Fool's Gold Collection Part 1: Chasing Perfect / Almost Perfect / Sister of the Bride / Finding Perfect
at people on the street. She saw Morgan in his bookstore and waved at the old man. He grinned back.
Now that was a simple relationship, she thought, trying to grit her teeth. She understood all the elements of it. She and Morgan were friends. They said hello, talked about the weather and went on with their lives. No complications. No handsome, hunky guy messing with her head.
What had she been thinking, telling Josh she liked him? Were they in high school? “Tell Bobby I like him, but only if he says he likes me first.”
She was confused, upset and unsettled.
Despite the fact that her mother hadn’t been the most maternal of women, Charity found herself wishing she was still alive so that she could ask for her advice. As silly as it sounded, right now she could use a hug from her mother. Or an aunt. Even a long-lost cousin would be good.
She walked into City Hall and started up the stairs. At the top, she passed Marsha, walking out of the break room with a cup of coffee.
“How was your lunch?” the mayor asked.
“Good. Pia’s always fun.”
“She is. She was a bit of a terror when she was younger.” Marsha frowned. “What’s that expression? She was a mean girl.”
“Pia?” Charity couldn’t imagine it.
“She was pretty and popular and wanted her way. Not a good combination in a teenager. But she turned out well.” Marsha sipped her coffee. “Is everything all right? I don’t mean to pry, but you look…I’m not sure. If I had to pick, I would say you look sad.”
Charity forced herself to smile. “I’m fine. Missing my mom, a little. She died several years ago. I guess that’s something you never get over.”
Marsha stiffened and the color drained from her face.
Charity moved toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Of course. The loss of a mother is always tragic. I still miss mine and she’s been gone over thirty years.” Marsha squared her shoulders. “Charity, would you please come with me into my office.”
“Sure.”
Charity followed her. Something was wrong, she could feel it, but she had no idea what it was. Had she done something wrong? Had she crossed a line talking about something personal?
When they reached Marsha’s office, the mayor did something Charity had never experienced before. Not in Fool’s Gold. She closed her doors. Then she led the way to the small conversation area by the wall.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Marsha said when they were both seated. “I’ve been waiting for the right time. Which is the coward’s way of saying I didn’t know how to tell you. I suppose the best way is to simply blurt out the words.”
Charity did her best not to go to the bad place. Possibilities flashed through her mind. Marsha was sick and/or dying. Charity was about to be fired. The town was going to disappear into a giant sinkhole. But no scenario prepared her for what came next.
Marsha leaned forward, lightly touching Charity’s arm as she gave her a gentle smile. “I’m your grandmother.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHARITY WAS GLAD SHE was seated. There was no way she could have stayed standing after hearing Marsha’s announcement.
“My…”
“Grandmother. Sandra Tilson, or as you knew her, Sandra Jones, was my daughter. Do you need some water?”
Charity shook her head. The words made sense, but she couldn’t accept their meaning. Grandmother, as in family? Sandra had always told Charity they were alone in the world, that they only had each other. Although Charity was sure her mother would have easily withheld that kind of truth if she wanted to. Sandra wasn’t a bad person, but she’d been determined to live by her own rules.
Now, in the quiet office of the mayor of Fool’s Gold, Charity stared at the sixty-something woman sitting across from her and looked for the truth in her eyes.
She thought it might be there in the shape of the jaw, the particular shade of her eyes. Just like her mother’s. But a grandmother?
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
Marsha rose and crossed to her desk. She opened a side drawer and pulled out a slim photo album then walked back and handed it to Charity.
Charity ran her fingers across the red leather cover, almost afraid to open it.
“My husband died when I was very young and our daughter was still a toddler,” the older woman began. “Having her helped me survive the grief. We were so close. She was a lovely, friendly child. So smart in school. But when she became a teenager, everything fell apart. She began to rebel.”
Marsha clasped her hands together on her lap. “I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I tried loving her more. I negotiated with her. Then, when things only got worse, I grounded her. Made the rules tougher. I became a controlling, dictatorial parent.”
Charity continued to hold the album. “She wouldn’t have done well with a lot of rules.”
“You’re right. The tighter I held on, the more she tried to slip away. I’d always been strict, but I became impossible. She responded by skipping school, going to parties, drinking and using drugs. She and a few friends were arrested for stealing a car. I was humiliated and at my wit’s end. I didn’t know how to get through to her. Then she told me she was pregnant. She was barely seventeen.”
Marsha drew in a breath. “It was too much. I completely lost it and screamed at her like no mother should. I accused her of ruining my life, of planning ways to embarrass me. I think at that second, I hated her.”
She dropped her head a little. “I’m so ashamed now. I would give anything to have that moment, those words, back. Sandra glared at me with all the loathing a seventeen-year-old is capable of and said she would make my life easier. She would go away. I remember I laughed and told her that my luck wasn’t that good.”
Marsha swallowed and met Charity’s gaze. “She was gone the next morning. I couldn’t believe it. That she would really leave. I was convinced she loved her creature comforts too much to give them up. But I was wrong.” Tears filled her eyes.
Charity leaned toward her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You had a fight. Mothers and daughters fight. My mother and I—” She paused. Her mother might possibly be Marsha’s daughter. Could they really be talking about the same person?
“I appreciate you taking my side, but I know what I did and where the blame lies. With me.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away. “She disappeared. I don’t know how she did it, but she was gone. Totally and completely gone. I couldn’t find her. I looked and looked, hired professionals, begged God, sent flyers across the country. There wasn’t a trace. Finally, nearly three years later, we got a break. One of the detectives I’d hired sent me an address in Georgia. I was on the next plane.”
Hearing the story was like listening to a recap of a made-for-TV movie, Charity thought. She was compelled, but not involved. This wasn’t about her. In theory, she was part of it, but she couldn’t feel the connection to events.
“You were so beautiful,” Marsha said, her smile trembling. “I saw you first, playing in the yard. You were pushing a little plastic baby carriage around the lawn. You were about two and a half. Sandra was sitting on the step, watching you. The house was small, the neighborhood terrible. All I wanted to do was gather you both up and bring you home. Back here, to live with me.”
Which didn’t happen, Charity thought, not daring to wonder how her life would have been different if she’d grown up in a place like Fool’s Gold. A small town where people cared about each other. A place where she could finally have roots.
“She