When she slid a compact out of her clutch, she opened it and took in her reflection, immediately going to work combing a few strands of loose hair back into place and dabbing at the hollows under her eyes. A few cheek pinches followed, along with some more hair fretting.
“You look really beautiful, Charlotte.” I felt my eyebrows come together—I hadn’t known I was going to say anything, yet there I was, reassuring her and telling her she was beautiful.
Her back had been angled my way—I didn’t think she’d even noticed I was there—but it stiffened for one moment before it relaxed. “Really?” She tipped her face from side to side, getting a good view of all angles, sounding as doubtful as she looked.
“Just as beautiful as you looked this morning, and just as beautiful as you have your whole life.” I turned in my seat to face her, wondering if I’d be less surprised if a leprechaun fell out of the sky into my lap than by the fact that I was attempting to make some kind of peace with Charlotte.
“Okay . . .” she said slowly, clicking her compact closed before sliding it back into her clutch. “Thanks, Clara Belle. I mean, thanks, Clara.” Charlotte sat on the edge of her chair and angled herself somewhat my direction. There were still four empty chairs between us, but it felt like the closest Charlotte and I had been since when she was seven and sick. Mom had been out of town, so I’d stepped in as the mother hen, pressing cool washcloths to her forehead and reading her stories. “Is that what you prefer? Clara?”
I felt my smile move into place. “That’s what I prefer. Though after years of saying that, Boone and now you are the only ones who’ve seemed to listen.”
“I remembered you correcting us when you still lived at home. But you stopped bringing it up after you left.” Charlotte crossed her ankles and leaned forward. “Why?”
“Because no one would listen.”
Charlotte seemed to mull that over. “No one ever listened to me either.”
“What a terrible childhood you must have endured.” I peered at her, watching her fight her smile. Charlotte had always fought her smiles like they were an enemy. It was nice to finally watch her lose a battle to one.
“Probably about as terrible as yours,” she replied, having to look away when I laughed. Smiling was one thing, but laughing was uncivilized in Charlotte’s book.
“But just look at us now.” I waved my finger between her and me. “Listening to each other.”
“Who would have thought it?”
“Not me.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Me neither.”
Shifting on her seat, she started to stand. She looked as though she was reeling from our truce, and I knew I was, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to her wedding reception.
“Charlotte?” I called before she could move. “I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you yet . . . but congratulations.” I paused, having to take my time to get this out. Not because the words were feigned, but because I actually meant them. “I’m happy for you, and I hope you and Ford have a wonderful life together.”
Her face went flat, followed by her eyebrows knitting together how I guessed mine just had. Perplexed seem to be the tone of things tonight. “Thank you?”
That made me laugh. “You’re welcome?”
Charlotte came close, but she didn’t quite laugh. Waving at me, she’d just turned to head back to the dance floor when she paused. Her hand went to the back of her chair, and she looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry about the dress, Clara Be—” She cleared her throat “Clara. I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot.”
I smoothed my hands down it, having gotten used to it twenty hours of continuous wear ago. “I’m sorry Boone hit your husband in the eye right before you said your vows. He should have waited until after at least.”
Charlotte’s and my gazes drifted to Ford. His eye wasn’t swollen shut, but the injury wasn’t exactly subtle. He’d deserved it, but the timing could have been a bit better. At least they’d gotten the majority of their portraits together taken beforehand.
Charlotte stayed where she was, hovering behind her chair. “I’m also sorry for what I did.” She chewed at the corner of her mouth. “What Ford and I did to you—”
I cut her off with a hard shake of my head. I was done revisiting the past. Unless it had to do with fond memories or funny ones, I wasn’t lingering there any longer. “You’ve loved Ford McBride from the time you were seven years old and our families vacationed together that summer in Nantucket. I knew you loved him. I knew you still loved him when Ford asked me out. I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that when I said yes, you know?”
Charlotte stopped gnawing at her lip. She nodded. “I knew you two were together when Ford and I started spending more time together. I knew you were technically still a couple when we . . .” She swallowed, still watching him out on the dance floor. “But I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that when he leaned in, you know?”