Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CHARLOTTE
I could never be a real celebrity.
People tried to lump me into that sometimes—social media kerfuffles, paparazzi photos, breakdowns of the outfits I wore out in public, things like that. The outfit posts I didn’t mind as much—I quite liked when people noticed I most certainly always had that shit on, but other than that, I wasn’t sure what I gave off that would put someone under the impression I wanted attention like that.
Or maybe they just didn’t care, and content was content.
Either way—I’d always preferred the peace of people maybe recognizing my name, but only ever seeing me when it was time to pick up or present an award.
The more public you were, the more people thought your business was their business, and now more than ever, there were things I needed kept close to the vest.
Like just how fucked up my family life was.
There were so many things about my estrangement from my brother that didn’t make good sense but could easily be attributed to children being thrust into adult problems. It would’ve been easier to understand if someone was the result of a side relationship, or if we were step-siblings, or even only shared one parent.
But nope.
We were full-blown siblings—children of a divorce where the parents had the bright idea for each parent to take a child and never speak to each other again, as if none of us would miss or remember each other.
Like we didn’t need each other.
As we grew up, it shifted from not being able to talk, to not knowing what to say, to being pissed the other person didn’t know what to say, to…just not being interested anymore. At some point, we’d been separated longer than we actually knew each other, and I eventually began to question if, seeing him on the street, I would even recognize him.
I got that answer as soon as the social worker walked Kyran through my door.
He was the spitting image of his father as I remembered him most—as a child.
Top-tier embarrassing shit that no one needed to know.
But even more important than that, I had to protect Ky from the vultures. There was nothing insidious about me having a nephew, or even about him being in my care, but the people never, ever left well-enough alone. They would want to know every fine detail, but not because they were concerned—it would be so they could pick apart and judge and prescribe certain labels for a child.
And for me.
And my parents.
And my brother.
And Ky’s mother.
I wanted exactly none of that.
So I was keeping it lowkey.
I hired a nanny to care for him while I was at work—she was usually the one helping with homework, getting him dropped off at and picked up from school. He’d been with me for just about a year now and had been thriving. His parents had taken great care of him, but the accident was…traumatic.
He remembered.
So I got him in therapy, and made sure he was making friends, and held him when nightmares woke him up and made him cry.
I was already in therapy, and the sudden emotional toll was kicking my ass. When sis suggested I write out my feelings, I knew she was referring to journaling, and I did try that. But it wasn’t flowing. And when I let my fingers do what they wanted… Kinfolk came out.
A mistake, maybe.
I wasn’t sure yet, but time would tell.
I’d taken so many liberties, changed so much to purposely obscure my personal connection that it would be silly to call it based on a true story , but really…that’s exactly what it was.
All the guilt, anger, confusion, all the screaming and tears my characters had to face head-on because they’d been thrust into a situation they were ill-prepared for?
It was pulled from first-hand experience.
Experience that was never supposed to become common knowledge.
Or even un common knowledge, honestly.
Without him popping up at my house, uninvited and unannounced, I would’ve never told Nolan Brinkley of all people what I had going on at home.
Even though…he’d kinda come through.
In the time Kyran had been under my care, he’d never had an ailment worse than maybe a tummy ache or a scraped knee from rough-housing. Whatever was happening now, had also gone around his classroom—the usual suspects were ruled out, after a trip to the pediatrician just to be sure, and the diagnosis had landed on a common cold.
Which mostly just had to be waited out.
There was a marginal decrease in his energy, and of course the clogged sinuses and stuffy nose—other than that, he was the same old Ky. Always hungry, bouncing around all over the place, constantly talking and wanting to engage me in his world.
As much as I really, really needed to work…I indulged it all.
I still had a lot of time with him to make up.
After a while though, he tired himself out, and I was able to get to work retooling the very last episode—of the season, at least—for Kinfolk. Luckily for me, there were always two days off built into the schedule after an episode wrapped, so that gave me a little time to catch up.
Int. Luna’s Classroom—Day Time
Shannon
Ms. Maxwell, is it okay if I go to the bathroom before Uncle Silas gets here?
Luna
(looks up from grading papers, smiles. She’s hurting from the breakup but refuses to let that effect bond with Shannon.)
Of course, sweetie. Just make it quick, so he doesn’t have to wait for you.
Shannon runs to classroom’s attached bathroom. Luna tries to go back to what she’s doing, but can’t focus, checks time. Silas is late. She gets up to peek out window into parking lot. A sound at the door makes her turn around.
Luna
(puts a hand to chest.)
Um…can I help you? Visitors usually need to check in at the office first.
Masked Stranger
Where is the kid?
Luna
Are you a parent? My class is gone for the day, but I can walk you to the office.
Masked Stranger
Don’t play with me—you know exactly what this is, and who I’m looking for.
Luna
(louder, hoping Shannon will hear and stay quiet.)
I already told you, all kids are gone for the day.
Masked Stranger
(pulls gun, points it right at Luna.)
You’ve got ten seconds before I blow your head off.
Luna
Please calm down! I’m sure we can figure out ? —
[SFX - Toilet flushes, water comes on.]
Masked stranger and Luna look at the bathroom at the same time.
Luna
(screaming)
Shannon, lock the door and get down!
Masked stranger opens fire at bathroom before shifting to Luna, who is rushing at him. She gets hit (we don’t see where.) and goes down. He finishes firing, then runs out.
[SFX—muffled alarm going off, people screaming. Distance sirens. Footsteps getting closer, closer.]
Teacher
Luna! Luna, oh my God!
Teacher from a few doors down comes into frame, rushed to where Luna has passed out. Checks her pulse, and then takes sweater off, bundling it to press into Luna’s wound.
Teacher
Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s so much blood, I— (screaming) Help! Somebody help!
Silas
What the hell is going on?!
Camera pans to a breathless Silas at the door then changes to his point of view. He sees the teacher covered in Luna’s blood and moves to try to help as more footsteps sound, and sirens get louder.
Bathroom door opens, and there is Shannon.
Shannon
Uncle Silas…I don’t feel good.
I’d stopped to read back what I’d done so far when my doorbell sounded, making me sit straight up.
Shit, they’re going to wake Kyran.
I put my laptop down and hopped up from the couch in my office, rushing to make it to the door before whoever was there pushed the bell again. A quick peek out the window told me whoever it was had already gone though.
Maybe a delivery then, but…had I ordered something?
I probably should’ve been ordering something, considering the dismal state of my fridge. Last night’s spaghetti had been the result of using the last of my available supplies—I still hadn’t quite caught the hang of keeping groceries on hand for two people. Being able to just order things somewhat on a whim and simply have them delivered had been coming in clutch.
I didn’t even want to think about what my bill would look like if I took a four-year-old in the store.
I’d blow a bag on cereal alone.
In any case, when I opened my front door, my eyes went wide—it wasn’t a package, at least not in the way I would’ve thought.
Someone had clearly read my mind— someone I quickly deduced as Nolan, based on the replacement neti pot in one of the grocery store bags. I didn’t think he’d been in my kitchen long enough to pinpoint things I was out of, but there was cereal, plant-based milk, makings for quick sandwiches—nothing overboard by any means. Just the things that would keep someone from having to worry about groceries for a few days.
Plus another bag, from my favorite Cajun restaurant on the strip, which I had catered to the set often.
He’d sent dinner.
I brought everything inside, using the time I needed to put it all away as my moment to think and process.
What in the world was this about?
Nolan and I had worked together several times over the years and had never really gotten along. Well…if my hatred of what he represented, and his blatant lack of fucks to give about how I felt could be considered not getting along , that is. No matter the case, Nolan and I were very firmly nothing more than peers in the industry, and occasionally co-workers.
Not friends, or anything else.
Had I heard stories about what he was like in the bedroom and wondered?
Duh.
Personality aside, Nolan Brinkley was the stuff dreams were made of—tall and bronze-skinned, chiseled features accented with a sexy, distinguished sprinkle of salt-and-pepper that offered the only clue he was closer to middle age than not.
He was surely somebody’s age-gap fantasy casting come to life.
Not mine though.
He got on my nerves too bad for that.
At least…that was the story I wanted to tell myself, despite the last few days eroding at my negative perceptions of him.
Which I hated.
A lot.
Kyran was still knocked out by the time I was done, which I knew was going to turn into a regret later, but I was going to milk it for now. I went back to my office to find my phone, knowing the proper thing to do was to thank Nolan for his thoughtfulness.
As soon as I opened our text thread though, I frowned.
A quick scroll through our past correspondences was an easy reminder—he made me so damn mad.
Swallow it, Char.
With my face in a full pout, I typed out a message that was better than a quick thank you but didn’t leave room for me to seem too grateful either.
I couldn’t have him feeling too good about himself.
“ Oh God ,” I groaned, when instead of him simply “liking” the message, or offering a basic “you’re welcome,” his name popped up on my screen with a call.
I wanted to ignore it so, so bad.
Don’t be rude.
Don’t be rude.
“Hello?” I answered, keeping my tone light.
“I see you got my delivery—is everything to your liking?”
Thank God this wasn’t a video call—he would have seen me rolling my eyes.
“Yes—as I said in the message, everything is great. You definitely didn’t have to do this, but it was very thoughtful. And I appreciate it.”
“Good,” he muttered. “Glad I could be of some help. I remember what it was like with my kids at that age—kinda hard to work around them when they aren’t feeling well.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Definitely not.”
“So…I don’t have to hold you—hopefully I’ve freed up your night at least a little so you can focus on your writing.”
Ah.
There it was.
The part that benefits him.
I wasn’t mad about it though—I did want to get the episode done, and knowing that there was a selfish motive helped me keep my opinion of him intact.
It was perfect.
“Yes, I think so. Again—thank you,” I told him, with warmer energy than I’d initially been willing to give.
I didn’t linger on the phone, wanting to keep my good mood intact. I took a few minutes to fix myself a plate from the dinner Nolan had sent, looked in on Kyran, and then went straight to my office.
There was work to be done.