Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(93)

A wrinkle formed between Jackson’s eyebrows. “Calm down, Hank. He’s fine. He’s got a cold, it’s fine.”

Some of the tension that had dug its claws into my chest eased, and I leaned back on my heels, relieved. However, why hadn’t she said anything to me about Frankie? I could’ve dropped off soup or supplies, or whatever she needed. “Ah. Okay. You were saying.”

“Right.” His eyes flickered over me, but he continued, “Anyway, Frankie was feeling better, and—”

“He’s not sick anymore?”

“He’s still sick.”

“But he was feeling better last night?”

Jackson glared at me. “Do you want to know what happened or not?”

I lifted my hands in surrender, irritated that he hadn’t gotten to the point yet. “Yeah. Fine. Go ahead.”

“We were clearing the dishes and talking in the kitchen when we hear this loud crash.”

Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Is everyone okay?”

His face scrunched, his eyes communicating that he thought I’d lost my marbles while searching for US presidential Chia Pets in the paint aisle. “It was the curtain rod, Hank. Frankie pulled the whole apparatus out of the wall and some of the drywall came down with it.”

I swallowed down the spike of fear and released Jackson’s arm. “But he’s okay?”

“Yeah.” Now he was looking at me like I’d definitely lost my marbles. “He’s fine. That kid is a tank. But there’s a big hole in the wall now above the patio door, and, well, I feel bad. If we hadn’t been distracting Charlotte in the kitchen, then Frankie wouldn’t have had a chance to make a hole in the wall.” Jackson pointed to the small container of drywall mud in his basket. “I’m heading over there tomorrow to fix the hole and check on the kids.”

The fuck you are.

Jealousy, like a jump-scare in a Wes Anderson movie, came out of nowhere and sucker-punched me in the stomach. Then it wrapped around my chest and throat and made everything hot and chilly at the same time.

Jackson could go over to Charlotte’s house whenever he wanted. He could see her and the kids, know them, patch up holes in her wall, make her dinner on a whim. Jackson James, the most boring sonofa—well, now, his momma is a nice lady. The most boring, beige asshole in town could call on my (secret) girlfriend whenever he damn well pleased because he was respectable. And I wasn’t. Because I’d wanted it that way. Therefore, I couldn’t do a damn thing to help her.

That’s it. Fuck it. I’m getting baptized.

“I see,” I said, struggling to keep the breath-stealing bitterness from my tone. “Charlotte asked you to come over and do that? To patch her hole?” Of course she would. Of course she would ask Jackson.

“No. She didn’t ask, it’s just—”

“Does she know you’re coming over?” I crossed my arms.

“Well, no. But—”

Wait a minute. “So you just show up at her house?”

He went back to looking at me like I was strange again. “Yeah, she doesn’t care. I do it all the time.”

I scratched my jaw, needing to keep a new lightning strike of jealousy out of my voice. “Are you sure she doesn’t care?”

My mind worked frantically. For some reason, this was the final straw. Jackson wasn’t patching that hole. If anyone was patching Charlotte’s holes, it would be me. No one else. I didn’t care if I had to kiss JT MacIntyre’s ass and get on my knees in front of the biggest townie gossip, Karen Smith. I would find a way to help Charlotte.

“Pretty sure she doesn’t care.” His tone sounded hesitant, clearly not knowing where I was going with my current line of questioning.

But I knew where I was going. I knew exactly where I was going, and it wasn’t where Jackson was going. He wasn’t invited.

Making a big show of sighing, I affixed an expression of sympathy on my features and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Jackson, of course Charlotte is going to act that way. But you two just broke up.”

“We broke up months ago,” he said flatly.

I dropped my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yeah, but Kevin cheated on her, right? And then you two were dating and you left her for a movie star.”

“She broke up with me well before Rae and I got together,” he whispered back.

I ignored his statement, even though this information pleased me immensely, and tried a different approach. “You’re going over to your ex-girlfriend’s house to patch up her wall? Don’t you think that puts Charlotte in a hard spot? And how do you think Raquel is gonna feel about it?”

“I don’t think Rae is gonna care. She and Charlotte are great friends.”

“That’s exactly my point,” I lied, verbally pivoting again, and let go of his shoulder. Opening my arms as though he’d just proved my argument, I said, “When does it stop? You go over there yesterday to help, and now you’re going over there tomorrow to help. You’re going over there all the time to help. Don’t you think this puts Charlotte in an awkward position? She wants to be friends with Rae, and meanwhile, you’re going over to her house all the time—uninvited—and what is Charlotte supposed to do? If she turns down your help, she looks ungrateful.”