Page 13 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
She blinked a few times. “Um. A lot better. She got her cast off last week, and she’s back to working full time.”
“That’s good.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She and her mom were close, always had been. It was just the two of them since Charlie’s dad died when she was young.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Charlie paused and then nodded slowly. “Mom’s roof started leaking after that storm a couple days ago. She needs some shingles replaced. I know you’re busy too, but…”
“I’m off for the next three days. I’ll come by tomorrow before the game and look at it.”
Her look of gratitude eased the tightness in my chest as we slowed to a stop in the shelter parking lot and took Molly in to get cared for.
Bennett
Are we really going to sit back and do nothing about the Greg Problem?
Rosie
Yes. No. Yes.
Bennett
You’re right. We can’t interfere. He’d make her choose between us and him. She’d be worse off. He’s just so….
Rosie
So Greg.
I hate this.
Bennett
Me too.
Rosie
I just changed my plane ticket. I’ll be there Monday.
6
CHARLIE
My grandma likes to say that when God closes a door, he opens a gas station. I don’t understand what that means, but I think about it a lot. She also says there’s no better food than fried beetle butt (that one always makes me pause… like is she not eating the whole bug, just isolating its butt? Gross on so many levels) and true love smells like tulips, which don’t have a scent. So, can I really be blamed for ignoring Grandma when she told me that wearing orange after summer solstice was seven weeks bad luck? Hindsight is always 20/20.
—from the journal of Charlie Savage
“That one is a looker.” Grandma pointed up toward the ceiling, where we could hear Bennett tromping around on the roof, assessing the storm damage. Grandma and Grandpa had stopped by Mom’s house for lunch. Grandpa’s whole attention was on the puzzle, but Grandma’s had turned to me—and to Bennett.
There was no way Bennett could hear her through wood, drywall, and shingle. But seriously, all I needed was for him to think I was attracted to him. I still hadn’t gotten over him discovering the infamous torso sketch—wouldneverget over it—and had bent over backwards to make it clear I had zero attraction for him. Less than zero, because I didn’t even notice him in that way. Bennett was like a functional, non-decorative pillow. You’re grateful to have one to lean against (metaphorically) now and then, but pillows aren’t, like, sexy or anything. “I’m engaged.”
“Huh. To the boring one. I remember.”
“He’s not boring. He’s stable. Steady.” And currently giving me the cold shoulder. He’d left my last two texts—both apologies—on read.
“The side-effect warnings on my blood-pressure medication are more exciting than Greg.”
“Come on. Those side effects are wild. It’s an unfair comparison.” I liked that Greg was consistently consistent, unless he was upset, but I knew how to get back on his good side, so it was a nonissue.
