Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(89)

Beau sputtered, blue eyes bouncing between the three of us. “Now, hold on. You can’t just drop a bomb about selling The Pony and expect me to let that go.”

“We’ll fill you in later, Beau,” Jet cut in, then tilted his head toward his youngest brother. “Beau asked Roscoe to come. He has information for you, if you’re interested. Beau seems to think you’ll be interested. That’s why Roscoe is here.”

“Why’re you here, then, Winston the Elder?” I asked, amused by Jethro telling on his brothers.

Jet lifted his drink and took a gulp, reaching for another pretzel as he set the glass down. “Two reasons. Believe it or not, y’all are more adult-like than my boys and I needed some adult time. Sienna offered to give me a night completely off from kid duty.”

I smiled, but then I frowned, a pang of something unpleasant settling in my chest. When did Charlotte take a break? Who offered to give her a night off?

“The other reason is, I’m curious about something,” Jet went on, a whisper of a smile behind his eyes, but he said no more.

“You’re curious about something?” I asked. “Does this have to do with the information Baby Winston supposedly has?”

Jethro nodded, the side of his mouth hooking up.

Turning my attention to Roscoe, I lifted my hand. “Okay, let’s hear it, then. What’s this information you got that Beau thinks I want and the old man here is curious about?”

Roscoe, looking a shade uncomfortable, frowned at his drink, sipped it, and then frowned at Beau. “This feels like gossip.”

Beau huffed. “It’s not gossip. It’s information that’s over ten years old, which only you seem to remember because you remember everything, and it explains why Charlotte Mitchell has always given Hank the cold shoulder.”

I sat up at the unexpected mention of Charlotte, all ears. “What’s this? What’s this about Charlotte?”

Something about my reaction must’ve been odd or amusing. Jethro grinned and muttered, “Well, that answers my question.”

Ignoring him, I leaned forward and tapped the table in front of Roscoe. “What do you know about Charlotte? Is she—did something happen?”

“Not recently,” Roscoe grumped, obviously still reluctant. We stared at each other and I held very still, frantically trying to figure out how to make Beau’s youngest brother talk, now that he had one or two inches on me, clearly worked out, and could no longer be dangled over the edge of the back porch.

Before I could make any threats or take any action, he growled, “Fine. If you want to know why Charlotte always avoided you in town, it’s on account of you standing her up.”

I frowned. Blinked. Cocked my head to the side. I stood her up?

His words made no sense. At a loss, I asked, “Stood her up when?”

“Our junior prom.”

Ransacking my memory, I glared at the tallest but littlest Winston. “No, I didn’t. I would never do that. Your name is now Winston the Liar.”

“Yes, you did. You asked her to her junior prom. And yes, you stood her up,” Roscoe said flatly. “She went with me and the rest of her volleyball team. Her dress was red. She’d bought you a red rose for your boutonniere and I ended up wearing it ’cause it matched my tie. If you want to know more, ask her, Weller the Wanker.”

“I do not recall ever doing that.” I gave my head a firm, frustrated shake. “Why would I ask her to prom? I didn’t even go to my own prom. And I barely remember Charlotte. When would I have asked her?”

I couldn’t think. This all sounded enormously far-fetched . . . except Roscoe Winston’s recall was as reliable as German trains. He never misremembered, and he never forgot.

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember Charlotte.” Roscoe settled his drink on a coaster. “We were only fourteen when you left for college, basically still little kids.”

“I was sixteen, almost seventeen when I left,” I said, mostly to myself, trying to fit together the pieces of this puzzle he’d discarded on my lap.

“I know.”

I glared at Roscoe. “Of course you do, savant. What happened? Why did I ask a fourteen-year-old to junior prom?”

“She wasn’t fourteen when you asked, she was sixteen. It happened over Christmas break when you were back in town, home from college. I suppose you’ve heard or figured out by now that Charlotte had a crush on you back then?”

My mouth dropped open. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe or think. She WHAT?!

Finally, I managed to sputter, “I—what? Charlotte had what?”

Movement caught my attention and I looked at Jethro. He sat across from me, his hand over his mouth and his shoulders shaking. He found me hilarious.

I kicked him under the table. “You think this is funny, asshole?”

This only made him laugh harder. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s always nice to see someone else having to pay for their youthful mistakes instead of just me.”

Meanwhile, Beau hit my shoulder. “See? This explains why she doesn’t—or didn’t—like you for so long.” My best friend sounded cheerful, as though this news was the best news ever because a mystery had been solved.

Fuck the mystery, especially when the solving of it made me out to be the villain.