Charlotte

CHAPTER 1

At four years old, Charlotte had the gauntest eyes I have ever seen. These were the eyes of an old person, or of a newborn which had not known to understand love yet. At four, Charlotte's eyes ought to have been sparkling, even with mischief. At the very least, upturned in the corner with a quick smile. What does a four year old have to worry about? What concerns do they have about the world? On their shoulder doesn't like the fate of the world, the daily news, the worry about daily provision or looming bills. Yet, I've never seen such expressionless eyes.

As if Charlotte knew she unnerved me with her eyes, she offered a thin smile. One side of her mouth turned up higher than the other as she stood against the wall.

I wasn't sure if she were simply shy, or wished she were invisible. Had she been taught the age old adage I had heard growing up, though my parents never forced it upon us, unless we were out at company's house. That I never blamed them for, I've seen my fair share of wild children at restaurants or visits, unable to sit down, or converse quietly. Charlotte was beyond that. She didn't look afraid of me as I stood there, likely just as awkwardly. If I didn't need room and board, I wouldn't have come down that dirt road.

I proved to be a terrible asset to the company's yard working business, but it seemed they didn't mind keeping me around instead of showing me the door as I'd assumed they would. That's when I discovered Charlotte.

Years ago, when I was not even in my teens, my parents had met two different families, and of course we visited. Both had sons that were mentally handicapped. It was only by chance their sons were discovered by us. I was horrified to find out, even at my young age that they kept them away from company. Were they embarrassed of their children or were the children unable to handle the stimulus? My mind fails, and I don't know the peculiar, but I thought of that instantly when all of a sudden this child emerged.

Thankfully, Charlotte hadn't taken after her father. He had the bushiest eyebrows I have ever seen in my life. I'm not one for those kinds of people that prefer men with shaped eyebrows, but his were out of control. He didn't even try to reign them in. Besides that, he was a good looking man, not much older than me. His wife was decent enough. Blonde hair, blue eyes- if that was what had attracted him, I would have stood no chance. Every time I go to dye my hair it either washes out instantly or doesn't take, though my hair is several shades away from black. The best I can do is bleach it, but it turns this strange carrot orange blonde color.

Anyway, I digress.

Charlotte had her mothers hair and eyes, her face the perfect inverted triangle, something I imagine she inherited from her mother as well. Patsy's jaw was firm too, almost masculine in appearance. I really don't know how she snagged the man I immediately dubbed 'Brows'- though I would never say so in front of either of the Williamsons.

"We need someone to watch her," Patsy jutted her chin towards the child that stared at me. I wasn't sure if she had blinked all that time, but there was no way this child could have reminded me of a wicked character in a horror movie or anything of the sort seeing as how I don't watch pictures like that. "Our schedule is too sporadic to take care of her, at least until she starts school. The school should have taken her for pre-K, but since I am unable to go back and forth to pick her up, they said to wait until she turns five. Only an insufferable year to go."

"She's a good kid," Brows shrugged, glancing over at her, "Aren't you, princess?"

It was the closest thing to a genuine smile that I saw flick across Charlotte's face in that instant. She still stood, her back to the wall, her arms rounded in as she attempted to fold her hands in front of her. I couldn't help but believe him. She was darling. Yes, I naturally assumed she would have some ill tempered tendencies- she was four after all, but in general, I already thought she was a great kid.

Brows averted his eyes, boring into mine as if he dared me to challenge him or say no. Were they so desperate? How inconvenient did they consider this child? It seemed so obscure to me, and how much the more seeing how they acted like she was a nuisance in front of a complete stranger!

"On top of landscaping, I also work at home with three MLM companies, so I don't have time to spare," Patsy concluded. "I think this might be more of your line of work. At least try babysitting her. If it doesn't work out, we'll figure something else. Maybe you can be my down line for MLM selling."

"I'm not good at selling and I don't think babysitting will be a problem for me. I've had plenty of practice with my little brothers."

Brows seemed more relieved than Patsy did, but I had no idea why. One thing I was coming to see was that Patsy wore the pants in the family. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a cinderella and her ugly step sisters situation where Brows had the baby before they got married, or he would die off and the poor child would be stuck with Patsy. I tried not to think about it. I might have been blowing things out of proportion. I had no way of telling if something was wrong with Charlotte or if she was just wishing the wall would make her invisible out of shyness. One day she'd likely tell me.

"Ravioli?"

Brows glanced over his shoulder at Patsy, shrugging. It seemed to suffice his wife, for the next thing I heard was the drawers being opened and the can opener opening two cans of ravioli for the four of us. He disappeared inside a door at the far end of the house, the family dog, a gorgeous collie taking off outside after him. Fumes of spray paint attacked my nostrils the second the door shut behind him. Charlotte didn't seem to mind. At least she didn't say anything or make any faces. I figured Patsy was either used to it, or the pungent smell of canned ravioli had blocked her from smelling the paint.

I wondered why Patsy wouldn't just toss both cans in a bowl and nuke it, or heat it on the stove, but one by one she put the bowls in the microwave, the incessant beeping of the timer and her pressing the time to be microwaved for permeated the air as intensely as the paint had.

I felt awkward and out of place, but considering it was my first day in the Williamson's house, I suppose that was to be expected. Both adults ignoring us, I looked back down at Charlotte. In one quick movement, she had stepped away from the wall.

"Come with me," she reached out a hand to me and I took it in mine, careful not to crush her, feeling like a giant beside the lithe girl. She was tall, but so thin. "I have lip balm sticks."

What could I do? I lit up in a smile, "I'd love to-"

"Charlotte! Leave Poppy alone. It's supper time. She doesn't start work until tomorrow and doesn't want to be bothered by you until then."

Charlotte's lip didn't quiver like I thought it might have, but her face went blank again. She crossed her little arms in front of her again and padded towards the kitchen as I stood there rather shell shocked like a mute- feeling ashamed I couldn't formulate words to tell Patsy off.

It was then that I began to understand why Charlotte was the way she was. At four, she likely understood that her parents, and anyone else around her thought she was a burden.

Unfathomable.