by Lyla Payne
“Look, you do whatever you need to do to get ready. I trust you.” I suck in a deep breath, almost wanting to laugh at the openly annoyed expression on his face. “But I’m going to figure out what’s really going on around here.”
“Oh, really? And just how are you going to do that?” Brick leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and pinning me with his best attorney gaze.
I have sudden sympathy for the people he cross-examines on the stand.
“I’ve got a few leads.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice, and what with his lawyerly skills, there’s no doubt Brick does, too. “Speaking of which, it’s okay if I drive around the Eastern seaboard, right? Like…I’m not confined to the city or county while I’m out on bail? Do I need an ankle monitor?
The first part isn’t a lie; it’s just that I’m not all that confident in my ability to uncover anything about Frank’s past that the police have somehow missed for the past three or so decades. The second is far too flippant for the gravity of the situation, which I know grates on Brick’s nerves. I can almost hear his teeth grinding from here.
“Graciela,” he sighs. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how serious this is. We need time to prep. I don’t want you to go to jail. Your cousin and my brother would never forgive me.”
I give him a wry smile. “I’m glad to know that your primary concern isn’t about me spending the rest of my life in prison, but how a failure would affect you.”
“You’re growing on me, but don’t push your luck.” He looks tired as he heaves another giant sigh. “Look, I know you’ve got a knack for getting people out of trouble. I know that clues seem to fall into your lap, and yes, you’ve solved mysteries. But this is your life. I really think you should let me help.”
“Has your investigator found out anything at all about Frank? The break-in at the hospital? Is there one single other viable suspect?” I purse my lips when he doesn’t answer, even though I already knew the man has been essentially useless. “I didn’t think so. Look, I appreciate your concern, I do. But I have to try to figure this out my way first. I’ll make you a deal, though—if I don’t turn up real, solid evidence or clues within two weeks, I’ll let you do this your way.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean, I don’t know what else to say. You’re going to do what you want, regardless. Honestly, it’s one of the things I respect most about you.”
I clutch my chest in mock surprise. “I think I might have an earwax buildup. Could you repeat that?”
“You really make it very hard to like you.”
“You know, I’ve heard that before.” I resume eating my soup, feeling lighter now that I’ve decided to delve back into the mystery of my father and what might have happened to him.
And Travis is going to help. That’s something.
“You can leave Heron Creek, and they haven’t put you on house arrest, so no ankle monitors. My advice would be to stick close enough that if the FBI decides to drag you in for one reason or another, you could make it in a couple of hours.”
“Great.” It is great. If I’m going to help Travis, we’re going to need to be able to travel, at least a little.
In fact, I feel so much better that I decide to give Brick a hard time. Possibly enough of one to get him out of here so I can return to my blessed, non-crying-baby solitude.
“So, are you going for an Einstein vibe today or what?”
His hands immediately fly to his hair, patting to make sure it’s in place, and I can’t help but snort. “Not your hair, doofus. Einstein was notorious for wearing the same outfit every day. Kind of like you’re doing. Sleep over?”
“I…yes. Is that a problem?”
Now it’s my turn to lean back in my chair, fold my arms over my chest, and pin him with a serious gaze. “I don’t know. What exactly are your intentions with my cousin?”
He snorts. “Come on, Graciela. Be serious.”
“I am being serious. She’s so much happier since the two of you started your friendship or whatever. You convinced her to go to therapy. You seem to get the things she’s going through. But now? You’re spending the night and bonding with Jack like he’s your son.” I cock my head. “So what gives?”
Brick stares at me for a long time. His eyes are hard to read, though they’re definitely not angry or confrontational—thoughtful, maybe.
“I like her,” he says simply after several minutes. “But more than that, I like who I am when I’m with her, and with Jack. I don’t know what it means, Graciela. I don’t know where it’s going. Is it okay for us to just sort of exist moment-to-moment?”
My heart hurts. My entire body aches, to be honest, to hear his tone of voice when he talks about my cousin. No matter what he says or how he thinks he feels, Brick doesn’t just like her. He loves her.
And it can’t help but remind me again that Beau is gone.
“It’s okay,” I tell him with a smile, avoiding his gaze. The last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me, or for him to get a poor Gracie is falling apart look on his face the next time Beau asks about me.
If he ever does ask about me. Maybe he doesn’t.
“Just be careful,” I find myself saying. “It’s…it’s hard when you depend on people and then they’re not there anymore.”
The words bubbled up from deep down inside of me. It’s a little surprising to find that I’m not even talking about Beau; I’m talking about my mother. She taught me that lesson at a young age: don’t trust people to be there for you because one day they won’t be, and you’d better be ready to pick your own butt up off the ground.
“Beau is a mess, Graciela.” Brick’s words are careful. “He’s not…don’t give up.”
This time, I find the courage to look him in the face. I can’t bear for him to pity me for this in addition to everything else.
“I’m not upset with Beau. I’m upset over Beau,” I attempt to explain. “I know all of this isn’t his fault. It’s not Lucy’s fault, either…or anyone’s, really. It’s just the way it is, but I can’t wait on him. I have to give up.”
“But—”
The door opens, and the bell announcing visitors cuts off whatever protest he was about to make. I tuck away the speech I’d been silently preparing, a real beauty about how I need to put my relationship with Beau behind me in order to focus on the lump of baggage in my life, and it’s a good thing, because the sight of Leo and Victoria renders me mute.
At least for a moment.
“I’m going to head home to shower and change. We’ll talk later.” The smile Brick shoots me is genuine and concerned.
I almost ask him whether he means my home or his, but I’ve given him enough shit for one day, so I bite my tongue.
Brick passes Leo and his girlfriend on the way out, giving them a nod that only Leo returns. Victoria’s dark gaze is fixed on me as she approaches the table, and the glint in her eyes promises she’s on some sort of mission.
There’s a strange little twist in my stomach, one that can only be explained as sadness over seeing a happy couple when my own coupledom was so recently demolished. I try to smile, but I’m pretty sure it comes across as watery.
It might have been easier if she’d ever made any sort of effort to be friendly to me.
“Hi,” I say. “What are you two up to this afternoon?”
I’ve long given up on trying to keep track of Leo’s schedule and many jobs, but since Victoria usually works during the day, their joint appearance catches me off guard. She’s wearing a pair of green scrubs and her long, midnight-black hair is pulled back in a braid. Maybe she’s just on a lunch break or something.
“We’re looking for building permit applications,” she tells me bluntly, looping her arm through Leo’s. “To file with the city.”
“Oh, sure.” I cast Leo a curious glance. He doesn’t meet my gaze, and neither of them explains the request. For some reason, I’m feeling too obstinate to
ask any follow-up questions. “Over here.”
I lead the two of them to a filing cabinet near the copy machine and an old computer that should have been replaced a decade ago. “There are a few different kinds,” I say, pulling open the top drawer of the cabinet. “Is it an exterior or interior project?”
My curiosity is about to get the better of me—are they working on something together? Leo’s house is project-free. I know this because he’s already remodeled every square inch that his sister, Lindsay, would let him touch.
So maybe her house?
“Exterior,” Leo replies. The air between us remains awkward. “I’m going to build a three-seasons porch on the back of Victoria’s house for her.”
“I’m jealous,” I exclaim, because it’s the truth. I would kill for a back porch like Leo’s. “But I thought you were renting.”
“I found a place in Heron Creek,” Victoria informs me. “I’ll be staying.”
Well, pin a rose on your nose, I think to myself, wondering at the same time why her announcement makes me so grumpy. Leo likes her. She’s pretty and young and smart, and aside from the unpleasant friction between us, she’s exactly the kind of girl I would normally love to see with one of my best friends.
Not this time.
“Well, congrats.” I leave the correct drawer open and spin toward the front desk, anxious to escape before they start talking about their happy future together or whatever. Between Amelia and Brick, Will and Mel, and these two, it feels like I’m some lonely mutation lurking among a bunch of happily paired chromosomes. “I’ll be up front if you need me.”
“Hey, Gracie,” Victoria says, stopping me in my tracks.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry your boyfriend dumped you. That’s tough. Let me know if you want to talk.” The fake concern doesn’t do much to dress up the insult, though that’s probably intentional. A wave of anger rises inside me like a tide, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this woman get to me, even though she’s been trying her best since the day we met. I was serious when I told her that I wanted the two of us to get along, for Leo’s sake.
My friendship with him is the only thing that’s currently keeping me from clawing her eyes out of her stupid, symmetrical face.
Leo looks properly pissed, at least. His eyes are on my face, full of apology and also warning, as if he’s wondering whether he’s going to be pulling us apart like rabid dogs in a few seconds.
I give him a curt shake of the head, one meant only for the two of us, then give Victoria another bullshit smile. “Thanks.”
Then I go back to my desk, where I can at least work on a computer that was built after I was born. It takes me until Leo and Victoria have copied their forms and headed out, plus a few extra minutes, to stop shaking enough to actually type.
Once I manage to focus on Henry’s second article, the one the editor is obviously impatient for me to deliver, the rest of the afternoon flies past.
In fact, I’m so wrapped up in my work, it’s not until my phone buzzes with its second text from Amelia that I even hear it. I do a double-take when I glance at the time—somehow it’s after six. I should have been home fifteen minutes ago. With dinner.
“Shit,” I mumble, snapping my laptop shut, then reply to Amelia, telling her that I’m on my way and will still bring dinner.
Henry stares at me from across the desk, where he’s been hanging out for the past hour or so, watching me quietly. I keep expecting him to say—or intimate, I suppose—something else about Frank or the case against me, but lately he seems more interested in my articles. Which is understandable, I suppose. These articles will hopefully help him step out of historical obscurity into the light. It’s what he wants, I think—why he’s still here.
And maybe he figures he’s said his piece about my involvement—directly or otherwise—in Frank’s death and that’s that.
“Well, we’ve got a good start,” I inform Henry. “But you could have warned me that I was running late.”
A glance out the front doors reveals a deepening twilight. Another missed sign, but once my head gets stuck in history and writing, the entire world really might as well disappear.
I toss my laptop in my bag along with a bunch of files on my desk, then pick up my phone and keys. This time when I look up, it’s not Henry staring back at me, but a deranged woman in a vintage wedding dress. Her wild eyes have locked onto me from beneath her piles of unkempt, dark hair.
I stumble backward, frightened for the first time in a long while. At least by a ghost.
She steps toward me. Her gaze darts around the library, like she can’t quite figure out how she got here or why, before snapping back to my face.
I keep putting distance between us. “Um…hi?”
She glares at me. In the dim light of the winter evening, her eyes resemble black holes. My stomach flops with the sudden certainty that if I look into them for too long, I’ll never be able to find my way back to this reality. When my gaze slides away, I notice for the first time the molded, frayed rope hanging from her neck.
It’s a noose attached to a rather long tail. I can’t help but wonder whether the trailing length is supposed to be some metaphor, or whether it’s historically accurate.
Stupid academic brain. What a time to ponder such a thing.
She stabs a finger my direction. The movement is familiar, yet somehow more menacing than anything I’ve experienced before now. Then she makes a fist, leaving her thumb extended, and jabs it into her own chest.
“Me and you? I don’t know what that means, and besides, shouldn’t you at least buy me a drink first?” The weak joke hits the floor with a disappointing splat.
I take a moment to evaluate the situation, to make sure she is a spirit and not some woman who wandered in from a nearby insane asylum. In a wedding dress that looks as if it belongs sometime in the nineteenth century. Maybe. Vintage fashion isn’t my area of expertise.
She has to be a ghost. The bell over the door didn’t ding, and then there’s the smell of her—of old parchment and something rotten, like when broccoli has been in the fridge for a few days too long. Unpleasant. Nothing alive could smell like that.
Except for broccoli, I guess. And also cabbage.
Focus, Gracie. Cripes.
She repeats the gesture—pointing at me and then at herself. Shaking my head, I snatch up my bag with twitching fingers and skirt her in a wide arc. The ghost follows me with steps that would be heavy if her feet actually touched the ground. I’m not sure how I know this, but I do, and it makes me walk faster. She stalks alongside me, glaring and filling up my nose with her stench, as I fling open the front doors and step into the quiet evening.
The fresh night air overwhelms me with relief, as does the realization that there are enough people on the sidewalks to ensure the creepy ghost doesn’t continue her harassment. Even so, it’s not until I slide behind the wheel of my car that I’m able to breathe.
I forgo Amelia’s dinner after all, deciding that we have heaps of Italian left over from last night and we should eat that up first. It’s a good argument, and one that will allow me to get home right now—without obligating me to address what just happened at the library.
What did just happen at the library? I squeeze the steering wheel tight enough to prevent my hands from shaking.
A new ghost, that’s what, but this one is distinctly different from my other visitors. Plenty of them have startled me. In fact, many of the spirits seemed to take great glee in making me almost pee my pants.
But this woman is horror-movie terrifying. If she comes back, I’ll have to work quickly to figure out who she is and what she wants. Henry’s welcome to linger; this ghost needs to buy a ticket to whatever comes next, and fast.
At home, Amelia barely notices my excuses or the plate of food I set in front of her. She’s had a long day alone with the baby, and since I’m running late, she needs to feed him and start his bedtime routine. Her distraction is a r
elief, in some ways.
In others, I miss the woman who used to notice little things about me and my life. I know she’s not gone, though. Only on vacation. Jack needs her the most right now, but that won’t last forever.
Between spending a little bit of time with Jack before his bedtime and cleaning up the kitchen, the rest of the evening disappears quickly. And even though sleep should sound good after my first day back at work, it’s as if stepping outside the four walls of this house reminds me how many monkeys are vying for my attention.
Now, I feel crowded. Too anxious to sleep when there are so many other things I should be doing instead. I regret pushing drinks with Travis to Wednesday, and for not at least hearing Brick out today. Maybe I should be preparing for a defense, even if only mentally. Maybe I should have started back into the Frank investigation sooner.
No maybe about it, really.
The thought of Clara’s email crosses my mind, but my knee-jerk reaction is to avoid it. I’m not ready to know more, not after learning about the history of mental illness in the Fournier family. With everything else going on, the question of whether I might actually be insane is something that doesn’t have to be confirmed right away.
It’s a silly thing to avoid, probably, especially since Travis is breathing down my neck, eager to learn more about the family, but one more night isn’t going to hurt anything.
Even so, I decide to get Henry’s article done and sent off. That task will make me feel as if I’ve accomplished at least something today, and it won’t keep me up all night with worry, either.
The files in my computer bag spill all over the floor when I pull them out. I guess I should have been more careful putting them in, but Amelia’s texts startled me. And then that woman appeared, making the idea of sticking around to tidy anything sound like a terrible one.
Sighing, I get off the comfortable bed and sink onto my knees, rounding up the documents I grabbed before leaving work. There’s a stray newspaper clipping that drifted under the bed. I grunt with my effort to retrieve it, then take a second to peruse the article that gave me so much trouble.
