Chapter 4
Chapter Four
NOLAN
I didn’t do well with being ignored.
I hated that shit.
Bad.
I wasn’t sure how, after years of working together, Charlotte had finally figured out how to “get her lick back,” as the kids said, but her blatant silent treatment was driving me up a wall.
And now, to not show up on set for the last day of shooting on the penultimate episode of the season for the very series she’d spent the last weeks making a fuss about?
She was dragging it.
I called her number one last time—straight to voicemail, which was a departure from the other nine or ten calls I’d placed since our early morning start. Her absence hadn’t necessarily held us up—we had the new script, her direction notes, all that—but still.
This was too much.
Sure, she’d put the effort into coming up with a new direction for the script, that on the surface satisfied all the network demands. The problem was, they still didn’t like it. Instead of communicating that to her, and hiking up the pressure, I’d gone to bat, insisting that the changes she’d made were the best possible scenario.
And even under threat of losing my job…I hadn’t backed down.
Because I knew the shit was important to her.
And she couldn’t respond to texts or answer phone calls?
Nah, that was something we weren’t doing.
So as soon as we wrapped for the day, instead of hanging around for the usual drinks and socializing that happened to celebrate the finish of an episode, I made my way to my car, speeding out of the lot to set my course directly for her house.
We had some shit to figure out.
Starting with what the fuck her problem was.
Luckily for me, she hadn’t moved from the house I remembered—a bungalow-style home she’d renovated, in a tucked-away neighborhood. The only reason I knew was because of a little wrap party she’d held there years ago.
I hadn’t been invited, but I got the address and showed up.
Truthfully, I couldn’t remember the exact house number, just an idea of the street name—it took a couple of loops through the neighborhood, peering at driveways, but eventually I was able to pinpoint and recognize her atrocious bright orange car.
I pulled up right behind it.
Lights were on all over the house, so I knew somebody would answer the door.
On the way up the walkway though, my confidence faltered a bit—Charlotte was pretty quiet with her private life, so…I really had no idea who was about to answer.
I was here now though.
Had to see it through.
I checked my phone one last time, making sure she hadn’t actually responded to any of my attempts at correspondence before I called myself, confronting her about it.
When I didn’t see any notifications for her, I pushed the doorbell, fully ready to give her a piece of my mind.
At least…until I saw her.
Charlotte was a woman who prided herself on looking “put together.” As such, I’d never seen her without clothes tailored perfectly to her curvy body, flawless hair, and some degree of makeup.
Right now, her straightened hair was stuffed into a messy bun, face completely clean of anything, and she was dressed in leggings and an oversized T-shirt with a big wet spot on the front.
Still fine as hell.
“Nolan? What in the world are you doing at my house? How do you even know where I live?”
Because I committed it to memory when I popped up uninvited years ago wouldn’t have sounded very good, so instead I focused on the first question.
“Nobody has been able to get ahold of you today, so I got worried.”
She lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Got worried…or got pissed?”
“Uh….” I scratched at my temple, trying to come up with a quick lie, but the longer she stared me down, the less reasonable that seemed. “Fine—I got pissed,” I admitted.
“Of course you did—because you think you’re my boss, so now you’re on a power trip because I didn’t ‘clock in’ for work today.”
“Not exactly ,” I argued. “I just…I kinda got my ass handed to me fighting for you to be able to keep your changes as they were instead of having to bend to the network. Meanwhile, you’re treating me like the enemy, which…whatever, I could handle it. I guess until today.”
“Because you couldn’t get my attention?”
I pushed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and shrugged. “Maybe?”
She laughed. “This is a mess. You are a mess. I get to take a day off, believe it or not.”
“You’re full of shit,” I countered. “You can’t convince me you chose to miss the last day of an episode on purpose. You’re usually high-strung, checking on everything, nitpicking the details, all that. Hell, you’re like that on any normal shoot day, and you want me to believe you opted out?” I stepped closer to her, making her shrink back in the door frame. “Tell the truth—what’s up with you?”
“Can you back up some?” she asked, annoyed, putting her palms up to face me. “There’s nothing up with me that needs your input. And if there was…there wouldn’t be,” she snapped. “Goodnight, Nolan.”
“ Auntie Chaaaar? ”
My eyes went wide as a very small, very stuffy-sounding child rushed up to Charlotte before she could close the door, attaching himself to her leg. He was dressed in pajamas and fuzzy socks, with a blanket draped over his head.
My gaze met hers, but she tore her attention away to look down, cupping a loving hand under his chin. “I thought I told you to wait for me in the kitchen?”
“Bud I can’t breeeeeve,” he whined, and a look that landed somewhere between sympathy and amusement passed over Charlotte’s face.
“I know, honey. I was about to figure out the sinus flush when my, um…co-worker showed up. Unannounced. ”
With that word, she looked up at me for a brief glare, and I met her with a smile.
“You got a neti pot?”
The kid cringed, backing away as Charlotte shook her head. “We had a neti pot, but this little guy freaked out on me, and we uh…had a bit of an accident.”
“It bwoke ,” the little boy said, eyes wide. “Auntie Char said a bad word.”
“That’s none of his business,” Char quickly spoke up. “And it’s no big deal—we can get one delivered and have it here within two hours.”
“You can get him some relief a little sooner than that,” I suggested. “If you have any clean condiment bottles around. The squeezable kind.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“When my kids were small, we dealt with plenty of stuffy noses—a little warm saline solution in a squeeze bottle meant a good night for everybody.”
She just stared at me for a moment then nodded. “I’d forgotten you had kids.”
“Yep.” I nodded. “In their early years of college. So…I’ve picked up a thing or two…if you want a little help.”
Up closer to her now, I could see what I couldn’t before—she was tired. Her eyes were glossy, decorated with the telltale bags underneath that usually signaled interrupted sleep.
Which wasn’t surprising, with a sick preschooler on her hands.
“Who are you?” the little boy asked in an accusing tone, shifting his focus to me now.
I extended a closed fist in his direction. “I’m Nolan Brinkley.”
“Oh. Auntie Char says you’re a bud hole,” he told me, very matter-of-factly. I looked to Char, who just shrugged.
“Kids say the darndest things, right?” she quipped.
I shook my head, looking back at the kid. “You should let people make their own impressions on you, instead of believing everything you hear. What’s your name?”
“Kyran.”
“ Really , Ky?!” Charlotte said, laughing. “This man is a whole stranger, what were you taught about that?”
Kyran’s eyes went wide, confused. “He’s nod a stranger, he’s a bud hole.”
“ Lord ,” Charlotte muttered, and I laughed.
“Okay—so is the bud hole coming in to help, or not?” I asked, directing the question to Charlotte.
“I wanna breeve! ” Kyran demanded, turning up the pressure on his aunt, who looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“Fine. Why the hell not?”
They both stepped back from the door to let me in—a turn of events I certainly hadn’t expected when I let the need to confront Charlotte’s lack of communication bring me to her house.
I’d fully anticipated getting cussed the hell out, but not before I got a little commentary in first.
This was quite the departure, and I had, easily , a half-dozen questions.
How old was the kid?
Was she babysitting?
Whose kid was it?
Where was he usually when she was working?
How long had he been sick?
Did she cook whatever had her house smelling so good?
I followed her to the kitchen, where there was indeed an arrangement of pots and pans on the stove, and plates on the counter. Charlotte busied herself in the pantry, presumably searching for the squeeze bottle, while Kyran made himself comfortable in one of the bar chairs, where he picked up a fork.
“You want some spugeddi and bwed?”
“I’m sure he’s already had dinner, Ky!” Charlotte called, her voice muffled through the wall.
Fuck that.
“Yeah, lil’ man—where might I find a plate?” I asked quietly, and he pointed out a cabinet where they were. With a plate in hand, I went about dishing myself a serving of the pasta, garlic bread, and salad available. “She cooked this?”
He slurped a noodle into his mouth and nodded. “Her food is always good.”
Huh.
I wouldn’t have imagined her as a domestic type of woman—she seemed more of the go to dinner or order takeout type.
Definitely not the caregiver type either.
Neither of those things was bad—at least, not to my mind. I’d just always seen her as more…pampered, I guess. But I also didn’t know her very well—not nearly as well as I’d like—because her energy toward me had always been somewhat…combative.
Tonight, I’d happened upon a different side.
I was already tucking into my plate when she reappeared, holding an unopened package of condiment squeeze bottles.
“ Seriously ?” she droned when she saw I’d made myself comfortable.
“What?” I shrugged. “Ky said I could.”
“We both know better, don’t we?” she asked, pushing the bottles into my chest. “Can we get to the reason I let you inside?”
“That’s no problem,” I said, shoving another forkful into my mouth before I stood. I didn’t even have to ask about other supplies—she pointed to a place on the counter with packets of saline solution and bottled distilled water.
“I was about to use the neti pot, remember? Mine wasn’t plastic, so…subject to a little accident. Probably why I’m also not understanding what a squeeze bottle has to do with it?”
“Sounds like I showed up just in time then,” I quipped. “Let me put some knowledge in your life.”
What I didn’t tell her was that, while setting this up was hella easy—damn near the exact same as the neti pot—actually implementing was a bit more…dramatic.
Just like my twins did when they were little, just as I expected…Ky showed the hell out.
From the stress on her face, it was easy to deduce that this was her first up-close experience with a sick child. He screamed, he cried, he fought, he had to have his arms pinned down while he reacted like he was being waterboarded or purposely drowned.
We got obscene amounts of built-up snot out of him though, which we initially left in the bathroom sink to show him once we were done.
He was quite impressed.
And thankful, after acting an ass.
And then he promptly went to sleep.
“So…that was eventful,” Charlotte said after she’d gotten Kyran tucked away in his room. “Sorry about your shirt—I’ve got you on the dry-cleaning bill.”
“I’m not worried about that. Glad I could help.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Uh…thank you, by the way. I would have been with him a lot longer waiting on a new pot, and then trying to wrangle him by myself…yeah. Today has been…a lot.”
“He called you Auntie…you babysitting or something?”
“No…not exactly.” She sighed. “I umm…he’s my brother’s son. I have custody of him now, because no one else could take him. Or would take him. I didn’t even know my brother had a kid, and then…I got a phone call.”
My eyes went wide. “Wow. Where’s…is he…?”
“He was killed in an accident. Him and his fiancé…Ky’s mother.” She nodded. “Ky didn’t even have a scratch on him, but neither of them…they didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Again, she nodded. “Thank you, but we weren’t…we weren’t close. And I hate it. Ky is four years old, and I just…didn’t know. He knew who I was though—his mother told him about me, even though I’d never met her either. Which is…shit,” she huffed, scrubbing her hands over her face. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. Any of this.”
I shrugged. “Have you ever told anybody ?”
“Not really,” she confirmed. “My really close friends know, because…well, because I have a kid now. But otherwise…no.”
“That’s why then. That’s…a heavy-ass load to carry.”
“Writing the show was supposed to be my catharsis. So…again, I don’t know what this is. And you should probably go, before you get exposed to any more germs than you already have been.”
“It’s probably just a little sinus infection, nothing contagious.”
She raised an eyebrow. “The nanny I hired to care for him while I’m working…she’s sick too.”
“Oh, shit.” I laughed. “Maybe not then. But…my immune system is strong.”
“I hope so,” she said, following me to the door. “But if not…I’ll cover your prescription if you get one. With the dry-cleaning bill.”
“I told you I’m not worried about that,” I said, waving her off. “You…get some rest. And if you need something…you can speak up about that. Okay?”
She let out a little sigh and nodded. “Okay.”
“Cool. Good night, Ms. Fox.”
“Good night…bud hole,” she said laughing, letting me out the door.
I couldn’t have said where it came from, but…I grinned on the way back to my car.