“I guess? It’s called... Meadowwood, Meadewood, something like that. The brochure was on the table for a while after Charlie moved in. Front of it said something about ‘assisted living and memory care.’ ”
“After Charlie moved in? When was that?”
“Moved inagain, I should say. This was basically his second home as a kid. He was here every summer, every school break. But he didn’t come to live at the farm permanently until after Ellen died. Charles was forgetting stuff more often, needed help with everything. I don’t know where Charlie was living before that. He traveled a lot as part of his job. Ellen and Charles had a big board in the laundry room where they pinned all of the postcards and photos he sent from his adventures.”
Gretchen summons a mental picture of the small space where she did her laundry before they got deep into their binge watch, but doesn’t find anything on the walls. “It isn’t there anymore.”
“Yeah, the night after Charlie moved Charles into the place, the boy got absolutely blotto and pried the thing off the wall with his bare hands like some kinda David Banner. It was actually pretty impressive.” Everett chuckles. “You know, Charlie wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he’s really been doing a number on the wall decorations.”
Gretchen’s been too distracted by the whole ghosts-and-curses-are-actually-real thing to give much thought as to how Charlie wound up running the farm solo when his grandfather’s still alive and the legal owner (according to her online property search), but Everett’s insight makes it seem like a responsibility Charlie had to take on without a lot of time to adjust. No wonder he’s trying to get rid of this place if his old life was full of travel and excitement. If only she could tell him that she understands how he feels; didn’t Gretchen also struggle to untie herself from familial expectations? But there isn’t really a way to share that part of herself without sharingallof it, which she obviously cannot do.
Besides, why would I want to share any part of me with that jerk?That’s not strictly true, of course. There are many parts of her she would not mind sharing with Charlie Waybill. They just all happen to be the parts currently underneath the borrowed flannel.
She pauses the TV. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she explains before Everett can protest. “I’ll be right back.”
On the way, she notices a text from Yolanda, sent hours ago.
All good??
Things are not, actually, all good. Part of Gretchen wants to respond with the long, long story of everything that’s happened over the last few hours. About Everett and the curse. About Charlie. The immense amount of money she’s risked in pursuit of saving him and proving herself. If anyone would believe her about all of this and understand everything it means to her, it’s Yolanda. Instead, she sends a simple:
Situation changed. Staying until end of April. Will send $ for rent and bills soon.
Straightforward. Professional.Good job, Gretchen tells herself.
There’s a teeny-tiny half bath under the stairs, barely big enough to hold a toilet and a miniature sink. Gretchen feels like an absolute giant inside of it, which is delightfully novel. “Fee, fi, fo, fum,” she jokes to herself as she slips back into the foyer.
At that exact moment, Charlie comes back inside. They stand face-to-face, a few feet apart, both as still and assessing as if they’re two burglars who came across each other trying to rob the same house.
“Done for the day?” Gretchen asks.
“Mostly. As long as none of the other goats start showing signs of labor.”
“Cool. Cool.” So now they’re just going to be... in the house. Together. For the rest of the night. Why’s that thought so intimidating?Come on, Gretchen, you are good with people. Put him at ease. Pretend he’s a client.“So... do you enjoy... goats?” she tries, but her usual talent for seamless small talk is conspicuously absent from her mental tool kit.
Charlie looks at her as if she’s flung another insult his way, then grabs a jacket from a hook on the wall and walks right back out the door.
“You are very rude, you know!” she shouts. This time, she hopes hecanhear her through the door.
Gretchen returns to Everett on the couch. “Where’s Charlie going?” she asks him.
“Um, I don’t know, maybe I’ll go hitch a ride and see if—Gretchen, how am I supposed to know where Charlie is going?” He rolls his eyes, allowing Gretchen to see that the strange swirling clouds beneath his skin are also in his sclera.Creepy. “Youknow I can’t leave the property much less follow Charlie around like I’m Magnum, P.I., fromMagnum, P.I.”
She throws herself into the same spot on the couch she previously occupied. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to rub it in. Just thought you might know his routine.”
“All I know is he goes out some nights and comes back pretty late. No idea where he goes. He doesn’t exactly say where he’s been when he gets home. Not the talking-to-himself type.”
“Is he seeing someone? You know, romantically?” It would make sense. Charlie is young, admittedly handsome. Considering the way she called him a “dearfriend,” Gretchen even suspected for a moment that Mrs. Van Alst and he might be... well... She highly doubts that now, having met him and heard the way he speaks of Deborah as if she’s a beloved aunt. But even if that’s unlikely, it doesn’t mean Charlie isn’t involved withsomeone. His sudden departure without bothering to shower after a long day of work makes a date seem somewhat improbable, but maybe this is just how rural folk live. What’s a little livestock residue between friends?
Everett tilts his head, contemplating, before shaking it. “Don’t think he’s got anyone right now.”
“Why do you say that?”
“As we discussed previously, I’m aware of most things that go on in this house, and the guy’s, uh,alone timehas only increased in recent months. If you get what I’m saying.”
She forces the mental image of Charlie Waybill with his cock in hand out of her mind for the second time today. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. So probably not dating anyone. Maybe he’s—”
“Gretchen, sweetheart,” Everett says. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But you talka lot.”
