“Well, it’s been a little chilly at night. Do you have any extra blankets?” Even without Everett beside her last night, she woke up shivering. But mostly she’s fishing for an opening to ask about the color-clashing handmade projects sprinkled around the house.
“Sure, yeah.”
He disappears into his bedroom, then returns a minute later with another visually challenging afghan. This one is in a diamond pattern, featuring red, light pink, neon pink, and a truly horrific brown-yellow shade.
“This is really...” She searches for a word to describe it and lands on “fun.” She takes the blanket and runs a finger over the outline of one of the diamonds. “Kind of looks like the one in my room.”
“Yeah. Grandma Ellen really enjoyed knitting.”
“She made them all? The one on the couch too?” As if these were something someone wouldpurchase.
“Yeah.”
“Wow. A real talented lady,” she says. And she means that, because though the color combinations are... unique... it doesn’t negate the skill and care it took to create them. Certainly not something Gretchen would know how to do.
Charlie folds his lips into his mouth and chews on them before responding. “She was. Grandma could do pretty much anything.”
The choice of words feels heavy, how much thatanythingspeaks to the magnitude of what Charlie lost when his grandmother died. He bows his head, staring at the floor. A flash of selfishness has Gretchen wishing she could take away his pain, replace it with something he wants, something he can use. And she can, the way she has for the people who come to see her in DC. Before she thinks better of it, she’s reaching for his hand. It’s warm, rough with calluses that kiss her own palm.
Charlie looks up. Their eyes meet. Gretchen takes a step closer.
“She misses you too, you know,” she says. “And... she wants me to tell you... that she’s so proud of you.”
His face loses its softness as his stare becomes instantly imbued with that quiet anger yet again. He pulls away, wrenching their hands apart. “Be out at the barn by six tomorrow morning,” he says, turning back toward his bedroom. “Set an alarm.”
15
A shiny red pickup truck bumps down the driveway around noon on Monday. Gretchen doesn’t think much of it—some neighboring farmer, perhaps, coming to trade kale for goat curds or whatever (she should really get a better handle on how, exactly, this all works). But then the truck is followed by a black Mercedes sedan.Thatcatches her attention. She can’t imagine luxury cars are particularly abundant (or practical) in these parts.
She hurries toward the house, where she planned to grab a quick lunch while doing her best to avoid Charlie in the process. Things between them have been weird since last night when she... well, after she screwed up whatever kind of moment they were having. They’ve reverted to how they were before: snide comments about her being a fraud and a thief, his disdain making her snap back at him before she thinks it through. All the progress she might have made with him so far, erased just like that. Stupid.
When Gretchen reaches the farmhouse, though, she realizesthere’s no avoiding Charlie if she wants to get inside. He’s standing in front of the porch, talking to a middle-aged white woman in dark jeans and an ivory ruffled blouse. The woman shakes his hand and goes over to the couple getting out of the red truck. Charlie spots Gretchen and heads her way before she can find anywhere to hide.
“Potential buyers,” he explains.
Where’s Everett?Shit.Shit shit shit.“Um, I’ll just make my lunch quick...”
But he stops her forward movement with a hand on her shoulder. The touch makes her feel like a snowman that unwisely booked a trip to Cancun. “We’re supposed to let them tour without interfering. Besides, the last thing I’m gonna do is let you go in there and put a bug in their ear about how the place is haunted.”
“Well, it is haunted. So.”
Charlie rolls his eyes.
“This is a mistake,” she tells him. “A big one. If you sell, youdie. I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you that you need to take this seriously. Take it off the market, Charlie. Please.”
He turns on her, pointing a finger in her direction. “Pretty sure the only big mistake I’m making is letting you stay here. If it weren’t for the possibility of getting Deborah her money back, I would have kicked you out twenty times already. I have been very patient, Acorn. But my patience, even in matters of looking out for my friends, has a limit. Remember that.” Charlie starts to walk away, then returns after a few steps. “Actually, you come with me. I’m not leaving you unsupervised near these people. God knows the lengths you’ll go to fuck me over.”
“I have no intention of fucking youover.” Whoops, she did notmean to emphasize the last word there. Maybe she can course correct without him noticing? “I want tosaveyou, you asshole.”
“Don’t need saving,” he says. Thankfully, he seems to have missed her Freudian slip. Or is at least ignoring it like a gentleman.
“Yes, you do,” she responds, mimicking his petulant tone.
“Sure, yeah. Tell me, Acorn: Where’s your ghost right now? Is he walking along with us, telling you embarrassing stories about my childhood?”
“No, he’s... I don’t know where he is, actually. He’s probably—”
A horror movie–worthy scream comes from inside the farmhouse.
