Where One Goes(70)

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 could 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.