“This again? I’m not taking advantage of Mrs. Van Alst.” Or rather, not for much longer. She still fully intends to cut back her appointments after all of this is settled. Therefore, the accusation is untrue. Also genuinely hurtful. Gretchen’s surprised at how it digs its claws into her in a way that forces her to suppress the urge to squirm.
Like earlier, Gretchen wants to flee. Distance is the only thing that will relieve all of these new and unpleasant sensations. Usually, she’d welcome them as resources, but for once she can’t grab hold firmly enough to any of them to figure out how they might be made useful. Until she can get away, she’ll have to convert the discomfort into anger—the language that seems to come most naturally to both of them in each other’s company, apparently. “She paid me to look into the ghost that’s here, I found the fucking ghost that’s here. Payment for a service—that’s capitalism, babe. If you don’t want to listen to me about Everett and the curse, fine! I tried. Happy hauntings to you both, then. I’m going home.”
“Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” Charlie mumbles.
Gretchen huffs as she turns to march out of the kitchen, but Everett appears in front of her, blocking her dramatic exit. Thankfully, she stops right before she can step through him and freeze her ass off again.
He clasps his hands in front of his chest. “You can’t leave, Gretchen. Not until he starts taking this seriously.”
“Oh yes, I definitely can. Move. Now.” She attempts to dodge the ghost, but he shifts directly into her way whenever she tries to circumvent him. Forget acting, Everett Waybill would have made a decent power forward. She can only imagine how ridiculous this must look to Charlie, her bobbing and weaving around his kitchen while emitting annoyed growls.
Taking a different tack, Everett drops to his knees. “Please. Please. You’re my—ourlast chance. Our only chance.”
“Sorry, Ev. I tried, but he doesn’t want to hear it. I’m going home now. Where my skills areappreciated.” She says this with a sideways glance at Charlie.
“Gretchen, you’re a good person. You’re meant to help people. I see it in you. You can’t let this happen to him,” Everett pleads at the same time as Charlie says, “You seriously expect me to believe you’re talking to a ghost right now?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I can,” she says to Everett. Then to Charlie, “That ghost is trying to convince me not to give up on you, FYI.”
Charlie shrugs. “I’d really prefer it if you did.”
“Yeah, I would too.” She stares up at the ceiling, unable to resist whatever swirls inside her soul the way those cloud things swirl right under Everett’s skin. If he sees something in her, then maybe it’s there after all. Maybe it’s something she can get Charlie to see too. And if she can get him to believe it—this man who clearly hates her—it’ll be as good as true, as far as she’s concerned. Then she’ll be able to face her father’s letter and whatever it might say armed with absolute certainty that she’s doing just fine on her own, thanks. Convincing someone like Charlie that she’s able to use her powers to better lives instead of destroying them will be indisputable proof. Ned Eichorn’s insistence that she’s useless ifshe isn’t willing to play the game his way anymore will be so, so easy to ignore then. What’s more useful than preventing someone’s demise? So maybe Everett’s right: She can’t leave Gilded Creek just yet. Not without doing everything she can to save Charlie first.
“Unfortunately, it seems that my conscience isn’t going to allow me to do that,” she says. “Because you’re wrong, Charlie. You’re wrong about Everett not existing, but mostly you’re wrong about me. I don’t leave anyone worse off than I find them, and I’m not about to start now. Even if you are rude and have bad taste in sweaters.”
He stares down at his torso, then back up at her with his brows knitted tighter together. “I’ll have you know—”
Gretchen takes a few steps forward until she’s inches away and tilts her head up. Charlie refuses to meet her eyes, so she ends up mostly staring at his mouth. It’s nestled between his beard and mustache like a framed work of art. Good thing she isn’t the thief he accuses her of being, or it would be real tempting to steal it. She frowns at that distressingly fanciful thought before continuing. “You don’t want to believe me yet? Okay. That’s fine. But at least give me a chance to prove to you that the curse is real.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“You mean other than the obvious preferring-not-to-die part? I really thought that’d be enough.” Gretchen looks to Everett, silently pleading for a reason Charlie might be willing to allow her to stick around for a few days. “Because...”
Everett’s blue eyes spark as the answer strikes him. “Oh! Because it’s the height of kidding season. He could use an extra pair of hands around the farm, but he can’t afford to hire anyone,” he says excitedly.
“You need help around here for kidding season,” she says, not really knowing what that even means, “and you don’t have enough money to hire anyone. So let me stick around and... help.” Gretchen isn’t quite certain how this wound up with her offering to do manual labor on a farm. She isn’t exactly experienced with—or comfortable around—animals. And the most strenuous workout her spaghetti arms are used to is carrying her groceries up the stairs to her apartment once a week.
“What do you even know about goat farming?”
“Nothing,” she admits. “But I’m a fast learner.”
“I don’t care how fast of a learner you are, you aren’t going to pick up enough to be helpful to me over the course of a few days.”
“Then I’ll stay longer. How long’s kidding season?” she asks Everett.
“About a month,” he and Charlie answer simultaneously.
A month is a long time to be away from DC. She’d need to cancel on a lot of clients. But Mrs. Van Alst’s ten thousand dollars will cushion the blow of any lost business (and she can certainly justify keeping that money if she spends four whole weeks on this job). Not to mention her father won’t be able to track her down out here, not for a while at least, which means a longer reprieve from having to find out what, exactly, he wants from her. Besides, her stubbornness has fully kicked in at this point, and she’s not about to back down now. “Okay. It’s March twenty-ninth. I’ll stay through the end of April.”
“Or...” Charlie says, “I could send you on your way right now and be done with all of this.”
If there’s one thing Gretchen knows how to do, it’s identify people’s weaknesses, and Charlie’s is clearly his desire to take care of people—especially his people. So she needs to offer him a wayto feel like he’s doing that by accepting her proposition. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think free labor comes knocking on your door every day. Still, if that’s not enough to persuade you, how about this? If we get to April thirtieth and you’re still not convinced, I’ll give Mrs. Van Alst her money back—all of it. The ten thousand she gave me to come out here and help you, plus the additional amount she’s planning to pay me this month to cover her appointments while she’s out of the country.AndI’ll drop her as a client going forward.”
This is a huge gamble. Perhaps the biggest of Gretchen’s life, and one she maybe wouldn’t have made if she had longer to think about it. That’s alotof money. Money she definitely doesn’t have on hand, especially if she spends the next few weeks out here in rural Maryland instead of meeting with clients back in DC. But Charlie looks at her with something in his expression that assures her that he’s not quite as closed off to the proposition as he was a second ago, and she knows it was the right way in. The way that will let her save him. And maybe, in a way, save herself too.
“I’ll need room and board,” she adds, transferring her attention to the practical aspects of staying at Gilded Creek for a month. “Even then, I’m sure it’s a lot cheaper than hiring someone.”
There’s a long silence as he contemplates this. “And if I say no?” he asks, although she’s pretty certain he’s going to agree at this point. He’d be stupid not to, and he doesn’t strike her as stupid in the least.
