Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Carson stared at his uncle’s spreadsheets, willing them to hold his attention for more than a few moments.
It didn’t work.
Despite the numbers swimming in front of his face, his thoughts kept getting derailed.
Sometimes by the thought of what would have happened if those damned chickens hadn’t swarmed them—would they have kissed?
Other times by the remembered warmth of her closeness.
How right it felt. How much he liked it.
And still other times he was derailed by the voice in his head telling him what a moron he was. How stupid he was to think there was anything between them but a shared effort to not die at the hands of a deranged flock of semi-feral birds.
Not to mention the conflicting thoughts about leaving.
In spite of his delusional hopes, it turned out driving the golf cart was not in his best interest. Between the actual driving and fighting off the chickens, his body had had enough.
The thought of having to pack, haul his suitcase to his car, drive for two hours, then wrestle it into his condo made him want to crawl in a hole.
Sucking up whatever fragments of ego he had left, he called the front desk and spoke with Clem, who was happy to extend his stay. He made her promise to stick to one extra day, because even that was one day too many for his liking, but Clem insisted on two “just in case.”
The knock on his door was a blessing. It broke the circuit of the thoughts running roughshod through his brain.
Thank fuck.
“Yeah?” he called out.
“Hey. It’s Davis.”
“Come on in. It’s open!”
Davis eased open the door while carefully balancing a tray. He shot Carson something in between a grin and a grimace. “Hey, man. Heard about the chickens. Thought I’d check in on you and bring you some apology snacks.”
Shit. Somehow everyone knew about the chickens, too?
Carson eased himself upright and perused the spread of sandwiches, cheeses, fruits, and desserts. “That’s some apology.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of feel responsible.”
“Why? I thought they were Mabel’s chickens.”
“They are.” Davis set the tray down on the table next to Carson. “But if I hadn’t asked you to do the whole comparison thing, I doubt you’d have ended up scarred for life by an angry mob of demon birds.”
“It wasn’t all bad.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Oh?” Davis’s eyebrows hopped to his hairline.
“Um…I mean it was great to see how much the town’s improved since I left.” Phew. Good save.
“Ah.” The way Davis continued to eye him made Carson think there was still something akin to suspicion lurking. “So? What’d you think?”
“It was…interesting.” Carson picked up a sliced chicken sandwich on a brioche bun and gestured for Davis to take the seat on the other side of the table. “Feel free to help yourself.”
Davis grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.” Snagging a roast beef on marbled rye, he plopped into the empty seat, angling himself toward Carson and propping an ankle on the opposite knee.
They chewed in silence for a few seconds before Carson moaned. “This might possibly be one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten.”
“I know, right?” Davis said after swallowing his own mouthful. “Trudy is a master.”
Carson wracked his brain, coming up empty. “Trudy?”
Davis nodded. “She’s the main chef here. Clem and Maya help, but she’s got the magic touch.” Davis took another healthy bite of his sandwich. “Speaking of magic…”
Carson’s eyes darted toward the other man before his gaze swiveled around the room. He let out a breath when he realized it was still just the two of them.
Davis chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were half expecting to see a ghost.”
“What? No.” Ghosts didn’t exist. Even if they did, it wasn’t like he’d seen one.
Definitely not in this very inn. And definitely not one that claimed he and Liz were still linked.
“I was just thinking how much they’ve improved this place since I was a kid.
The whole town really.” Sometimes Carson’s quick thinking impressed even himself.
“I mean, the town I left was dying a slow and painful death. But this Cloverfield? This Cloverfield has its shit together.”
Davis barked out a laugh then coughed and thumped his chest. “Can I quote you on that?” he asked after he swallowed.
“Not sure what marketing strategy you’re angling for with that quote, but sure.”
“Hey. You never know what someone might find endearing.” Davis wiggled his fingers in a keep it coming gesture. “What else you got?”
“You mean besides a new fear of chickens?”
“Cloverfield. Come for the ambiance. Stay because Mabel’s attack chickens won’t let you leave.”
“Pure marketing genius.”
Davis flashed a grin. “But seriously. Anything else I might be able to use?”
Carson let his mind wander back to his tour with Liz. To the new businesses. And the old. How the new Cloverfield made him feel. “It’s inspiring.”
The intrigue on Davis’s face mirrored the surprise Carson felt at the words that popped out of his mouth. “How so?”
“Well, between having to figure out how to revitalize the downtown and how to solve the issue caused by the former mayor—”
Davis let out a low whistle. “Yeah, that was a doozy from what I hear.”
“Right? But somehow it’s working. At least it seems to be.”
“So far, so good.”
“There’s how much people really seem to care.
About the town and helping transform it.
I mean, it can’t be easy having a full-time job and being part of a committee on top of it.
” Carson thought back to the sparkle in Liz’s eyes when she described the festivals and upcoming scheduled improvements. “But Liz seems to love it.”
Davis nodded. “She’s not the only one. I don’t know how much you know about me, but I came here with not-so-great intentions.
But then I fell in love. Not just with Maya.
With the town.” He shrugged. “Looking back, I was kind of floating around before. But now I feel rooted. Like this is my purpose.”
“It sucked you in.”
“Yep. I couldn’t be happier.”
“It took a little work,” a third voice said from the opposite side of the room, “but Davis has been the perfect addition.”
Carson nearly gave himself whiplash from turning to find the source of the voice.
The Major lifted his hat and gave him a formal bow before straightening and placing it back on his head. “It is my sincerest hope that you join him in that endeavor.”
“Um…” Carson blinked, trying to figure out why his hallucination was back.
“Ah ha!” Davis said. “So it is true.”
“What? That my head injury is worse than I thought?”
“Yeah…” Davis drawled. “That’s no head injury.”
“Certainly not.” The uniformed soldier sniffed. “As I’ve said before, I am Major Charles Wallace, and although you may not yet believe in me, I very much believe in you.”
“Me?” Carson blinked again. “Why would you believe in me?”
The Major strode across the room and planted himself in front of Carson with his hands on his hips. “Because of the link.”
“What link?”
“The soul-mate link,” the ghost-hallucination replied.
Davis raised his hands as if in defense. “I didn’t believe him at first, either, but…” He shrugged.
“I was right, and you were wrong,” The Major finished.
Davis wrinkled his nose. “Not how I would’ve said it, but still true.”
Carson’s eyes pinballed between the two men. Or the one man and the hallucination. Ghost. Whatever. “So, you’re telling me this really is happening?”
“If by ‘this’ you mean that the weirdness factor of your life is about to double, then yes,” Davis replied.
The Major scoffed. “I heard that.”
Davis stared at the apparition. “I should hope so. I didn’t say it quietly.”
The Major sniffed again. “Well, as Dr. Seuss said, ‘We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.’ And that, my dear friends, is my calling in life.
Er, death.” The Major screwed up his face as if in thought.
His face cleared and he jabbed a finger in the air. “Afterlife! It’s my afterlife calling.”
“Dammit,” Davis sighed. “That was really good. Other than the fact that Dr. Seuss didn’t say it.” Davis furrowed his brow. “Do you even know who Dr. Seuss is?”
Uncertainty flitted across The Major’s face before he nodded. “A famous sex therapist. I saw her on Dr. Phil.”
Wait. Did he mean Dr. Ruth? “Um…” Carson began, trailing off when he caught Davis’s head shake.
“Not worth it,” Davis coughed.
“Anyway.” The Major turned to Carson. “Back to what you said about getting sucked into Cloverfield. How are you feeling about moving back? Have you found your purpose yet?”
Carson frowned. “Well, I’m not moving back to Cloverfield, and yes, I have found my purpose.”
The Major tapped his finger to his translucent lips. “Agree to disagree on the first part. As for the second part, what, pray tell, do you think your purpose is?”
Carson slid his gaze to Davis, who simply shrugged. “It is a good question,” Davis said.
“Thank you.” The Major preened again.
Carson sifted through his typical day. “Running numbers,” he finally replied. “Analyzing the financial markets. Making money.”
The Major tsked. “That is your job. What is your purpose? What brings you joy? What gets you up in the morning, excited to face another day?”
Huh. When Carson thought about it that way, there was nothing about his current life that fit that description.
Did he like his work? Sure. He loved puzzling out situations similar to what he was working on for his uncle.
The rest of what he did though? Kind of monotonous.
And the puzzling bits were getting less and less frequent.
Not that it was a bad life. Definitely not for his bank account.
But more and more days lately felt like an endless cycle of helping those who already had enough money make more.
Which, he supposed, was exactly what his financial analyst job entailed and exactly what he was good at doing.
It was why people kept paying him the big bucks.
It was also why he loved the volunteer work he did. It was his way of giving back. Using the big bucks he made to pay it forward.
Surely the Major wasn’t implying there was something here in Cloverfield that was his purpose. Was he?
Davis held up his hand at Carson’s continued silence. “It’s okay. I get it. It’s a tough question. If you need any help, or a sounding board to bounce ideas off of, I’m here.”
“As am I.” The Major tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Bro time, after all, is the safest of spaces.”
Carson glanced back and forth between Davis and The Major. “Bro time?”
The Major gave him a solemn nod. “Bro time. An honor and a pleasure, to be sure. Bro means friend. Dude. Perhaps, even brother.”
“Brother?” Carson echoed. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the suggestion of bro time involving an acquaintance and a ghost or by the ghost’s tenuous grasp on current slang.
Davis hissed out a sigh. “What have I told you?”
“That snitches get stitches?”
“What?” Davis shook his head as if to clear it. “No.”
“Yes, you did. Last night when I caught you eating Maya’s PMS cupcake.
You shoved that thing into your mouth like you hadn’t eaten in a week and then pointed at me and said, and I quote, ‘Snitches get stitches’.
” The Major turned to Carson. “I haven’t had a chance yet to research that saying, but it felt like a threat. ”
“It was one hundred percent a threat,” Davis said. “Especially if you tell her before I get a chance to replace it. But how is that applicable in this situation?”
“I don’t know. I was simply answering your question.”
From the way Davis hung his head and rubbed his temples like someone who had a headache, Carson got the feeling this type of conversation was not an uncommon occurrence. Looking back up, Davis leveled his gaze at the Major. “I said don’t come on too strong. Ease him into it.”
“But I did ease him into it.”
“Dude, if that was you easing into something, I’d hate to see you being direct.” Davis gave Carson an apologetic grin. “His methods may leave something to be desired, but I have to say, he is effective, and, unfortunately, quite insightful.”
The Major huffed. “You wouldn’t be half the man you are now without my help, and you know it.”
Davis pursed his lips. “If I say you’re right, do you promise not to tell Maya about the cupcake?”
“I do.”
Davis sighed and held out his fist. “Fine. Deal.”
The Major studied his hand. “Say it.”
“Ugh. You’re right.”
“Ha!” The Major’s translucent fist bumped the space near Davis’s hand, then he pointed at Carson. “He said it! I was right! You heard him!”
“Dammit. He’s going to be insufferable now.”
“As opposed to…?” Carson asked.
Davis tilted his head. “Good point.”
“Hey!” The Major scowled.
“Well,” Davis said, pushing himself out of his chair. “Since we don’t want to completely alienate Carson, we should probably get out of his hair.”
Understanding washed across the Major’s features.
“Ah. Yes.” He removed his hat and gave Carson another bow.
“It is my hope and desire that you find the answers you seek, even if you don’t know you seek them, and I thank you for the opportunity to help in any manner possible.
Remember that we are all just fleeting particles of dirt in the breeze. ”
Carson stared as the Major’s image dissipated, humming a familiar tune. “Did he just—”
“Misquote a Kansas song?” Davis supplied.
“Yep. He and Clem must’ve had seventies night again.
Anyway, I should be getting back to work.
But it was great talking to you, and I hope we didn’t scare you off too bad.
I know how overwhelming all of this can be.
It isn’t only the animal-injury issue we have in common,” he added, pointing to where the Major had been.
“And I meant what I said about being a sounding board. If you need anything, I’m happy to help. ”
“Thanks.” Carson wasn’t sure how long it would take to wrap his head around anything that happened over the past few hours, but it was at least helpful to know that he wasn’t alone.