Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(28)

He nodded vigorously. “I agree. Why do people think the government is the same thing as the country? They’re two different things. If the majority isn’t represented, then I think the government is invalid. How can we call ourselves a republic?” Joshua’s hand movements became frenzied and he jumped up like he couldn’t hold still with all the excitement of our discussion. “Like when Julius Caesar took the power away from the senate!”

“Then they ceased being a republic.” I nodded at his logic. “In France, the country remains, but—wait. What’s she doing?” I lifted my arms up and away from my sides, looking to Joshua for help as Sonya plopped herself down on my lap. “What—what are you doing? What is she doing?”

“She’s sitting on your lap,” he offered unhelpfully.

“Yes, Joshua. I know she’s sitting on my lap, but why is she sitting on my lap?”

Joshua started bouncing on the balls of his feet and swinging his arms back and forth. “She likes to snuggle and you got a grown-up lap.”

“Hmm.” My arms were still held up in an I surrender pose. Meanwhile, Sonya had wrapped her small ones around my chest.

“I’ll help. Put your arms around her.” Without waiting for me to comply, Joshua grabbed my wrists and positioned my arms around his baby sister. “There. Like that. That’s what you do.”

The little muffin tucked her head under my chin, her ear pressed against my heart. I caught a whiff of playdough, scented blue marker ink, and sweet-smelling soap. It was like holding a warm pillow, or a big, semi-clean puppy. I liked puppies.

A moment later, while I was still processing how I’d found myself in this lovely mess, one of her little hands reached for mine and pressed a folded-up piece of newspaper in my palm. She then immediately tucked her hands under her chin and lay limply against my chest.

I turned the small rectangle of paper around, inspecting it. “What’s this?”

Joshua gave me a sidelong look, his arms pausing mid-swing. “If you want to know, open it.” He spoke with a measured cadence, like I required information to be fed to me slowly.

I paused, thinking, but then opened the rectangle and studied the drawing it revealed. “It’s a . . . it’s a few letters. And lots of hearts.”

“It’s a love note. I get them from her all the time. See? That’s her name and those hearts mean love.” Joshua pointed to the letters that had been written in blue marker. They weren’t written in a straight line but sorta in a cloud shape. All the right ones to spell Sonya were there, just not in the right order.

“Why would she write me a love note?”

Joshua heaved an exasperated-sounding sigh and started swinging his arms again for no discernable reason. “If you want to know, ask her.” Once more, he used that measured cadence. He must’ve suspected I had difficulty keeping up with a seven-and a four-year-old, which was true.

Giving Sonya a little squeeze, I asked, “Honey, why’d you give me this note?”

Her aggressively adorable wee little-kid voice responded, “Because I love you.”

Aghast, I said, “You don’t even know me. You shouldn’t love folks you don’t know.”

My words were met with a giggle. “You’re silly, Mr. Hank. You should love everyone. That’s what Jesus says. And I love you. And your face a lot.”

I opened my mouth to contradict, to explain that she should never love a book based on its cover or a man based on his face, that loving everyone would ultimately break her heart over and over, and then she wouldn’t be able to love anyone. I wanted to tell her that loving yourself and only those few folks that mattered and treated her right—and even then, loving with balance, ensuring the scales were always even, making sure to keep score—was the only way to avoid getting hurt or used, and that she should always demand proof of someone’s love before she offered hers in return.

But then she tilted her head back, her little fingers reached up, and she stroked my beard like she was tenderly caressing a beloved pet.

“You got to love everybody because everybody needs love,” she said. “And if we don’t love them, who will?”





CHAPTER 8





CHARLOTTE





“. . . the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy.”

LOUISA MAY ALCOTT, LITTLE WOMEN





I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for the sight of Joshua dancing around and talking animatedly to Hank Weller while Hank cradled Sonya in his arms and nodded along, equally as animated, to whatever Joshua was saying.

While I stood at the entrance to the family room in shock, I watched as this man—the same Hank Weller who made sure, every chance he got, I knew how much my mere presence irritated him—brushed an absentminded kiss against the top of Sonya’s head and grinned at Joshua.

My heart cracked, and I lost my breath with the spike of pain.

Any ideas I’d had about continuing on with my bookkeeper role at The Pony evaporated. I did not have the time, not when Joshua and Sonya were obviously so starved for adult interaction that they’d gravitated toward Hank Weller of all people.