Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(20)

When Melanie Ball had cornered me in the Piggly Wiggly last month, telling me, and I quote, “I’m so jealous that you’re invited over to the Winston’s house, how’d you manage that?” I’d assumed the basis of her jealousy was Jethro’s playground. But then she’d straightened me out.

It was Sienna.

Melanie Ball was jealous that Sienna and I were becoming friends. According to Melanie, all the parents at school were green with envy, and she wanted me to know. This didn’t make me feel good, or bad, or anything other than bewildered as to why Melanie had chased me down between the onions and potatoes to communicate her feelings on the subject. What did she expect me to do with this information? Apologize? Gloat? Write a song about it? And she’d been blocking the Yukon Gold while she went on and on. Mashed potatoes don’t taste right if you use only russets. It took me twenty minutes—and Frankie screaming—for her to move.

Anyway.

Presently, Sienna pushed her youngest kiddo on the impressive swing set, and I pushed mine. They kept trying to grab on to each other’s hands and then laughing like this was the funniest thing ever. It was cute.

Baby and toddler giggles usually put me in a good mood, but not today. Today, I couldn’t quite decide how I felt. On the one hand, I was frustrated with Hank Weller. The phrase self-explanatory had ended up being a theme with him. Everything, it seemed, was self-explanatory.

I’d sent him my list of questions once my new email account completed setup on Thursday, and he’d responded via email that the payouts and percentages should be self-explanatory once I looked at the previous few month’s payrolls.

I’d asked him what he’d like my preferred days and hours to be, and he messaged back that I should base my schedule on what made the most sense for any given day and that it was—you guessed it—self-explanatory.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Sienna said, inspecting me. “Hank isn’t giving you grief, is he?”

“No. Not at all,” I replied lightly. Hank wasn’t giving me grief; he wasn’t giving me anything at all.

I should’ve been thrilled with his hands-off approach. My real goal in working at the club was to locate and contact my cousin, not overhaul and fix Hank’s tangled web of financials. He’d avoided me this weekend, allowing me freedom to meander around The Pony, and I’d already found my cousin.

More precisely, I’d found a photograph of her in a bra and panty set, huddled with a bunch of other dancers. She was in one of the many, many, many framed photographs lining the back hallway. I had no idea when it was taken or if it meant she currently worked at The Pony, used to work at The Pony, or had visited The Pony the night the photo was taken.

So the more independence he gave me to continue my snooping, the better, right? Right?!

Sigh.

I peered over Frankie’s bobbing head to where Joshua and Ben stood together beyond the border of the playground, seemingly in deep conversation. My heart pinged. Joshua kept trying to get Ben to play this vintage board game we’d found at the thrift store called Stock Market, and Ben had no interest. Kimmy and I played Stock Market with Joshua a few times, but she only participated when I’d bribed her with an extra scoop of ice cream after dinner.

Poor kid, he couldn’t seem to find anyone who shared his interests. He seemed so lonely.

“Is he being nice?” Sienna asked, drawing my attention away from the two boys in the distance.

“I’m sorry. What are we talking about?”

“Hank. Is Hank being nice?” She worried her lip.

“Hank is not being mean. He’s given me plenty of autonomy and that’s . . . good.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince Sienna or me.

“What does that mean?”

I shrugged, distracted. “We haven’t spoken except the first day.”

“First day?” Her tone hardened. “You mean last Thursday?”

“That’s right.” I hadn’t seen Hank except in passing, didn’t talk to him in person at all, and had stopped sending him emails when every question or clarification had been met with, It’s self-explanatory.

I realized it was silly for me to care about the club’s ancient reporting system, but I did. Don’t get me wrong, I cared about finding my cousin. My aunt and uncle were counting on me and I wouldn’t let them down. But those archaic spreadsheets? For tracking payroll? His antiquated system was a crime against modern bookkeeping best practices.

“You’re brand new to the job, and Hank—your boss—hasn’t spoken to you in five days?”

“It’s no big deal.” I made sure to infuse my words with confidence and worked to ignore the nagging guilt. “I like all the freedom.”

It didn’t matter if Hank trained me for the job. Practically, I knew it was probably best if he didn’t give me any more of his time or attention. I’d be leaving in another week . . . or I’ll stay?

Pushing the persistent thought aside, I listened as Sienna inhaled through her nose and said something in Spanish. Based on her tone, I assumed it was a curse and it ripped at something inside me that had already frayed.

I felt torn.

Hank didn’t want me working at The Pony. Fact. His determination to make everything difficult made me want to piss him off by sticking around for years. That impulse was plain silly. Teenager Charlotte would’ve done that kind of thing, but adult Charlotte knew not to cut off my nose to spite my face.