“You don’t have to go with him. I’ll go out there right now and tell him to get the hell off of my property.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ll call you later,” she says, as she kisses his cheek.
“I’m going to work tonight. I’ve been gone too long. I need to check on things and start getting back in the groove of things.”
“Okay,” she says. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
He smiles. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He leans down and kisses her softly. She pulls away quickly, I’m unsure if it’s because she’s aware of my presence or her nerves. Maybe both.
“Bye.” She slips out the door and I morph outside beside her. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” She means what happened between her and George.
“I know. But you have other things to worry about, baby girl. Just remember, you have nothing to be sorry for, Charlotte. Your father is the one in the wrong.”
Somehow, she convinces her father to take her to her motel room so they can speak with more privacy. The silence outside of the very limited conversation they have on the way there is almost choking. Her father is brooding; it’s obvious he’s working out in his head exactly what he wants to say. Meanwhile, Charlotte sits rigid, her hands twisted together in her lap. I hate how scared she looks right now.
Once in her room, he sits in my chair, leaning forward, elbows to knees. “You’ve been gone five years,” he tells her, and looks at her where she sits on the bed.
“I didn’t think you’d be keeping count.” Her gaze is fixed on the floor, but her voice is steady.
“How have you survived off of thirty thousand dollars for five years?”
“I’ve managed,” she tells him.
“How?” he pushes, his voice stern; making her tense.
Her gaze moves to his and she straightens her back. “Be strong, Charlotte,” I encourage.
“Well, I slept in the 4Runner a lot,” she admits, and I close my eyes, detesting the thought of her sleeping in a cold truck. “Sometimes people gave me money, and a place to stay for a night or two.”
“You became a beggar?” he asks with skepticism.
“No,” she states firmly. “I know you might find this hard to believe, father, but there are people out there that believe in what I can do. Those people were given comfort by me helping them communicate with their lost loved one. In gratitude, they’d offer me shelter and sometimes a little bit of money.”
“Oh, God, Charlotte. You’re going around telling people you can talk to the dead? Honey, do you know how wrong that is?” Shaking his head, he leans back in his seat. Anger rushes through me at the image of my fist making contact with his face, consuming my thought process.
“I’m helping souls crossover. I’m giving them peace. Why is that wrong?”
“Honey,” he sighs before running a hand through his hair. “You’re sick, and you need to come home.” Charlotte’s mouth falls open slightly, but no words come out. “You need to come home and we’ll get you back to the doctors—”
“And drug me again?” she snaps. “No, Daddy. I’m not coming with you.”
Mr. Acres runs a palm down his face. “Charlotte Anne, I’m not asking. You’ve gotten yourself in trouble with the law . . . I can’t leave you out here.”
“I’m not in trouble with the law!” she yells. “I helped a soul crossover by finding her murdered body. I didn’t tell the police she spoke to me . . . I made up a story, but that is what happened. Casey Purcell appeared and led me to her corpse!”
“And now you’re mixed up in all of this,” he argues, shaking his head. “It’s time to come home,” he says, again.
“You sent me away!” she cries. “And now you’re saying I need to come home? That’s not my home anymore.”
“And this place is? You’re living in a motel, for Christ’s sake,” he counters, his voice edging on angry.
Charlotte inhales a ragged breath as she attempts to rein in her emotions. “I haven’t bothered you for anything. You wanted me gone, out of sight, out of mind, Daddy. That’s what you wanted, and I gave it to you because I knew you would never accept who I am now. I can see the dead. I can. And you can’t live with that. So you sent me away. And you expect me to come home with you?”
“I thought you’d take the money and take off for a month, maybe two. I thought, maybe you needed a break . . . maybe Axel’s memory was messing you up in the head.”
“No. You messed me up in the head, Daddy,” she yells. She’s standing now, but he remains seated, his expression calm, as if he refuses to encourage her rage any further, after all, she is sick according to him. God, I want to fucking punch this guy. “You’ve never believed me . . . I mean, do you think I wanted this? Don’t you think waking up to discover my brother, my best friend, was dead was bad enough? But to top it off, seeing dead people was what I wanted?”
“No, baby, I know it’s not what you wanted,” he tells her softly. I can tell he’s coming at her with gloved hands now, trying to calm her down by being gentle. “When you come home, we can work through this. Your mama misses you, Charlotte. She’s dying to see you.”