Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(99)

“Okay. Okay,” she said, and I wrestled with a renewed, clawing worry. Charlotte never agreed to anything that quickly. She had no fight in her, no sass.

As I stepped out the bathroom and intercepted Sonya, I assigned the little girl a task. “Hey, Sonya, darling, I have a job for you.”

“What is it?” She held several toys to her chest, the mini figures poking out from between her fingers.

“I want you to sit in the bathroom with your momma, okay? You can play quietly in there. Talk to her softly. Tell her a story. Come get me if she falls asleep. I’ll be in the kitchen mostly, but I’ll come back and check on you every few minutes.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’ll bring you a plate. You can eat dinner in the bathroom.”

She peered up at me as I stood. “What about my corn costume?”

“Uh, I’ll make it after dinner and take it home with me if it’s not finished. You’ll have it before Friday, I promise. Now, go sit with your momma.”

I made a mental list as I strolled out of Charlotte’s bedroom, leaving my little spy behind. I needed to get Charlotte her medication and get her hydrated, help Kimmy with her math, check on Joshua, figure out what was going on with Frankie—I hoped he was asleep somewhere—get the kids fed, do the dishes, make soup for Charlotte, fold the laundry I’d spotted in the family room, and patch the hole. And make a costume. And look at Joshua’s maps. And get the kids to sleep. And ask Beau to move my car.

But first, I’d text Ashley Winston to come over, offering her any amount of money or favors or whatever she wanted. I’d do absolutely anything to make sure Charlotte was okay.

She needed more help than I had the expertise to provide. And I was beginning to suspect that I needed Charlotte.





CHAPTER 26





CHARLOTTE





“Nothing resembles selfishness more closely than self-respect.”

GEORGE SAND, INDIANA





A quiet room greeted me upon waking. Light spilled in through the open bathroom door, making the space neither bright nor dark. Uncertain how I’d made it to my bed, I blinked the clock on the nightstand into focus. It was just past three in the morning. The kids must’ve been asleep.

Gaze drifting, I automatically cataloged the other items on the nightstand, items I had no recollection of being present or placing there yesterday: some sort of sports drink, a bottle of acetaminophen, a prescription drug container, a thermometer, a box of tissues, and a bowl full of cough drops. I did not see my phone.

Oh. That’s right. Shoot.

Frankie had grabbed it and smashed it in the bathroom during his fit yesterday. I needed to buy a new one.

Slowly pulling myself to a sitting position, I pressed a hand to my forehead to keep the room from spinning, but it didn’t spin this time. It had been whirling earlier when I’d given Frankie a bath and rocked him to sleep in his bedroom. The vertigo had increased when I’d stood and—

“Hank,” I whispered, my eyes flying open, automatically searching for him.

He wasn’t there. I was alone. Working to sort through my indistinct memories of the evening, I wondered which of the fuzzy images had been real, which had been fantasy, and which had been both.

Reaching for the sports drink, I gingerly peeled back the covers and set my feet on the ground. I finished the contents of the bottle, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my mind sluggish. Hank’s presence in my memory must’ve been a fantasy. I’d been wishing for him so hard.

Also . . . Ashley Winston?

My right hand sought the elbow of my left arm and I found medical tape along with a cotton ball.

Yes. Ashley had been here. I remembered her now, forcing me to drink juice, helping me out of the bath, calling me ‘baby’ and ‘honey,’ giving me something to swallow, checking my ears, and taking a swab of my throat along with a few blood samples. She helped me dress and put me in bed. Then I’d gone to sleep.

But there’d been someone else.

Maybe Ashley had brought Jackson? And I’d hallucinated Hank in his place? That seemed more likely than Hank showing up here randomly after a month of short phone calls, succinct text messages, and keeping his distance.

I tried to swallow around the discomfort in my throat. It’s not that I blamed him, I absolutely did not. I hadn’t expected any different. I’d warned him and myself right from the start. I’d known all along how things would go.

After our talk in his office last month, I’d hoped he could stick things out until at least our first date in November. It would’ve been nice to have a date with Hank, getting dressed up, seeing him laugh and give me that sexy smirk, teasing him, holding hands.

The experience of watching him fade from my life over the last few weeks had felt like an inevitable—yet still disappointing—conclusion to a lovely dream. Heart fluttering painfully, my chin wobbled. I stiffened my bottom lip.

Soon he’d stop answering my calls; soon the texts he returned would be fewer and farther between; and that would be that. It had been fun while it lasted, giving me some pleasant memories.

Anyway. No use thinking about it. I needed to check on the kids.

Standing and holding the headboard of my bed, I tested my balance. I felt better than before. A tad feverish, a scratchy throat, but my head wasn’t pounding and my ears didn’t ache like the dickens. Flipping off the harsh lights in the bathroom, I navigated by the moonlight instead and used the facilities. But when I caught my reflection in the mirror over the sink, I stiffened.