Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(97)

“What kind of homework?” I shifted Sonya’s weight and stood. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her cheek to my shoulder.

“It’s math,” Kimmy grumbled. “I hate it.”

“What are you doing in math right now?” I backed up and turned my head from side to side, searching for the fridge. Finding it, I carried Sonya over and opened the door.

“Fractions,” Kimmy spat, turning and grabbing the silverware. “It’s the worst. I didn’t do it yesterday and now I’m only getting half credit, so I don’t see why I should turn it in at all.”

Quickly surveying the options available, I pulled out ingredients one at a time and placed them on the kitchen island: a lidded bowl containing cooked rice, a bag of peppers, carrots, a white onion, some mushrooms, green onions, and two packages of chicken breasts. “Go get your homework, I’ll help you.”

Kimmy opened her mouth and it was clear as day she was about to argue.

Before she could, I lifted up the bowl of rice. “How old is this? When was it cooked?”

“Yesterday. Jackson and Rae brought it over.”

“That should be fine,” I mumbled. “Where are the eggs? And can you get me the soy sauce? I’ll also need peanut oil. Sesame oil too, if you have it.”

Her grumpy expression cleared just a little. “What are you making?”

“Stir-fry, or my version of it.”

She seemed to perk up. “Are you gonna put cashews in it?”

“Can everyone have cashews?” I found the eggs and pulled them out of the fridge, hefting Sonya higher on my hip. I knew better than to put nuts on anything without checking first. Serafina almost took off my head one day when I’d made a salad with peanuts. One of our dancers at the time had a severe allergy.

“Joshua won’t,” Sonya whispered, turning her head the other way and melting against me. “He doesn’t like nuts.”

“I’ll put them on the side, then,” I whispered back. Then to Kimmy, I loud-whispered, “Quick. Get me the oil and soy sauce. Then go get your homework.”

Sending me a side-eye, she stalked to a door and opened it wide, revealing a large pantry within. “I’m not doing my homework. It’s already late and—”

“If you do your homework, I’ll—I’ll . . . bake you a cake,” I said, bending at the waist to inspect the cabinet under the range and dipping Sonya in the process. She giggled. I grinned at the sound.

“You’ll bake me a cake?” Kimmy asked, setting the oil and soy sauce on the counter.

“I will.” My quick inspection of the cabinet didn’t reveal a wok, so I pulled out a large cast-iron skillet and examined the knobs of the range. Finding the one I wanted for my preferred burner, I turned it to high.

“Okay. Deal. But it has to be a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting,” Kimmy said, backing out of the kitchen toward the same hall where Joshua had disappeared earlier.

“Don’t forget the costume!” I called after her, setting Sonya on the countertop and placing myself between her and the stovetop. “Where are the knives? And the cutting board?”

The little girl shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” I turned off the range and started opening drawers, and that’s when I realized it was finally quiet. Frankie had stopped screaming at some point, though I couldn’t precisely pinpoint when.

I sighed. The silence felt like a gift, and I hoped it meant I’d be seeing Charlotte soon.

Opening and closing drawers, I found what I was after and set to work. When Joshua wandered out a few minutes later, patently refusing to put the napkins on the table, I put him to work washing the vegetables. Sonya put out the napkins and a bowl of cashews while I seared the chicken. But then she wanted to be held again, so I had her climb on my back, hold on using her legs and arms, and support herself.

Kimmy set her homework up at the kitchen table, which had Joshua complaining loudly and asking why she was allowed to have her stuff on the table while he was not. I tried explaining that maps were sacred and we didn’t want them around food, while homework could get a little messy and still be okay. He seemed to accept this reasoning.

I brought the veggies, cutting board, and knife over so I could keep an eye on Kimmy’s progress. Joshua used a butter knife to help with the mushrooms, and Sonya seemed content just as long as she was hanging on me or sitting on my lap. I let her.

Skimming over Kimmy’s answers—most of which were wrong due to sloppy mistakes—I tasked Joshua with finding the costume, which Kimmy had neglected to bring out. He stomped off and I circled the ones Kimmy needed to do over with a pencil, promising her a three-layer cake if she got them all right during her next attempt. Leaving her at the table, I cooked everything in the skillet and was just finishing it off with a cracked egg when movement in my peripheral vision had me glancing toward the hall.

And there she was.

Gaping at me, looking frazzled and incredibly confused and, quite frankly, extremely dirty in a stained T-shirt and cotton shorts.

I frowned, inspecting her more carefully. Her hair had been piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her eyes were shaded by dark circles, and her usually vibrant skin looked sallow and pale. But her neck was flushed and her gaze was glassy. She’d placed one hand on the wall of the hallway, as though needing the support.