Page 115 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

We all entered the dining room and took our seats. Charlie and Joan were talking about soccer. Thomas was engrossed with his phone, occasionally asking Aubrey if she’d seen this or that email. And the rest of us sat quietly and ate the first course, a simple salad.

“So Thea,” Aubrey said from her seat across the table as the main course was served. “Logan says you’re a professional artist.”

I shook my head and swallowed my own fry. “No. It’s just a hobby.”

“She’s incredible.” Logan leaned past me to look at Joan. “I’ll send you some pictures of her work. I think you’d like some things for your collection.”

“Pass those on to me too.” Aubrey smiled at me. “What style of art do you do? Impressionism? Contemporary? Realism?”

“Um, modern, I guess?” I had no clue how to classify my art. Was trash a style?

“Modern!” Aubrey cheered. “Oh, I love modern. T

ell me about your process.”

I shoved a bite in my mouth, chewing to buy myself some time. Aubrey meant well, but her questions made me feel even more like an imposter. She probably thought I was some kind of starving artist, forced to work at a bar until my art career bloomed. In reality, I loved my job at the bar and had no desire to become a full-time artist.

“Mommy, can I have some ketchup?”

“Sure, honey.” I scrambled for the glass bottle, hoping it would be a segue into a conversation as far away from my garbage art as possible.

Luckily, by the time I plopped a blob onto Charlie’s plate, Thomas had stolen Aubrey’s attention again to discuss something about work.

“Logan, have you given any thought to enrolling Charlotte at Rotherchild Academy?” Lillian asked from the foot of the table.

“It’s Charlie,” Logan and I both corrected in unison. “And no, Mom. I haven’t thought about Rothchild. She’s not going to school all the way out here.”

“Then what about Fairlane?” Lillian asked. “It’s closer to the penthouse if you’ll be staying in the city.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “Let’s talk about it later.”

I gaped at Logan. Had he actually considered putting Charlie in some New York academy after I’d specifically told him I wanted her to go to school in Montana?

“Charlie goes to school in Lark Cove,” I announced. “She won’t be going to any academy.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair and turned in his seat. “That’s not what I meant.”

I threw his words right back in his face. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Charlotte is a lovely name.” Lillian forked a piece of roast tenderloin, cutting it into a delicate bite. “Don’t you think, Sofia?”

“Lovely,” Sofia agreed. “Much more fitting for the family than Charlie.”

Lillian nodded. “I’d really love to call her Charlotte. Would that be all right?”

I looked down at Charlie to see her frown.

Obviously, I loved the name Charlotte. I’d picked it out because it had sounded classy, like something Logan’s daughter would be named. It was a name I would have picked for myself. So I’d been upset the day Charlie had come home from camp and declared she was no longer Charlotte.

But my frustration hadn’t lasted long. Hazel had told me about a boy who’d come to the camp. His name was Ray, he had muscular dystrophy, and my little girl had bonded with him instantly. Ray was confined to a wheelchair and since he couldn’t get down and play in the dirt, Charlie had brought the dirt to him. She’d found him sticks and rocks and pinecones. From what Hazel had said, that boy had had an incredible camp experience simply because of my daughter.

Ray had nicknamed her Charlie.

So if that name was special to her, then she could go by it whenever she wanted. And I’d be happy to enforce it with Logan’s mother.

“I’m sorry, Lillian. No. Charlie prefers her nickname and she’s old enough to make that decision.”

Lillian’s eyes went wide, surprised that I’d deny her. She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Logan intervened. “Enough, Mom. It’s Charlie. End of discussion.”