Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(25)

Ashley—without greeting the child or warning him—walked over and whipped out a wipe. Then she held it up to his nose and said, “Blow.”

Joshua didn’t look up from the paper, but he did blow his nose right into the wet tissue on command. Ashley then proceeded to wipe off Joshua’s face with a new wipe. His hands were cleaned last.

“There,” she said. “Good as new. I’m keeping the wet wipes, but I’ll go grab you a box of tissues. When I bring them, you need to use the tissues, Joshua.”

“Thank you, Miss Ashley,” the one she called Joshua said, sparing her a small smile before his gaze skipped over to me.

I stiffened as he inspected me. His eyes were the same as Charlotte’s—same shape, same color—and held the same sort of dismissive quality when looking me over. I couldn’t decide if I liked it or if it made me nervous before he finished with his quick examination. The boy promptly returned his attention to the paper.

Standing, Ashley tussled his hair and left, taking her packet of clean wet wipes and the dirty ones with her. Meanwhile, I cocked my head to read the title of the article that supposedly held little Joshua’s interest. The Fed to Increase Interest Rates.

“Do you understand what that means?” I asked, pointing at the headline and feeling a little silly as his amber eyes lifted up, up, up to where I stood hovering over him, demanding he demonstrate his knowledge of the Fed. Without allowing myself to consider the impulse, I sat on the floor next to him and pointed to the headline again. “Do you know what the Fed is? Or what interest rates are?”

“Yes,” he said, but then his gaze sparked to life and he sat up straighter. “Do you want me to explain it to you?”

I felt my mouth curve as my eyes moved between his. The kid wasn’t asking in a rude way, like I was a dummy; rather, I got the sense that explaining how the Federal Reserve worked was a topic he’d really enjoy.

Still skeptical, obviously, I said, “Sure. Tell me everything you know.”

At once, he folded the paper and set it aside. “Okay, first thing you got to know is why it was created. Lots of people think it’s always been around since Hamilton, but that’s not true. It was created in 1913 after the Federal Reserve Act passed.”

Leaning my shoulders against the bookcase behind us, I stretched my legs out, crossed them at the ankle, and spent the next several minutes being schooled about the creation and function of the Federal Reserve. By a kid. Who picked his nose.

Well, shit.

One of Charlotte’s other kids wandered over at some point. A girl, probably younger than Joshua, given her height. She began drawing on the newspaper Joshua had discarded using blue and pink markers that smelled faintly of fruit. Ignoring the impulse to stop her vandalism of the newspaper—I’d already read it, after all—I gave my attention back to the boy.

And you know what? Hell, if I didn’t learn a lot.

And you know what else? About five minutes into the conversation, which mostly consisted of me asking Joshua questions and him giving me damn fine answers, filling in the blanks of my knowledge gaps, I forgot I was speaking to a kid.

Until he picked his nose again.

“. . . and the United Kingdom has the Bank of England, which does the same sort of thing.” He said this while he shoved his index finger into the right hole and twisted it, slathering it up real good, then sniffling as he withdrew the wet tip.

Grimacing, I caught his wrist before he could wipe his finger on his pants. “Hold on. Don’t wipe that shit on your clothes.” Twisting my neck, I looked for a napkin or something. I discovered a box of tissues next to me. Ashley must’ve dropped it off while the kid and I were discussing international monetary policy.

Holding the diseased digit up and away, I wiped it with a tissue like I’d watched Ashley do earlier.

“Did you also like to read the news when you were my age?” Joshua asked, sniffling again, not seeming to mind I was wiping off his finger without asking.

“No.” I inspected his nose. It was running. Clear liquid oozed out. Kids are impressively gross. Worse, they do this gross stuff like we as adults should be proud, and most parents act like it’s the greatest thing ever.

For example, Jethro’s oldest—Ben, I think . . . or Bryce? Do they have one named Bryce?—went poop in the toilet when he was two or three, dragging his diaper out into the living room after him, bottom covered in his own number two. And do you know what Jethro did? He clapped.

And not a slow, sarcastic clap either, which is what I would’ve done. But actual applause, smiling, saying, “Great job!” and “You did so great!” A ‘normal’ thing parents do when their kids go poop in the toilet. Think about the insanity for a second.

Why would anyone willingly sign up for that? I liked that kid, but I didn’t want any part of that.

“What did you like doing?” Joshua sniffled again. “When you were my age, what did you like to do?”

“You know, the usual.” I pressed the tissue against his nose and the kid blew out without me saying anything, like he was a Pavlovian dog. “I liked video games, riding my bike to the junkyard, fucking shit up and . . . uh . . .” I grimaced. I didn’t know much about kids, but I did know it wasn’t seemly to curse in front of them. Yet another reason to avoid children. “Sorry.”