“God, I’ve missed you, girl.” She squeezed me tighter before stepping back to examine me. “Look at you.”
Unlike my mother’s inspection, Juanita’s didn’t have me ready to haul out my armor.
“You look beautiful. Like … you’re finally comfortable in your own skin.”
As always, she was perceptive as hell.
“I missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch. I was afraid that if you knew where I was…”
“Don’t even try to apologize. As far as I was concerned, no news was good news. Now, let’s get off the street and get a cup of coffee. I want to hear everything that’s happened since you walked out of my kitchen.” Juanita looped her arm through mine and pulled me across the street to the café where we had agreed to meet.
A thought occurred to me. “How did you know where I was just now?” I should have been waiting in the café, but I’d been unwillingly drawn to the symbol of my past rising high in the Manhattan skyline.
“You stand out like a sore thumb in this part of town, Charlotte. I saw the rubberneckers from across the street. Wasn’t hard to figure out.”
Fair enough.
We settled into a back booth with steaming mugs in front of us, and Juanita wasted no time getting down to business.
“Tell me everything. But first, tell me about this Southern gentlemen you were photographed with when everything hit the papers.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a beat as guilt battered me. Those pictures had probably killed any possibility of Simon having a future in politics.
But there was a chance that if I stayed away, and he decided to run after his mother was well again, the buzz around him would die down, and he’d eventually have a fighting chance of being elected. But if I went back … well, suffice it to say that between my name and my colorful appearance, Simon’s political career would stay dead.
“Charlotte?”
I looked up, realizing that Juanita had been waiting for me to answer her question.
I tried levity to deflect. “Jeez. Why can’t you start with something easier? Like, why the heck I decided to cover my perfectly good arms with tattoos.”
My attempt at deflection failed. Juanita just raised a brow. “So, he was someone important. Duchesne, was it?” I didn’t like that she was speaking in the past tense.
“His name is Simon Duchesne.”
She eyed me shrewdly. “And he was important?”
I swallowed. “He is important.”
“And you love him.”
That one wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
“So now what?”
“I don’t know.” I stared down into the steam rising off my mug. I gave myself permission to be honest. “I want to go back, but if I were a better person, I wouldn’t even consider it. I should run as far and as fast as I can in the opposite direction. And I hate myself for not being strong enough to do it. That’s just one more reason he deserves better.”
“So you’ve decided to be your own judge, jury, and executioner? I didn’t realize you’d become a martyr.”
I bristled. “How is that being a martyr? Aren’t you supposed to put the people you love before yourself?
She ignored my question and countered with another of her own. “What would your Simon have to say if he were here listening to this?”
I pictured Simon’s strong features, flashing hazel eyes, and tousled dark hair. What would he say? I thought of the plane ticket. That was as clear of a message as he could send. “Probably something along the lines of ‘get the hell home where you belong’.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why does it have to be complicated?”
“Because he’s better off without me. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”
Juanita covered my fidgeting hand with hers. “And you? Are you better off without him? Isn’t that the real question you should be trying to answer?”
“I’m not worried about me—”
“Why not? Don’t you deserve the same consideration?” Her tone was no-nonsense. “You have to stop treating yourself as somehow being less because of what your father did. I’ve told you before, but clearly it didn’t make an impression. Your father’s actions are no reflection of your character, Charlotte. You need to quit thinking they are, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life running from something you can never escape.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Simon’s a grown man. You should let him make his own decision. If you love him, then he deserves that much. Anything else is a disservice to both of you.” Her dark eyes pinned me. “You’re not a stupid girl, Charlotte. So stop acting like you are. What other plan do you have? Keep running?”
I bowed my head, letting my hair fall into my face. “I’m still figuring that out.”
“My advice would be not to take too long to decide. Life only gives us so many chances at happiness. You’d do well not to waste this one.”
I watched the same two pieces of unclaimed luggage go around and around the baggage carousel. One was a hard case of golf clubs, and other was a tapestry-patterned bag that looked like something a grandmother would carry. My suspicion was confirmed when an airport employee loaded the flower-covered bag on a cart pushed by an older woman in tan orthopedic shoes. A man on a cell phone hauled the golf clubs away.