Page 87 of Falling Slowly
He laughed a little, then gave her a focused stare. “You’re an artist! Art is supposed to make us uncomfortable. Artists are the gatekeepers of truth.”
Before we left the dining room, I caught a glimpse of Ilme’s face and knew his words had hit home. Charlie had sprinkled his magic all over the room.
How did he do it?
A few minutes later, we’d dragged Mom’s bags into the cabin. Celia familiarized herself with every piece of furniture, jumping from the chair to the couch to the bed, squealing with delight. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d done an overnight trip anywhere. She occasionally slept on Mom’s couch. That was it.Witnessing the pure joy she drew from this adventure brought tears to my eyes.
“I’ll take this,” Mom announced from the loft, testing the sofa bed. “You, your giant boot and Celia can sleep in the big bed.”
“I’ll ask them to change the sheets,” Charlie said, already on his phone.
“No.” I placed my hand over his phone, enjoying the excuse to touch his fingers. They were so warm. “Unless you peed the bed.”
“Did you pee the bed?” Celia asked him in earnest. “I sometimes do. But not anymore because I’m a big girl.”
“That’s great,” Charlie said, struggling to keep a straight face. “No, I didn’t pee the bed this time.”
“Then it should be fine. You’ve only slept there for three nights.”
“Three nights pining for you.” He raised a meaningful eyebrow, and I nearly choked on my saliva. I’d forgotten how men could be shameless and disgusting and charming, all at the same time.
“Okay, yeah. Let’s change the sheets. Maybe on both beds.” I looked up at the loft, then locked eyes with Charlie. From the look on his face, I knew he was thinking of that first night.
“Good call,” he said, his voice a little husky.
“So, where are you staying?” I asked.
I wanted to stay there, too. Not that I didn’t want to cuddle my child. Only those cuddles would progress to her kicking me in the shins all night long. I’d carry her to the toilet, disoriented and violently thrashing in my arms, so she wouldn’t have an accident, since Mom hadn’t packed any diaper pants. Despite the fear of hypothermia and other complications, I’d enjoyed the respite from my usual nighttime routines.
“I… it’s a small place, just outside Cozy Creek.”
“Are you coming here for breakfast tomorrow?”
“I wouldn’t miss it! Seeing you mix all the cereals is the highlight of my day. I can only imagine what your daughter will do.”
“Is it okay if she eats there? What about Mom?”
“It’s all sorted. They’re more than happy to let them stay, knowing that I won’t sue them.”
“Seriously? What would you sue them for? Your own stupidity?”
He lifted a shoulder. “A poorly organized excursion, failure to provide instruction, general health and safety. It doesn’t really matter if you can afford the lawsuit.”
“Did you threaten them?”
“Not in so many words, but they know my family.” He sighed. “Look, it’s complicated. The main thing is that I won’t be suing them, as long as they treat you and your family like royalty. So, let me know how they’re doing.” He flashed me a cheeky smile.
The rules really were different for rich people. My mind boggled, but I couldn’t deny it felt nice to know Mom and Celia would get preferential treatment. They never got that.
“Are you joining the art classes?” I asked.
He looked down, a little ashamed. “I’d love to, but I’m running out of time. I need to work on the new campaign. I’m trying to set up a meeting to present it first thing on Monday.”
“I’ll help you. Mom can watch Celia. What time is the festival?”
He looked up something on his phone. “It starts at midday and goes until sundown.”
“Maybe we’ll go after lunch?”
