I am blown away that my mom forgot something like that. I thought she always had everything together. Oddly, it does make me feel better to know that even she can mess up.
“And I need to apologize to you,” she says.
“You do?”
She nods. “I probably should have a long time ago. After your kidnapping, your dad and I made sure we all got therapy. We knew it was a big thing to process and that it could have some real lasting effects. We even took you all to a therapist who specialized in trauma in youngchildren.”
I nod. I was only three, but I still remember quite a few things about going.
“We both figured that all of you very possibly would have fears of it happening again, that you weren’t safe, or even fears of parks or open grassy areas, like the one where you were grabbed. What I hadn’t anticipated—and really, hadn’t even recognized for years—was how much we had all shifted into “protect Charlie” mode.
“And not only were we all focused on protecting you from danger, but I think all of us tried to protect you from everything.” She shakes her head. “That was such a disservice to you. It sent the message that we didn’t think you could handle things on your own, which was very much not the case. It also kept you from experiencing and learning to do things that you had a right to learn and do. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”
Our chairs are facing each other, but she scoots even closer, and she holds both of my hands, like she really wants me to take in her next words. “You need to know, Charlie, how much faith I have in you. I know what you’re capable of because I see you in action every day. You are not just ‘fire’ at work and ‘flood’ everywhere else.” She chuckles softly. “Although you are definitely ‘fire’ at work. And you are definitely ‘fire’ in the way you look out for others, no matter where you are.
“The thing is, you’re the same Charlie at work as everywhere else. You are just muting the fire version of yourself outside of work because that’s what we inadvertently taught you to do. But make no mistake, Charlotte Florence Lancaster, you have it in you to be fire everywhere.”
A scared, little, tentative bud of hope builds up inside me. “You really think so?”
“Without a doubt.”
I stand, and my mom does, too, and I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug, and she hugs me right back for a good long minute.
After many meetings and hours spent researching and finding answers to things I didn’t really want the answers to, it’s finally lunchtime. And since it’s a Tuesday, it comes with the added bonus of eating with Abraham.
I take the elevator down to Sub-level One and head over to his workspace. The corners of his eyes crinkle into a familiar smile the moment he sees me that is equal parts mischief and dad-energy. He pushes aside a disguise-in-progress—false teeth, tinted glasses, and something rubbery that I’m guessing is a nose or forehead appliance—to make room for our lunch.
I flop down in the chair acrossfrom him.
“Exhausting day?”
I nod. “It even started out that way. But, I have a working kitchen sink, and my water didn’t shut off mid-shower, so at least I’ve got that.”
A lot of times, Abraham and I each bring our own lunches. Since Reese and I went grocery shopping last night, I had planned to make a veggie wrap this morning. But with how my morning went, I ended up grabbing a protein bar and an apple instead. So I was thrilled when Abraham messaged earlier and said he made dinner last night, that there were plenty of leftovers, and he brought enough for both of us.
“Maybe this will help give you some energy back,” he says as he pushes a container across the table to me and pulls the other in front of him. “Warmed them up moments ago.” I take off the lid and breathe in the creamy mushroomy sauce as Abraham says, “It’s chicken marsala with garlic herb orzo and roasted broccolini.”
“Did you always know how to cook like this, or did this skill magically appear once you started cooking for Annette?” I stab a piece of chicken and a mushroom and take a bite.
Abraham laughs. “It’s one of my many skills—just one that I’ve kept more covert. Are you exhausted because you ran a mission today?”
I shake my head, and after I swallow, I say, “Ooh, wow, that is good. And no, I’m exhausted because I had a meeting with Emerson just before this.”
“He brought out the spreadsheets, didn’t he?”
I laugh. “No. He basically confirmed that I can trust my gut. Which is good. But it’s also so bad.”
“Oh. This is about The Shadowridge’s investor you told me about last week, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“I stopped by The Shadowridge a couple of days ago and Owen gave me the tour.”
“You did?”
“What kind of a substitute dad would I be if I didn’t more thoroughly check out the guy you’re dating? He’s a good one. And he’s doing a mighty fine job on that restoration.”
I nod. “He really is.” Then I blow out a deep breath. “Upstairs, we’ve all been working hard at finding out who the man is behind the thefts of a bunch of ancient artifacts that are being sold on the black market.
