Charlotte wakes up at 4:30 a.m. the next morning. Not awful, she thinks when she glances at the clock on the bedside table. She fell asleep at 10 the night before, which means she got a respectable six and a half hours of sleep. Mason is nuzzled against her side sleeping soundly. Charlotte watches the rhythmic rise and fall of Mason's chest, feels the tickle of his breath against the skin of the arm that she has wrapped firmly around him.

It always seemed like every time Charlotte came home to visit after she left for college, yet another childhood friend of hers had popped out a kid. Charlotte would see these women staring at their children, and all she could think was: It's a baby. Can't you find anything more interesting to do than watch it sleep? But she gets it now. God, does she get it. Charlotte swears she could spend hours watching Mason sleep. Watching him sleep and just loving him.

He's the last thing she thinks about when she goes to bed and the first thing she thinks about when she wakes up. And while she's getting used to these feelings, sometimes it still seems crazy. A year ago Charlotte hadn't met Mason yet. A year ago she was still being caught off guard by the unexpected fact that she was a wife, that she and Cooper had actually made it to the alter, and that they were exquisitely happy and in love. And then this child had come into their lives, and Charlotte had resisted that change at first. But Mason was his daddy's son, and just like Cooper, Mason had worked his way into Charlotte's heart until she could no longer deny that he was a part of her.

Charlotte wonders if her mother had ever felt anything like this. Had there been a moment when Charlotte was an infant when her mother just couldn't stop staring at her new baby? Neither of Charlotte's parents had been outwardly affectionate with their children, and Charlotte had always attributed that to their belief that it was improper to show too many emotions, that one should be composed at all times. But Charlotte can't imagine loving someone how she loves her son and not telling him you love him, not crying when he cries, or smiling when he smiles.

Charlotte feels her eyes burning as she starts thinking about her mother. It's going to be a long and exhausting day, and Charlotte decides that a good run will help her prepare. She carefully extricates herself from under Mason and places his head gently on a pillow. Neither he nor Cooper so much as stir when Charlotte picks up her duffel bag and walks out of the room. She envies their propensity for deep sleep.

Charlotte brings her bag into her old room and sits down on the bed. The room is exactly the same as it had been when she lived here. The same cream-colored walls and light wood furniture; ribbons from equestrian competitions hung on the wall. Charlotte pulls her running clothes from her bag; getting dressed in the pre-dawn hours to go out for a run in the hot, thick, late summer Alabama air brings Charlotte back to being a teenager. She had started running at 15 when her horse died. By then, it had been clear that Charlotte wasn't going to be in Monroeville much longer. She was a junior in high school, well on her way to becoming the class valedictorian, and with her eyes set on Ivy League colleges in far away New England. Momma and Big Daddy had insisted that there was no point in buying a horse for someone who wouldn't be around to ride it in two years.

They were willing to buy Charlotte a pair of running shoes however. Charlotte can still remember the burn of her muscles when she'd first started running, and how she could barely go a few miles. But by 15, Charlotte had already begun to find any sign of weakness or softness within herself unacceptable. So, she'd pushed past the pain, and before long she was waking up before the sun had risen so she could run for hours before going to school.

The feeling of a good run had been intoxicating; it made Charlotte feel strong and calm. Charlotte had trained for her first marathon during college, and she'd kept running them nearly every year since. It's been two years now since Charlotte had run a race; life had gotten in the way. Two years ago Charlotte had been recovering from being raped, and she didn't feel physically or mentally able to push herself to train. Last year, she'd started training, but then they'd found out about Erica's illness, and there simply hadn't been time to stick to a schedule when Charlotte had needed to focus all her time and energy on being there for Mason and Cooper. She's started building up again recently, sneaking in long runs early Sunday mornings, while her husband and son sleep. Maybe this year, if life stays calm and stable (and really, she thinks, her family is due for a bit of peace), she'll sign up for the LA marathon.

Shoes laced, Charlotte rummages through her bag for her toothbrush and deodorant. She spends a few minutes in the bathroom getting ready, and then she's out the door. The wall of heavy, thick air hits Charlotte hard. Even early in the morning, with the first hint of light just appearing in the sky, it's warm. But more than that, the air is stifling, and Charlotte's lungs are out of practice with this kind of humidity. She takes a deep breath and sets off.

Charlotte's feet take her along a winding path down to the river. It's all muscle memory that guides her. But it's the perfect path to take, because Charlotte ends up running east along the water at the exact right time to see a spectacular sunrise.

Charlotte makes her way up to the back porch of the house just past 6:30. She's only run an hour and a half, but she ran hard. She has one foot in the door to get a glass of ice water when she hears a voice call from the corner of the porch, "Morning, Charlie."

"You scared the hell out of me, Duke," she tells her brother. "What are you doing here so early?"

He raises a glass full of red liquid in the air, as though a Bloody Mary is a reason to be sitting on the porch of your dead mother's house at half past six. Charlotte lets the door close and walks over to her brother, taking a seat next to him. "Bernie's always made the best Bloody Marys," he says taking a sip from his glass.

This absolutely scares the hell out of Charlotte. Her brother drinking to drown out his pain the day after their mother died of liver failure that was likely caused by years of drinking scares the hell out of her.

Charlotte feels like she's already failed too many members of her family. She hadn't taken care of Big Daddy when he'd been sick, and she had barely visited Momma in the years leading up to her death. She can't fail Duke too.

Charlotte knows she can get preachy when it comes to addiction. Amelia has pointed out on several occasions that Charlotte can start to sound like an NA handbook. Best to ease into this conversation, she figures.

"How are you holding up, baby brother?" Duke rolls his eyes at Charlotte; he hates when she calls him that. Tough, Charlotte thinks; she's none too fond of Charlie either. Her brothers had given the nickname when they were little, and that was fine, but then it had stuck and most of the kids in town called her Charlie too. She had left the name behind when she moved to Boston, but then she'd married Billy, and she was Charlie once again.

"Fine," Duke tells his sister with a shrug.

"Well I know that isn't true."

"What do you want me to say? Our mother is dead. Talking about it isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Sometimes it helps me," Charlotte tells Duke.

"What happened to you Charlie? You moved to California and you became one of those touchy feely hippie types?"

"I can still whoop your ass at the range."

Charlotte plays it off like it's nothing, like her brother pointed out a change in hair color or a new pair of shoes, but the truth is that being able to talk when she's upset and being comforted by sharing her pain with someone are huge for Charlotte.

Charlotte had always thought of herself as a strong woman, but she had come to redefine what that meant in the months after she was raped. Recovering from that awful event had taken more strength than anything Charlotte had ever done before, but it was a strength predicated on accepting weakness, accepting that she had been broken down – physically, emotionally – and needed to rebuild herself. The path back itself was fraught with actions that made Charlotte feel weak – being vulnerable with others, letting people see her cry, voicing her fears aloud. Charlotte had been raised to believe that all those things were signs of weakness, but she had come to accept the opposite. There could be strength in facing her fears; in putting aside pride and doing whatever she needed to fight her way back from what she'd been through.

Charlotte gets more serious then and tells her brother, "I know Momma and Big Daddy did a damn good job of teaching us that talking and crying never accomplish anything, but look where that attitude got Momma, where it got me."

"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead," Duke reminds his sister.

"I'm telling it like it is. And that was certainly something Momma believed in."

"Sure was."

They fall into silence for a minute. Charlotte is trying to gauge whether she can push this conversation any farther. Duke looks at his sister, and he can tell she's about to take their talk somewhere he is not in the mood to go. So he heads it off by asking, "You ever miss it down here?"

"Sometimes. Part of me will always think of this place as home. I'm sorry I don't visit more, Duke."

"You've got a busy life out in California." That Charlotte can't deny. But Duke is her responsibility – has been ever since Momma brought him home from the hospital, put him down in the nursery, and poured herself a glass of bourbon.

"I'm glad you came last month," Charlotte tells Duke. She and Cooper had thrown a housewarming / meet our child party. It had been Cooper's idea after his parents wouldn't stop nagging him to finally meet their grandson, and Charlotte was less than thrilled about seeing her in-laws again. But things had turned out all right. The Freedmans had warmed to Charlotte after seeing her with Mason, and both Duke and Landry had come for a long weekend.

"I couldn't wait to meet that rugrat of yours. He's a pretty great kid," Duke tells his sister. Duke fits the role of cool uncle perfectly, and every time adults would sit down to talk, Duke had suggested to Mason that they should go outside and play.

As if on cue, the deck door opens, and a tired looking Mason walks outside, still clad in pajamas. "Well, speak of the devil," Duke says smiling at his nephew.

"Hey you," Charlotte says to Mason with a warm smile, "You sleep ok?"

"Mmhmm," Mason tells her, walking straight past two empty chairs and sitting down on Charlotte's lap. She wraps her arms around Mason and pulls him to her so that his back is pressed tightly against her chest. Mason tilts his head to the side so that it's resting lightly against Charlotte's. She turns to kiss his cheek, breathing in the fruity scent of his shampoo mixed with the mint of his toothpaste.

She loves this. Loves that Mason just chose her lap as the place to sit. Loves that Mason feels comfortable with her. Loves that he loves her. Loves more than words can express that he thinks of her as his momma. Charlotte tries not to take things for granted, and the fact that she has this amazing child whom she loves and who loves her, feels like an incredible gift.

"Good," Charlotte whispers, as she leans back, and Mason settles his head into the crook of her neck.

"Are you still tired?" Charlotte asks her son who seems just about ready to close his eyes and fall asleep on her lap.

"Mmhmm," Mason says, drawing the syllables out lazily.

"You can go back to bed, honey. It's not even 7." Mason shakes his head no, and Charlotte wonders if he woke up a little nervous and wanted to see her. "I can come lay down with you if you want," she suggests, running a hand over her son's hair and looking down at his face.

"I'm comfy here, Momma," Mason tells Charlotte, who gives her son a little squeeze and kisses his forehead.

Charlotte closes her eyes for a moment, taking in the feel of the warm breeze and the comfortable weight of her son's body against hers. The simultaneous reminders of being home and of being a mother are making Charlotte pensive. Her mind is drifting to her momma, and Charlotte can feel a sob building in the back of her throat. She swallows it back, but doesn't manage to keep a few tears from falling. She wipes them away, and Mason must notice the movement. "Are you ok?" he asks her. Charlotte just nods, afraid that she'll start crying in earnest if she opens her mouth right now.

Mason shifts so that he can wrap his arms around Charlotte in a hug. "Thank you, sweetie," Charlotte tells her son, in a voice that's a little raspy with tears. Mason looks at his momma, as if checking to see if she really is ok. Charlotte gives Mason a reassuring smile, and he settles his head against her shoulder again.

A little while later, Mason's stomach rumbles, and Charlotte asks, "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Let's get you some breakfast," she tells him, standing up.

Duke gets up too, holding up his glass. "I could use some more," Duke begins. Charlotte gives him a sharp warning look. "Juice," he finishes lamely.

"Juice might not be a bad idea," Charlotte can't help but remark.

Charlotte gets Mason situated at the table with breakfast. She's not hungry; doesn't think she could stomach much besides strong coffee right now. "Will you be ok here if I go take a shower?" Charlotte asks Mason.

"Yep," Mason tells Charlotte between bites of an apple fritter. Charlotte and Cooper are in trouble, Charlotte thinks. Cereal just isn't going to cut it after eating home cooked Southern food everyday.

"Are you sure? Because I can sit with you if you want."

"I'm fine, Momma," Mason tells her.

"I'm not that bad an influence, Charlie," Duke adds, sitting down at the table with Mason and grabbing a fritter from a large plate in the center of the table.

"Ok. I'll be back in a little while," Charlotte tells them as she leaves the room.

Charlotte climbs the stairs to the second floor of the house and walks into the guest bedroom to find Cooper still asleep. Charlotte shuts the door behind her. She does need that shower – her body and her clothes are now covered in a layer of dried sweat – but more than that Charlotte wants to be close to Cooper. As quietly as possible, so as not to wake her husband, Charlotte kicks off her sneakers, then pulls back the blankets and lies next to Cooper. She curls on her side so she can watch him sleep.

Cooper stirs and opens his eyes to see his wife watching him. "Good morning beautiful."

"Morning. I'm sorry for waking you."

"S'okay," Cooper tells Charlotte, reaching out his arms to draw her closer. Charlotte happily scoots in until she's pressed against Cooper, chest to chest, one arm between them and the other wrapped around him. Cooper tilts his head down so that he can press his lips to Charlotte's for a long, lazy morning kiss.

"You taste salty," Cooper tells Charlotte with a teasing smile.

"Went for a run this morning."

"What time did you get up?"

"4:30," Charlotte tells Cooper, even though she knows her answer will make him worry.

"You should have woken me," Cooper tells Charlotte. He really hates when she can't sleep but refuses to wake him.

"I wanted to run, and you and Mase looked so peaceful."

Cooper had forgotten that there had been another person in bed with them when they fell asleep. "Where is Mason?"

Charlotte chuckles a little at her sleepy, disoriented husband. "He's downstairs eating breakfast with Duke."

Charlotte watches Cooper's brow furrow in confusion. "What time is it?" he asks. It seems like he's already missed a lot this morning.

"It's only 7:20," Charlotte tells him. "Duke was here drinking when I got back from my run. I don't know what to do with him Coop."

She looks so worried, and it breaks Cooper's heart. "Maybe he's just upset," Cooper offers weakly. Charlotte raises her eyebrow at Cooper; he can't be that naïve. "I know," Cooper says. "I don't know what to tell you." He really wishes he had an answer, but Charlotte knows far more about addiction than Cooper does, and he doesn't have the foggiest idea what to suggest.

"It just scares me. He doesn't usually drink this much, but he's using alcohol to deal with Momma dying. It's just a slippery slope from there, and we are not a family that's very good with using substances in moderation." Alcohol and drug abuse are extremely common on Charlotte's mother's side of the family; though of course this is a fact that few in Monroeville know.

The only response Cooper can think of is a lame sounding, "I'm sorry." He runs his hands up and down Charlotte's back, in a way that is soothing enough to make up for his lack of words. Charlotte wasn't expecting her husband to give her suggestions for what to do about her brother anyway; she just needed to vent her frustration and anxiety.

Charlotte captures Cooper's mouth in a kiss, and Cooper knows immediately where she intends for this to lead. For a minute he's worried that Charlotte is using sex to cope with her mother's death. He knows it's better than drugs, and if that's what Charlotte needs, Cooper will give it to her. But still, it makes him worried that Charlotte might be trying to run from her grief.

Charlotte can sense Cooper's reservations, so she pulls back to look at him. "I just want to be close to you, Coop," she tells him. And Cooper is reassured, because the look in his wife's eyes isn't closed off at all. Her eyes are swimming with emotions, and she isn't hiding a thing from him. This isn't about escape; it's about Charlotte's need for love and connection.

Cooper cups the back of Charlotte's neck and skims his thumb along her jaw. He smiles at her and nods. Charlotte kisses Cooper again, and this time he ends the kiss by moving his mouth to Charlotte's neck and sucking at the spot that never fails to elicit a response from his wife. Cooper takes off Charlotte's shirt and kisses a trail down her breasts and stomach before she tugs at him to stop him from continuing what he's about to do. Charlotte flips them over, so that she's leaning over her husband. The way she isn't breaking eye contact makes Cooper think that the change in position wasn't about Charlotte wanting to be in control, but was about her wanting to see him and to feel him inside her. Either way, Cooper doesn't argue when she straddles him and joins their bodies together, pressing her mouth to his and swallowing his long, low moan.

After they finish, Charlotte stays lying half on top of her husband, her body rising gently with every breath he takes. It seems that whenever she stops moving today, the thoughts of her mother creep in. The grief is settling into her chest, making it physically ache. When the tears start to come this time, Charlotte is finally somewhere that she can let them flow. She lets out a sob, then another, until she's crying hard against her husband's chest. "I've got you, Char," Cooper reassures her. And she knows he does.