Where One Goes

by B. N. Toler

  “Well, I’d say we’re pretty squared away now,” Roger finally says. Reaching out a hand, the two shake. Well I’ll be damned. Before he turns, he says, “She’s a good girl.” He juts his chin at me. “Make sure you give her plenty of attention. Don’t make the same mistake I did.” When he walks away, we all stare after him in silence.

  “Why were you with him?” George asks, not looking at me, but there’s a certain accusatory undertone in his voice. He’s pissed.

  “We were at Sam Snead’s. I came out to get air,” I snap, not appreciating his tone. “He was there.”

  “He did that shit on purpose, ya know?” Sniper says, and I snap my gaze to his.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “He wanted George to see you with him. Show him how it feels.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want to kiss him. He forced that on me.”

  “He kissed you?” Anna shrieks.

  “Yeah,” George growls. “Had her pinned up against the building.” His dark eyes meet mine again, briefly, almost glaring at me. Does he think I wanted Roger to kiss me?

  “Yes, and I was trying to get him off of me when George showed up,” I say to Anna, but I’m clearly saying it to George as well.

  “Your knight in shining armor,” Anna says, and smiles at George, but she’s the only one. She has no idea what’s transpired the last couple of days so her smile falters when she sees Sniper shake his head no, letting her know not to go there.

  “Are you all right?” George asks, still not looking at me.

  “Look at her, George!” Ike shouts from where he stands beside me.

  “Stop shouting, Ike,” I say to him calmly. His emotion is distracting.

  “What’s he saying?” Sniper asks.

  “He’s telling George to look at me,” I reply quietly. George’s gaze meets mine, his dark eyes swimming with so many emotions; hurt, anger, confusion, and guilt. We’re all silent for a beat as George and I remain with our gazes locked, staring at one another. Silently, I’m pleading with him. Don’t walk away from me. Please believe me. But I’m not sure he sees it. He’s too caught up in his own thoughts.

  “Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Anna asks, breaking the moment.

  “I’ll explain later, lass,” Sniper tells her. “Let’s give them a few minutes.”

  After they’ve made it all the way back to Sam Snead’s, I take a hesitant step toward George. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” he answers immediately, and my stomach clenches. He’s been dealing with so much in the last few days, including fighting withdrawals. How could he not feel bad?

  “Are you still experiencing withdrawals?”

  “That’s not the only reason why I feel like shit.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up to the sky, his breath escaping his mouth in tiny bouts of fog.

  “He feels bad for how he treated you,” Ike says, as we both watch George. “He loves you, Charlotte.” My gaze flicks to Ike’s, my eyes brimming with tears. Ike’s jaw is set, muscles tensed as he pleads his brother’s case. He wants us to end up together even though he, too, is in love with me.

  “Is he here?” George asks, bringing me back into the moment.

  “He is,” I say, as I clear my throat in an attempt to hide my brief moment of devastation at Ike’s words. “George?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you’re going through some stuff, you’re angry with me and hurt, but . . . will you come somewhere with me?”

  “Where?” he asks with uncertainty.

  “To the Mercers’ house. Their daughter, she speaks to me too. I haven’t told them yet. We were waiting until we told you first.”

  He snorts and shakes his head as if he can’t believe what I’m saying. “We?”

  “Ike and I agreed you should be the first to know, and I promised Maggie Mercer as soon as you knew, I would help her.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Charlotte,” George says, as he scratches the back of his neck.

  Desperate for a chance to show him what I can do, and take him somewhere outside of his own grief, I seize his hand in mine. “If you’ll come with me, let me show you something, I’ll never ask anything of you again. I’ll leave town with my father tomorrow and you’ll never have to think of me again.”

  “Charlotte, you don’t have to leave town,” Ike says.

  “If he doesn’t believe me, I’ll go, Ike,” I tell him. George scowls at me, his brows furrowed. I won’t ignore Ike anymore; he deserves better. If George chooses not to believe that I can see and communicate with his brother, that’s his choice. But Ike is here, and I’ll acknowledge him for as long I can see him. I’m not sure if it’s my pleading gaze or the desperation in my voice but George nods once and follows me after I say, “Please, George. Please.”

  Sniper stays to keep an eye on the restaurant while George and I go on our little field trip. We take George’s Bronco; he even helps me climb in, but his touch sends an ache rushing through me—unlike the last time. The ride is silent; neither of us knows what to say. There’s nothing else I can say. Now I can only show him and hope it’s enough.

  The Mercers don’t think twice about inviting us in when we show up unannounced after dark, even though Mrs. Mercer is already in her cotton nightgown and loose robe, ready to turn in for the night. They lead us in to the dining room and Mrs. Mercer sets about making us coffee, even though we insisted she didn’t have to. While she busies herself, Mr. Mercer makes small talk with George, and George does his best to be polite, even though his mind is a wreck. Maggie is standing behind her father, quiet and patient, when she finally asks, “I know I’m not supposed to speak to you in front of them, but are you here for me?”

  I nod once in response. When we all have our coffee and cookies—because bless Mrs. Mercer, she can’t have a guest sit at her table without food and a drink—I clear my throat and begin to explain what I can do and tell them I can see Maggie. Mrs. Mercer immediately starts crying as I repeat what Maggie asks me to tell them, things only they would know. Mr. Mercer wraps an arm around her shoulder, his expression blank and unreadable.

  George sits quietly, taking it all in, but when I stand, he stands, too. “May I go to her room? She’s asking me to. She has something she wants me to find for you.” Mr. Mercer nods once and as Maggie leads me, they all follow. Once in her room, Maggie indicates she’d like me to open the closet door. Inside, all of her clothes still hang—I’m guessing just the way she left them.

  “I had been wearing a jacket the day before I passed. The necklace my mother told you about is in the pocket. The blue one there.” And Maggie points.

  Fishing my hand inside, I grasp the necklace and pull it out. Mrs. Mercer’s eyes go wide and Mr. Mercer stumbles back. George catches him and helps him sit on the bed while he collects himself.

  “She says the chain broke and she stuck it in her pocket, meaning to show it to you, but she wasn’t feeling well, and she forgot.” Gently, I place the cross and chain in Mrs. Mercer’s hand as she weeps. Then, I tell them Maggie’s good-bye. I repeat her words of gratefulness and love while the Mercers cry softly, hanging on my every word.

  “She’s going to wait until we leave and give you a few moments to say good-bye to her, and then she’ll go.”

  “Where?” George asks. “Where will she go?”

  I shrug sympathetically. It’s a question I wish I could answer. “Where one goes when they crossover.”

  We say our good-byes to the Mercers, who hug me fiercely and thank me profusely. Before we leave, Mr. Mercer hands me my necklace and gazes down at me with red and swollen eyes. “This is yours, child,” he tells me.

  “No, sir. I still owe you money,” I say, as I try and hand it back to him.

  “No, you owe us nothing. You’ve given us peace, and we will forever be indebted to you.”

  “You owe me nothing, sir. You helped me on one of the coldest and darkest nights of my life. I c
ould never repay you for that.”

  He smiles sadly. “I know a good way. Come have dinner with us again. We’d love your company.” Then he looks to George. “You too, son. You’re welcome any time.”

  “There’s a strong possibility I may be heading home tomorrow,” I confess, not even glancing at George to see his reaction. If he looks like he doesn’t care, it’ll only hurt me worse, and right now that’s all I see and feel—hurt.

  I promise the Mercers I won’t leave town without saying good-bye, and then George and I leave. He drives me back to my motel in silence. I want to ask him what he’s thinking; did he see the truth, did he feel it? But I don’t. I’m going to let him process this, and when he’s ready, if he ever is, he can ask me anything. When he parks in front of my room, he stares straight ahead, refusing to look at me. To my right, Sniper’s truck is parked; he’d said he’d leave it and have Anna drive him home when he was done at the restaurant. He didn’t want me to be without a vehicle, stating my father was a shit head for selling my truck. Can’t say I disagree with him.

  I realize this may be the last time I ever see George McDermott, the soul that so closely matches my own. My heart wants to keel over and die at the thought, but I’ve done all I can. The fact I can see the dead and his brother led me here to save him may seem impossible. I get that; it’s hard for some people to accept. But if George loves me—really loves me—is it so wrong to hope he could operate on a little blind faith?

  Moments come and go; quick flickers in time. Yet those moments can have the profoundest impact on our lives. Either we seize them, and wield them to our needs, or we let them go. It’s the moments we let go that, I believe, remain with us strongest—because regret is something that never leaves us. And I know, in this moment, I must make one last attempt to reach George, or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

  Quickly, and without thought, I climb over and straddle him, seizing his face in my hands and forcing him to look at me. He’s stunned, but doesn’t push me off, placing his hands timidly on my hips. My mouth is dry as I stare down at him, willing him to see me, to see the truth. There are a million things I want to say, things I want to try and explain, but I fear I’ll only be wasting my breath. Unhooking the necklace my brother gave me years ago, I place it around George’s neck.

  “Axel gave me this the last Christmas he was alive,” I tell him as my fingers rub over the cross. “I’ve worn it every day since then until I gave it to Mr. Mercer the first night I arrived to hold until I could pay him back. I want you to have it.”

  “Charlotte, I can’t—”

  “Just keep it. Please. I want to give you something, one of my only treasures in this world.” Then I lean in and gently press my lips to his. The kiss begins softly, but then it deepens as I do my best to convey my desperation, my need for him to accept this—to accept me. When he doesn’t seem responsive at first, my insides wither, but after a moment, his fingers thread through my hair and his tongue sweeps inside my mouth, lighting me on fire. My insides burn with want and fear, but I push it all aside, and when I know I can’t kiss him any longer without completely destroying myself, I pull back, meeting his dark gaze.

  “I love you, George McDermott,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I struggle to keep from crying. “And if that’s not enough, if you think I’m crazy or a con artist or whatever it is you’re thinking, I hope you’ll try and remember how I feel about you when I’m gone. That I love you, and I think you’re a great man. Maybe you’re broken, but so am I. Broken doesn’t mean we’re valued any less, it just means we’ve loved someone so much and so fiercely that losing them feels like we’ve lost part of ourselves. I don’t want to lose you, too. Ike will go soon,” I say, with great emphasis, hoping to express how important it is that he realizes this. “Even if you think I’m a sham, I hope you’ll talk to him and say good-bye. He’ll hear you.” I kiss him softly once more, allowing my lips to linger against his for a long moment, then climb off him and hop out of his truck. He waits until I’m inside my room before he pulls away. I crawl in to bed and cry as Ike sits beside me and tries to console me.

  “Please don’t leave me tonight,” I beg him.

  I drift off to sleep as he tells me, “I’m here, baby girl. I’m right here.” But it only reinforces the pain, because I know he won’t be around much longer.

  Before Charlotte awakes, I go to George’s to check on him, and I’m surprised when I find him wide-awake, sitting on the couch, staring numbly at the television when I morph into the living room. He’s showered, and at least that’s an improvement. His chin lifts and his eyes scan the room almost as if he senses me.

  “Ike?” he questions and my brows rise.

  “I’m here, George,” I tell him.

  His head lowers and he stares at a notepad in his lap, the first page covered in writing. He tears the sheet off and folds it, setting it on the table beside where he’s seated. When he lifts his head again, he says, “I don’t know if you’re here, but I feel like maybe you are.” He’s silent for a long moment before continuing. “I’ve felt that way a lot since you died, like maybe you were watching over me.”

  I move toward him and kneel down at his side. “I have been, George.”

  His eyes tear up a little, but he takes a deep breath and keeps the tears at bay. “I’m sorry I let you down, that I wasn’t better or . . . stronger, but I’m okay now, Ike. I don’t want you to be trapped here because of me. I promise I won’t go back to the drugs. I swear it. I’m going to rehab.”

  As he speaks, the remainder of the weight I’ve carried slips away. He’s telling the truth. He will be okay. But, what about Charlotte? Will he be foolish enough to let her go?

  “I’m in love with her,” he says, as if he’s just read my mind. My gaze jerks to his, my brows narrowed in shock. “I know you’re worried about her. I know you have to be in love with her, too. How could you not be?” he snorts.

  My chest tightens with his words. Is he guessing all of this or does he sense me? Now that he knows I’ve been here, is he allowing our bond, that bond between not only siblings, but twins, to speak to him?

  “I fucked up. I was angry at myself, and I took it out on her.”

  “Yeah, you’re an ass,” I mumble as I stand.

  “I’m an ass,” he says, shaking his head.

  “I’m going to do my best to make things right with her. If she’ll wait for me, I’ll try my hardest, for her. So . . . don’t worry about that, if you are. I’ll take good care of her. I promise.” Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he says, “I love you, Ike. Thank you for loving me enough to stay and watch out for me, but I want you to find peace, brother. I need to know you’re okay, too.” A tear trickles down his cheek before he stands and wipes it. Heading back to his bedroom, he quickly dresses for work.

  When he comes out he’s holding my dog tags. Why is he taking those with him? Grabbing his keys and the folded piece of paper on the table by the door, he takes a deep breath and says, “Good-bye, Ike. I love you, man.” Then he walks out the door.

  “Good-bye, George. I love you, too.” I nod sadly and morph away.

  When I return to the room Charlotte is just waking up. “Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go to our place.” I manage to encourage her to get up and force her to shower and dress. She is definitely not a morning person. The intention is to meet with her father first thing, but I think I need to take her somewhere peaceful.

  “Our place?” she asks.

  “Yeah, under the tree by the water. Bring a blanket.”

  We climb in Sniper’s truck and drive up the mountain. Neither of us says a word the entire drive. The pull that was annoying before is now something I have to literally fight or it will drag me away. But I can’t go yet. The truth is George is okay. He’s let me go and Charlotte helped him do that. He knows I’m okay and now, my business is done. The problem now is he doesn’t feel worthy of her. He hasn’t admitted that to anyone, let alone himself, b
ut sometimes others can know someone better than they know themselves. I only pray he’ll pull his head out of his ass before it’s too late and he loses her forever.

  The day is warm, and the sun is shining brightly, enhancing the elaborate colors of early fall. Charlotte grabs the blanket from the back of the truck, and we head down to the water. After she spreads it out, we sit side by side and stare at the river; the surface ablaze with the light from the sun.

  My throat is tight. There are things I must say to her because I don’t know how much longer I can fight the pull.

  “It’s almost time, isn’t it?” she asks, her gaze fixed on the water.

  “Yes. It will be soon.”

  “Are you scared?” she asks. She’s asked this before, and the answer is still the same. I’m not scared. I’m sad. I’m sad to leave her and everyone I love, but this is part of the cycle; something that must be done. I know I need to put on a brave face for her; after all, she’s the one being left behind now. I’ll be gone and if George doesn’t get his shit together, she won’t have him either. I do know if she stays here in Warm Springs, the Mercers will watch out for her. And if she’s ready to forgive her family, she could go home, but I know that’s not what she wants. She loves it here . . . or she did. She loved the feeling of home, the people, the magic of a small town filled with tranquility and beauty.

  “No. I’m not scared. But . . . I will miss you. I’m in love with you, ya know.”

  A sob breaks free from her that tears at my insides. “I feel like I shouldn’t tell you these things, but I don’t know how I can’t. You, you gave me peace, Charlotte . . . in so many ways. I can never thank you enough for that.” Tears form in my eyes as she sobs, pulling her knees up and hugging them, hiding her face from me.

  I’m desperate for a way to ease her pain, so I tell her, “Lie down.”

  She looks up at me, eyes red and swollen, and her lip trembling. “What?”

  “I want to try something. Will you lie down?” She does as I ask, tears streaming down her cheeks onto her neck. “Close your eyes, please.” After a long glance that tells me she doesn’t want to but says she will do as I’ve asked because she trusts me, and she closes her eyes. I have no idea if what I’m about to do will work, or help in any way, but I have to try. “Remember when we talked about our first date?”