Page 65 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

“Family is tricky, isn’t it?”

Looking around at her cozy setting, her family and neighbour, I wasn’t sure if she truly understood just how tricky it could be. How devastatingly isolating it felt to be unwanted, or to be the wrong fit in the group of people you should feel closest to.

CHAPTER18

~ James ~

Char came flying into the garage, her red blouse untucked, her cheeks flushed, eyes slightly wild with fear or pain. Breathlessly, she asked, “Can I help? Please say yes.”

I straightened from my crouch, heart pounding. “You okay?”

“What can I do to help? What are we looking for? Costumes? Your mom said she donated a bunch.”

“Uh. Okay.” I’d expected my mom and Char to hit it off, but obviously something had backfired. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She rubbed her palms down the thighs of her jeans, already calming. She took in my parents’ garage, which was stuffed with boxes, my dad’s car and tons of sporting equipment from hockey nets, downhill skis to my old skateboard.

I opened the flaps on the box I’d dug out moments ago. I quickly checked the contents. Not what I needed. “I guess my mom must have donated it.” I headed back toward the house door, pausing beside Char. “You sure you’re okay? Do I need to give anyone a talking to?”

She let out a choked burble of surprised laughter. “No.” She held out her arm, her voice wobbling slightly as she told me, “Your mom sewed my sleeve.”

“That sounds like her.”

Char nodded quickly with a sniff. “She’s so sweet.”

I didn’t get the tears. Wasn’t having a sweet mom a good thing?

“She only just met me.” Her voice was wobbly and my heart tore for her. A little kindness had spooked her. What had her childhood been like that a few stitches in her shirt had left her undone? It made me want to tear down walls and roar at the cruelty of the world. To hold her in my arms and never let anything bad happen to her ever again.

I cleared my throat, opting to play off my mom’s kindness in hopes of reducing Char’s spooked state. “She adopts all of my friends as one of her own.”

Char nodded, brow furrowing, and I felt the awkwardness hang in the air over my casual use of the F word. Friends.

Char lifted a hand, twisting her wrist and opening her fist to reveal the small travel sewing kit my mom had picked up in Greece on her honeymoon. It was a small plastic box, made to look like an ancient pottery piece, and one-hundred percent Char.

“She gave me this.” She sniffled again, her voice wobbly. “She told me to think of her as my own fairy godmother.”

* * *

Charand I had made it out of the house relatively unscathed, and as we drove toward Prince’s Island Park near the downtown, I explained, “Mrs. Laven is struggling with memory issues. She keeps buying me toasters thinking I’m still engaged. I’ve managed to return three so far, but there are still two in the garage.” I aimed for some humour. “In case you ever need one.”

“She did mention a toaster.”

“She thought you were Sophia?”

Char nodded, her smile wavering.

“I’m sorry.” I wanted to hug Char, to take that haunted glimmer from her gaze. Instead, I kept driving. I had a feeling that my mom had been herself and folded Char deep into her heart, throwing Char off balance. There didn’t seem to be a lot of people looking out for Char, especially if small kindnesses threw her off. “Mrs. Laven has home care now, and my mom provides respite support here and there like tonight, so the toasters should stop.”

“That’s nice of your mom,” Char said, her expression sad. She’d mentioned once in passing that her father wasn’t well, and I wondered if it was simply age or something more.

Before I could ask how he was doing, Char’s expression turned bratty in that way that warned my smile to be on red alert. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told her I was letting myself go because I’m preggers with your baby. Expect baby clothes to start pouring in next.”

I laughed, very much doubting she’d said any of that judging from her earlier panicked look and how quickly she’d politely extracted herself from any conversation after we’d left the garage, empty-handed.

It was surprising seeing her act so uncomfortable. I’d only ever seen her as the fun-loving, confident woman who thrived on curiosity and constant change. She lived with four interesting women, knew the museum like the back of her hand, and was always up for everything. Plus, she was practically friends with everyone at the museum. And now she was going to change her neighbourhood because she saw a need for it. She was the kind of woman who would make life an adventure. The kind of woman who’d always bring light and new perspectives to each and every day.

And my family had left her spooked.

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