What now? What on earth was she supposed to do now?
I miss you, Aurora. I wish you were here. I wish …
A memory started forming; a vivid picture in her mind. A lamp-lit private library and an overstuffed leather armchair. Aurora in her thirties and Charlotte at five. A leather bound children’s picture book rich with story and life. Aurora’s fine voice; such a marvellous sound.
If wishes were horses then beggars would ride …
Drawing her knees up to her chest, Charlotte wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and wept.
‘You need to be at work,’ said Millie two days later, while sitting in Charlotte’s sunny apartment kitchen beneath the bridge. The bridge still loomed large and the windows still shook when the trains went by, but those things had ceased to annoy her. These days Charlotte was all about simply being grateful that she owned her own homes, that she didn’t need to work to support herself, and that when it came to the things that money could buy, neither she nor this baby would ever go without.
Reason had returned to Charlotte, or, if not reason exactly, at least a functioning awareness of how fortunate she was. She had an education and a great deal of wealth. She had stability and a good life.
She even had friends who cared enough to call in on their way home from work, seeing as Charlotte hadn’t been in to work these past few days. Millie was here, bearing flowers and cake, and Charlotte was ridiculously glad of her company. Grateful that Millie had thought enough of their friendship to drop by. Glad that Millie brought with her gossip from work.
Charlotte had almost tendered her resignation the afternoon she’d received news of her impending motherhood but she’d dredged up a thimbleful of professionalism from somewhere and put together a ‘Greenstone Foundation’ proposal instead and emailed it off to the Mead.
A proposal that—the more she thought about it—didn’t really require the university’s participation at all. One that outlined her preferred project set-up, co-ordination, collaboration, and financing practices. One that granted the university beneficial ties to the foundation and in return requested that the university provide her with a management assistant. Preferably one eager to travel with or without her to dig sites in order to oversee operations. Preferably one who’d worked outside the academic arena and had real world skills in place as well as the necessary archaeology qualifications. Preferably Derek.
‘Seriously, Charlotte,’ said Millie, from her spot at the kitchen counter, where she’d taken to slicing up the walnut loaf she’d brought with her, ‘the entire department’s in an uproar about this foundation of yours and what’s in it for them—Derek loves the idea, by the way—but you not being around to explain your vision isn’t helping any. You need to get in there and get forceful if you want it to happen.’
‘I want it to happen,’ said Charlotte simply.
‘So you’ll be back at work on Monday?’
Charlotte nodded. ‘You want some coffee to go with your walnut slice?’
Millie nodded.
Charlotte set the coffee maker to gurgling. She headed for the fridge. Out came the milk for the coffee and double dollop cream for the cake.
‘So what prompted this Greenstone Foundation idea?’ asked Millie.
‘Aurora’s death,’ said Charlotte. ‘More money than I know what to do with. The need for a challenge. Not getting the leeway or the recognition I wanted from the university employment system. Take your pick. Life lacked purpose. The foundation will give me one. And flexibility as well. Happens I’m going to need that too.’
‘What does Gil think of your newfound purpose?’ asked Millie.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Ah.’ Millie’s eyes turned sympathetic. ‘Guess you two didn’t sort out your differences, then.’
‘No. Some people never lose the wanderlust. Grey’s one of them.’
‘Who’s Grey?’
‘Gil,’ said Charlotte. ‘Thaddeus. Only he’s not Thaddeus either. He’s Greyson.’
‘The man has more names than a birth registry,’ muttered Millie, and bit into her now cream-slathered walnut slice.
Charlotte smiled and toyed with her own food. ‘So it seems.’ What to tell and what to withhold from a woman whose friendship she’d come to value? ‘Millie, will you keep a confidence for me?’
‘Is it likely to impact negatively on my work, my relationship with others, or my ethics?’ asked Millie.
‘Not really,’ said Charlotte. ‘Maybe a little.
It’s probably not going to do a whole lot for your opinion of me.’
Millie put down her slice, wiped her hands on the napkin, sipped her coffee, and set it down gently. First things first. ‘Okay,’ she said cautiously. ‘What’s up?’
‘Gil Tyler was a figment of my imagination. Grey Tyler is the man who came to collect his office. They’re not one and the same. And I haven’t finished yet.’
Harder than she’d thought, this unburdening of her sins. So many, many lies. It was time for them to stop.
‘Okay.’ Millie’s eyebrows had risen considerably. ‘Continue.’
‘Grey and I slept together a time or two. It was … intense. Amazing. But strictly short term. We parted ways relatively amicably.’
It seemed as good a summary as any, even if it did downplay the intensity of the real thing.
‘Sounds like a good time was had by all,’ said Millie.
‘And now I’m pregnant.’
Millie blinked, nodded slowly, and kept her mouth firmly shut.
‘Not deliberately,’ said Charlotte hastily. ‘This would be one of those extremely unexpected pregnancies. As opposed to a planned one.’
Another slow nod from Millie.
‘Millie, say something.’
‘Yes,’ said Millie. ‘Yes, I believe that is the custom. I just need a moment’s processing time. And we’re definitely going to need more cake.’
‘I have mountains of cake,’ said Charlotte. ‘Also ice cream, pickles, and caramel tart, just in case. All I’m after is your uninhibited response to my news.’
Millie sent her a speaking glance.
‘Although any response will do.’
‘Does anyone else know?’ asked Millie.
‘Not yet. You’re my practice run.’
‘Oh, the pressure to say something you might actually want to hear,’ murmured Millie. ‘I feel like I’m on a game show and you’re the host, waiting for my reply to the million dollar question.’ Millie put both hands to her head and groaned. ‘Can I phone a friend?’
‘Who?’
‘Derek.’
‘Only if you’re planning on inviting him over,’ said Charlotte. ‘I may need him for my second practice run. I think I’ve blown the first.’
Millie ran her hands over her hair and looked back up at Charlotte, her eyes imploring. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say I can do this,’ pleaded Charlotte, brittleness giving way to uncertainty in the face of Millie’s continued hesitation. ‘Please, Millie.’ Before Charlotte’s tears started in earnest. ‘I need someone to tell me that I can do this and that everything’s going to be okay.’
‘Oh,