Unspoken (16 page)

She shrugged. “I get restless. I like a crowd, and something to sketch. A friendly competition fits the need beautifully, so I gravitate to sporting events.”

She started reading.

Bryce watched the game, occasionally her, as she worked through the folder. She wasn’t skimming items; she was reading and thinking through each possibility. He felt himself relax. He could give her good advice, options, but the decisions needed to be those she was comfortable with. She’d give him that.

The scope of what she had entrusted to him had begun to settle in over the last several days. Sixty million in gifts. He’d see to it that every dollar was given away with care and prayer.
He owed her that, for the privilege of being able to be a part of what she was doing. She was giving the money away because she had concluded she didn’t need it, wouldn’t enjoy holding on to it, wouldn’t like the responsibility of managing the wealth. He understood her reasons, but he admired the decision all the same. She had a generous heart. He tucked that knowledge beside the fact she was an artist.

He was slowly figuring out who she was when he looked beyond what had happened to her, and he liked what he was finding.

B
ryce found the work took on a rhythm. He would make two trips a week to Graham Enterprises to haul pallets of coins from the vault back to Chicago, spend most of his day at the coin-sorting room working with Ann, stop in late in the day at Bishop Chicago to talk with Devon about the higher-priced individual coins, and then head home. Charlotte would meet him in Chicago every ten days or so for dinner, to review ideas he’d pulled together for places to contribute, to sign checks. She’d stay the night at Ellie’s, then head to her stores in Cincinnati or St. Paul with another load of items to sell. She was emptying out the storage bunkers at a faster pace than he was getting through the coins, but they were both making progress.

Their fifth dinner and evening together, the baseball game was tied one to one going into the seventh inning stretch when Bryce followed Charlotte into his kitchen, by unspoken agreement both looking for something to snack on.

Charlotte opened his cupboard and looked at options. She was barefoot. He found it oddly fascinating to realize her tan ended in a nice U across the top of her foot. She wasn’t one to
wear sandals, but she apparently often wore deck shoes. “What are we having?”

She pulled out a bag of tortilla chips. “Nachos.”

He got a bag of grated cheese from the bottom drawer of the refrigerator. “Chips, cheese, microwave, eat a layer, add more cheese, heat again.”

She popped open the salsa jar. “We agree on the nacho recipe.”

He fixed a plate of chips and cheese and put it in the microwave for a minute twenty seconds. She dumped the salsa in a bowl and moved around the counter to pull out a stool. She tugged the chip bag over and dipped one into the salsa while she waited.

The timer dinged. Bryce pulled the plate of nachos out and set it on a counter between them. She went for one with the most melted cheese and folded another chip over it to lift it. He worked from the edge of the plate toward the center. He’d forgotten how much he liked simple nachos.

He ate another chip and glanced over at Charlotte. The conversation he’d been thinking about for weeks needed to be opened and it seemed like now was the moment.
Jesus, is this the right time?
He thought the prayer quietly while he ate another nacho. Her fifth visit. She’d either shut him down hard or she would be willing to listen—he had no clue which it would be. He picked up a napkin. “Can we talk about God, Charlotte, and what you said in the car about God’s willingness to forgive the men who hurt you?”

She shot him a look that wasn’t encouraging. “Why?”

“Because I know the topic hurts you, and the only way I know to help is to bring it up.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I know. But I’m not one to ignore a problem, and I’m a guy who considers God to be very important. I’m going to keep coming back to this subject until we can have a conversation.
So it’s to your own benefit to have it tonight so the topic doesn’t keep coming up. I’m not asking you to change what you think, just to have the conversation.”

She sighed and pushed away the plate. “You know how to kill a good nacho plate.”

“Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She walked to the far counter to get the pitcher of raspberry tea. She brought a glass of ice and the pitcher back and settled onto the stool. “Ten minutes, Bryce. Because after that I don’t want the topic brought up again unless I choose to introduce it.”

“Fair enough.” He glanced at the clock. She’d be literal about it.

He got himself a glass and ice and passed it to her to fill, then leaned against the counter, cradling the drink in his hands. “You said God was too willing to forgive. That you didn’t know if you wanted anything to do with a God who would give a second chance to the men who hurt you. I’m remembering it correctly?”

She nodded, not meeting his gaze.

“I want to agree with you. My instincts, my gut, everything in me tells me you’re right. God goes too far when He offers the men who hurt you a way out. They could have repented, asked God’s forgiveness, and they would have received a clean slate and heaven, even after what they did.”

Charlotte studied the glass in her hand. “I hear the
but
coming.”

“Christianity isn’t fair, Charlotte. That’s the source of your pain. Christianity isn’t fair, but it is what we need. Grace so scandalous we can never get beyond its reach to forgive.” She was listening, and Bryce was relieved she was offering him at least that.

“God’s forgiveness wouldn’t have removed the consequences of what they did. Repentance would have meant accepting responsibility, coming forward, pleading guilty, facing life
in prison or even the death penalty if that’s what the court deemed necessary. Forgiveness for what they had done to you would, however, have removed God’s judgment from resting on them through eternity. Forgiven, they would have a place in heaven.

“I understand the pain and frustration you feel at that truth. They hurt you and yet they get that second chance. But the Bible says God doesn’t want anyone to perish—to be eternally separated from Him. So He offers even those who do terrible harm the extraordinary grace of forgiveness if they will ask Him.”

Bryce wished he could leave it there, for the rest of what he had to say was where the deep pain rested, and she was going to flinch when he said it, but he couldn’t help her if he didn’t open the door. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “And I know, Charlotte, that’s only the top layer of what’s going on.” He reached out and brushed her hand with his, wanting to offer the contact, wishing he could make this not hurt so much.

“God offered them that second chance because He loved them,” he said quietly, and saw and felt her flinch. “That’s the core pain you feel, as much as anything you’ve put into words. They hurt you. God shouldn’t get to love both them and love you. He should have to choose. So maybe they do get forgiven, but He isn’t supposed to love them. He’s supposed to love you first and most. Yet Jesus loved the men so much He died to take their punishment on himself, and He held out to them extraordinary grace to fully forgive what they had done.”

He reached over to carefully wipe a tear away. The emotion she was trying to contain devastated him. “I am sorry, so sorry, that evil touched you like it did when you were sixteen. But God never stopped loving you, Charlotte. He didn’t choose them over you. To this day He loves you.

“God is good. Really good. But that goodness means He has the capacity of offering a second chance even to those who have done evil. You need to accept that fact if you’re going to find peace with God. We all do. It’s part of who He is. God deeply loves you, Charlotte. Trust that.”

She swiped a forearm across her face. “Do you . . . do you think you could stop talking now?” She took a broken breath as she fought fresh tears, then walked away toward the powder room.

Bryce leaned his head on the counter, then silently punched the silverware drawer, knowing he’d just made things worse. How many times had he run that conversation in his head? He’d mangled it.

“Don’t hurt anymore, Charlotte. Please,” he whispered, knowing the hurt tonight was going to be his fault.
Jesus, I need help with a heart I just busted. How can I help get it back together?
Was there anything worse than knowing he was the one who’d caused her to cry?

He dumped the remaining nachos into the trash. He had no answer for why God had let her awful tragedy happen. God loved her. He had allowed those four years. God could have stopped it. He didn’t do so. Every statement true. Bryce couldn’t reconcile those facts for himself and had no way to help Charlotte do so. She either accepted that God loved her and made peace with Him over the mystery of why He had let it happen or she would remain buried under the terrible grief of believing that because He didn’t protect her, He didn’t love her.

Bryce faced a painful fact about his own faith tonight, about his Christianity. It was easier to show that God loved the men who had done evil than it was to show God loved the innocent girl they had hurt. And wasn’t that a mess?
I need to do better at the words, Jesus, for her sake as well as mine.

Of everything he wanted to do in life, helping Charlotte heal
was close to the top of his list. But all he’d managed to accomplish tonight was to cause her more pain and more tears.

Bryce slit the tape on the box of coins he’d carried over to the prep table, lifted out a dozen rolls of Liberty V nickels from 1883 to 1896. Ann had given him a searching look when he joined her but hadn’t asked the question yet. He wondered if he’d chosen to work with Ann this morning precisely because he knew she would ask about Charlotte, and Ann was simply biding her time until they were alone.

He pulled on white cotton gloves and began to carefully open the paper on the rolls, laying the coins faceup for her. Ann sorted by date and grade, keeping pace with him, moving the coins to various display trays until there were fifty coins on a tray. She passed the tray on to the lady working farther down the table for the coins to be rerolled and the sort classification marked. The coins would be packaged five rolls to a box, listed for sale, and would likely have a buyer before the end of the day.

Bryce carefully flattened the paper to make sure no coin had been caught in a fold. “We’re on pace to clear more than forty-six million on the common coins. At that total it’s hard to imagine this, but do you think we’re actually pricing too low? I’m never quite sure what to think when coins sell the first day they’re listed.”

“I know the feeling.” Ann shook her head. “We’re pricing for value, but not excessively so. Coins are flowing out at such a fast pace because fresh inventory is so hard to get. A couple months from now when we’ve saturated the immediate need, the pace of sales will slow. The sweet spot is a price that can sustain itself across the whole volume that’s for sale. I think we’ve found it. We’ve got dealers repeat buying, so we’re below market, but we’re the ones who know the scope of what else is
coming from the estate. We’re going to be the market price in a few months. But we should be able to sell the entire group at these prices. That’s going to maximize the overall total.”

Ann pushed a coin his way. “This is why the buyers will keep coming back.”

He picked up the nickel to see what she had noticed, realized he was holding a production error. The back had been stamped with a thirty-degree rotation from the front rather than aligned. “A five-hundred-dollar coin,” he said.

“Yes.” Ann slid it onto the tray with the others. “And someone’s very welcome surprise when they look at the coins they bought.”

“The value of not sorting out the specials. Everyone pays a bit more for each roll on the hope and dream they find that kind of surprise.”

“And it’s why you’re on pace to clear more than forty-six million for the common coins,” Ann told him. “You made a good buy, Bryce, for the syndicate, for Charlotte, and for every customer who orders coins. It’s not often you can be fair to everyone involved, but this deal hit that sweet spot.”

The coin sorting paused every two hours, a necessity in order to keep fresh eyes and energy on the details of the task. Bryce lingered by the coffee station with Ann, ate a donut just to have something in his hand.

“Everything okay, Bryce?”

“It will be when I fix it.” He studied the coffee in his cup to avoid looking her direction. “I made Charlotte cry.”

“Hit a raw edge?”

“Did it on purpose to get the subject on the table. But rather than begin to heal matters, I simply ripped the wound open again.”

“You could try pink roses. Those worked for Paul with me.”

He half smiled. “Charlotte might be the flowers type, but I don’t know her well enough to know for certain. Bad mistake on my part.”

“Have you called her?”

“She’s on the road somewhere and turns off her phone when she’s driving. I’m thinking I’ll start with ‘I’m sorry,’ work my way to flowers and maybe a hot fudge sundae.”

“That would work for me,” Ann offered with a smile.

“Problem is, the conversation isn’t over,” Bryce said.

“Important subjects take time. I’m not going to ask which nerve you touched. The fact of the matter is you’ll touch them all if the relationship is going to have a chance to become something serious.”