Page 97 of Falling Slowly
She thought for a moment. “Make a new tree for it. Just like the old one, but purple!”
“A purple tree. Interesting.” Charlie cocked his head. “Should we paint them all purple?”
“Yes!” Celia shouted, clearly visualizing the incredible display of purple, her favorite color.
“But we need lots of pinecones like this. Big, beautiful ones. Can you help me find them?”
The girl vibrated with energy and enthusiasm, bouncing against the door. Charlie opened it for them, flashing me one last smile before disappearing outside.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they don’t wander off into the forest,” Mom told me, closing the door behind them.
Suddenly, the room felt deafeningly quiet. Never in a million years had I thought that our last special day would include having a cabin to myself. It took me a moment to get my bearings, but I eventually made it to my feet and into the shower. As I stood under the hot stream of water, leaning on my one good leg, it hit me.
Charlie wasn’t just playing a couple. He was playing a family. Could I let him go on like this? Could I enjoy the break and having another adult around, one who was strong enough to carry my child?
One day wasn’t long enough to get too attached, I decided. Celia would be fine. She already knew Charlie, the man with the gadgets. He was the fun uncle. It was me who was getting far too attached. Going back to my life was going to hurt, but that was still the plan. What else could I do? I couldn’t risk my whole life on this man, no matter what my heart was blabbering about.
And if I didn’t find the lost pill on the porch, what would I do then?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Charlie
We’d found a dozen beautiful pinecones, when I finally worked up my courage.
“Kathy?” I cleared my throat. “Can I ask you something?”
The older woman raised her expressive eyebrows. They made me think of Bess, but the friendly look in her eyes was more like Gran. Always ready to listen.
“I’m in love with your daughter.” I held my breath.
“I figured.” She glanced at the cabin, tiny in the distance, a dreamy look in her eyes. “You know she’s been through a lot, right?”
“I know. And I think that’s why she doesn’t quite trust me, yet. We work together, so it’s complicated. But there’s something she doesn’t know.”
“What?” Her eyes flashed with alarm.
“My father has decided to restructure the entire agency. To reduce the production team to a bare minimum. Make it AI-assisted and automated.”
Kathy’s eyes flooded with panic, and she clutched her scarf. “Bess will lose her job?”
“At present, yes. But I think she’s got the chops to work in the creative team. She has the ideas. A fresh perspective. I just need the others to see her talent. So, we’ve been working on a new campaign together. I think the client will love it. But I need her to feel safe enough to present it with me. I’m afraid that if she finds out about the job cuts, she’ll freak out and we lose that opportunity.”
“Wait, she doesn’t know?”
“No.” I swallowed a lump that felt like a giant pinecone. “I should have told her, but there’s been a lot going on and she was doing so well with that campaign I didn’t want to lose momentum.”
“I see.” Kathy bent down to pick up a beautifully symmetrical pinecone and handed it to Celia. “What do you think of this?”
She turned in her hands, looking at it like a goldsmith studying a piece of jewelry. “Pretty good.” She lifted her chin to look at me. “Charlie, is this a good one?”
“Yes,” I told her, distracted. “I’ll pay you five bucks each if you go find some more.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded solemnly. “I’ll find all of them,” she announced, rushing off.
Watching her grandchild skip away, Kathy frowned, deep in thought. “Bess doesn’t want to take any risks. Not after what happened. She’s been a bit closed off. I mean, it’s good that she’s careful. We don’t need another Jack in our lives, thank you very much. That man was all big talk and mighty plans. No realism.” She shook her head. “I was so anxious, watching them. I had to go on medication.”
“He was an entrepreneur?” I asked, feeling the sting. Jack sounded too much like me.
