Chapter Text
It was Herb of all people who had given her the idea. His talk of poisons at the dinner table that had upset her so much at the time. She knew she had to act on her threat; she just couldn’t keep avoiding Uncle Charlie and hoping for the best. For her own sake, for her family’s sake, something had to be done.
The library, Charlie discovered, had a surprising number of books that covered the topic of poisonous mushrooms – which ones were deadly, where to find them. She never checked the books out; she didn’t want there to be any record. Instead she would spend her time sitting in the stacks reading until she was sure she knew what she needed. Once she had that it was simply a case of finding the right opportunity. She would volunteer to serve the dinner. Her mother wouldn’t mind a break. She’d save Uncle Charlie’s for last. There couldn’t be any risk to her parents or Ann and Roger. Really, given how unhappy he seemed to be with everything, this would be a kindness to him.
The thing was, unfortunately, it didn’t work.
--
Charlie paced the back stairs. The doctor had left about fifteen minutes ago. Her hands had finally stopped shaking; her heart, however, was still pounding. Uncle Charlie was going to live. Part of her was relieved, another part of her was disappointed and she didn’t know how to feel about that. Sometimes she missed the girl she was before all of this.
Her fingers traced over the peeling paint on the side of the house. Everything looked so ordinary. You would never know that there had been two attempted murders here in the past few days.
Charlie straightened her dress and squared back her shoulders. She was going to have to face him at some point, she might as well get it over with.
Her mother opened her bedroom door, a damp cloth in her hands.
“Charlie, there you are. He’s been asking for you.”
Sunlight peaked at the edges of the curtains. The air was stale and heavy. It smelled of sickness. In the dim light she could see Uncle Charlie lying in bed – her bed – with his eyes closed, the blankets pulled up over his chest. She’d never seen him look so small and frail.
Her mother sat down on the chair by the bed. Charlie hovered nearby, unsure of where to place herself. Uncle Charlie stirred but didn’t open his eyes. She let out a breath. As soon as he looked at her, he would know. She couldn’t hide anything from him.
Mother gently pressed the cloth to Uncle Charlie’s forehead.
“Here, let me.” Charlie took the cloth from her. Perching on the edge of the bed, she leaned over and lightly wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow, then down over his face. The tip of her little finger brushed against his cheek and his eyes fluttered open.
“Charlie.”
His voice sounded weak and hoarse, not like him at all. Suddenly his whole body seemed to convulse and he bent double, groaning. Her mother quickly grabbed a bowl from the dresser and held it next to him as he vomited, grey liquid staining the porcelain white. Uncle Charlie whimpered pitifully. Mother stroked his hair as he rolled onto his front, face pressed into the pillow.
“It’s alright,” she whispered. Her touch seemed to soothe him and the trembling in his limbs eventually subsided. Charlie could picture them as children, her nursing him after his bicycle accident.
The broken stair had left her with a sore ankle; this was what she had left him with. He clearly hadn’t felt any shame after what he’d done so why should she? She didn’t enjoy causing him pain. In fact when he had first collapsed after dinner, when she had thought – hoped even - that he might die, her entire body had ached as if she was somehow feeling his agony. There was also some small satisfaction in knowing that she was solely responsible for the damage to him, just as he was responsible for her bruises. Even violence had a strange sort of intimacy to it.
--
Charlie opened the door to Mrs Potter standing out on the front porch. The day was warm, the air perfumed by the flowers growing in the garden. Mother’s roses were having a particularly good year.
“Oh, hello Charlie.”
“Good afternoon Mrs Potter.”
Mrs Potter was finely dressed in a shade of dark green, jewelry covering her neck and wrists. Her lipstick was clearly freshly applied. Uncle Charlie would loathe the very sight of her, she thought.
“I heard from Emma that your poor uncle has been sick. Such a shame, especially for a young man like him.”
“Yes, it is.”
Charlie knew she should at least invite her in however she remained rooted in the doorway, blocking the entrance. Mrs Potter obviously was expecting to be invited in as well. She craned her neck to look behind her as if she would be able to catch a glimpse of Uncle Charlie.
“I was hoping to be able to see him. I thought a visit might lift his spirits.”
“I’m afraid he’s resting right now. We don’t want him to be disturbed.”
Mrs Potter was clearly disappointed. “Oh, I was hoping to…well, you all know what’s best of course. Tell him I was asking after him.”
“I will.” Charlie would do no such thing. Walk away and never come back if you know what’s good for you.
Eventually Mrs Potter said her goodbyes. Charlie watched her walk back down the path, relief flooding through her.
--
Uncle Charlie was sitting in bed, propped up against pillows which her mother was busy plumping. His skin was a pale waxy color, his eyes, however, were sharp and alert.
“Oh Emmy, you don’t need to fuss,” he said, although from what Charlie could see he was enjoying it.
“The doctor thinks it was something in the food,” Mother said, “And I know exactly who was responsible.”
“Really?” Charlie leaned back against the door to cover her nerves. Her nails dug into her palms.
“I’ve told Joe that Herbert isn’t to come over anymore. It’s all well and good talking about these things, but when people start getting hurt…”
Charlie relaxed slightly. Then she felt guilty. Now she’d ruined things for her father as well.
“Unlucky that I got caught up in it.” Uncle Charlie stared directly at her.
“Or lucky that the rest of us weren’t affected,” Charlie replied.
He knew. He must have had his suspicions of course. The anger was practically radiating from him, but there’s something else in his expression as well, something that unsettled her far more – he was proud of her.