Chapter 71 Charleigh
Charleigh
Charleigh walks laps around the kitchen island in a tight, agitated loop.
She can’t sit still, can’t settle her nerves, which are shattered.
This is like a nightmare she woke herself up from, but she knows she needs to get a goddamned grip, calm the hell down.
Just because the police were at the hospital doesn’t mean that what happened to Blair is anything but an accident.
It certainly doesn’t have to mean Nellie was involved in any way.
Her daughter is right: Blair has been downright nasty to Nellie—for years now—so why should Nellie pretend to be in a twist over it?
But still.
Charleigh doesn’t know what to do with herself, with her body, how to calm herself down.
She hates that she’s home alone right now, hates that Jackson’s away.
She peers into the fridge—looking for what, she doesn’t know—the thought of food making her belly ache even more.
“Calm down,” she says out loud. Great, now she’s talking to herself.
Her monologue is interrupted by someone knocking at the front door.
Blood whooshing through her temples, she practically runs to answer it.
Is it the police? Detective Walker?
Peering through the peephole, she exhales a frayed sigh.
It’s Ethan Swift, hat in his hand, with Luke at his elbow, hands working through his glossy black hair. Grateful for the company, she cracks open the door.
“Hi!” she says with too much cheer.
“Afternoon, Ms. Charleigh,” Ethan drawls. His skin glows in the sunlight, his mouth dangling open in a grin. “We were in the neighborhood, thought we’d stop by. See if we could come in, talk about the custom piece you and your husband were interested in.”
Charleigh freezes. Even though she’s happy they’re here, relieved that her spiraling attention can be brought elsewhere, she’s unsure about letting them in. Doesn’t know if she’s up for this kind of visit right now.
“Well, Alexander’s out, at the rifle range with Nellie, so—”
“That’s prolly for the best,” Ethan mutters under his breath, so softly that she’s not sure if she’s heard him correctly.
If she has, what the hell does he mean? He’s relieved Alexander’s gone, or that Nellie is?
“Excuse me?” she demands.
“Nothing, I was just thinkin’ out loud, that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to pop in on you like this—” His eyes twinkle, and did he just wink at her?
“Oh, don’t be silly! Come on in. Sorry, I’m feeling off today, with all this stuff that’s happened—”
Ethan strides past her, Luke in tow. “It’s tragic. We’ve been praying nonstop—”
“We have, too,” Charleigh lies. “It’s…terrible. Unthinkable.”
The trio stands in the foyer; Charleigh studies Luke’s face, searching for signs. Of what? The boy just looks bewildered and half his age today.
“Anyway, I was thinking,” she says, her hands twisting into knots together, her adrenaline on overdrive, “I’d love a new sideboard for the den. It’s the back room here that looks out over the yard, the pool.”
Charleigh leads them down the hall. She thinks she can feel Ethan’s eyes tracing her backside. She flicks her head over her shoulder, and yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. This man is an impossible flirt, and she’s positive Monica’s spread her legs for him.
What is wrong with me? How can she even be having such thoughts with poor Monica at Blair’s bedside at the hospital?
“Along this wall?” Ethan asks, tracing his finger over the light-splattered wall opposite the French doors.
“Exactly.”
He nods quickly, gnaws on the side of his index finger. “I have just the perfect thing in mind. Lemme get back to my shop, sketch up a spec for you—”
“I’d like Jackson to weigh in, too, of course, and Alexander—”
She’s not sure if she’s imagined this, but did Ethan just roll his eyes? Surely not.
“Oh, of course! But I can visualize something amazing here. And no cost to you for me to draw up some plans, a quote. Then we can run it by your husband and Mr. Ford.”
Luke hasn’t uttered a word; he’s kept his head down, gaze cast to the floor.
Charleigh can feel this little interlude wrapping up, and now she’s desperate to keep them here. “Y’all want lemonade? A beer for you, Ethan?”
Ethan looks over to Luke. “Son?”
“Um, sure, that sounds nice. Thanks.”
Charleigh shuffles into the kitchen, delighted to have something to do with her hands, her mind. They trickle in behind her.
“Nice kitchen!” Ethan beams, running his hands along the marble countertop. “My wife would kill for this.”
Even though she hates his wife, his words make her sad.
For him. She has never forgotten the hardscrabble life at the farm.
The rickety cabinets in her childhood kitchen—roaches scurrying out, aluminum baking tins clanging together as she rummaged for food—the sad little sink with no dishwasher, her mother’s hunched form over the cutting board, butchering a hog because they never had money to buy meat from the supermarket.
“Well, I do feel blessed and don’t take it for granted!” she chirps, sounding like an entitled imbecile. She wants to fess up, tell Ethan that she, too, used to live out on the land, that her life hasn’t always looked like a magazine spread, but she can’t muster the energy to.
She cracks open a beer, passes it to him, scoots Luke’s glass of lemonade across the countertop. Opens a beer for herself.
“Cheers!” Ethan says, tipping his bottle to hers, his eyes grazing her chest as he sips.
Charleigh swoons, feels the pinch of attraction, but represses it. Again, she’s never felt the need to stray—or the desire to—but this man could seduce the panties off Mother Theresa.
She inwardly scolds herself again for thinking such ridiculous thoughts.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I need to use the men’s room,” Ethan says.
“Oh, be my guest! There’s one right there, but the one off the foyer is much nicer. And much cleaner.”
As soon as Ethan exits, Charleigh turns her full attention to Luke. “How are you holding up?”
What a dumb thing to ask.
He sips at his drink, sets it down, hands wobbly. “I—well, it’s pretty freaky, what happened and all. I just really hope she’s gonna be okay—”
“Yes, of course you do!” Charleigh walks around the island, folds him into a hug, needing one herself more than he probably does. He accepts it, his skinny frame poking into hers.
She unlatches herself, fixes him with her eyes. “I know you two were dating; I saw you together at the party. I’m so sorry. I went to the hospital, and they said they need their space, so that must be really hard on you, having to be away from her.”
Luke takes a tiny, imperceptible step back, stares at the ground again. His feathered black hair falls over his eyes, and his face looks solemn.
“Must be tough to be here and not there,” Charleigh quickly adds, trying to keep the line of conversation flowing.
“Well,” Luke replies, shaking the hair out of his eyes, “she’s not my girlfriend.”
Charleigh’s pulse thrums in her veins; she was not expecting him to say that.
Sensing her opening, she lets words surge from her lips.
“Oh! So who is that person you’re seeing?
” She knows she’s walking a fine line here, that she’s at risk of him shutting down at any moment, but she’s pedal to the metal now, full bore.
If Nellie was behind Blair’s accident, then she’s got to stay ten feet ahead—no, a thousand feet ahead—of what she might do next. Charleigh’s gotta try and hook Luke for Nellie.
“Hmmm?” she pesters.
He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, flicks his eyes up at hers. Biting the bottom of his lip, he says, “Oh, I’m not really seeing that other person either.”
Boom. She leans in, lowers her voice in case Ethan is on his way back from the bathroom.
“Well!” She literally licks her lips. “What about Nellie, hm? I know you two like each other!”
Luke shifts his weight from one foot to the other, digs his hands in his pockets. He’s squirming, his neck blooming with red streaks. “Like I said the other day, your daughter’s cool, but—”
Charleigh wants to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, scold him, bark, Hey, you little shit! Just take my goddamn daughter out! On a date! One date! What is the matter with you?
Ethan’s been gone long enough; he should’ve been back by now, unless, well, eww. But she doesn’t have much time.
“Look. I know Nellie is different. You are, too. So, whaddya say? One date? Make a girl’s day? Her month? Her whole year?” She inches even closer, goes in for the kill. “What’ll it take? I know you’re not in town for shits and giggles. I have a lot to offer.”
As he fidgets, working the chain that runs from his belt loop to his wallet, Charleigh walks over to the counter to fetch her purse.
She slides out her wallet, snaps it open. Tugs out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “This is what I have on me.”
Luke eyes the bills, gulps. “Ummm, I don’t know how I feel about this—”
“I also have a checkbook. I can write you a check for more. Just one date,” Charleigh presses.
He continues staring at the money, at her purse. She’s got him.
But then he shakes his shaggy hair, scoffs. Throws his palms up, backs away. “Nothing against your daughter. Honestly, ma’am, and I could really use the cash, but…this…this is all… creepy and gross.”
Charleigh whips out her checkbook. She can’t risk fucking around here. “I will write you a check for five grand. For one date.”
His lips part; he scratches the back of his neck, apparently reconsidering. “For just the one date?”
“Yes. But a real date. Flowers, wine—or whatever y’all drink—give her attention. And give her a chance. You might find out you like her.”
“This is still creepy and gross. But yeah, I’ll do it.”
Charleigh scribbles out the check. Signs Alexander’s name, which is something she does regularly. But especially now, just in case. If this ever gets out, Nellie won’t be able to blame this on her. She gets so much less angry at Alexander.
She folds it, passes it over to him before he changes his mind. “And Luke, one last thing: You’re not to tell a soul about this. And I mean anybody.”