Wanting the others to believe in Charlotte as well, I proceed to tell her things to share with my family in hopes they’re as receptive as my little brother.
“Henry, you talk to him. Especially when you’re fly-fishing alone because it was something the two of you did a lot. He says you tell him it was a privilege to be his father, and how you wish you’d taken more time off and done more with him. He wants you to know you are the best father ever. He couldn’t have picked anyone better than you.” The sob that breaks free from my father is my undoing, and hot tears fall down my face. Jesus, Pop . . . He and my mother hold each other close, working through the raw pain that my memory brings.
Charlotte tries to rip the Band-Aid off and continues, “Beverly, the lasagna and tiramisu? That’s why I mentioned them. He was there the night we met, and I just repeated what he said.” My mother nods as she places a trembling hand to her lips. “He wants you to know he hears you singing when you’re thinking of him.” The tears run freely down my mother’s face and I feel like I’m choking. As hard as this is for all of us, I have to continue. Charlotte stares at me, her own eyes red with unshed tears. She pauses and listens as I explain what I want her to relay, then she stutters, “Y-y-you are my sunshine. You used to sing that to him when he was little. He hears you sing it now.” My mother keels over and sobs violently.
“Oh, baby boy. I love you so much,” she cries out, and my heart feels like it’s breaking.
“Charlotte Anne!” Her father stands, and this time, he doesn’t let Sniper intimidate him. “That’s enough!”
“Can’t you tell this guy to fuck off?” I growl. She has to finish. They have to know I can hear them. That I know how much pain they’re in.
“No, Ike, I can’t,” she answers in a hushed tone, and everyone freezes.
“He’s speaking to you?” my father asks quietly.
“Yes, sir.”
“W-w-what did he say?” my mother questions.
“He wants me to tell my father to fuck off,” she says, quietly, and then adds, “Sorry.” Her father pinches his lips together; I’m guessing wanting to say something shitty, but won’t do it in front of my folks.
The room goes silent again until we hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. A moment later, Cameron stomps in the room with a stack of pornos in his hands. “They were exactly where she said they would be,” he announces.
All eyes move to Charlotte and she looks at me. “Keep going. They believe you,” I tell her, with a small smile. Then we both look to George and realize he doesn’t appear to be quite convinced. She walks toward him and takes his hand in hers.
“The song . . . the bet I won? He’s the one that told me it was your favorite,” she explains, but he refuses to look at her. “He loves you so much, George. He can’t go until he knows you’ll be okay.”
George jerks his hand from hers and barrels out the front door. She chases after him and Sniper follows, too. She catches him just before he hits the front porch steps. “George, please,” she pleads. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but you weren’t ready. You’d barely speak to me at first. I needed to get to know you, and you needed to clean up.”
He rips away from her, his eyes brimming with angry tears. “So it was all bullshit? You faked liking me to do this?” he snarls.
“What?” she gasps. “No. George, I’ve meant everything I said, I l—” She stops. She doesn’t want to admit she loves him . . . and maybe it’s because I’m here, or maybe she isn’t sure how he’ll take it.
“Are you the one that tipped Roger off about me and Misty?” he asks point-blank, and Charlotte’s mouth drops open.
“Oh, shit,” I breathe.
Charlotte remains quiet, eyes wide, until he asks again, “Did you? Misty told me someone wrote an anonymous letter. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Charlotte looks to Sniper whose brows would be touching his hairline, if he had one. “I know that probably seems bad, but—” Before she can finish, he’s halfway down the steps.
“Go after him! Make him understand,” I insist, and she leaps over all four steps to the bottom to catch him, but loses her footing and trips, landing hard on her knee.
“Bloody hell,” Sniper curses and follows after them.
“Are you okay, Charlotte?” I ask, but she ignores me.
George turns and rolls his eyes as he shakes his head in frustration. He yanks her up, steadying her on her feet. The way she can’t stop staring at George tells me how much she loves him and how destroyed she feels by the look in his eyes. At least he cares enough not to just leave her. But as soon as she’s steady, he whips around and storms off.
“George,” she yells as she begins stumbling, the pain in her knee obvious. She limps quickly after him, but he doesn’t stop. “She was giving you drugs! I had to get you clean so I could tell you the truth. I had to save you,” she cries. She stumbles again, but catches herself and continues to limp after him.