Page 28 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

“Okay, now let’s go wash your hands.”

“Fine.” She frowned and trudged past me in her bare feet to the half bathroom off the living room.

I followed, leaning against the door as she washed. As the water ran, I took a few calming breaths, reassuring myself with each one.

She would get through this. We both would. We’d find a way to work Logan into our lives.

This is a good thing.

With her hands kind of clean, Charlie shut off the water. Her cuticles were still dirty, but that was normal. I’d bought a vegetable scrubber that was permanently located in the bathtub upstairs. Tonight, just like every night, I’d give her a thorough scrubbing and rejoice in her cleanliness until morning rolled around and she made a break for the yard.

“So,” I said as she dried off her hands. “I wanted to talk to you about something exciting.”

She froze. “What?”

Damn. She’d seen right through my fake, cheery voice. I should have known better than to try and spin this as an exciting surprise. Most kids loved surprises, but not my Charlie. She hated them almost as much as cleanliness.

So I dropped the act and walked over to one of the couches in the living room. “Come and sit with me.”

“Are you going to make me get rid of my fort?” Her forehead was creased with worry as she climbed up next to me on the sofa.

The last time I’d had a sit-down talk with her, I’d told her that I was going to be taking down the makeshift tree house she’d constructed out of cardboard boxes and duct tape. She’d cried over it for days until Jackson had come over and built her a tiny fort between two trees.

It was her sanctuary. While I escaped to my workshop, she ran to her fort to doctor animals or fight bad guys or hide away from monsters.

“No, honey. You can keep your fort.”

Her entire body relaxed as she sank into my side.

“I want to talk to you about something else.”

“Something good?”

“Yeah. Something great.” I wiped at a smudge of dirt on her forehead.

No matter how scuffed she was, my Charlie was gorgeous. Her hair was long and thick, a shade closer to Logan’s than my own. She had beautiful skin that was always bright and flawless. And her dark eyelashes were like mine. She’d only ever need one swipe of mascara.

“I want to talk about your dad.”

“My dad?”

I nodded. “Remember how I told you about him and drew you a picture? That his name is Logan and he lives far away?”

She sat still, waiting for me to continue. While most kids were a million questions a minute at this age, Charlie was the opposite. She soaked things in. She absorbed. The questions came later.

“Well, he’s here, and he wants to meet you.”

She blinked her big brown eyes.

“I told him he could come over for dinner tonight.”

Her eyebrows came together and she dropped her gaze to her lap.

There was a woodpecker outside, hammering into a tree. The sound echoed outside and funneled through the kitchen window I’d left open, hoping for a slight breeze to cool down the house.

As I waited for Charlie to say something, I listened to that woodpecker’s unsteady rhythm. It went on and on and on. Meanwhile, she just kept mulling things over while the tap, tap, tap continued. That woodpecker must be trying to knock down the tree, not just build a new home.

Shut up, bird.