Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(50)

Spitting out several curses, I ran the trail instead of hiking it. Okay, psycho. Cool your jets, this ain’t your family.

Upon returning home, I marched to the bathroom and took a cold shower. It was hot outside. I was not still thinking about RV alone time with Charlotte. I was hot and needed to cool off. Because it was hot. Outside.

More focused after my shower, I sorted through emails and paperwork from my parents’ estate. This went fine for about a half hour before my trust fund statement had me contemplating Charlotte’s unfair divorce settlement. I made a mental note to ask my lawyer specifically who—which investment firm—had control over her kids’ trusts, as I doubted Buckley Sr. directed the day-to-day investments, and whether I might be able to—

Shoving away from the desk, disgusted with the direction of my thoughts, and knowing I’d never be able to nap, I left my house and texted Beau.

Hank: ?( ￣▽ )_皿~~ …?

Beau: Is that cake or beer?





Smirking, I navigated to my saved text emojis, looking for a different one along the same vein. Thing is, I was a late and reluctant adopter of cell phones. Yeah, I know my generation grew up with them, it should feel natural, blah blah blah. Whatever. I’ve always hated them. My phone is often dead and I use text emojis whenever possible to communicate. They amused me.

If I can’t say everything that needs to be said with a text emoji, I call. I don’t like calling either, so usually I won’t, letting the silence speak for itself. But if you’re getting a text message with words, it’s ’cause I like you enough to make the effort. Sometimes Beau received text messages with words, sometimes I sent cat memes, but mostly I used text emojis.

Hank: (/^-^)o日日o(^0^|)

Beau: Now? It’s not even 4

Hank: (●′?`●)

Hank: (?′?`)?

Hank: ヽ( ′ー`)ノ

Hank: (???)

Beau: Fine I’ll be there in 30mins. Need to stop at the store first





Pleased, I headed straight to Genie’s. Nothing but alone time with my thoughts was likely the crux of the problem. If anyone could distract me, it would be my good-natured best friend and whatever funny story or joke he’d been saving up for Saturday night drinks.

Despite my dissatisfaction at the notion of not seeing Charlotte once her two weeks were over, I told myself as I walked through the door to the bar that distance between us would ultimately be a good thing. Separation should make this discontent fade.

It’s not like we ran in the same circles. I was hardly the church-going type and she had no reason to visit the club after her last day. Avoiding her would be easy.

Ordering a beer and claiming a stool, I reckoned what I needed starting now was to steer clear of her, all thoughts of her and all mentions of her, for the next two weeks. Then I’d get my head on straight for good, reach out to a few former female acquaintances who were always up for a good time, and push this particular female from my mind.

Unhelpfully, the first words out of Beau’s mouth upon tapping me on the shoulder were, “Did Charlotte quit?”

Turning on my barstool, I spat, “Yes. She quit yesterday. How are you?”

“Is—what happened?” He gave me his wide-eyed concerned look.

Deflated and exhausted, I gestured to the empty stool on my right. “Take a seat. I’ll buy you a beer.”

He moved slowly to claim the seat. “Is this a beer story? Or a whiskey story?”

“It’s a beer story,” I lied, not wanting to admit out loud how twisted up and turned around I’d been all day. And yesterday. And the day before that.

I snagged Genie’s attention, pointed to my beer, to Beau, and then held up two fingers. She nodded once and turned toward the row of pint glasses.

“Thank goodness, you had me worried.” Beau leaned rather than sat on the stool next to mine. “Tina told Maisy at Utterly Ice Cream, Maisy told Belle Cooper, and I saw Belle at the Piggly Wiggly just now.”

Before he could further illuminate the various branches of his gossip tree, I proceeded to quickly summarize what happened with Charlotte yesterday afternoon, revealing her real reasons for wanting to work at The Pony, how she’d upgraded the finance systems, and how I was thinking of offering Hannah the job of business manager. Genie delivered Beau’s beer halfway through my recitation and he’d nearly finished his bottle by the time I concluded my story.

“Charlotte’s suggestion to offer Hannah the job is smart, makes a lot of sense. Hannah is graduating in the fall and it’ll be a good fit,” I said, my voice monotone as I used my thumb to wipe off condensation from my bottle. “And if Charlotte’s new financial reporting system works as well as she thinks it does, Hannah’ll take over some of my work. That’ll be . . . nice.”

“That will be nice.” Beau now fully sat on his stool. “Instead of being short-staffed and overworked, you might have more free time and flexibility.”

“Ideally, yes.”

He nodded faintly. “Seems like everything worked out for the best.”

“Seems like.” I took a gulp of my beer rather than try to sip and swallow around the rocks in my throat, sensing his eyes on my profile.

“Then what’s got you down?”

Angling my shoulders, I faced him. “Pardon?”