Giving Up the Ghost

by Magenta Wilde

  My mother reached out her hand to him, gently placing it on top of his wrist. “We understand, dear. You don’t need to explain any further if you don’t want to.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s just a valued heirloom, so she’s happy to get it back.”

  “In that case I’m glad you helped her track it down,” my mother said. She gave me a knowing wink as she went to check the pot roast’s progress. Soon the accents of carnations and cologne gave way to the mouth-watering aroma of cooked meat.

  She set the pot roast on a platter for carving and instructed me to take the pan scrapings and whip up a quick gravy. I did, and brought it to the table, where everything else was ready to be served family-style.

  “Dinner smells wonderful, Fiona,” Roger said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Poppy made dessert,” Tom added. “A pumpkin chiffon pie. It looks amazing.”

  “That does sound good,” Roger said. “I’m a big fan of pumpkin.”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Tom said, winking at Roger. “Poppy can cook like a dream. But her desserts …” he trailed off and looked to the ceiling, “heavenly.”

  I blushed a bit, catching on to what Tom was doing. He and my mother clearly thought there was a spark and thought to bring us together. I wondered if Roger knew I’d be here.

  “So, how was business today,” I asked Tom and Mom.

  “Good. We sold a few collectibles,” Tom said. “One woman liked the antique tea cups we had in the display case and bought four of them for her daughter. Someone else bought that claw-footed table. A decorator in Chicago called us, too. I emailed him photos of some of the things we’ve picked up over the summer, and he wants to come up and check them out in person. He says he’s looking for things for a rustic chic home, whatever that means.”

  “There’s no shortage of rustic around these parts,” Roger added.

  I laughed. “It’s not always that chic here, however, but I think we tend to like it that way.”

  “I know I do,” Tom agreed.

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only woman in town who bothers to wear high heels,” Mom said.

  That was a stretch, but not by much. “You’re in the minority, that’s for sure. I personally would rather go for comfort and traction, considering our winters.”

  “But high heels are sexy,” my mother argued.

  Tom raised a hand to still my mother. “No sexy talk with the kids, hon. You wouldn’t want to hear about Poppy’s sex life.”

  “Actually, I would,” she said. “Then I could give her some pointers.”

  “As if I would discuss my sex life with you!” I snapped. Or lack thereof, I thought to myself.

  “That’s because you’re not having enough sex to have any secrets worth blabbing about,” Mom replied primly.

  I felt myself blush with embarrassment. That was a bit too on the nose.

  Everyone suddenly took a lot of interest in what was on their plates, except my mother. “I look forward to hearing all about your expertise,” she said.

  “Fiona!” Tom growled. “Let’s not get fresh.”

  “How is your car,” Roger asked, changing the subject.

  I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to discuss wearing hump-me heels in front of my mother, her husband and my crush.

  “My car sounds great,” I said. “It sounds like new. You did a nice job. And it was affordable, which I really appreciate.”

  Conversation went along in that vein for the rest of the meal. Afterwards we debated having dessert right away or waiting a bit. Tom insisted we should eat pie right away. “We can always have an extra slice later,” he chortled.

  “That’s your whole plan, honey,” my mother said. “You want us to have dessert now, then for Poppy to take the dogs for a walk – the longer the better – and then you’ll scarf down the rest of the pie while she’s gone.”

  Tom had the good grace to look abashed, but then he broke into a loud chuckle. I went and put the dishes in the dishwasher and fetched the pie. “Maybe I should slice it into four pieces?” I asked, hoping to get a rise out of Tom.

  “Oh, that would be too much,” he protested.

  “I think my mom is onto you,” I teased, before slicing the pie into eight pieces.

  Everyone enjoyed dessert. Even my mother, who is not a sweets person. Tom and Roger both opted for second slices, and then I made my usual move to take the dogs on a post-supper walk.

  “How about I join you?” Roger said. “I’m full and could use a walk.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. We made our way to the storefront and I leashed the beagles.

  “Will he really go and eat the rest of the pie while you’re out?” Roger asked.

  “Most of the time he will. Sometimes he’ll hold out and wait to eat the rest during the ten o’ clock news.”

  Roger laughed quietly, his eyes genuinely crinkling with mirth. “He does like his sweets. At AA he always goes for a second doughnut.”

  “Just a second one?”

  “Well, at least before the meeting starts. He’ll have a third if there are any left.”

  “And a fourth, too, I’m sure.”

  “It has been known to happen.”

  Roger held the door open for me and we made our way out onto the sidewalk. It was almost completely dark, with the waxing moon illuminating the clouds that drifted in front of it.

  “Which way do you usually go?”

  I indicated toward the main tourist drag. “If you’d rather go in another direction, I’d be game,” I said, “though I tend to vary the route more in June, July and August when the daylight is strongest.”

  He shook his head. “Let’s go your usual route. We can walk by the park and watch the freighters a little.”

  We began walking in that direction, letting the dogs snuffle along the park’s fence. It was a pleasant evening, with a nice autumnal nip in the air.

  I could sense Ivy’s presence nearby. “Do what you promised to do. Help me be free,” she hissed in my ear. I felt a shiver go up my spine at the intensity of emotion I felt from her. I opted to ignore it for the time being. I’d try and bring it up if a moment presented itself. Since I had tried broaching the subject before, and he wasn’t too receptive to the message, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try again just yet.

  My eyes traveled into the park and I could see other forms milling about. One looked like a French fur trapper, or a voyageur, so I knew that one was a ghost from long ago. A man and woman, probably in their early twenties, were seated on a bench by a large anchor, partially concealed by some shrubbery. Both were giggling and nuzzling one another. A woman dressed in a long skirt, her hair pinned up in a Gibson Girl style, sat nearby. She was luminous, and in the twilight, she looked to me like a jellyfish glowing underwater. She eyed the young lovers with curiosity.

  Roger caught me looking in that direction. “Do you see something?” he asked.

  I jumped slightly, caught by surprise. “I was just looking around,” I muttered.

  “It seemed like you saw something, and not just staring into space. You were focused, watching something happening.”

  “Is there something you want to ask?”

  He sighed. “You already told me you saw my sister’s ghost. Are you seeing another ghost in the park?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “The truth.”

  I pointed him in the direction of the young lovers. “Do you see anything else there?”

  He looked for a full minute, and shook his head. “Should I see something?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “But if you had the sight, you might see something.”

  He grew quiet and we walked a few more paces. The dogs continued to explore the grass along the fence.

  He broke the silence. “You know the necklace that fell out of my pocket?”

  I nodded. “Yes. It’s pretty. I’m glad you found it so your mother can get it back.” />
  “You knew my mother had misplaced it.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “My mother told me you’d given her a reading a few days ago, and you’d mentioned a missing item. Did you really have a vision that my mom was looking for the necklace?”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. You knew things about Ivy, like the sweatshirt she was wearing. I guess it’s possible.”

  I sighed and opted for transparency. “In this case I had a bit of help.” I proceeded to tell him about Wyatt’s visit to my shop, and then how he went to Thingamajigs to try and pawn the necklace off.

  “So Vanessa clued you in?”

  I nodded. “She suggested bringing up the necklace,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you just say my brother had tried to sell the necklace at Tom and Fiona’s shop?”

  “I thought of doing that, but I was in fortune-telling mode and was immersed in the theater of it, in a way. A lot of people were coming in and out of the store, and to say we’d seen her son trying to sell off a valuable piece of jewelry – it seemed too blunt. So, I opted to drop clues instead. I guess she figured it out,” I mused.

  “She did. She figured out it was Wyatt pretty quickly, actually. He’s done that sort of thing before, unfortunately. Now she’s locked away anything she doesn’t want to risk turning up missing. She’s grateful for that, by the way.”

  “I’m glad I could help. She’d said she’d at one time hoped to give the necklace to Ivy. Vanessa and I thought it should stay in the family. Vanessa almost bought it from him, thinking to hold it off to the side for your mother to reclaim. Is he in the doghouse now?”

  “In a way. I muscled it away from him. We’re not speaking at the moment.”

  I frowned. “I hope that didn’t cause a rift.”

  Roger shrugged. “We’ll speak again. Just not for a few days or a couple weeks. He should know better anyways. If he’d sold it, he’d just have blown it at the casino or the bar. If he does try to pawn anything that looks like an heirloom, I’d appreciate it if you could alert us. Via spirits or otherwise,” he smiled. “Whichever is faster.”

  I smiled. “I’d be happy to do so,” and made a mental note to tell Vanessa, Tom and my mother to be on the lookout, too. “Did your mother tell you anything else about the reading?” I pressed.

  “She did.”

  “And?”

  “She’s raving about your abilities. She truly believes you let her speak to Ivy.”

  “You still don’t seem so sure.”

  “I’m thinking about it. She makes a good case, but I’m still … conflicted.” He looked over into the park, losing himself in thought. I decided not to press him further and kept silent for a few moments as we walked along the border of the park. I paused near the fountain, listening to the flowing water.

  “You like the park and the fountain, don’t you?”

  “How can you tell?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen you walking by the park before.”

  “You have?” I was surprised, both at having been noticed and remembered by him.

  “Yeah. You stand out.”

  “Hopefully in a good way,” I mused, tugging Hooper and Beanie gently along.

  “Yes, in a good way,” Roger said, smiling.

  “You seem happier somehow today. You usually look more serious, or more sad.”

  “Sometimes I am. Okay, I’m sad a lot because of my … sister. But I like being around you. You make me laugh and I feel kind of happy and calm around you.”

  I was flattered. “Are you sure it’s not the pot roast and pie making you feel full?”

  “Well, that was good, too. Really good. Tom loves your mom’s cooking – well, most of the time – but he raves about your desserts.”

  “Tom would be happy if a Twinkie factory exploded, but I think I do all right with my baked goods.”

  “Have you ever thought of opening a bakery?”

  I shook my head. “No. Bakers have to get up long before dawn, and that’s not my thing. Plus, it’s more fun when it’s a labor of love.”

  “I can see that.”

  “What about you? Did you consider going into the family business?”

  Roger shrugged, admitting he’d thought of it. “I help my dad out a bit and keep aware of how things are running, but I always liked fixing things and working with my hands. And everyone needs a good mechanic at some time.”

  We walked in silence for a bit, crossing the street to make our way up the main road and circle back to the Wheelers. I was starting to cross the street, when a car made a quick turn and Roger quickly latched onto my hand and pulled me back. I stopped and waited for the car to pass. He didn’t bother to let go. It felt warm and nice, like a good joining. It was soon cut short by an angry prickle of energy that swirled around us. Startled, I let his hand go and looked around.

  “Did you feel that?” he asked. “For a few seconds it was really cold, like stepping into a walk-in freezer.”

  “I did.” I also felt an irrational surge of anger, like a tantrum about to overcome me. I didn’t tell him that.

  “It also smells like something is burning. Maybe someone in one of these restaurants burnt something in the kitchen.”

  He noticed it, too. That was a good sign. It didn’t smell like a burnt burger, however. That was pure angry ghost activity.

  That Ivy was near and manifesting signs of rage so powerfully, however, was far from good.

  22

  As we turned and started walking west on Portage, headed back in the direction of Tom’s and my mother’s place, a girlish voice squealed Roger’s name. We both craned our heads in the direction of the sound.

  Heather ran out of Sandy’s Bar and raced over. She threw her arms around Roger and gave him a hug, burying her head into his chest.

  “I missed you!” she sang out.

  I raised an eyebrow in their direction. Roger looked surprised, and not all that thrilled to see her. That didn’t stop Heather from pawing at him.

  Please extricate yourself from her greedy mitts, I thought furiously at Roger. He didn’t move, merely grimaced whilst looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about our night together,” she said, pressing herself tighter against him. She gave me a defiant look from his arms. I kept my expression neutral.

  I glanced down at the beagles, hoping that one of them would mistake her for a fire hydrant.

  “Was that a date? I thought maybe Roger had agreed to babysit you for the night.” I pasted a bright smile on my face. “Do share the details then.”

  “It was a date,” the girl huffed. “After you were so cruel to me, I couldn’t stop crying. Roger held me tightly until I felt better. He was so gentle and so loving that I couldn’t help but feel protected in his big, strong arms.” She batted her eyelashes up at him in such a practiced, flirtatious way that I thought they would fall off. That didn’t bother me, truly. What bugged me was that he didn’t let her go.

  “Well, that’s lovely,” I said, inwardly fuming. “I’m glad he was there for you in your moment of need. Who knows, maybe I did you a favor.”

  I could tell she didn’t expect me to say anything of that nature. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

  I ignored the question. What could I say? Saying something might have been better, however, instead of letting my anger build within.

  The air began to feel electric and grew icy cold. “The temperature is really dropping,” Heather mumbled, pressing closer to Roger. “You’re so warm, though,” she cooed as she began running her hands up and down his torso.

  Push her away. Push her away. Push her away, I chanted to myself. He did nothing but look confused. Clearly he didn’t recognize her crocodile tears for what they were. I felt myself fuming.

  I also heard Ivy buzzing in my ear. “She needs to let him go,” she hissed. “I don’t like that skank.”

&n
bsp; Neither do I, I thought.

  As Heather’s hands continued to roam his chest, I felt a throb in my head. I imagined her crossing some kind of invisible property line, followed by a wall of flames shooting out toward her hands, engulfing them, punishing her for trespassing.

  “Oh, I like that image. I’d like to burn her,” I could hear Ivy jeer. I’d meant it more as a juvenile fantasy, but there was real intent behind her words and that alarmed me. I picked up on the anger and felt it coursing through my body. I told myself to rein it in, but it surged and gained traction. The air grew heavy around us and I could feel vibrations surrounding me. For a few seconds I could hear nothing but an angry hum buzzing in my ears.

  Suddenly angry red-hot sparks flew near Heather’s fingers. It looked like a glowing orange whip had formed out of thin air, lashing out at her. I heard a sizzling sound as it made contact with her skin. She shrieked as she yanked her hand back. A nasty scorched meat and burnt hair odor hung in the air. Some of it was from her mane, which had gotten singed. She whimpered in pain and under the light of the street lamp we stood near, I could see she had gotten a vicious burn. Her skin was inflamed, already oozing and blistering.

  The dogs yelped at the commotion and reared back in surprise, but they remained unscathed. Once they realized this had been no threat to them, they inched over toward Heather, sniffing the air.

  I heard Ivy cackling gleefully in my ear, but I felt awful, and I couldn’t stand Heather.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” she whined, and started crying in earnest this time.

  Roger bent over to look at her fingers. “This does look bad.” He craned his head up and looked around, then at me. “What was that? I’ve never seen anything like that happen.” He looked down to his chest and saw the fabric of his shirt had been singed. He touched the blackened cotton gingerly and gave me a questioning look.

  Nothing I could say would make me look good in this situation, so I simply shrugged. “Those burns do look painful,” I agreed.

  “I think Heather needs to go to the hospital, or at least the urgent care. This looks really bad.”

  “Maybe,” I muttered. I could sense Ivy’s irritation at our interloper and it colored my mood. “Or maybe she’s a big baby,” I pouted.