And she could practically feel the weight of his broken heart.
Julianna’s father—a little grayer than she remembered—sat in the pew behind Cole with his “other family,” as Jules called them.
The music quieted and a man in a suit stepped onto the stage. He spoke about Julianna like he knew her, said she was a member of this church—not the kind who simply attended, but the kind who got involved. She ran a tutoring club and attended women’s events. She served in children’s church and—
Charlotte stopped listening, choosing instead to focus on the movie in her mind.
She closed her eyes, a clear picture of herself at age twelve, small-chested and slim and self-conscious, making up for all of her insecurities with a brave, albeit sour, face.
The summer dance intensive was held in Chicago every year, but this was her first year to attend. According to her mother, she’d outgrown her current dance instructor and needed a new challenge. They called it “dance camp” but it was unlike any camp Charlotte knew of.
There were no cabins, no outdoor adventures, no sunshine or swimming. There were only dorm rooms and dance studios.
Charlotte was thrilled with that arrangement. She’d never been good at socializing, so when she found herself standing at the barre, waiting for her first class to begin, she didn’t feel the need to say anything to the blond girl standing beside her. The two girls were each dressed in their mandatory black leotard, pink tights, and pink ballet shoes, their hair pulled neatly into a tight bun, looking like clones of each other and every other girl filtering into the room.
Charlotte lifted her hand to the barre and glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes darted to a pair of big, bright eyes trained on her.
“You’re Charlotte Page, right?” the blonde asked, her smile wide.
Charlotte nodded but didn’t speak. Her mother had warned her about making friends in ballet class.
“You’re not here for socialization,” Marcia had said. “You’re here to tighten your technique, to get a competitive edge. You’re here to be the best.”
“But then the other girls won’t like me,” Charlotte had said.
“Good,” her mother said. “You don’t want to be liked, Charlotte. You want to be respected. You want them to fear you.”
No, I don’t. I want them to like me.
But Charlotte had only nodded.
“I’ve heard about you,” Julianna said with a smile. “What’s it feel like to be the best dancer in our form?”
Julianna didn’t seem to be flattering her—the expectant look on her face suggested she genuinely wanted an answer to her question. Charlotte had been taught to believe she was the best, and though she knew about humility now, she certainly didn’t then.
“My mother says I’m the best dancer in the entire camp,” she’d said.
Julianna blinked twice, her big eyes trained on Charlotte. “My mother told me to have fun.”
Charlotte looked away, her gaze catching those of two girls on the other side of the room. They whispered to each other, looked Charlotte up and down, then giggled.
“Don’t pay attention to them,” Julianna said. “They’re just jealous.”
Charlotte looked at her. “I know they are.”
That Julianna wasn’t deterred by twelve-year-old Charlotte’s attitude was still something of a miracle to her. They’d joked about it many times, but in truth, Charlotte had Jules to thank for teaching her what it meant to be modest and humble. Lord knew her mother wasn’t going to teach her either of those things.
Julianna had shown Charlotte that it was possible to be liked and respected, despite what Marcia told her.
And how had Charlotte repaid her? With a stab in the back.
No. I’m not thinking about that now.
Connor hadn’t moved a muscle since he sat down. At his side, Cole handled the kids like a pro, like a man clearly involved in their lives. She knew nothing about Julianna’s brother anymore, only that he was the Harbor Pointe High School football coach, but seeing him with those kids told her he was kind and tender, in spite of how he must be feeling at the moment.
Would he remember her?
What a ridiculous thought. Of course he wouldn’t. They weren’t friends, after all. In Charlotte’s life, only Julianna seemed to wear that title.
What did you do when your only friend died? How did a person recover from that?
The pastor was still talking, regaling the crowd (and it was a crowd) with tales of Julianna Ford, a light in their community, a woman known for her infectious joy, her zest