Kitchen Witch

21 | Hidden (Stonebridge-Flashback)

Charlotte waited long after the bedroom door closed, and she picked up the broken shards of china from the floor. She sat with her knees pulled into her chest on the cold gray tiled floor, shaking, praying the girls wouldn't wake up. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled her phone from her pocket and called Maratha. She didn't text first; she dialed her number and hoped her phone wasn't on Do Not Disturb. Maratha answered the phone on the fourth ring. Charlotte tried to find her voice, but when she opened her mouth to whisper, nothing but a horse whimper came out.

"Charlotte? –what's wrong? What's happened?" Maratha calmly but firmly inquired.

Charlotte took a few quick breaths, and the details of the night spilled out in a rushed murmur. "I don't know what to do."

"Listen, Charlotte, you're going to get up, and you're going to go to bed. You are going to act like everything is fine. You will get up as usual and do whatever it is you normally would have done before seeing him off for his flight. Then you drive the girls to school. I will meet you at the house at 9:30, and we are going to pack everything up and take it to mine." Charlotte sniffled and nodded. "Charlotte, tell me you understand–" Martha pressed.

With a shaky whisper, Charlotte agreed. She ended the call and sat clutching the phone, taking deep breaths through her nose and out through her mouth. When her breathing had returned to normal, she noticed the blood on her phone; the cut on her hand was still bleeding. She got up and went to the sink to wash it off. Watching the red blood swirl down the sink, she felt a dizziness sweep over her, her heartbeat whooshed in her ears, her vision went dark, and she could swear she felt a cold breeze on her face. A chilly air not unlike the winter's air, shocking her like a slap in the face, returning her vision. She steadied herself against the counter and wrapped a towel around her hand. She needed to get it together; she thought she heard one of the bedroom doors creak open, followed by the sound of the main bathroom door. One of the girls must have gotten up. She waited quietly to hear their footsteps retreat back to the bedroom and climbed the stairs to her own room.

Morning came somewhere between carefully placed breaths, and eyes squeezed shut. She had heard him get up to catch his flight and pretended to be asleep. She lay hiding, listening to every movement he made, tracing it in her mind until she was sure he had left. Only then did she get up, pulling on her black yoga pants and long sleeves as if she were going to class. She made breakfast and drove the girls to school, pretending like everything was normal. She knew they sensed something was wrong, but no one had pushed the matter further. Charlotte was afraid that the calm, aloof persona she wore, like a second skin, was beginning to affect the girls. That the barriers she put up to protect herself were starting to interfere with the warmth and love the girls should have felt. She made a promise to herself to take them out somewhere special while he was away.

With the girls dropped off at school, she arrived home and found Maratha's gray Lexus waiting in the driveway. She got out of her car, and they both walked inside 97 Blackshire Lane. Maratha didn't waste time ever efficient; she instructed, "We should be able to fit everything into our two cars in one trip; if not, we will make two. I cleared out space in the room above the garage for you. There is a big window and lots of light for when you're ready to get back to it."

Charlotte was dumbfounded, "When did you have the time to clear it out?"

"Well, I wasn't going to go back to sleep easily after you called last night, so I made use of the time," Maratha answered as she began packing up the many repurposed pickle and jam jars quickly and in an orderly fashion.

Charlotte paused, feeling anxious again, "Are you worried that Joe will notice? What if he mentions it to him?"

Maratha turned to look at Charlotte, her usual sharp look of annoyance softened. "Joe will not say a word."

Maratha was generationally wealthy, and much of Joe's success was due to Maratha's connections. This is not to say that Joe didn't work very hard and deserved his achievements, but there was no doubt that he would not be where he is today without Maratha. Charlotte admired their relationship. It really was a partnership. She picked at her sleeve, noticing that the seam was beginning to unravel. Her long sleeve, like much of her Lulu, came from reseller markets or warehouse sales. Her wardrobe, though expensive in brand, was bought on sale. She looked the part but never felt like she really belonged in Martha's circle.

Maratha reached out and touched Charlotte's hand with an uncharacteristic warmth in her gaze. Maratha wasn't a touchy-feely type of woman. In fact, Charlotte couldn't recall a time in all their years of friendship when they touched each other, not even a hug when the others were giving hugs of greeting or goodbye. "Charlotte, listen to me. You have a gift, and you can not squander it. This work is helping people, it's helping you, it is who you were meant to be. A gift like this can not be wasted or hidden away. Take your time, but you will come back to it." With that, Martha withdrew her hand and got back to work.