With his fists tightened at his sides, he steps toward her. “You roll into town and I give you a job. You come to my home and flush my booze and drugs. As pissed as I am, I might be able to forgive you for that shit, even though I’ll probably fire your ass tomorrow. But don’t you dare act like you know shit about my brother, and what I’m going through.” After everything she’s said and done tonight, I’m surprised that seems to be what he’s most pissed about; her use of my memory to influence him.
“And why is that?” Charlotte shouts angrily as she pushes his chest, rage brimming in her eyes. Holy shit! Why is she so pissed all of a sudden? She was the definition of calm a few moments ago. “Because you’re the only one that’s ever lost someone?” She shoves his chest with more force and he winces. “Because you’re the only one that’s ever wished it would all end?” Again, she shoves him, this time making contact with his arm, hard, and George stumbles back, surprised by her aggression. “The drugs. The booze. You’re fucking hiding, George, and Ike would be destroyed if he could see you right now!”
She swings her arm to slap him, but in a flash, George grabs her by the arms and corners her against the wall. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know shit about Ike, so fuck you, Charlotte! Where the fuck do you get off saying this shit to me?”
“Because I know you!” she yells as she struggles to get free from his grip as tears stream down her face. “I know you wish it had been you that died and he had stayed. You think he was the better one, the one that always knew what to do, or say, and now that he’s gone, you feel like no one will ever know you like he did!” She takes a deep breath as her body stills for a moment, leaning heavily to the wall he’s pressed her against, her lips trembling.
George’s grip stays firm on her arms, but his expression softens slightly as his chest heaves with each ragged breath he takes. He’s hurt from the beating Roger and his brother gave him and his exhaustion is evident. Swallowing hard, he asks, “And how do you know this, Charlotte?”
“Because . . .” She shakes her head and jerks, trying to free herself from his grip.
“Stop!” he orders, pressing her back against the wall.
“Fuck you,” she sobs and knees him in the groin. When he lurches forward in pain, Charlotte moves to escape, but George grabs her and they tumble to the ground together, both of them grunting. She claws and twists, but George crawls up her body and straddles her, pinning her arms to her sides. “Tell me how you know this,” he pants. Charlotte stops fighting him, realizing he’s much stronger than her. Her chest heaves up and down as she tries to catch her breath.
“Tell me,” George repeats.
“Because I see myself in you,” she growls through clenched teeth as if she hates him for making her admit it. “Every time I look into your sad, brown eyes, I see my own despair staring back at me. You think because I didn’t grow up in this tiny-ass town that I can’t know you? Well, you’re wrong. I know you better than anyone here does. Maybe better than your brother did.”
“Charlotte,” I whisper. “Where is this coming from? What are you doing?” She ignores me as her gaze locks with George’s. It’s like they’re seeing something I don’t, or can’t, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m dead or because I’m not privy to it.
George sighs. “Who was it?”
“My brother, Axel,” she says, quietly. “Six years ago.”
How have I not heard about her brother? I should’ve asked. I should’ve asked about her life, but I was too caught up in saving George’s. How could I be so stupid to think a job and a place to sleep were all the answers to her problems? They’re both in leaking boats, and I’ve asked Charlotte to get in George’s and help him bucket out the water while her boat steadily sinks.
“How’d it happen?”
Charlotte swallows hard, the thought causing tears to trickle down her face. “Motorcycle accident. We were both riding. He died. I didn’t,” she answers mechanically.
George’s eyes clench closed as realization dawns on him. “The panic attack the other day . . .” he whispers. It all makes sense now. “Shit,” he says, under his breath. “I’m so sorry.” George releases her arms and rolls off of her. They lie back side by side staring up at the ceiling, both of them still breathing heavily. “Ike was in Afghanistan. IED.”
“Anna told me,” Charlotte replies as she wipes at her face. “I’m so sorry,” she adds as her gaze moves to me briefly. And I believe her. She is genuinely upset over my passing. As our eyes lock for that brief moment, I finally see what she described to George. I see her despair, her hurt, and I hate myself for not seeing it before. I found her at a pivotal moment, a time when she was choosing the unknown to escape this world. I knew there was pain, but not like this. How could I have been so senseless?
After a few moments, George stands up, reaching a hand down to help Charlotte up. When she’s on her feet, she wipes at her face once more, running her fingers under her eyes to clear any smeared mascara. “After a brawl like that I could use a drink,” he laughs. “Too bad some Billy Badass came in here and dumped it all out.” He’s trying to joke with her; lighten the mood.
Charlotte smiles faintly. “I won’t interfere again, George.” With that, she grabs her keys off the table by the sofa and opens the front door.