Page 7 of Charmed by the Obsessive Boss

"Good."

"I've got a lot to say about a hundred and forty."

She looks at me then. First time all afternoon. Straight on.

At three-fourteen a side door bangs and a girl bursts through.

Nine years old. Backpack bigger than her torso. French braid coming apart. Front teeth too big for her face. Band-Aid on one knee. She has her mother's chin. Her mother's walk.

She reaches Rosemary in six strides and presses her face into her ribs. Rosemary folds around her. One arm across the girl's back. One hand in her hair.

The voice Rosemary's used on me all day is a hammer. This one is different. Softer.

"Hi, baby."

"The bus smelled like feet." Charlotte pulls back. Spots me. Her eyes narrow. "Who's that?"

"Charlotte, this is Mr. Caldwell. He's here for the weekend. Mr. Caldwell, my daughter, Charlotte."

"Are you the one closing the mill?"

"Charlotte."

"It's all right." I'm crouching before I decide to. The boots squeak. Eye level with her now. Nine years old with Bloomfield on her shoulders. "I don't know yet. I came here to decide. I'm trying to find a way not to."

"That's not yes or no."

"No, it isn't."

"My mom says when people say trying it usually means no."

"Your mom's smart. She's also not always right." I hold her gaze. "I'm not a man who says trying when I mean no. If I meant no, I'd say it."

She considers this. Behind her, Rosemary is very still. Hand on her daughter's shoulder. Charlotte tilts her head. "Do you have kids?"

"No."

"Then how do you know what it's like?"

Lands under my ribs. "I don't, exactly. But I was a kid once whose dad had a place like this. I know what it's like to listen at the kitchen door."

Nobody says anything. Her small face is doing a lot of work.

"You have blue on your tie," Charlotte says.

"I do."

"Is that dye? Mom, he got dye on his tie."

"I know, baby." Rosemary's voice cracks in the middle. She's looking at me with something I can't name. "I saw."

"It's a good color," Charlotte says, grudging. She unzips her backpack and produces half a granola bar in a crumpled wrapper. Holds it out to her mother. "I saved you the other half. Mrs. Haskell said the forest got a ninety-four, but one of the trees fell off on the bus."

"Which tree?"

"The pine. It was the glittery one."

"Of course it was."