Charlotte’s stomach fluttered. Damn traitor. Last evening, she’d kept herself in check—all night, in fact, even after three glasses of wine—but now she couldn’t stop her brain from going places she’d rather it not.
Like to Brighton on their eighth-grade field trip to Ashcroft Farms, a huge smile on her face as she sat astride Gertrude, one of the farm’s sleek brown horses. Their whole class was lined up for a ride, and Charlotte waved at Brighton, who was the first to take her turn.
“She’s so pretty,” Brighton had said a split second before Gertrude lurched into a quick canter.
A canter that quickly turned into a gallop.
“Gertrude!” Hattie, one of the workers at the farm, had yelled, but Gertrude wasn’t listening. She continued her run, heading right for the opening in the fence like a prisoner set loose.
Brighton didn’t scream. Didn’t make a sound, in fact, but Charlotte could see her expression—terrified—and how tightly she held on to Gertrude’s saddle horn while the reins flapped near the ground.
Charlotte’s heart was in her throat as Gertrude took off through the fence. Hattie was running after them, but there was no way she’d catch a horse on foot. She yelled at someone ahead of her, an older woman who turned out to be one of the farm’s owners. The woman stepped in front of Gertrude like it was nothing, her hands on her overalled hips, a chastisement on her tongue. Gertrude immediately dug her heels into the dirt, coming to such an abrupt stop, Charlotte thought Brighton was going to fly over Gertrude’s head to her death.
“Gertrude, you big idiot,” the woman had said, gathering the reins and giving Gertrude a pat on her flank. Gertrude, shamed, simply bent down and nosed at some scattered blueberries on the ground, chomping at them lazily, as though nothing had even gone awry.
After the woman helped Brighton down, called her a brave girl, it had still taken an hour for Brighton’s breathing to go back to normal. Charlotte sat with her on a bench by the old mill, water turning the creaky wheel, now as part of a history lesson rather than practicality. She rubbed Brighton’s back as her friend sipped on some water and told her it was okay. Brighton rested her head on Charlotte’s shoulder. She smelled like a meadow, like fresh air and ripe blueberries. And that was the first time Charlotte felt it.
That flutter.
That tiny spark in her heart that she’d never really felt with anyone else since.
Now Charlotte sat up too quickly, cutting off the memory with a swell of pain in her head. Just as well. Preferable, in fact, as she had no room to be sentimental here. This was survival, plain and simple.
“She’ll be fine,” Nina said. “Just keep an eye on her.”
“Mom,” Sloane said, “I really don’t—”
“Let’s do it,” Charlotte said.
“Et tu?” Sloane said, glaring at Charlotte.
“I’m afraid you girls are outnumbered,” Nina said. “Bagels and coffee in the kitchen in fifteen! Come on, Snick.” And with that, she flounced down the hall, humming what sounded like “Santa Baby,” Snick trotting behind her.
“You have betrayed me,” Sloane said.
“Your mother’s right,” Charlotte said. “Youaredramatic.”
Adele cackled at that, clapping her hands together once before turning to go back to her room.
Sloane just groaned and fell back on the bed. “I would’ve thought you, of all people, would be on my side. Don’t you want to argue for a six-hour rehearsal sesh?”
“We’ve got time for that,” Charlotte said. “It’s not like you actually have todateanyone. Just ride a horse. You don’t even have to smile.”
“Easy for you to say. Small-town singles are feral. You’ll see.”
“I’m from a small town.”
Sloane turned to look at her. “Michigan, right?”
Charlotte nodded. “Right by the lake.”
“And how many singles events did you go to there, hmm?”
“None. I was a coldhearted hermit without a social life, remember?” Charlotte forced a laugh, even though it made her head feel like it was swelling in size. She felt she was playing off her childhood pretty well, particularly with this precarious topic of singleness and hometowns.
But Sloane didn’t laugh. She just sat up and looked at Charlotte, eyes softly narrowed. “Were you really?”
Charlotte frowned. “I…” She trailed off, not sure what to say here. No, things weren’t exactly the way Charlotte had described them, but she had no clue how to talk about living in Grand Haven without mentioning Brighton, which was why she never, ever talked about Grand Haven.
