Wandering Heart (9781101561362) (25 page)

“Am I hurting you?” Claire asked after a small tug.

“Not a bit,” Charlotte said. The comb was slowly but surely slipping through the knots. This was different from the stylist working on her hair, Charlotte thought, more personal somehow. It made her feel cared for.

“Meredith told us that the movie is almost done,” Claire said. “How much longer will you be with us?”

“Only a few more days. Brad and Mike expect us to wrap up Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“Will you be happy to finish the film?”

“I will,” Charlotte said honestly. “Though I’ve learned a lot from working with Brad. He’s a tough director but he’s made me push myself and grow as an actress. And I won’t like leaving the island,” she confessed. “It’s so beautiful. Unlike any place I’ve ever been.”

And Colin is here,
she added silently.

“It’s a special place, there’s no doubt,” Claire agreed. “There’s
even a legend about the island, which is how it got its name. Some people believe there are angels here, helping those who are troubled at heart.”

Charlotte glanced at her, careful not to move her head too fast and pull on her hair. “Somebody mentioned a legend about the island to me. When I first got here. Do you know the story? He didn’t explain it much.”

Claire met her glance in the mirror, and Charlotte wondered if the older woman guessed that she was talking about Colin. Claire swept the comb through a smooth section of hair and started on another.

“There are a few versions,” Claire began, “but basically the story goes like this: Colonists settled in the village of Cape Light in the mid-1600s. During their second winter here, an awful pox ravaged the area. None of the usual cures, herbs, or bleeding, could cure it. Most who caught the disease did not survive. The village fathers decided to quarantine the sick ones. It was a harsh fate, but they reasoned the rest of the villagers would not survive otherwise. They were probably right. So the sick were carried to this island. Crude huts were built for their shelter, and they were left with some supplies, though not very much. There wasn’t much to give, and most people believed they would soon die anyway.”

“How awful.” Charlotte didn’t want to interrupt but couldn’t stop herself. She thought this was going to be a pleasant story, not a page from a history book illustrating how life in former times was nasty, brutish, and short.

“It was awful for the sick ones,” Claire agreed. “Few villagers were brave enough, or merciful enough, to come out and help the quarantined after they were left here. A wagon would deliver food and water and other necessities each week, but not much more. That winter was harsh with many storms and high snow,” Claire continued.
“The land bridge was flooded, Cape Light harbor iced in, and no one could visit the island for weeks at a stretch. Few believed that the people left here could survive. Finally, a group from the town came out, bracing themselves for a grim sight. But the truth was even more shocking than they had imagined. The quarantined islanders had not only survived the brutal winter and scant supplies, but were restored to full health.”

Charlotte met Claire’s glance in the mirror. “Really? They were all right?”

“They were. Healthy and well cared for, with sturdier huts and stacks of firewood, provisions, and water to spare. They claimed a group of very able, gentle people had come to the island and nursed them. But no one could say exactly where these helping hands had come from.

“Of course, they wanted to thank their rescuers once they returned to the mainland. Some of the survivors spent years searching for the ones who had answered their prayers. But they could never find anyone who knew about the quarantine—or who would admit to having gone to the island that winter. Many concluded that they had been saved by the healing touch of angels, disguised in human form,” Claire added. “Some believe that the angels’ powers can still be felt on the island and will be, forever after. The believers even point to the interesting shape of the island’s cliffs that jut out like wings. The place came to be known as Angel Island. The name just stuck. People around here still debate the story. But most natives enjoy telling it,” Claire added.

“That is quite a story. Very mysterious,” Charlotte agreed. The legend was far-fetched, but some part of her believed it. She even felt goose bumps on her skin. Maybe it was just the way Claire had told it.

“What do you think? Do you believe the legend?” Charlotte asked.

“I believe anything is possible,” Claire said evenly, “with God’s help.”

“I’d like to believe that, too. But I’m not sure I do,” Charlotte admitted.

Was it true? Was anything possible? She suddenly thought about the voice she’d heard when she was drowning. The voice that said, “Be strong, Charlotte. You are loved.”

Had that been an angel calling to her, bolstering her spirits until she could be saved? She had the impulse to tell Claire about it but felt too self-conscious. She didn’t want the older woman to think she was losing her grip on reality. And what if the story went beyond this room somehow? She could just see the tabloid headlines:
Charlotte Miller Hears Voices During Near Drowning!

Charlotte believed she had heard a voice and had not imagined it. The story about this island had convinced her even more. But she hadn’t told a soul and didn’t think she ever would.

“There you are. Your hair is finished, tangle free,” Claire announced. She smoothed out one last piece then set the comb on the dresser top.

Charlotte ran her fingers through the strands. She couldn’t believe it. All the knots were gone, and a light scent of lavender oil lingered. “Thank you so much. This is perfect.”

“Oh, it was nothing at all. I’m happy to help,” Claire replied.

“I wouldn’t call it nothing.” Charlotte straightened the items on the dresser top, looking away from Claire. “If only the knots in the rest of my life could be smoothed out so easily.”

Her cell phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her robe pocket and quickly checked the screen. It was just Meredith, checking to
see how Charlotte felt. Charlotte felt her heart sink again. Colin wouldn’t answer her messages. She had to give up hoping, she told herself.

Claire stood watching her. “The tangles in your life … Oh, that’s not so different, dear. You still need the same ingredients: Go slowly. Have patience. Believe you can figure it out, bit by bit. Quiet your soul and listen,” she added. “You may hear the answers to your questions. It might be easier than you think.”

Charlotte reached out and gripped Claire’s hand a moment, then let go. “Thank you, Claire. I have a few more days in this place. Maybe the angels will help me.” She tried for a light tone, as if she were teasing. But she could tell from Claire’s clear, steady gaze that Claire saw through that and knew Charlotte was perfectly serious.

“Perhaps they will. Sometimes we just have to open ourselves to God’s love.” Claire stood by the door and smiled. “Get a good night’s sleep. That will help you as much as anything. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added as she left the room.

D
ESPITE
her long nap, Charlotte fell asleep quickly while studying her lines for the next day’s scenes. She woke to the sound of the phone and grabbed it off the night table. It was still early, a few minutes before seven. She wondered who would be calling and saw her sister’s name on the screen.

“Lily? What is it?” She sat bolt upright in bed, feeling alarmed. “Is everyone all right? Is Mom okay?”

“We’re all fine, Charlotte. But something happened last night. I wanted to call you, but it got too late …”

Charlotte took a deep breath and braced herself. She didn’t want
to panic. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Slow down, honey. Just tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

“I was with Mom at the movies, the one at the mall. We were just coming out and walking to the car and these two guys stopped us. One pulled out a little video camera and the other started asking us a million questions. Asking Mom questions mostly, about our family.”

Charlotte sighed and pressed her hand to her chest. “Is that all, Lily? You scared me. I thought you and Mom were robbed or something.”

“It was almost as bad, Charlotte. It wasn’t just the stuff about you that everyone knows. I think these people know about … about Wayne.” Lily said the name of their stepfather as if it were some foul-tasting potion she wanted to spit out. “And they want Mom to tell them more, to confirm it so they don’t get in trouble when they put it on the Web.”

Charlotte took a deep, steadying breath. “Did she talk to them at all?”

“More than I wanted her to. There were two of them. They sort of overwhelmed her. I finally got her in the car and drove away … But I’m afraid,” Lily admitted. “I’m afraid she said too much, and I’m afraid that they’ll come back. Oh, Charlotte, I’m so sorry …”

Being the oldest at home now, Lily felt responsible. But it wasn’t right. She shouldn’t have this weighing on her shoulders.
It’s enough that I have to drag around this burden,
Charlotte thought.

“Please don’t cry, Lily. It isn’t your fault, none of it. It’s not Mom’s either,” she added quickly. “Did you get a name or a card? Did they say what magazine or show they were from?”

“Something called
Hollywood Buzz
, I think. It’s a TV show,” Lily added.

“I know that one,” Charlotte replied. It was a show that specialized in low-down, sensational stories like actors with addiction problems or troubled marriages.

Charlotte glanced at the clock again. “It’s too early to call Renee,” she said, naming her publicist. “But I’ll send her an e-mail right away and ask her to call so we can figure this out. She’ll know what to do and how to get rid of them, Lily. Don’t worry. In the meantime, just stick close to the house and be very careful if you go outside. Keep Mom close, too,” she added.

“I will, Charlotte. Is the movie going all right?”

“Better than I expected,” Charlotte answered. The film was going well. It was just other parts of her life that were messed up. “We’ll be done here in a few days and need a little time in L.A. After that, I’ll come home and visit you,” she promised. “I’m sorry you were frightened, honey.”

“I’m all right,” Lily replied, sounding her usual self again. “Take care of yourself, Charlie. We miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I’ll call you tonight after I speak to Renee,” she added. “And don’t worry.”

Her sister said good-bye, and Charlotte ended the call. Then she sent an e-mail to her publicist, alerting her to the situation. Did these reporters really have information about her past? Or were they just digging around?

Sooner or later, it would happen, Charlotte knew. If not this time, then the next. Or the one after that. Somebody would find out that the lovely, greeting-card picture of her childhood and family life was a big fat lie. Her mother had pressed charges against her stepfather more than once. There were police reports and photographs of her mother’s bruised and battered face and body. That was the real family photo album. All of it on public record.

Was this going to be her moment of truth, her moment of shame? For surely someone would ask her how—when her younger siblings and mother had been trapped, at the mercy of a man who ended every night with shouting and the sound of breaking glass—she managed to get out, to run away to California to save her own skin. How she’d managed to totally abandon them.

A sharp knock on the door snapped her to attention. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Meredith. I just wanted to make sure you were awake. We have to be at the set early today.”

“Yes, I’m up. I’m going into the shower. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

Back to business. The schedule was tight today and would only get tighter. That was the one thing that kept her going at times, Charlotte realized. She was carried along by the wave of her commitments, no matter what else was happening.

A short time later, Charlotte grabbed her big black tote that was stuffed with her script, iPad, knitting, and other necessities for the day, and started down the stairs.

She wasn’t very hungry but wanted to grab a cup of coffee before her car arrived. She had just turned at the landing when she heard voices down in the foyer, near the front door. Liza was talking with a man. Charlotte thought at first that it was her driver. Then she realized it was a reporter, and Liza was doing her best to fend him off.

“Yes, you’ve already told me that. But Ms. Miller is not giving any interviews while she’s staying here. You need to leave. Immediately,” Liza said in a stern tone. “If you give me your card, I’ll pass it on to her.”

“But this is urgent. This is her chance to have her say, to confirm or deny our information. We’re going to put it out there either way.”

Charlotte stood stone-still on the landing. She felt her heart racing in her chest. She could barely breathe.

They had found her. Here. She took a few steps back so she couldn’t be seen from the lower level.

“Well, either way, you have to go,” Liza insisted in an even stronger tone. “I can call the police,” she added. “This is private property …”

Charlotte didn’t wait to hear more. She doubted there were any police officers out on the island, and by the time one came from the town …

She just had to get away from this place. She had to hide somewhere.

She ran back up to the second floor then all the way down the long hall, stopping only to stash her tote beneath a narrow table in the hall. She couldn’t afford to be slowed down by anything now. She quickly found the back stairway that led down to the kitchen. The wooden steps were narrow and bare. She moved quietly, knowing the smallest sound could give her away.

When she reached the kitchen, she opened the door a crack and peeked inside. Tantalizing smells greeted her—coffee, bacon, a buttery, cinnamon smell, and citrus, all blended into one. Charlotte longed for some hot coffee and a bite to eat but didn’t dare delay. The room was empty. She quickly walked to the back door, opened it quietly, and let herself out.

Charlotte wished she could sneak a bicycle out of the barn or even borrow a car. But that was too risky. She had been lucky to sneak out of the inn without being spotted.