“I can’t,” I say. “It’s not gonna work, Daniel. Just go back and tell the truth, it’ll be fine.”
I pull my hand back. I stand. I feel like everyone else in The Earl of Sandwich is looking at us, and I ignore them as I walk out the door, leaving Daniel behind me, sitting at the table.Chapter ThreeCharlieI stare at the box of Lucky Charms.
The leprechaun stares back.
Lucky Charms or Froot Loops? I think, sliding my gaze over to the brightly colored toucan.
Do I want marshmallows, or do I want loops, or do I want to fuck over my best friend?
There’s the guilt again, deep and heavy in my chest. There it is clawing its way up my back, perching on my shoulder, whispering in my ear: it’s your fault if Rusty has to move to Denver.
I swallow hard. I’m still standing in front of cartoon-covered cereal boxes, but I’m staring at them blindly, one hand resting on my shopping cart.
He’ll be fine, I remind myself. He’s had sole custody for six years. He’s doing a great job. She’s reading at a least a fifth-grade level, she’s learning fractions, she knows what all the parts of an insect are called…
It’s the same litany that I’ve been repeating over and over in my head ever since Daniel left my job this afternoon. There are a thousand reasons that Rusty’s mom won’t be able to suddenly take her away, and none of them are ‘Daniel has a fiancée.’
He doesn’t need the lie to keep her. He’s doing just fine on his own.
But what if the judge doesn’t believe that?
I sigh and grab the Lucky Charms, toss them into my shopping cart. It’s otherwise full of guilt groceries: strawberries and spinach and organic radishes and the fancy, sprouted-grain bread. I even bought kale, because when I feel bad about something, I suddenly have the urge to eat the most guilt-free diet possible.
Except the Lucky Charms. I need this, okay?
There is no way that lying to everyone we know makes everything better. Literally no way. When has lying fixed anything, ever?
I push my cart along the aisle, toward the checkout. I’m pretty sure I’m doing the right thing, but wow, the right thing feels bad.
Just as I reach the end of the aisle, I hear a voice call my name.
“Charlotte! Is that you?” a woman calls, and I tense. Of all the days to run into someone at the grocery store.
I turn. I smile.
“I thought I recognized that hair!” Priscilla Hayes exclaims, fluttering down the aisle toward me.
Automatically, one hand goes to the unruly mess on my head. I discover that it currently contains not one, not two, but three pencils. No wonder I can never find anything to write with.
“Hi, Priscilla,” I say. I don’t even remember how I know Priscilla, I just know that I have for most of my life.
“I heard your news,” she says, coming in closer, putting one hand on my arm. “And I just wanted to say that I am so happy for you two.”
I suck in a sharp breath. The guilt on my shoulder digs its claws in.
“I never wanted to say anything, but I suspected for a long time,” she goes on, keeping her voice low. “I understand why you’d want to keep a relationship quiet, but I can always tell when people are in love.”
I open my mouth. I shut it.
Then I open it again and say something I shouldn’t.
“Thanks,” I tell Priscilla.
It’s the wrong thing, and that knowledge shoots adrenaline through my veins. The hairs rise on the back of my neck, but Priscilla doesn’t notice. She just smiles, comes in a little closer.
“I’m so glad that Rusty’s going to have a stepmother like you,” she says quietly. “That precious angel deserves it, after everything she’s been through. I was her social worker, you know.”
I just nod.
“And you know, normally, making the decision to take a child away from a parent is absolutely gut-wrenching,” she goes on. “But getting that poor little girl out of her mother’s house was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made, and of course, Daniel’s done an absolutely fantastic job. She really seems to be thriving.”
“He’s great,” I echo, relieved that I get to say a sentence that isn’t a lie.
“You two will be very happy,” she says, squeezing my arm. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”
Then she drifts away, back down the grocery store aisle, and I’m left standing there, feeling even worse than I did five minutes ago.
I don’t know much about Rusty’s early life. Daniel doesn’t like talking about it, so I don’t press him for details.
I just know that one day, Child Protective Services came to the gas station where he was working and told him he had a one-year-old daughter. They told him his daughter’s name was Rustilina and that she was currently in a foster home, because they’d removed her from her mother’s care.