Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(46)

Absorbing this, I leaned back in the chair and pondered out loud, “Maybe I shouldn’t call her.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Hannah agreed, inspecting me.

I inspected her right back. “What if . . . What if we do this: you keep in contact with Heather. If she’s in danger, you let us know so we can help. And when you feel like she’s ready, like she can handle it, you let her know I want to reach out.” I pressed my palms together. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You’re not her keeper and you have enough going on, but if you could—”

“I’ll do it,” she said softly, giving me a half smile. “I talk to her every week anyway. I’ll let you know when I think she’s ready or if she truly needs a rescue.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” My eyes stung and I blinked away the sensation, but I did need to clear my throat of emotion before speaking. “Given your history with Heather, and your mother, I trust you.”

“Good. Like I said, I trust you, Charlotte. I wouldn’t let just any old person come in here under false pretenses.” She winked at me and I laughed.

We were companionably silent for a stretch while reality settled on my shoulders. With respect to my aunt and uncle, my job here was done. Hannah would be my intermediary, should the need arise. Yet, for the time being, I’d let Heather be. Aunt Maddie wouldn’t like how the situation had resolved—which is to say, it wasn’t resolved; like so many things in life, it was ongoing—but my aunt and uncle would have to trust my judgment.

“You know how on airplanes they always say you should put on your own mask before helping anyone else?” Hannah asked philosophically, breaking the quiet moment.

I nodded.

“That’s an allegory for life, I think. If your own mask isn’t on, you can’t breathe, and then you can’t help anybody, right? I spent so much time trying to force my momma to put on her mask without putting on mine, I forgot to breathe and I suffocated both of us in the process.”

My lips twisted to one side. “You are awfully wise, Hannah Townsend.”

“Thank you, Charlotte Mitchell.” She returned my grin, though hers looked faintly brittle. “But you know, sometimes, I wish I didn’t need to be.”





CHAPTER 12





CHARLOTTE





“Sounds na?ve, respecting someone who doesn't give a shit about you.”

TOBA BETA, MASTER OF STUPIDITY





My office door remained propped open after Hannah left. Wide open. I needed to explain myself to Hank, tell him the real reason I’d wanted to audition as a dancer almost two weeks ago, and I wanted to do it as soon as he arrived at The Pony.

It’s not that I’d chicken out if I didn’t talk to him as soon as possible. Bravery rarely failed me, and I wasn’t generally a chickening out kind of person—oftentimes to my detriment. Once I decided to do a thing, I felt restless until that thing was done. This restless energy cut into my productivity with the FastFinance migration. It had me tensing and lifting my head every time someone walked down the hall past my door.

But I’d be lying if my anxiousness didn’t also have at least a little bit to do with the re-emergence of my crush on Hank Weller. Our recent interactions plus watching him with my kids at the Winston gathering meant I was dwelling on his finer attributes more than was wise.

I hoped, once I explained my reasons for lying, he’d be open to a friendship. I wanted to know him, to continue being friendly with him. Or, at the very least, we wouldn’t avoid each other if we crossed paths in town. It would be great if we smiled and waved. That would be nice.

April sauntered back and forth twice, winking at me both times. Hope and Dave strolled by, their heads together, laughing. They both gave me a wave. One of the line cooks. One of the bartenders. Hank.

HANK!

I jumped from my seat and darted after him. “Hank! Do you have a minute to—”

“Nope. Busy.” He didn’t pause, his long legs carrying him hurriedly down the hall.

Not one to be deterred, I jogged to catch him. “This is really important. And it shouldn’t take too long.”

His steps slowed and I saw his shoulders rise and fall. He paused. Then, setting his hands on his hips, he turned and faced me, his expression frosty. “What?”

I flinched.

My reaction made his eyes turn colder. “What is it? What do you want? I have things to do.”

Considering he’d apologized to me yesterday and promised he’d stop treating me like a nuisance, I tried not to feel the pinpricks of hurt at his clipped tone and blatant impatience. But I did feel hurt and—and oh well. I still had a bit of a crush on him, maybe I always would—big surprise, I had terrible taste in men—but obviously he was still the same alluring yet coldhearted meanie who’d stood me up for junior prom. I couldn’t count on him to show up or be consistent when it mattered.

But I didn’t need him to like me and we didn’t need to be friends. I simply needed him to listen. And the sooner I told him, the sooner it would be over and the sooner I’d be out of his adorably askew sex hair for good.

Forcing my flailing emotions down, down, down to where he could not affect them, I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. “I’ve been—I’ve misled you.”