Buried [Completed]

Chapter four

Late Thursday afternoon, Charlotte finally had time to file the DVDs that had been returned the previous day. Ten years ago she would have had a huge stack, now there were just a couple. Most people watched their movies on Netflix nowadays or downloaded them from the Internet. Included with the DVDs was the movie she'd watched after dinner last night. One scene had stuck with her all day. The hero of the story— a young teacher suffering from cancer, about to marry a woman he'd been dating for a long time— shares a joint with a hippy who claims to have been happily married for seventeen years to his childhood sweetheart.                                   

"How did you know she was the one?" the teacher asked.

"If you have to ask, she isn't." 

Charlotte couldn't stop thinking about that. Was it true? Did the best romances and marriages come wrapped in that sort of certainty? She couldn't imagine ever feeling so— swept away. She certainly hadn't in her relationships to date. Not that she'd had many. 

There'd been Ned Pullman in high school, Craig Turner in college... and now Wade. They'd made love for the first time on Friday. She'd been surprised, at first, when Wade asked if he could come inside. But sex with Wade had felt natural and, well, satisfying. Nothing like the awkward fumblings with Ned, or the hurried, sweaty sessions with Craig. No, Wade had been sure of himself, sweet and tender. Lying in his arms afterward though, Charlotte had entertained a very uncharitable thought. It was like they'd gone for a test drive in a prospective new car, to make sure everything was working before they put down a deposit. 

Charlotte checked her watch. It was quiet this afternoon. The morning had been busier, but Abigail had been in then, and the work had been easily managed. She wondered if she should speak to the board about reducing hours. It would be one way to manage the budget shortfall. 

And just as she'd had that thought, a man came in from the street, a man with dark hair and eyes, familiar and excitingly different— all at the same time. Her heart skipped two beats when she recognized him. Oh, my God, it was Dougal Lachlan. She couldn't believe he was here, in real life, looking exactly like the author photo printed in the back of all his books. Rebelliously attractive, intelligent, weary, disillusioned. 

These were the adjectives that came to Charlotte's mind. His thick, curly hair, so like his sister's, was windswept. He removed his sunglasses and studied her with his dark mocha-colored eyes.         

"Are you Daisy's little sister?" She was surprised and a little flattered that he was able to place her so easily. If she hadn't known what he looked like from his author photos, she never would have connected this man to the scowling teenager she remembered hanging out with her sister's group of friends. Dougal had been part of the gang, but also apart from it. Never really one to fit in with any crowd, she guessed. 

"Yes. I'm Charlotte."                                                                         

"All grown up now." His gaze swept over her gray skirt, loose-fitting blouse.                  

"You don't look much like your sister." 

The muscles along her shoulders and neck tightened. He knew she'd been adopted. Or once he had. Maybe he'd forgotten.              

"No, I don't."                                                                                       

"How is Daisy doing? Where is she living now?"