Smoldering Embers Read online

  By

  P.M. Briede

  Book One of the Charlotte Grace Series

  Copyright © 2014 by P.M. Briede

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  California Times Publishing

  Los Angeles

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Wild Fire Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  PAIN! It was the only thought I had. There were voices but they were muffled even though they were loud and angry. It was as if their volume kept me from being able to understand anything other than that someone was present. But they didn’t matter. All that mattered was the pain.

  It surrounded me. It crushed me from the outside. It pushed on me from the inside. The muscles in my body were so tense I thought they’d shred my bones. My head felt as though it was going to explode. I wanted it to explode! If it was gone I couldn’t experience this pain.

  Something hit me, knocking my eyes open. Through the fog I could make out the carpet of my bedroom. I must have fallen out of bed. I haven’t had that dream since college. That eerie green fire that engulfed me. It’s the only thing I ever remembered about those dreams. But I was more than familiar with the aftermath. The throbbing headache that no pill could cure. The only remedy? Sleep.

  But this time it was different. This time my entire body was throbbing as if I’d run a marathon I hadn’t prepared for. There was a pain in my chest that turned my stomach. I crawled into the bathroom and made it to the toilet just in time.

  I don’t know how long I laid in my bathroom. After losing my stomach I didn’t have the energy to move. Normally after the dreams I’d roll over and find sleep quickly. The next time I woke up I would be good as new. But the effects of this dream lingered. That was until a voice pulled me out of my misery. “Charlotte!” my mother-in-law called. I couldn’t answer. She found me quickly. “Dear God! They said no one reached you yet!”

  I opened my eyes and saw her panicked, tear-stained face. Something wasn’t right. I tried to ask after my nieces. No words passed my open mouth.

  She helped me sit up. Once she was done talking I wished she’d never found me. “Charlotte, he’s gone.” I didn’t need clarification even though she gave it to me. The truth was written all over her. My chest suddenly felt empty. The facts didn’t matter. I knew it in my soul. “Giles is dead.”

  * * *

  Two days later I found myself in a room, surrounded by family and friends, desperately trying to deny reality. This isn’t my life. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I stared at the door, waiting for my Giles to come in. Waiting for him to say it was a poor prank. My hands fisted as I prepared to beat him senseless after kissing him and throwing everyone out of the house.

  “Charlotte?” His sad voice drew my attention from the door. Wesley Breaux is my oldest and dearest friend. We’ve known each other almost all our lives, having gone to school together from junior high through college. He’d arrived in Boise from New Orleans within twenty-four hours of my husband’s death. “Can I get you anything?”

  I ignored him and turned back to the door. Giles was going to walk through it. I’ve loved him for fifteen years. He was my partner, lover, friend and inspiration. I was nothing without him. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He wouldn’t abandon me like this.

  Days passed. How many? Who knows? One day I sat in a room while Wesley and my father executed Giles wishes on my behalf. Another I was in our church. The place was packed. Giles’ had been the mayor of Boise. He’d been well respected and loved by the community. I sat there drowning in tears, none of them mine. I hadn’t shed one. That casket was going to open. He was going to sit up and be there. He didn’t.

  I blinked and was in the cemetery, staring at the hole in the ground that was going to hold my heart for eternity. The truth of what had happened was finally starting to seep in. I’d given Giles my heart. His death didn’t mean I got it back.

  “Charlotte, you don’t want to see this,” Wesley said as he tugged on my arm. They were ready to lower the casket. I pulled free, turned and walked away. I had to get away. I’d been numb up until now, empty and hollow. But now the funeral was over. Standing over his grave I realized that I couldn’t let that happen. That once everything stopped and I was forced to take stock of what I was left with the truth of my loss would cripple me. There would be no starting after that.

  “Do you think you could help me something?” Wesley asked when we got back to my house.

  He was offering the distraction I needed and I latched onto it as if it was my life raft in a storm. “Sure. What is it?”

  “I don’t know if you remember my friend Max but he’s the dean of New Orleans’ newest private high school, Armstrong Academy. He’s struggling to get the arts programs set up which are required as part of the bond agreement he made with Alexander to help fund the opening of the school.” Alexander Wyatt is the governor of Louisiana and Wesley’s boss. If the school wasn’t doing well then that would be bad press for them. “His biggest challenge is getting the right arts director. Given your background I was wondering if you’d give me some ideas to share with him.”

  I have a Master’s degree in Performance Art Education and was an integral part of Giles’ arts education policies for the programs in the Boise area schools. Wesley asked my opinions. We talked about different programs. We discussed logistics and funding. The conversation spilled over into the next day, then the day after that, until a week had gone by.

  “Do you think you’ll come home, Char?” Wesley asked as he packed to go home. We were in the guest bedroom he was using. I was staying in the other one.

  I glared at him. I hated that nickname. “Probably. Dad and Celeste are still there. But honestly, Wesley, I don’t know. There’s a lot going on right now. I don’t know what’s going to be best for me.”

  “I understand,” he said. There was a sudden sadness to him that didn’t make sense. He’d known Giles and they had a mutual respect for each other but for some reason I didn’t think his death was causing Wesley’s change in mood. I walked over and touched his shoulder. He turned and looked into my eyes. “I’ll be a better friend. Expect my call every week to check in on you. Okay?”

  I laughed at his formality; a habit I’m sure he acquired as the governor’s chief of staff. That position left him constantly between asking for permission and giving orders. It was the first real laugh since I’d become a widow. “You’re family, Wesley,” I whispered as I hugged him. “You don’t need an appointment or permission to call.”

  He smiled. “Alright point taken, but please don’t hesitate to call no matter the time if you need someone.”

  The day after he left my father and stepmother moved in. They stayed for a month waiting for me to break down. I cried in private for the first week or two. I wasn’t comfortable doing so in public. I couldn’t handle the pity looks or shared sorrow.

  During that month, Wesley
and I talked over email, text, or phone daily. He continued to mention the school. I’d worried that I would drown in sadness and grief, but Wesley kept me afloat. It was nice to have something that felt normal during that time.

  When my family finally went home and the condolences significantly slowed, I realized I was lonely. I didn’t have a job. I’d been the mayor’s wife for seven years. I went back to volunteering, teaching dance in the high schools, but that became too difficult as all I was asked was, ‘How are you doing?’ How do you respond to that question?

  My husband didn’t leave me to go live his life somewhere else; he died. I knew everyone was trying their best to be nice but it quickly grew tiresome. No one wanted to talk about anything else. Soon I was suffocated by despair until I was trapped in my home in order to avoid everyone’s concern.

  Six weeks after the funeral, Wesley noticed the change in my voice. “Have you given any more thought to moving home?”

  “I have. The house is actually on the market now.”

  “So you’re coming home?” He was trying to hide it but I could hear the excitement in his voice.

  “Honestly, if I could do anything I’d move somewhere no one knew me. Start over.” I paused expecting him to say something. When he didn’t I continued. “But while the idea is appealing there isn’t anywhere I want to move to. Besides dad would probably kill me if I didn’t come home for a little while. I know he misses me. New Orleans will be a safe place to be until I figure things out.”

  “Well I wish the circumstances bringing you back were different, though I do admit that I’m happy to hear you are planning on coming home.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Remember the arts director position I mentioned to you?”

  “Yes. Hard to forget since we’ve been talking strategies about it since you left.”

  “Right. Well Max hasn’t found anyone locally that he likes and he’s loved all your ideas and suggesti…”

  I interrupted him. “What do you mean my ideas and suggestions?”

  “Well I told Max about your situation and history,” he sheepishly answered. “I never claimed the ideas as mine. Honestly, Charlotte, they were all yours. You should know me better than to think I’d ever claim credit for your ideas.”

  “So you told the dean about a person who lives ten states away, in a completely different time zone, who at the time wasn’t really in a position to move, and got him excited? You’re about to offer me the position aren’t you?” I was angry. It was a difficult situation to be put in. I wasn’t looking for a job and now I had no real reason to refuse except the one I didn’t want to give; it was too soon.

  “Damn it, Charlotte, it’s not mine to offer. But you’re right in thinking that Max will offer you the job when he learns you’re moving here. I’m sorry, you’re right. Please don’t be mad. It’s just that I know you and knew you’d eventually move from there. You love Boise but you love New Orleans too and it’s your home. Giles was a wonderful person and he treated you great and you did some great things together, but he was the only reason you stayed there and now he’s gone. I was hoping you’d move home and you’ll be able to do some great things for the students of Louisiana.”

  “Don’t lay that line on me, Wesley Breaux. Just like you know me, I know you. If you’ve talked your friend out of hiring qualified people to hold that position for me I’ll never forgive you. That’s not…”

  “That’s not what I did.”

  “But for some reason your friend is highly valuing your opinion, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Don’t but me, Wesley. I’m not naïve enough to believe you haven’t seen any of the resumes.”

  “I have, but I promise I haven’t been the stop gap. He talks to them but they don’t have the same passion for this as you do.”

  “How does he know my passion? We’ve never met. We’ve never had a conversation.”

  “After I started sharing your ideas with him he looked into the work you did in Boise. He truly is impressed and asked me if I thought you’d move back. I told him I did but that I had no idea when that would be. He said he was willing to wait to see if you’d become available. I promise, Char, this isn’t a conspiracy.”

  “Don’t call me Char. You know I hate that. I didn’t even let Giles call me that.”

  “Old habits die hard, but I’ll work on it. Just think about it, will you? Can I set up a call with Max? Just to talk about it?”

  “Just to talk about it.” I’d caved. “Look, I’m willing to be a resource but, Wesley, I haven’t had a job in so long. You can’t tell me that there isn’t someone better qualified currently in the workforce.”

  I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Stop slowing down the economy. Didn’t you know we are trying to reduce unemployment? Come join the workforce.”

  Two days later I’d talked with the dean, Max Harrison, after accepting the position to become the new arts director starting in six weeks.

  * * *

  I set the last box on the desk and tried to decide where to start unpacking. This isn’t where I was supposed to be. But it was where I was. The office was spacious with the mahogany desk placed in front of the picturesque window that overlooked the City of New Orleans. It was a sunny, clear day so there was no need to turn on the overhead lights. The right side of the room was lined in bookcases and I’d placed the boxes that would fill them on the floor in front of them. The opposing wall was left open and currently had the artwork I planned to hang leaning against it. The furniture was placed and a graphic rug covered the hard floors.

  It had taken me a week just to move everything into the office. In the past, I’d have been unpacked by now and settled. I was having trouble focusing. Luckily Max was an understanding boss. He was just happy I’d accepted the position.

  The funeral had been three months ago. I still grieved but I had to keep living, even if it was a shadow version of what I’d planned. Wallowing wasn’t going to bring my Giles back. I’d known him well enough to know it wasn’t what he would have wanted anyway.

  The prospect of starting to unpack was overwhelming so I moved to the window and gazed out over my skyline view of the city. The familiar views of home calmed my senses. Feeling somewhat ready to face the days ahead I headed to my desk. I found my to-do list. First: Unpack. That wasn’t going well. Second: Hire an assistant. I turned to the stack of resumes on my desk then immediately away from them. Third: Tour the school to survey the arts programs. Well, that would be easier accomplished with an assistant to help take notes and assessments. Plus all the teachers were out on the Thanksgiving holiday. Fourth: Meet with Max and Wesley. Haven’t done that either. Good grief in a week’s time you’d have thought I’d have accomplished something. This was starting out as an utter failure. I would have to pull myself out of this quickly.

  The clock on the desk showed it was noon when I leaned against it to hang my head. I still hadn’t completely adjusted to the time change but figured breaking away for lunch would help to firm my resolve to accomplish something today. So I grabbed my purse and dug through it as I walked to the door.

  “Charlotte!” said a very surprised voice when I opened the door.

  I looked up and smiled. “Wesley, this is a surprise to be sure.” I watched him smile, lower the hand he’d raised to knock on my door and slide it into the pocket of his pants.

  Chapter 2

  “So what are you doing here?” I delved.

  “I just got out of a meeting in the area and was hoping you hadn’t had lunch yet. I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help you.”

  “Wesley, I don’t need a babysitter. You have a lot of work to do, I get that.”

  “While that is true, it has been seven years of not punching a clock. I just wanted make sure you’re getting set up for success. There’s a lot riding on you.” His tone was teasing but his eyes were worried. I knew he was speaking the truth. I’d asked to be sent the financi
al statements to see what funding was available to restructure and set up the new arts programs. There wasn’t much. If the student base didn’t significantly increase in the next two years the school would be bankrupt.

  “Well then, it’s a good thing you caught me. I was just heading out to lunch and I needed to set up a meeting with you anyway. We can kill two birds with one stone if you have the time.”

  “I’m free and this does work out perfectly, as I have a surprise for you as well!”

  We left the building and walked a couple of blocks down Decatur Street to Coop’s Place. Wesley held the door open for me while the smells of Cajun food wafted out. I hadn’t even taken two steps inside when I heard, “Charlotte! Over here.”

  I turned in the direction of the voice that I’d mostly only heard over the phone for the last thirteen years. Wesley stepped up behind me and I smiled up at him. “I take it this is your surprise?”

  We started walking towards the table. “Yup. I know it’s been a long time since the three of us have spent any time together. She called me this morning to see how you were doing. I told her I was stopping by your office later and she recommended lunch.”

  “And if I wasn’t there?”

  “Then we’d have had lunch without you, been doing it for years now. But we figured if you weren’t there, this would probably have been the place you’d come to, so either way we hoped to catch you.”

  We’d reached the table by then and I was immediately engulfed in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “It’s good to see you too, Paige.” Other than Wesley, Paige Lochs is my oldest and best friend. We were sorority sisters at LSU. We’d stayed close, even though she’d only been up to visit me once in the last thirteen years and I’d only come to New Orleans three times. After she and I met, I’d introduced her to Wesley and they’d dated for a couple of months in college, but nothing so serious as to damage the friendship that the three of us had.