The Locket

I lifted my head. “I know I will. It just hurts. I trusted him with my heart and he stomped on it.”

He nodded his understanding. “Where to, sweet girl?”

“Can we go back to your uncle’s loft?”

“Sure thing,” he agreed, smiling at me.

We pulled to a stop sign and I looked out of the window. On one side of the street was the park my Mom always brought me to as a kid. On the other side of the street was a cemetery. I noticed Mr. Shattuck leaning over one of the gravestones. Our eyes connected and I waved at him.

“Who are you waving at, Claire?” Logan asked.

“Mr. Shattuck.”

Logan expression changed into something curious. “But, Claire, Mr. Shattuck has been dead for years.”

That was puzzling. Mr. Shattuck was as real to me as Logan was, smiling and waving back warmly. When I returned my eyes to the cemetery he wasn’t there. Why was I seeing him if he was no longer with us? Was he in some sort of trouble?

“He seemed so real,” I said, turning toward the park. “Can we stop here?”

“The park…or the cemetery?” Logan questioned, making exaggerated hand motions to each side of the street.

I rolled my eyes. “The park. I could use some fresh air.”

“Phew,” Logan said, “Because if you’re seeing dead people, I’m not about to set foot in that cemetery.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“Ha, ha,” I said, attempting to sound annoyed.

Logan helped me out of his truck and I was grateful. It sat so high off the ground, and I was dreading jumping down for fear of turning an ankle in the process.

The park was exactly as I remembered it, including the merry-go-round.

“My mom used to spin me on that thing so fast that I felt like barfing after,” I told Logan, pointing at the merry-go-round and frowning inwardly at the memory.

Logan tossed me a playful look. “Want to give it a whirl?” he challenged.

“What? No way,” I answered instantly, backing away from him.

There were two reasons it was a bad idea. The first being, I was not exactly sure I trusted Logan not to spin the thing until I was sick. There was still a little part of me that worried if old Logan would come roaring back one day. I didn’t want to be in a vulnerable place if that happened. The second reason was probably closer to the truth. I knew the memories of my mom would come rushing back to me the second I stepped foot on the carousel.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’ll go easy on you.”

“I don’t know, Logan.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Claire. Your mom would get a kick out of you reliving a little piece of you childhood and remembering her fondly. Do it for your mom,” he suggested reassuringly.

Holy Crap! If I didn’t know better, I would think he actually read my thoughts.

I could do it for mom. “Race you there,” I teased, sprinting towards the circular metal contraption that seemed so much larger to me years ago.

“Hop on,” Logan dared, and I did.

The metal was freezing, but I didn’t care. I welcomed the distraction. Logan started spinning the carousel slowly at first, grabbing each handle and giving it a push when they passed. He laughed a carefree boyish laugh that was contagious, and soon I was laughing just as I had as a little girl.

“Get ready, Claire!” he taunted.

“Not too fast, Logan. I mean it. I will barf on you,” I threatened through a giggle.