Page 64 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

Sophia. The ex-fiancée who hadn’t made the cut. Why? Was she too similar to this sweet life that James had had growing up? Was he looking for something different? For more excitement than this cozy routine could bring him? Because I could tell him firsthand that ‘excitement’ and this kind of home life didn’t mix. Maybe he already knew that? So then, what did the man truly want?

“This is his friend, Char,” Sally added.

“Hello,” I said stiffly, edging toward the garage door on the other side of the room. “Maybe I should go help James.”

“I bought them a toaster.” Mrs. Laven studied me with a critical, rheumy eye. “I liked your hair better when it was shorter, although this colour suits you nicely.”

“Thank you,” I replied politely.

“Come sit,” Sally said, patting a chair at the table. I slipped into it. “What a lovely blouse, but oh dear.” She clucked and stood, one hand on the sleeve that was ripped.

When she released me, I instinctively covered the tear with my other hand and watched her leave the room, back in an instant with a small wicker basket. “Let’s fix that sleeve for you.”

“Oh, but…”

“It’ll only take a moment. Are you wearing a cami underneath?”

“Sally,” Otto warned.

“Oh, it’s just us ladies here,” Mrs. Laven stated.

“That’s my cue,” Otto said, exiting the room with his plate while giving me a look of sympathy.

I mentally checked which camisole I might be wearing under the blouse. Was it ratty? Too sexy? Ill-fitting? Basically embarrassing in any way? Probably. But with Sally already matching the thread from her kit to my shirt, I felt I had little choice but to start unbuttoning.

Sally slipped on a pair of reading glasses and set to work as soon as the red fabric was in hand. “Tell us about yourself, Char.”

“Um, what would you like to know?” I ran my fingers down my bare left arm, feeling chilled despite the warmth of the cozy room.

“Did you grow up in the city?”

“No. Eagle Ridge.” I’d only lived there a few years, but it was easier telling people that was where I was from than explaining my life story.

“Lovely area. Do you know the Firestones?”

“I don’t,” I admitted. Sally gazed at me over her glasses, obviously in need of an explanation.

“Very pretty town,” Mrs. Laven added.

“We moved there when I was in grade nine.”

“Are you parents still there?” Another look over her glasses.

I shook my head.

“Oh. Where are they now? Are they retired?”

“My dad’s in Lethbridge. He’s retired.” Again, easier than explaining that after a work accident, he was on disability, and would be for the rest of his life. Or that he rarely left the house, and despite my pushing and prodding, wasn’t willing to road trip to our province’s capital to take in a travelling exhibit with me. True, he’d already seen the ancient civilizations exhibit in a documentary, and taking it in would mean him travelling four-and-a-half hours each way. But I thought he loved that stuff as much as I did.

“Not too far. And your mom?”

“She…” I realized I wasn’t sure where she was at the moment. She travelled a lot with Damon, often living in a different province or country for months at a time while he did consulting work. Mom and I hadn’t talked in over a year, and the few times we did chat it was usually about something necessary, making the calls brief. “She lives in B.C. some of the time.”

The sewing went down, and Sally’s head came up. She wore a look of curiosity, as though her mom senses were sniffing out the brokenness in my past. Looks like that always cut me to the core and sent my eyes welling.

It was such a dumb reaction. I wasn’t an abandoned child. If needed, I was sure Mom and Damon would bail me out of jail or let me crash there overnight. They were still family, even though I hadn’t gone to their destination wedding, and didn’t celebrate the holidays with them.

Sally gave my closest wrist a squeeze, her empathy so thick and real I had to blink back unexpected tears.

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