Chapter Two: Return to Sender

Charlotte always had a good time at 'Taste of Charming'; the fundraiser Gemma did every year to raise money for Charming High School. She didn't know why everybody else moaned like hell—free food, free drink and free entertainment all day. Was there any other way to spend a Saturday?

"Well, shit, if it ain't mini-Martha Stewart," Jax smirked, as Charlotte was building a small pyramid out of pop cans.

"Oh, very funny," she retorted, throwing a can of Coca Cola® at his chest. But he was quick and caught it.

"Hope you're going to pay for that." Gemma said, walking up to her children.

"Hey, Mom." Jax deflected Gemma's statement by kissing her cheek.

"Is that who I think it is?" Gemma asked, looking at Kyle, the rat, whose selfish actions cost Opie five years in jail.

"Yeah. Ope's cool with it so..." Jax trailed off and shrugged his shoulders, opening his coke can, "Who's that guy grillin' over there?"

He motioned his head towards the Charming Police Department stand, directly opposite them.

"That's your ATF agent."

"You're shittin' me."

"No, why?"

Gemma didn't like the look on her son's face.

"When I was at the hospital earlier with Abel, he stood outside the window staring at me—at us."

Her interest piqued, Charlotte raised her head from her can pyramid and looked up. A tall, light-haired man dressed in a blue shirt gave a slight nod of his head to Jax, his eyes hid behind dark sunglasses. He remained completely motionless and his stoic behaviour sent a chill up Charlotte's spine.

"Excuse me."

The male voice startled her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump."

It was the ATF agent who had been at the grill earlier.

"It's okay," Charlotte assured, breathing deep and getting her heart rate back to normal.

"I'm sorry, but do I know you? You look so familiar."

"Umm, no, I don't think so. Sorry."

If he was watching the Sons, then no doubt he would've seen her around the garage a few times. It was an odd question for him to ask her.

"Charlotte, right?"

Charlotte tensed when he said her name.

"I thought so," he smiled, "Alrighty then."

He picked up a soda can and handed Charlotte some money.

"Thanks," he smiled again, holding up the can and walked away.

Charlotte blinked at what just happened. His method of questioning was a strange one at that. He asked her if he knew her, but already knew her name. If his intention was to put her on edge, he sure did that.

Maybe he's watching my house too, she thought. She had nothing to hide but one could never be too careful.

Checking that Madison was still under the table where she left her, Charlotte saw her eating up some pasta that somebody had dropped on the ground.

"Maddy!" she hissed, squatting down on all fours and going under the table. The grey Chow looked at her with big eyes.

"Stop it!"

The last time Madison ate pasta, she threw up on the kitchen floor.

"Hey, while you're down there..."

"That's funny, Tig," Charlotte responded as she stood up, seeing Tig and Bobby in his full Elvis attire.

"I thought so, too," he smirked, taking a can of soda from her ever dwindling pyramid.

"Gemma's pissed at you," she said to Bobby, "And you have to pay for that, Tig."

"Why? I do my part for the community already," he mumbled as he walked away.

"Don't we all?" Bobby agreed, fixing his hair and preparing for the beat-down he was going to get from Gemma for being nearly two hours late.

Charlotte dropped a shaky April off at St. Thomas' Hospital, being as it was on her way home anyway. Tyler had taken the family car home after April fed him the bullshit excuse that she was going to stay and help clear up. Charlotte had offered to stay with her until Kyle was dropped off. She felt sorry for April after seeing Kyle with his bimbo, blonde girlfriend and now she was the one who had to pick up the pieces from whatever SAMCRO had done to him. She had seen Kyle earlier, sporting a busted lip and a swollen eye. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Opie had done that to him, but apparently that was just for starters and the rest of the Sons were the main course and dessert.

"I'll be fine, you go home," April politely refused.

"You shouldn't—"

"Charlotte," April snapped, "Please."

Charlotte left her on the bench that overlooked the main road and the main entrance of the hospital. The bench was one that she herself had sat on for many collective hours after a member of the Sons had got hurt. She didn't envy April at all.

Pulling up in her driveway, Charlotte noticed two things; the new car parked halfway down her street and how full her mailbox was. She noticed the car because she had never seen it before and she knew who everyone was on her street. They were mostly retired or near-retiring aged couples—a few other people living alone like her. The street was one of the oldest in Charming, (which was probably why it was called Old Street) and as such, housed some of the oldest residents who had lived there their whole lives.

The car she noticed was a cream-coloured, old Pontiac. It was parked outside the house of Billy and Wendy Porter. Wendy had MS and Billy didn't drive, so her first instinct was that it was the ATF agent from the fundraiser watching her. Stepping out of her car and trying not to make it too obvious that she was staring at the Pontiac, she could see that the driver was completely bald—so that ruled the agent out entirely. His stature was also larger than the thin agent's was. Reaching her mailbox, she decided it must be a relative or a friend waiting for someone.

Her mailbox was practically bursting with unread mail. She hadn't bothered to check it since she returned from Vegas—so much for Gemma 'popping round' to keep an 'eye' on the place while she was away.

Stepping inside, Madison headed straight to her food bowl and began chowing down, whilst she flicked through her mail. Amongst the many bills, there was a small brown envelope with a postage stamp mark from Memphis, Tennessee. She stared at the neat writing on the front for ages, knowing who it was from already.

The first letter from her mother had arrived one day in her mailbox a few weeks back in the same small brown envelope with the same neat writing and same postage stamp mark from Memphis. The shock of it had caused Charlotte to throw up in her sink. She had scanned through the letter, reading the odd line about how sorry her mother was about leaving—how she wished Charlotte would forgive her and how she felt bad about her father's death. In the end, the letter had been set alight with a match and thrown in the kitchen sink to burn.

Her mother obviously hadn't taken the hint after she didn't reply to the first letter and had sent a second. Debating with herself for a few minutes, she decided she didn't want to read the letter at all this time and set it alight like the previous letter. Hopefully, her mother would think she had the wrong address after two letters went unanswered.

She hadn't needed her mother for the past twenty-one years and she certainly didn't need her now.