Page 15 of Just Like Home

“That’s why I’m here,” she said quietly. “That and to see if I can help you.”

He scoffed. “Help me what?”

Charlotte tried not to let his tone deter her. “Help with whatever—anything you need.”

He looked at her then, his eyes glassy. “Where’ve you been all this time, Charlotte? Her thirtieth birthday, the births of all of our kids, our wedding—” He glared at her now. “Do you know how much it hurt her that you could never be bothered?”

Charlotte deserved this. She hadn’t been a good friend. She was always on the receiving end of goodness. Julianna’s goodness. And yet, Jules never made her feel badly for it. She understood the demands of the ballet. She understood Marcia. She understood in ways that nobody else did.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” she said.

He shook his head. “She always made excuses for you. Said your life was harder than people realized.”

Charlotte’s gaze dipped to the porch beneath her feet. She wouldn’t claim to have a hard life—not to Connor—but the reminders that Julianna understood made her feel all the lonelier now.

“Why are you really here?”

“I was actually wondering what you plan to do with the dance studio.”

An accusing thought ran through Charlotte’s mind:You’re only doing this to ease your guilty conscience.

She shoved it aside, willing it false. Sure, maybe a piece of her wanted to be sure Julianna’s life had been good enough—that it didn’t pale in comparison to the life she would’ve had in the ballet—if Charlotte had not intervened.

But that’s not why she was here.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” she heard herself saying. “I wasn’t nearly the friend to Jules that she was to me. But I want to change that. She made me want to be better.”

He blew out a heavy sigh. “Me too.” His voice quavered, and she hated that her presence on his porch was causing him pain.

“I’d like to buy the studio,” she said. “Take it off your hands. Make it a priority to take care of the students Julianna loved so much.”

“Isn’t that a little beneath you?” He dragged his gaze to hers.

She smiled sadly, knowing that her elitist attitude had not gone unnoticed. “Like I said, I want to change.”

He looked away. “I haven’t figured out what to do with the studio yet, but I guess you’re right—I probably need to sell it or shut it down.”

“Don’t shut it down,” Charlotte said. “It’s part of her legacy.”

From somewhere in the house, a baby started crying. Connor swore under his breath and looked at Charlotte.

“Julianna’s assistant is there now. Ask her if you want to help with the studio. I have to deal with the kids.” He pulled the door open and stopped, as if he had more to say. He must’ve thought better of it, though, because he snapped his jaw shut and walked inside, closing the door behind him, but not before she caught a glimpse of the mess in the living room.

She didn’t know Connor well, and admittedly, what she did know of him was mostly from his wife’s letters, but even she could see he wasn’t coping well.

She stood on the porch for a long moment, and a wave of grief thick and strong nearly knocked her over. It had come from nowhere, and now it lingered, leaving Charlotte unsteady on her feet.

Charlotte pulled out her phone and searched the address for Julianna’s dance studio. She plugged it in to her GPS, but as she pulled away from the curb, she glanced back at the quaint house situated in the middle of the Harbor Pointe neighborhood. In the second-story window, she spotted the face of a little girl, watching her.

Caught, Amelia dropped the curtain and disappeared, doing nothing to calm Charlotte’s overworked nerves. She wanted to help. For once, she wanted to do something for someone other than herself.

Slowly, she pulled out into the street and drove across town toward what she discovered was an adorable little studio situated on Mulberry Street.

She peered down the block at the rows of brightly colored buildings, the colors of the sky in the midst of a summer sunset. Pinks and yellows and teals all winked back at her, as if the town itself had a personality that deserved to be recognized.

Jules had described Mulberry Street in her letters, and while she was an excellent pen pal, even her beautiful words didn’t do this place justice.

Charlotte locked the doors of the beat-up Jetta, reminded herself to call the rental company, and made her way to the brick building that Jules had converted into a dance studio.

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