18. Charlotte

18

CHARLOTTE

C harlotte sat on the floor of the barn the next afternoon, wrapped up in a blanket, her eyes on Olivia.

The object of her attention paced back and forth in front of her, getting more and more agitated by the minute.

The two of them had been out here since the moment Olivia got home from play practice with her jaw set and a wild look in her eyes. Apparently, the rehearsal hadn’t gone well, and the director, Mr. Walsh, was adamant that she needed to come in tomorrow with a better attitude.

Charlotte herself was feeling so dark after the events of last night at the Giving Tree that she had practically hidden herself at the ice cream shop all day. Even gentle Zane had seemed to know instinctively that it was best to restock the shop and get out of her hair without asking questions.

But Olivia needed her, and she wasn’t going to let the girl go into the house where her father might get angry with her. She was determined to be of some kind of actual help. So she sat through Olivia’s litany of complaints about the teacher, and then got out the script.

“We’ll be in the barn,” she’d told Daniel an hour ago. “Running lines.”

“I know the lines,” Olivia grumbled on the way out.

“Let’s run them anyway,” Charlotte said.

“He wants me to show more emotion,” Olivia said when they reached the barn doors.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Charlotte said lightly.

“What are you talking about?” Olivia predictably yelled.

“I think you’ve got some very intense and complicated emotions, Olivia,” Charlotte said. “And I think you could be the best Scrooge this town has ever seen.”

“Now you sound like that stupid therapist,” Olivia moaned.

“I’m not asking you to change yourself,” Charlotte said firmly. “I like you just the way you are. I’m just saying… would it hurt to put some of that anger to work for personal gain?”

Olivia looked at her, frowned, and then started laughing.

It was kind of funny, actually. Charlotte laughed a little too, and then the two of them headed inside.

“Why here?” Olivia asked, looking around.

“Because it’s just us,” Charlotte said. “And some cows. It will be easier here.”

An hour later, she wasn’t so sure. No matter how many times they ran it, Olivia refused to do more than say her lines in an almost monotone, without a trace of anger, fear, or humor.

“Hey,” Charlotte said. “Come over here.”

Olivia slouched over and sat on the cold barn floor, letting Charlotte wrap her blanket around them both.

“This is hopeless,” Olivia said. “We should just tell him I’ve got mono too.”

“Do you know how I think Scrooge feels?” Charlotte asked quietly.

“Angry,” Olivia sighed. “Just like me.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “He’s angry. But why is he angry?”

“He wants more money,” Olivia sighed. “He wants to go back to bed and forget about the weird ghosts.”

“That’s what he says,” Charlotte said. “But what do you think is really going on with him?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia said, playing with a loose string on the blanket.

“Well, I think he’s angry because he’s lonely,” Charlotte told her simply.

Her words hung in the air of the barn, the only other sound the soft snores of Clover, who was sleeping in one of the stalls. Olivia didn’t respond, and it took everything Charlotte had not to ask the obvious question.

“I’m lonely too,” Olivia said at last, her voice barely a whisper.

Charlotte nodded, wanting to tell the girl that she was also lonely sometimes, that everyone was. But Olivia needed a moment to open up, to look inside herself instead of connecting with Charlotte right now.

“And it makes me so mad that I can barely see straight sometimes,” she went on.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?” Charlotte asked.

“No,” Olivia said.

“Then get up there,” Charlotte told her. “Show me instead.”

The girl was on her feet in no time, pacing again, but this time with purpose.

Charlotte waited for her to begin speaking her lines, but she didn’t, though tension rose off her, tight as a wire.

“Are you angry?” Charlotte asked her.

“ Yes, ” Olivia yelled back.

“What are you mad about?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m mad at my dad,” Olivia yelled. “I’m mad about being in this play, and most of all I’m mad about my mom .”

The sound of someone sucking in a breath made them both turn to the doors, where Tag’s tall form was silhouetted against the sunset outside.

Instinct had Charlotte up on her feet in an instant, running to him to make sure he knew that this was a breakthrough in an acting exercise, not a judgement on his parenting.

But when she got close enough, she could see his expression wasn’t the open look he’d taken to giving her lately, or his annoyed demeanor from before they became friends. It wasn’t even the white-hot fury she’d seen on his face Saturday.

The blank, expressionless look on his face tonight was worse than any of those.

“Tag, we’re just practicing for the play,” she told him quickly. “We were only trying to?—”

“Dinnertime,” he said coldly, turning on his heel.

“Tag,” Charlotte breathed, her heart breaking for them both.

“ I hate you, Dad, ” Olivia screamed after him. “ You ruin everything. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…”

But Tag was gone, and Olivia was weeping with helpless anger.