Charlotte sat in the guest room at her cousin Jonah’s house, having agreed to stay with him after dinner rather than a motel. It had been his son’s room at one point and still had a subtle masculine energy to it that she couldn’t quite nail down. She knew that she should be dead on her feet, but her mind was still reeling from the rollercoaster of a day she’d had. Charlotte couldn’t drive after what happened at the old Victorian house turned memory care facility. She’d walked around for a bit before calling and debriefing Noah on the whole experience while it was fresh in her mind. She kept looking at her hand, half expecting sparks to shoot out from her fingertips.
Together they worked out a few talking points for dinner with Jeremy and Jonah and their spouses, trying to come up with ways to keep things light. Noah grounded her, and by the time she’d gotten to the restaurant, she felt almost calm. She was pretty sure that she’d managed to keep things light. Charlotte and Noah had come up with the story that they were working on putting together their family tree and wanted to come up with a biography for their grandmother. So when she asked questions that might have seemed strange, it gave a reason for her curiosity. By the end, she’d managed to slip into the conversation, in an almost off-handed way, “oh yeah, Uncle Cub said something about Jonah getting in trouble at the lake? He was having an off day though so the story was hard to follow.”
It turned out that when he was six and Jeremy was nine, they’d been camping at Lake Erie and had been by themselves at the beach. This part of the story had branched into a light hearted digression about how different and hands off it was raising kids in the 70s. The boys had swum out to a big rock about 50 yards from shore and were playing and climbing on it. They’d done this plenty of times before, though never without any adults nearby. As they’d been playing, the sky had darkened and the waves had gotten cruel. Jeremy had tried to swim both of them back to the beach but had to go back several times for Jonah before he finally sat in disbelief on the wet sand, frantically scanning the waves for him. He said he couldn’t explain where she had come from, but his cousin Anne had swum out of the choppy lake water like a one armed mermaid, Jonah on her back. He’d run for the adults as Anne gave CPR to Jonah.
“It was a miracle,” the men had both said, but Charlotte wondered. She laid back heavily on the bed and stared up at the ceiling fan. “Anne saved Jonah in ‘78 but died in a fire that killed her mom and dad too,” she said aloud. She wished that she had remembered to pick up a notebook and pen when she’d stopped at the store. She could use her phone, but Charlotte didn’t get the same satisfaction of taking notes unless she did it the old fashioned way, on a laptop or with pen and paper.
“Aunt Barb got cancer, is that related?” She asked herself, “How did saving Jonah give his mom cancer and kill Anne’s whole family? Mom, what were you mixed up in?”
Noah hadn’t responded after she’d given him as much a recap as she could over text message. She guessed he was at the hospital and felt another pang of guilt and homesickness for their life together. She tried to conjure up good memories of growing up rather than imagining them all in the sterile hospital room. What came to mind was a trip they’d taken as a family just before she’d started high school. She was nervous about starting cheerleading, and had wanted to go to a cheer camp during her summer vacation, but her parents hadn’t given in. They’d planned a family trip and weren’t willing to allow her to skip it. Adding insult to injury, instead of driving east toward a beach like any normal family, but on a roadtrip to Charlotte laughed, remembering her dad making up a cheer for her to practice in the car, though at the time she’d been sulky and hadn’t found it remotely amusing. By the time they’d gotten to the Craggy Gardens however, it was impossible to keep a frown on her face. She’d been struck by the beauty of it all, and Noah had been so happy and full of life, his laughter infectious.
That night she dreamt of their trip - getting caught in the thunderstorm just after hiking to Linville Falls. They’d been soaking wet when they got back to the van, and though her mood had started to sour, Noah had brought her back with his impressions of a TV weatherman caught in a storm. When she woke up, she’d been dreaming of another stop along their weeklong road trip. They’d been on Beale Street in Memphis and had stopped to see the screaming goats outside of an Irish bar. She and Noah were watching the goats as her mom told her dad about some old store that sold strange potions. No sooner had she thought of the name, “Schwabs” she thought, than the dream shifted to them in the store but it was also some kind of restaurant. Charlotte was awed by the place, it had a magical feel to it and smelled so good, like something perfumey, coffee, and a warm attic all at once. She and Noah had barely been able to stop to look at anything for more than a second before seeing something else and darting off to have a better look. She’d found a Hoodoo section with all sorts of candles and incense for everything from bringing in money or love to removing jinxes. Her mom was in an animated discussion with a woman she didn’t recognize, possibly an argument. She didn’t remember noticing that when it had happened, but when she awoke with it fresh in her mind she tried to remember if it had really happened and if there was any more to it.
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Noah didn’t remember either, when she called him as she packed up the meager items she’d bought at the store before dinner yesterday, but he promised to try and find out more. More frustrated than before, she pocketed her phone and stuffed the deodorant into the shopping bag. She took one last look around the room, making sure she didn’t leave anything and her eye caught on something she hadn’t consciously noticed the night before. On the floor, practically under the dresser, she spotted something that caught the light. It was an oval silver locket with a faint patina on the surface, it looked ancient. Its edges were gracefully contoured and adorned with intricate scrollwork that echoed the swirling patterns of Irish artistry. Celtic knots intertwined around its perimeter, a nod to the rich cultural heritage from which it hailed.
Upon closer inspection, Charlotte noticed the locket's hinge—a marvel of artisan craftsmanship—perfectly intact, allowing it to open with a satisfying click. Inside, the aged but resilient silk lining told tales of the past, its edges soft and slightly frayed, reminiscent of the passages of time. It had cradled many a cherished memory, including a small, sepia-toned photograph of the young bride on her wedding day, her face beaming with a mixture of excitement and hope. This photograph, while showing the wear of years, preserved her essence: the laughter in her eyes and the innocence of new beginnings.
The locket seemed to be in good shape for its apparent age. Charlotte imagined it held the whispers of many women—daughters, mothers, and grandmothers—whose stories had intertwined, each unlocking its contents when they sought solace or remembrance. The weight of the locket, though insignificant, felt much heavier than its physical form as it seemed to bear the emotional weight of countless memories. She imagined it, throughout the years – occasionally touched and admired, fingers brushing its surface as it elicited smiles and sighs filled with longing for days gone by. It was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a tangible connection to the past, a bridge across generations, carrying with it the unspoken stories of the women who had clasped it around their necks, ever cherished, ever remembered.
As it finally lay in the hands of another—a descendant, perhaps, eager to learn the tales of their lineage—Charlotte thought that it would speak the language of love through the delicate heart engraved within its design, the legacy of a mother’s love forever encased in silver and cherished by those who came after.
She moved toward the mirror, curious to see how the locket would look around her neck—but as she reached it, the door and mirror were suddenly gone. In an instant, the walls of the room disappeared. She was no longer inside the house. She stood outside, surrounded by strangers, on a property she’d never seen before. The world around her was vibrant—too vibrant. The wildflowers swayed, and the scent of freshly cut grass overwhelmed her senses, making the shift feel jarring and disorienting. Charlotte’s nostrils were assaulted with the fragrance of wildflowers and freshly cut grass. She was now among a crowd of finely, if somewhat old fashioned, dressed people, all focused on a wedding ceremony unfolding before her. But this wasn’t like what she’d experienced yesterday with her uncle—she wasn’t just a spectator. This time, she was there, she was herself. The warm breeze ruffled her hair, and she could hear the murmur of voices.
“No,” she breathed harshly. People were shushing and turning to stare at her, another jarring reminder that this wasn’t the same as what Noah had explained. And it wasn’t like what had happened to her either. A chill ran down her spine. The smell of honeysuckles was so thick she thought she might choke on it. This was not a memory. Panic surged through her veins. “Gabh mo leithscéal, a chailín. An bhfuil tú ceart go leor?” She thought he’d asked, or maybe he’d asked if she was alright but just had a thick accent. Something distinctly too much was happening though, and she didn’t want any part of it.
“Nope. No no no,” without thinking, she turned to flee, only to be jolted back into the present, crashing into the dresser with a sharp thud. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she was once again standing in the bedroom, the locket still clutched tightly in her hand. She tossed the locket onto its surface and backed up until she hit the edge of the bed and sat down. Charlotte scanned the room, her pulse still racing. Everything seemed normal, but her hands were trembling. Was that the locket’s memory? she wondered. But it felt too real, like she had been transported there, not just watching. And people had reacted to her. Wherever ‘there’ was, she hadn’t just seen it—she’d felt it. The weight of the experience settled on her chest, and a wave of dizziness hit her. She needed to leave. Quickly, she wrapped the locket in a sock and shoved it into her bag. Whatever had just happened, she wasn’t ready to deal with it here.