Sutton—fully formed, adult, divorced mother, professor, and author Sutton Spencer—lived here.
The room smelled like her. The faint, sweet scent lingered in the air, likely on her clothes and the bedding that kept it alive even when she’d been gone for hours. It was just as tidy as Charlotte had imagined it would be.
The bed with the warm, cherrywood headboard was made, peach-colored duvet perfectly fitted with a reasonable amount of pillows artfully arranged over it. The doors to what Charlotte assumed were the en suite and the closet were both cracked just a couple of inches. There was a stack of books on the bedside table that Charlotte very muchwantedto go look at, but she respectfully refrained, stopping next to a picture of Lucy.
Even if none of those items were there, she knew that was Sutton’s side of the bed. Sutton had always slept on the right side of the bed… even when she usually would end up closer to the middle as a habitual cuddler.
It was so stupid, she thought—not for the first or even the tenth time—that she remembered these things. She could remember exactly how Sutton felt curled against her, all those years ago.
Clearing her throat and pushing back against that though, she turned toward the dresser. An ornate wooden jewelry box was there, with a few assorted perfumes, a pinch pot that Charlotte could only assume Lucy had made, and another collage of photos. An iPad rested on the end, on top of another book, with a pair of glasses resting on top of them both.
She could picture the way Sutton had likely been lounging here before placing everything she’d been using down, including slipping off her glasses, on the way out of her bedroom.
All right. Bottom right drawer.
She opened the drawer to see the neatly folded and stacked lounge pants there. Most of them were a warm, worn cotton; Charlotte was thankful for that—otherwise they likely wouldn’t fit. Charlotte may have kept in shape because the last thing she needed public criticism about was her fucking body, but her hips would never quite be as slim as Sutton’s.
She tugged out a pair of black joggers and paused there, having such a strange flashback to opening her drawer in a condo she hadn’t owned for years and finding a few items Sutton had started keeping at her place at Charlotte’s own request.
The what-ifs and the wondering that she’d managed to block out foryearshit in that moment. She’d had these thoughts for a long time after their breakup, but?—
A loud crash shocked her out of her thoughts, her hands tightening on the soft pants in her hand.
A beat of silence went by before she heard, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll clean it up!”
Twenty-three minutes later, after discovering that Lucy had accidentally knocked down a little basket that held her toiletries—her toothbrush, kids’ toothpaste, a hairbrush, a fruit-scented lotion, lip balm—and that in the fall, it had knocked down the soap dispenser, which had then spilled on the floor, and after Charlotte had cleaned it while Lucy brushed her teeth, Lucy surprising her by giving her a quick hug around the waist and watching her tuck herself into bed, Charlotte breathed out a deep sigh as she sat on the couch, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.
Fine, yes. She could admit that babysitting was difficult. And that she was much more certain of her ability to spearhead political reform than to entertain a child.
But she’d done all right. Things were okay. Sutton’s daughter was safe and sound, and?—
“Charlotte?”
Her eyes opened quickly, heartbeat stampeding in her chest as she stared at Lucy.
She had gone to bed almost ten minutes ago, looking tired as she’d done so, but she was now staring at Charlotte with big, sad, blue eyes as she rubbed her small hands over her stomach, a stuffed dog held in the crux of her elbow.
“Yes?”
“My tummy really hurts, and I can’t get comfy.” Her bottom lip poked out in an adorable pout, even as she implored Charlotte. “I think I ate some of the sand that landed in my mouth.”
Heaving a breath, Charlotte sat forward. What should she do?
She’d, of course, looked up what happens when a child swallows kinetic sand earlier, when Lucy reported getting it in her mouth. In small amounts, it could cause gastrointestinal distress, but it should be fine. In large amounts, there might need to be medical attention. That thought alarmed her, the fear of it pushing down the dregs of exhaustion that had started to creep in.
She studied Lucy. It couldn’t have been alot, right? She had only coughed and spluttered a little bit. A small mouthful, at most. Was that all right?
“How much sand went in your mouth?” she asked, instinctively reaching out and putting her hand over Lucy’s on her small stomach, as if she could sense how much sand was in there or something.
Lucy shrugged. “I dunno. Just one or two little swallows.”
She wasn’t taking any chances.
A call to poison control later, she was… somewhat calmed. The operator had informed her it was highly unlikely that Lucy had eaten enough for it to cause any real damage, and they had given her the warning signs to look out for.
Sutton herself didn’t seem overly worried when she’d texted her while on hold to poison control. She’d called and spoken to Lucy, asking her questions that Charlotte couldn’t hear before speaking calmly to Charlotte: “She has a very sensitive stomach, so it doesn’t surprise me that a mouthful of sand is giving her a stomachache. I’ll be leaving very soon.”
Charlotte wanted to assure her that, no, she didn’t have to rush home, that she was still in control of this, but… you know what? She wasn’t going to argue against it.
