A testament to how horrible it must’ve been. “Mom told me that, when Evelyn didn’t believe her, she felt hopeless and lost. She was sure the abuse would never end.”
She’d been right.
It wasn’t until Evelyn sat in the courtroom and was basically forced to listen to all of the evidence against Franklin that she began to fully grasp what happened. Even then, when faced with the ugly truth, she refused to accept the part she played in her daughter’s continued victimization.
Andthatwas why Charlotte’s mom cut Evelyn out of her life forever. Some things could simply not be forgiven.
“I remember crying and apologizing to Mom for upsetting her. But she leaned close, wiped my tears away with a napkin, and said something I will never forget. ‘Charlotte, you are my beautiful miracle, and you rescued me from that nightmare.’”
“No wonder you have such an innate gift with victims, Charlotte.” He cupped the side of her face and stroked his thumb across her cheek.
“After hearing Mom’s story, I knew I wanted to do something to help other victims.” She closed her eyes and breathed in his comforting scent. “So I decided to study psychology with a focus on children.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” His deep voice vibrated in his chest. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
“Speaking of sharing … Do you want to tell me about your brother?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Youtrustedmewithyour story, so it’s only fair that I trust you with mine.” Telling Daniel’s story was tough—and maddening—mostly because it didn’t have to end the way it had. “Daniel was three years younger than me, and we used to be best friends growing up. We did everything together.”
“Like fishing?” She mentioned seeing the photo in the guest room.
“Yeah, I think I was maybe ten, so he would’ve been about seven when ‘just us guys’ went camping. I think my dad sensed our mom needed a break from all the testosterone-driven energy in the house.” He smiled at the memories they’d made that weekend. “That northern pike was the first fish Daniel ever caught completely on his own. He did everything—he hooked the worm, cast the line, and when that fish hit, he held on to that rod like his life depended on it.” Daniel had saved up his chore money for weeks to buy that rod and reel and was determined not to let some fish snatch the whole thing from him. “He reeled it in and even removed the hook from its mouth, all by himself.”
“That explains the huge smiles on both of your faces.” She smoothed her hand up and down his arm. “And you looked so proud.”
“Oh, man, I was—so was our dad. That pike was almost as big as Daniel.” His brother had wrestled with it for about ten minutes before the fish finally conceded defeat. “Later that night, he cleaned it, cooked it over an open fire, and shared it with us.”
Daniel always said it was the best-tasting fish he’d ever eaten.
“You said youusedto be best friends?” She snuggled closer, as if sensing the sensitivity of the topic.
As kids, their happiest days were spent running around in the woods, fishing, or floating down an icy-cold river on inner tubes.
Unfortunately, growing up changed things.
“I was always intense and focused. Daniel was carefree and embraced life. He threw caution to the wind.” Sometimes a bit too much.
“Those are pretty standard first and second child personality traits,” she said.
“By my senior year in high school, we’d started growing apart. I spent almost every second of my spare time with my grandfather, honing my tracking and hunting skills. Daniel was a freshman, and he wanted nothing to do with tracking. He said it was a stupid holdover from the past and a massive waste of time. He had no interest in sports. His only hobby was photography, and he lost interest in that. With not much else for him to do, he started hanging out with the wrong kind of people.”
Charlotte sat up and gave him her full attention.
“He was cutting classes, staying out all night, smoking pot, drinking. One night, a few days after he turned sixteen, he got caught trying to steal a bottle of whiskey from the liquor store on the reservation.” If their parents hadn’t been friends with the owner, things would have gone a lot differently. “Dad saved his ass that night and told him that if something like that happened again, he wouldn’t be there to help him out.”
“I take it that didn’t work,” she said.
“Unfortunately, no.” The more their parents tried to restrict him, the more rebellious he became. “For about six months, Daniel tried to get his shit together—and I think a part of him really wanted to—but he refused to cut ties with the bunch that led him down that path to begin with.” It was proof of the old saying,you’re no better than the company you keep. “He said they were his friends and they accepted him for who he really was and it would be disloyal to turn his back on them.”
“The teen years are teeming with physical changes and emotional challenges that can be difficult for some to navigate,” Charlotte said. “That’s when social peer-group connections become extremely important. In many instances, more so than familial connections.”
