Where One Goes Page 5

  “You think I’m an asshole, don’t you?” George slurs before swigging the Jack.

  “He is,” Ike nods in agreement.

  “I think you’re drunk,” I answer, cutting Ike a quick glance.

  “So, where are you from, Charlotte?”

  “Is this the part where we get to know each other, boss?”

  “Just trying to be friendly.” George puts the bottle of Jack on the table with a thud, causing the amber fluid to slosh.

  “And being friendly is showing up at my motel room at eleven o’clock at night?”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Charlotte. I know he’s a drunken asshole, but please be nice. You said you’d help him,” Ike pleads.

  With a deep sigh, I say, “Oklahoma.”

  George eyes me curiously. “And what brings you to these parts?”

  “Just admiring the fall beauty like everyone else,” I say, snidely.

  “I doubt that,” George slurs.

  “You know what, George? We’re not doing this,” I snap. “You’re drunk off your ass and high on coke. Come on.” Standing, I grab my keys off of my nightstand before slipping on my flip-flops. “I’m taking you home.”

  “Char—” Ike is interrupted when I shoot him a glare that would scare the dead. Ike is a good brother. He wants to help George, but he wants to do it with kid gloved hands. George needs tough love, and I’m going to give it to him. He can’t deal with his pain and loss until he gets cleaned up.

  “Get up!” I yell at George as he lulls to the side. With a lot of effort, I yank him up and drag him out the door. It takes me five minutes to get him in the passenger seat of my truck, and when I slam the door and round the back, Ike is waiting with his arms crossed.

  “Don’t give me that look, Ike,” I warn. “You agreed to let me do it my way.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing,” I cut him off. “You want my help—this is the first thing we scratch off of the list. I know what I’m doing. This isn’t my first rodeo.

  Ike snorts and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, let’s get him home.”

  “How in the hell did he get here?” I ask, not seeing any other cars in the parking lot.

  “Who knows,” Ike grumbles. “Maybe Sniper dropped him off.”

  With Ike’s help, I get to George’s house. He has a little ranch about four miles from the bar. The grass looks like it hasn’t been cut in a year, and there’s a shutter hanging from one hinge on the far left window.

  “This was my house. I left it to him,” Ike notes from the backseat.

  “He’s really keeping the place up,” I note, my tone drenched in sarcasm.

  Ike says nothing else as I park my 4Runner and proceed to drag George inside. Luckily, I get him to walk, but his eyes are closed the entire time. When we finally get inside, the light from the range over the stove casts enough light to lead him inside and plant him on the sofa where he falls over and starts snoring.

  Slowly turning, I take in the house. There are pizza boxes everywhere, empty beer bottles cover most of the surfaces, and yes, there’s a white dust coating his coffee table. “This place smells like ass,” I tell Ike, but he doesn’t respond. When I glance at him, his expression is dismal as he stares down at George. I know he’s worried about him. I know George’s inability to deal with the loss of Ike is what is keeping Ike tied here, preventing him from moving on. I’m saddened with that thought. A part of me doesn’t want Ike to go.

  I had every intention of searching George’s house, flushing his drugs and dumping out his whiskey, but I won’t; he’d just get more. I know where his head is at, and he needs something big to bring him to his knees. Only then can he really begin to heal. So I put off my intervention. Tonight I need sleep. That’s what I tell myself anyway. I push aside the thoughts of Ike crossing over. The truth is selfish. And it’s wrong.

  The truth is . . . I want more time with Ike.

  One thing’s for sure, Charlotte sleeps like the dead. The alarm has already sounded, twice, and she needs to wake up, but I like watching her sleep. It’s only been two days since I found her on the bridge and already I feel tied to her, like she’s a part of me. That’s silly since we’ve only just met, but it’s an odd bond. I’m fighting to give her, and my brother, life, while she’s fighting to help me let go. Somehow we’ve become tethered to one another, even though we both know our time together is limited.

  Staring at her, I will her sleepy, gray eyes to open. Leaning forward, my dog tags jingle under my shirt and she stirs. One eye peeks open, and she mumbles something incoherent.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” I whisper from my pleathered seat. I call it mine as it’s where I’ve sat all night, watching her.

  “Oh yeah. I’m sure I look really beautiful right now,” she says, through a yawn, and I chuckle.

  “You do,” I confirm.

  “The dead never sleep, huh?” She smiles at me, and I swear, if my heart still beat, it would skip once. Why couldn’t I have met a girl like her when I was alive? Waking up to that smile every morning would’ve been the highlight of my day—every day.

  “I miss sleeping,” I admit as she sits up and stretches. I can’t help the way I watch her, and I’m almost certain I see the faintest ghost of a smile when she notices, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

  “I better get dressed,” she mentions in a huff as she climbs out of bed. “I think I have an idea on how to get George a little closer to getting his shit together, but it’s going to be ugly. I just need to know, do you trust me?”

  I stare at her dumbfounded for a moment. I do trust her; it’s George I don’t trust. She must read my thoughts in my expression because she says, “He’s tougher than you think, Ike. But he needs a wake-up call. Sometimes we have to hit rock bottom before we can make our way back up. Look at where I was two days ago when you found me. Now, I’m here.”

  My gut tightens with her words. She almost killed herself. The thought alone is enough to make me feel like I’m choking, and I can’t speak. She gives me a nod and heads into the bathroom without another word, taking her backpack with her. I promised her I wouldn’t enter the bathroom while she showers. Technically, I could and she’d never know, but I’m not a sleazeball—even though I really would like to see her naked. It seems like she’s in there forever before she finally emerges, dressed for work, hair tied back in a perfect ponytail.

  “You ready?” she asks, and my gaze falls to the envelope in her hands.

  “What’s that?”

  “Just a letter.” She shrugs, pulling her backpack from her shoulder and tucking the envelope inside.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “You said you trusted me, right?”

  “Did I?” I joke, which earns me one of her death glares.

  “Come on. Let’s go.”

  I stop by the front office to bid Ginger a good morning. When I walk in, she’s sitting in her recliner in front of the flat screen. Slowly, she rises from her seat and hobbles over to me.

  “Good morning, Ginger.” I smile brightly.

  “Good morning to you, sugar. How’s your room?”

  “Very cozy. Thank you so much.” The kindness she and the Mercers have shown is humbling. I mentally remind myself I need to go track down Mrs. Mercer and thank her in person.

  “Cinnamon rolls. You’ll love them!” She shoves a brown paper bag at me and I laugh.

  “Ginger, you’re too good to me.” I should probably at least attempt to refuse the bag, but I’m so hungry and they smell so good.

  “We just gotta get some meat on those bones, dear.”

  “I really appreciate this, Ginger. Thank you.”

  “Oh, and I wanted to tell you, if you’re interested, I think I found a way to help you pay for your room. I need someone to help me clean the rooms when guests checkout. Would you be interested?”

  “So I would clean the rooms, and you’d let me stay for f
ree?”

  “Yes. We don’t get many folks through here, but during tourist season we’re busier than a one-armed paperhanger. I’m booked solid the week after next through the end of November, but my health isn’t what it used to be, and it’d be nice to have someone take care of the rooms for me.”

  “That sounds great, Ginger. I’ll do a really good job and take care of everything.”

  “I know, hon. You can start tomorrow if your schedule permits it.”

  “Okay. Deal. I’ll see you later.” I start to head for the door, when Ginger calls out, “I saw that foreign fella that works with you drop George off last night. George looked like he was a little . . . well, he looked a bit out of sorts. I don’t want to pry, but . . . if you need help or have any trouble, just let me know.”

  “There was no trouble,” I respond quickly. “George came by to drop off something I left at work. I took him home myself.” I hate lying. Especially to someone as sweet as Ginger, but the last thing I need is for this town to start circulating a rumor George and I had a one night stand. Misty would probably stab me if she found out George was here last night. “But thank you, Ginger. For everything.”

  “No problem, sugar.”

  “Thanks for covering for him, Charlotte,” Ike says quietly as we exit. “I’m sorry you had to.” I give him a faint smile, letting him know it’s okay. George showing up last night was definitely inappropriate, especially since he was drunk, but that’s not Ike’s fault. I know George is a mess right now. He’s not himself. Grief can make us do funny things. Like try to jump off a bridge in the middle of the night.

  As I climb into my 4Runner, I glance over at Ike. “Do you know if Sniper’s working today?” I question, trying to change the subject.

  “Really? Are you that attracted to him?” Ike groans.

  “Uh . . . no, I’m just curious is all. Will he or Misty be working today?” I can’t let Ike know what I’m up to or he’ll try and stop me. I really hope this doesn’t blow up in my face, but I need an in with George, and unfortunately, it won’t be pretty.

  “Yes. They’re both working doubles.”

  Good. I exhale in relief. At least part of my plan will work.

  “Stay straight when driving through town. I want to show you something before you go in,” Ike says, as he relaxes in the seat. I nod once and do as he says and we climb mountain roads that cause my car to rev in protest. I’d love to look around at the leaves changing colors, but I’m too scared we’ll end up careening over a mountain edge if I do. Ike directs me into a national forest in Hidden Valley and we park near a river. Getting out, I quietly follow him. We soon see several fishermen near a small bridge. He leads me down further so we can talk. I look ridiculous in shorts and a T-shirt out here, but I don’t complain.

  We stop at the bank, out of sight from the other fishermen.

  “It’s beautiful here,” I note. The river flows smoothly, small rapids rushing over rocks, but they don’t appear to be strong enough to take anyone down if they were standing in it.

  “I thought you might think so,” Ike says. “I’m asking a lot of you, and I just wanted to show you something pretty; something calm. That sounds dumb,” he mutters as he shakes his head. Taking a few steps farther from the shore, he leans against a beautiful, gigantic tree. The branches stretch out over the water, shading us from the sun.

  I follow him up the bank and stand before him. “No,” I disagree. “I know what you mean. I like how quiet it is; the sound of the water.” Taking a deep breath, I say, “It’s calming.”

  Ike’s stare trains on me. His brown eyes are so deep; penetrating me. I bite my lip. I don’t know why him looking at me this way makes me feel so . . . nervous. After a moment, his gaze moves past me and back to the water. “I keep hoping it’s like this,” he says, thoughtfully.

  “What?” I ask as I follow his line of sight.

  “Wherever I go when I leave; I hope it’s peaceful and calm. I hope there’s water and color. I hope I’m somewhere that reminds me of all the happy times in my life.”

  A lump rises in my throat. I’ve helped many people move on, crossover, but when Ike leaves . . . it’s going to hurt. I close my eyes as I realize how real that truth is. Ike has somehow weaved his way into my heart and when he goes, I will mourn him. As he stares at the water, I wish like hell I could take his hand and hold it. I’d give anything to do it.

  “Sniper was right, Charlotte. You are a special girl,” Ike says, softly. Turning back to the water, he steps away from me, and I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Ike is so deep; everything seems to have meaning to him. He didn’t bring me out here to impress me or anything silly like that. He brought me here to share his peace, to give me peace. My eyes tear up as I think about the last time I truly felt peace. It’s been a while. Taking a seat on a large rock near the bank, I close my eyes and let the sounds of nature calm me; cleanse me. Ike is quiet until it’s time for us to go or I’ll be late for work.

  “Are you ready?” he asks. I stand and nod, feeling a little better from my quiet time, and we climb in my truck and head back down the mountain.

  “Thank you for that, Ike,” I whisper.

  Giving me that stellar, all-American boy smile, he says, “You’re welcome.”

  As we near town, I realize I have something to do before I head to work. The timing is terrible, but Ike can’t be with me while I do this. “Ike, I hate to ask, but could you maybe give me some privacy? I just need a little time to myself. I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

  His gaze meets mine, suspicion swimming in the depths of his brown eyes. It’s a look I’ve seen on George’s face a few times. “Okay,” he says, simply, before he disappears. With a deep sigh of relief, I focus on the road before me and head over to Berkley.

  Ike is waiting in the parking lot for me when I show up, his muscular arms crossed as he leans against a random vehicle. He doesn’t ask where I’ve been; he simply follows me inside without a word. I head back into the kitchen to toss my backpack in the office, the skin on the back of my neck standing on end. Ike is watching me and my body is very aware of it. Sniper is in the kitchen standing over the fryer, wearing a white apron that looks way too small for him as I pass by. Sensing my presence, his head snaps up and his devilish smirk appears. His gaze begins at my eyes and moves to my chest where it seems to stay for a very obvious, long moment.

  “He’s staring at your tits,” Ike notes gruffly. If I could talk to him right now, I’d reply, ‘No fucking duh, Ike.’

  “Good morning, gorgeous.” Sniper winks at me, his stare still honed in on my breasts. In his defense, he did warn me he was a perv.

  Shaking my head, I reply, “Good morning, Sniper. Thanks for dropping off George last night. That was fun,” I state, my tone rich with sarcasm.

  Sniper cringes at my words and says, “He said you knew he was coming.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I shake my head and then realize I shouldn’t be giving Sniper a hard time. “Actually, I’m glad you drove him because otherwise he might’ve driven himself, and if he’d made it alive without killing anyone or himself, then I would have fucking killed him.”

  When I open the office door, George is sitting at his desk, head in his hands, when he jerks up at my entrance. “Don’t you ever knock?” he hisses.

  “Feeling rough today, boss?” I ask snidely. What can I say? My patience for George is extremely close to being gone.

  “Shut the door,” George orders as he pulls out a flask and takes a large swig.

  “Hair of the dog?”

  “Yeah,” he replies and nods. “Listen,” he huffs, as he puts the flask back in his desk drawer and slams it shut. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Which part, boss? The part where I caught you snorting coke with Misty, or the part where you showed up shit-faced at my motel room and I had to drive you home?”

  “Well . . . both,” he admits with a slight frown. It’s not hard to see he�
�s embarrassed.

  “I know you’re doing things your way and all, but acting like a bitch to him isn’t going to win him over. And you are trying to help him, right?” Ike adds, arms tightly crossed, watching the interaction between George and I. Moments like this, I wish I could zip ghosts’ mouths shut. They talk nonstop, making it impossible to focus. Not to mention, this particular ghost just called me a bitch. He’s definitely getting a kick in the balls for that later, figuratively speaking.

  Ignoring Ike, I return my focus to George. “No worries, boss.” I shrug, wishing I could give Ike the middle finger. “If you want to waste your life away on drugs, what’s it to me?”

  George’s shameful expression twists into anger as his features “You don’t know me,” he snarls. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”

  God, if he only knew. Clearly, I know exactly what he’s going through, but that’s a conversation for another time and place. “I know you better than you think, George, and let me just say, when you bottom out, just remember up is the only way to go.” I add, “May I have my apron, please?” I quickly change the subject. With a huff, he yanks open his desk drawer and tosses me a small, black apron.

  “Thanks,” I snap, and leave him to fester in his bad mood.

  As I’m rounding the back line where Sniper’s still manning the fryer, I make my way over to him. “Sniper. I need a favor,” I say, quietly checking over my shoulder to make sure no one can hear me.

  “You need a date? Someone to show you around?” He winks. “I’d be glad to, love.”

  “I told you he’s a man whore,” Ike grumbles as he crosses his arms.

  I roll my eyes at Sniper. “I appreciate the offer, but that’s not where I’m going with this. I have a feeling something big is going down today, and I need you to keep an eye on things.”