“How do I save him, and let you go at the same time? How do I do that?” Her crying has morphed into sobs at this point, and I can’t stand watching it.
“Because you know I will be at peace. Because I can rest easy knowing the woman I love and my brother—my best friend—are happy. I’ll know you’ll both be okay.” I smile softly and add, “Charlotte, you’re my best friend, too. I’m okay with you being with George. I think you two are good for each other.” And that’s the truth, even though it hurts. She gives me a small smile but still has a worried look on her face.
“We have to tell George soon,” she says, as she wipes at her face.
“We will, but you need rest now, baby girl.”
“Will you stay? Please don’t go,” she begs, and I move closer to her.
“I’m here.” And even when I go, a part of me will always be here, with her.
We lie back, side by side, and eventually she drifts off to sleep. I stare at her, her fair skin and dark hair on display, and I know I love her because letting her go will be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do, but I’ll do it gladly knowing she’s safe and happy. I hope she stays and makes a home here. This town is good for her. I pray George can convince her.
The night lingers into the morning, the sun peeking through the curtains. Charlotte is in a sleep coma but is startled awake when someone beats on her door.
“Who the—?”
I morph out of the room and morph back. “It’s Sniper,” I tell her as she walks toward the door rubbing her eyes. “He looks like something is wrong.”
“George,” she gasps as her eyes go wide with panic. Ripping the door open, she says, “What’s wrong? Is it George?”
“No, lass. Your truck was broken into last night at the bar. George is there with the police right now.”
“He called the police?” she shrieks as her body tenses.
“Yeah. Someone broke into it,” Sniper says to her, as if she’s dense.
“Shit!” she mumbles. Closing her eyes, she clenches her fists.
“What’s wrong, Charlotte?” I ask. Why is she freaking out?
“I’m thinking!” she snaps.
“Is Ike here?” Sniper asks as his eyes dart around the room.
“Yes,” she answers as she moves toward the bed, grabbing her bag. “I’ve got problems, Sniper.”
“Okay,” he says, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind him. “What’s going on?”
“Have you seen those clips on the news about the Purcell girl? That missing UVA student and how they found her body?”
His brows rise in thought. “I think I heard about it.” He shrugs.
“Well . . . I’m the one that sent in the anonymous letter telling the detective where to find her body.” We’re all silent for a moment until she adds, “Casey showed me where her body was.”
“You didn’t kill her, so what’s the problem?” Sniper asks.
“How am I supposed to explain I found a corpse under a bridge? They’ll never believe I can talk to the dead.”
He bites his lip and nods. “No, most likely they won’t. What does Ike say?”
Charlotte looks to me, and I use both hands to scratch the back of my head roughly as I think. “Tell the truth, Charlotte,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.
Looking back to Sniper, she asks, “Who messed up my truck?”
“I have a pretty good guess,” I remark.
“Probably that twat, Misty,” Sniper answers and Charlotte’s shoulders slouch.
“I guess we better go get this over with,” she sighs and pulls her backpack on her shoulders.
“It’ll be okay, Charlotte,” I promise her. “Don’t worry.”
On the drive to the bar, Sniper tries to take her mind off things, mostly telling embarrassing stories about me. “You know, when we were in basic training, all the guys had to share a bathroom. There weren’t any stalls or doors or anything, so we were all out in the open in front of everyone.”
“Is that so?” she asks dismally, her mind obviously remaining fixed on what’s ahead.
“Yeah, so we’re men, right? Men need . . . to release, if you know what I mean,” Sniper continues and Charlotte turns her head toward him.
“Oh, he is such an asshole,” I say, as I clench my eyes closed, knowing exactly what he’s going to tell her.
“Ike just called you an asshole. My curiosity is officially piqued.” Charlotte grins and Sniper’s body shakes as he works to keep his laughter in control. The bastard hasn’t even finished the story, and he’s already in stitches.
“Well, sharing a room and bathroom with sixty dudes doesn’t exactly give you the privacy to jerk it,” Sniper explains.
“So you went six weeks without whacking off?” Charlotte asks.
“Kill me now,” I say.
“You’re already dead, Ike,” Charlotte points out.
Sniper laughs, beating the side of his fist against the steering wheel. He’s enjoying this way too much. “It’ll cheer her up, Ike. Don’t be such a wanker.”