42. StayLeave
Stay Or Leave
Charlotte
T he sound of news helicopters whir in the background. People with cameras and video equipment repeatedly try to pull up to the dock in boats, and Arden’s security team keeps chasing them away.
This cabin is set back a half-mile driveway from the main road, but the exit to that driveway is currently blocked by television vans and reporters. The only thing keeping them away from the cabin is Arden’s security team and a padlocked iron gate.
Bronnie and I slept until nearly twelve p.m. Everyone else was awake when we finally came downstairs, but Arden and I have barely had an opportunity to speak with each other in the last two hours.
A killer tension headache squeezes my temples in a vise as I try to work through what happens next. This is so, so much worse than I’d imagined. I’d thought I’d have time to prepare. I didn’t imagine them converging when I was struck dumb by terror. The fear has waned, but the remnants of it remain, leaving me sick and hollowed out.
Arden is busy with his team, and, considering how I got in his way last night, the only thing I can do is back off and wait for him to have time to talk to me.
He glanced my way when Bronnie and I came downstairs and gave me a weary-looking smile. But he was too busy arranging practicalities and coordinating with his public relations team for the two of us to talk. He’ll have to loop me into the PR conversation soon, though.
Bronnie sits on my lap on the sofa with a coloring book and crayons while Arden and a few of the guys stand quietly talking near the stairs. The boys are on the other side of the great room building a highway out of a toy race-car track. I haven’t let go of her since I picked her up on the dock. She squirms to get down, and, reluctantly, I release my hold.
“You ready for a snack?” I ask.
Bronnie nods. “I’m feeling peckish.”
I tweak her pale blonde pigtail. “You’re peckish ?”
She nods across the room. “That’s what Henry says when he’s hungry, but not”—she makes her T-Rex impression and roars—“hungry hungry.”
“You like Henry?”
“Yeah. We talked about what it was going to be like to be a brother and sister, and he and Gabriel said they’d be a good brother to a sister. And I’ll be the best sister because I’m funny and cute and annoying, which is the requirement.” She pronounces “requirement” as “we-kwyo-ment.”
“You guys decided, huh? That’s kind of fast.”
She shrugs. “Henry and Gabriel and me decided we like all the people in the family so everybody gets to be a sister or brother or mommy and daddy. Then I’m going to have a daddy who smells good and carries me when my legs get tired and picks me first for teams. I have a heaven dad who looks at me from clouds, but he doesn’t answer when I talk to him. So I want a dad with skin on too. And Henry and Gabriel get a mom who makes potato salad and reads stories. ’ Cause angel hugs are good, but sometimes you need arm hugs too.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, my nose burning, my throat tight. “What do you think about the people outside with cameras?”
I don’t want to specifically ask if she’s afraid and make her think she should be. But I need to know how she feels.
She frowns. “Mr. Reese and Mr. Brock make them stay back. They don’t let them touch.”
“Yes. Or people like Mr. Reese.”
She shrugs. “They’re not as bad as the chickens. They get loud too, but Reginald is a mean sonsabeach.”
I gasp. “Who taught you that word?”
“Grandma.” She shrugs with her hand lifted and splayed wide. “I don’t care about none of those noisy people. Gabriel says, ‘Talk to the hand. Don’t look at them. Keep walking.’”
“Miss Charlotte?” I look up to find Henry standing in front of us. “I’m sorry I scared you last night. I hope you don’t go away because of it. I don’t mind if you tell me to wash my ears. I promise.”
My chest squeezes at the worry on his face. “Thank you for apologizing. I was scared, but I’m not angry at you for making a mistake, and I never was. I won’t ever go away because of anything you do.”
He nods, but the dent between his brows remains.
I hesitate. Henry hasn’t shown me the type of physical affection Gabriel has, but there’s something in his posture that tells me he may need it. “Do you want a hug?”
He nods harder. Bronnie climbs off my lap, and Henry steps closer. When I put my arms around him, he returns my embrace. Bronnie joins in, squeezing him with sound effects. “Henry doesn’t like squishy hugs. Hard hugs are better.”
I tighten my grip, and he relaxes against me. Gabriel climbs on the sofa behind me and tries to join in, so I let go of Henry with one arm and bring him in, holding on to all three kids, until they get squirmy and ready to step away. Henry and Gabriel may have needed a hug, but it turns out I really did too.
An hour later, after snacks, a guard named Tim finds a deck of cards and gathers all three of the kids around the kitchen table to teach them a game called Euchre. There’s not a doubt in my mind they’re too young to understand the rules. But he nods to the great room where Arden stands near the fireplace and says, “I’ve got them for a while, Miss Charlotte.”
I nod in thanks and carry my cooling mug of tea with me to the sofa, tucking one leg under me and waiting for Arden to notice I’m here and say something. He doesn’t even look my way. Swallowing anxiously, I peer around as if the answer to our problems will float down from that mason jar chandelier and magically rewind the nightmare of the last eighteen hours.
Expressionless, Arden stands next to the fireplace. No anger. No frustration. Just . . . nothing. When he catches me staring at him, he turns his attention to the dock outside the window. “We’re bringing in a fleet of boats within the hour. We’ll get you and Bronnie out of here on one of them. The press won’t know who to follow. You’ll have to leave your car here for now, and I’ll send a separate team to secure your home. You and Bronnie will go to the house in the Hamptons. You’ll have to stay inside until the furor dies, but we’ll release a PR statement from you. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I don’t want them to think I’m hiding. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not planning to give them anything interesting either. But shouldn’t we make a united front?”
“I won’t allow them to harass you,” he says.
“If I have to hide with Bronnie inside the mansion for any length of time, I’m going to feel harassed, regardless.”
Arden crosses the room and crouches in front of me. Removing my mug from my cold fingers, he sets it on the end table and warms my hands with his own.
“This is going to be worse than you’ve imagined.”
Considering my nightmares about the press run straight to them discovering the body in the basement, I beg to differ. “I’ve thought about this a ton, Arden. If I’m available and answer questions with the most boring answers possible, this’ll blow over faster. If they think we have something to hide, they’ll dig harder.”
“They’re going to be assholes to you. They’ll tear you up. They’ve already started with suppositions that we neglected the kids. Your name and address will be public within twenty-four hours.”
“How long do you think the press will be a problem?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “This time? Probably a month or two. But they’re always going to circle like vultures.”
When the landline disturbs the peace inside the cabin with a strident, irritating tone, I jump, and my nerves jangle at the sound. It’s been ringing all day as Arden and the team make a hundred different arrangements. From the open plan great room, I see Reese walk to the wall unit in the kitchen to answer it.
I look back at Arden and ignore the distraction from our conversation. “What does your PR team recommend?”
“Miss Miller?” Reese calls.
I turn back to face him.
“Did you give your friend, Rochelle, this number?” he asks. “She says it’s an emergency.”