Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4)

by Joy Elbel

  We finished our meals in silence, breaking it only for the official reading of the pithy sayings in our fortune cookies. I went first in the hopes that he would follow suit. Too bad I didn’t read it to myself first.

  “Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.” Really? If ever there were a time when I needed one of the usual dumb quotes, this was the time. Instead I get a deep quote about dead people. There was always a fifty percent chance of getting a silly one and I was hoping that those odds would be with me tonight. They weren’t.

  Zach cracked open his cookie carefully and pulled out the slip of paper. “Three things cannot long be hidden—the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

  I threw down more than enough money to cover the check and the tip as Zach made a hasty exit. Before I walked away from the table, I grabbed both fortunes and tucked them into my wallet just in case this was our last visit to Chow Ming. Jack Wolfe may have stolen City Lights from us, but he could never steal our memories.

  17. Period of Adjustment

  Now that I knew for sure that I was stuck with Clay indefinitely, I decided that it was time to set some more boundaries with him. Never sleeping again was not an option so the issue of dream invasion—no matter how uncomfortable the conversation might be for both of us—needed to be discussed. While I had no control over what happened in my dreams, he had least seemed able to discern that what was happening wasn’t actually real. I was going to have to place my trust in him. If anything inappropriate started to happen, I was going to hold him responsible for stopping it.

  I approached the topic with zero emotion—like a middle school health teacher giving the dreaded naughty anatomy lecture. The idea of Clay having more control in my dreams than I did frightened me. But I didn’t want him to see that it did. After calmly asking him to please refrain from any sort of shenanigans while cavorting around in my dreams, he gave a two word reply.

  “Scout’s Honor.”

  With that promise, I turned out the lights and prayed that sleep would only offer nightmares and nothing else. When I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t remember having had any dreams. Was this a good sign or a bad one? I could usually at least remember a fragment or two of something silly that my brain had conjured during the middle of the night. When I asked Clay if he had any knowledge of my dreams, he said that he didn’t and appeared to be telling the truth. Maybe my luck was starting to turn. But then again, maybe not.

  No nightmares should have meant a peaceful morning at least. Not so. I woke up with a raging case of PMS. I was bloated beyond all recognition and no matter what pair of jeans I tried to put on, they all felt like they were going to slice me in half if I buttoned them. Just what every girl wants to feel like on the day she goes to try on prom dresses. Even after alterations, the only way that dress was going to fit me right on the big night was if I was bloated then, too. Prom was already going to be a disaster—did something else really have to go wrong?

  After a long bout with my closet, I settled for a long sweater and leggings and hoped that it wasn’t going to be unseasonably warm. Today was going to be one of those days where Rachel’s sunny personality was going to irritate the pants—make that leggings—right off of me. I decided to issue a warning shot the second I saw her and explain that PMS and eyelashes on a car were a volatile combination.

  I went downstairs hoping to find bacon for breakfast. PMS only brought out an intense craving for salty foods every now and again but today was one of them. When I found nothing for breakfast, I got super cranky.

  “Where’s breakfast?” I snapped at Shelly who was slumped over the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in her hand. “If you want breakfast, you’re going to have to make it yourself. Have a bowl of cereal. I have cramps and they always get worse when I eat.” She clutched at her abdomen and let out a groan.

  “Well I am super bloated and craving something salty like there’s no tomorrow. Cereal just isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Fry yourself some bacon, then. I’m going to go get a warm shower and hope these cramps go away.” The thought of frying my own bacon cranked my crankiness level up another notch. But since it was obvious that she wasn’t going to make it for me, I decided to give it a whirl. I opened up the refrigerator and began to search for it. Nothing. Not one single slice of bacon in there. I double checked the freezer just in case but still came up empty handed. There weren’t even any pickles which could have at least halfsatisfied my craving. No pretzels or potato chips either. Why today?

  Shelly and I bickered back and forth over the lack of salty foods the whole way to the Masons’ house. We were going to have to stop for something along the way. I wasn’t going to survive the two hour ride to Pittsburgh without a junk food pit stop of some sort. Shelly insisted that I would at least have to wait until we got off of the interstate because she wanted to be sure to miss the rush hour traffic. Rush hour on a Sunday morning? Crankiness level once again increased. Before I had a chance to warn Rachel about my ill mood, she flung her own grouchy grenade directly at me.

  “Look at these things!” she said, pointing to a gross little collection of zits sprouting out of her chin. “The only time I ever get them is when I’m hormonally challenged! I have been waiting for this day since I was old enough to know what a prom was and now the whole day is completely ruined! You don’t happen to have any chocolate on you, do you?”

  OMG. She had PMS, too. It’s like she, Shelly, and I formed a premenstrual Bermuda Triangle. This was epically terrible. The only way it could get any worse was if….

  “I’m glad you’re driving, Shelly,” Diane said as she got into the vehicle. My ovary hurts and I feel like I could start crying at any second now. I can’t wait for menopause.”

  Make that the Bermuda Pyramid. Four women with PMS were setting out for a two hour drive together. Trapped. Inside one vehicle. Together. I felt like we should have a police escort all the way to Pittsburgh but there wasn’t a man alive who would be willing to even get that close to us.

  “This is going to be a long day for me, isn’t it? Clay said, suddenly appearing in the seat between Rachel and me. I stand corrected. There wasn’t a man alive or dead who wanted anything to do with the hormonal hot mess brewing inside that SUV.

  “Well if you’re looking for sympathy, you came to the wrong woman. If I don’t get something salty in my mouth ASAP, things are going to get ugly.”

  Unable to see or hear Clay herself, Diane assumed that my scathing response was meant for her. “Geez, Ruby. Thanks for the understanding. You wait until you’re my age and have suffered thirty years of this kind of crap. Then you’ll be apologizing to me.”

  I wanted to snap and we weren’t even out of their driveway yet. “We’re all miserable. Let’s do this some other day.”

  I thought that it was the smart thing to do. I thought that everyone else would agree with me and happily crawl back into their beds and hate life from afar like I longed to do. I was wrong. Clay was the only one who agreed with me.

  They all started talking at once, complaining about why today was the only day we could all go. Shelly and Diane cited busy schedules, Rachel insisted that every good dress would be gone by next week. I tried to argue my point but it was a losing battle. The three of them together out-hormoned me and I had no other choice but to give in. But I had one condition that needed to be met first. I needed potato chips and I needed them now.

  Shelly agreed to stop at the first convenience store she found along the way. “Anything to make you shut up.” Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “Thank you, Shelly! If I have to hear her whine about potato chips the whole way to Pittsburgh, I will stab myself in the eye. Plus, I can pick up some chocolate while we’re there.”

  “And thank you, Rachel, my bestest friend ever, for so lovingly having my back on this one.” “Look, Ruby, I’m so miserable right now. You can’t even imagine. I’m a bitchy, weepy mess. You have no idea how much I want to sucker punch someone in the
gut and cry while doing it. It’s a good thing there aren’t any men around. Someone might lose a testicle if they looked at me funny.”

  Clay cringed and settled his hands over his zipper area. “I’ve never been so happy to be invisible before. And I thought the biggest perk of being dead was being able to enter the girl’s rest room without going to jail.”

  “You win, Rachel. All I want is a bag of potato chips.” “That’s right, I do win. And I also win the argument I just now thought of having with Boone, too. I have to text him and tell him he’s wrong about something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll think of something.”

  She typed out what must have been a nasty text then started crying as soon as she sent it. “I’m a hot mess!” “So I see. I’m more of a tepid mess at the moment. But if I don’t get those potato chips soon, I’ll be boiling over!” I directed that last sentence loudly toward the front seat so that Shelly would get the hint.

  At exactly the same time, Clay and Rachel both asked, “What’s tepid mean?” “Lukewarm,” I grumbled and leaned my head against the window. I never thought I would see the day that I dreaded shopping. As much as I hated his guts, Lucas was right about one thing—never say never.

  Shelly bypassed the first exit because she was too busy moaning about her cramps. Diane spent about ten minutes explaining how she could tell which ovary was producing each month by which side it felt like she was being slowly disemboweled from. Rachel pulled out her compact and declared that her zits had doubled in size since she discovered them that morning. Clay, well, Clay was taking it all in stride until Rachel made the comment that pushed him over the edge.

  “How far is it to the next exit? I’m in serious need of chocolate. And a restroom, too. I’m going to need to start tamponing it any second now.”

  While I admit that hearing the use of the word “tampon” as a verb was jarring even to me, Clay seriously started to freak out.

  “Good God. Is it possible for ghosts to commit suicide? I can’t take any more of this! I don’t care if I go to hell for real this time, I have to end the suffering!” He threw his hands in the air and raised his eyes to the heavens. “Sweet angel of death, take me now!” he shouted.

  “Stop overreacting!” I screamed at him but of course, Rachel thought I was yelling at her so she started to cry. I felt bad but I didn’t try to explain that my harsh reprimand wasn’t even meant for her. I was afraid of how Diane would react if she found out that there was a ghost in the car with us. Instead, I apologized to Rachel and thanked her for not sucker punching me in the gut.

  By the time we found the next exit with a convenience store, we were all infinitely miserable. We descended upon the store like wild fiends, practically shoving each other out of the way to get to what we needed. The girl behind the counter was wearing a trainee ribbon on her name tag and had a look of fear in her eyes as we all approached her at once.

  I glared at her over the bag of potato chips I was clutching protectively to my chest and uttered four words of warning. “PMS. All of us.”

  She nodded her head fearfully and beckoned her manager over for assistance. They rang up our mass quantities of food and shoved them into bags like bank tellers being held at gun point. There was a definite air of “if we give them what they want, no one will get hurt” kind of attitude emanating from behind those registers. I was half afraid that they were going to jot down our license plate number and have the cops meet us five miles down the road.

  Once our cravings were at least partially sated, we were all a little less grumpy. A little. With less period talk, Clay calmed down, too. The soundtrack for the rest of the drive was a symphony of crunching, wrapper crinkling, and coffee slurping. My only complaint when we pulled into the mall parking lot was bloating. Epic bloating. Squeezing my water retaining self into a form fitting dress was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Rachel and I were both of the same mind on this one. While Diane and Shelly kept showing us potential dresses, we were both reticent to actually try any of them on. When it finally got to the point where it looked like we were going to both get taffeta-lashed, we decided to give in and “enjoy” ourselves like we were supposed to.

  “These ones aren’t too terrible,” Rachel said as she plucked two dresses from the rack. “Ruched waistlines are a good way to hide bloating. There’s a nice red one over there with the same kind of styling. You should try that one on, Ruby.”

  I checked out the one she suggested and saw that she was right. It was the perfect shade of deep red and it looked like it was capable of making a whale look more like a dolphin around the midsection. I took another minute to look around and decided that it was the only dress I even cared to try on. It was this one or it was nothing.

  Shelly noticed that I was only taking one item into the dressing room and didn’t approve. “You need to at least try on a few, Ruby. Even if you don’t particularly love something on the hanger, it could look totally different once you get it on. You go ahead and try that one on while I find you a few more for comparison.”

  My eyes were still partially rolled back in my head when I came face to face with my reflection in the mirror. OMG. Was that really how I looked every time I did that? It was the freakiest sight I’d seen in a long time. And freaky sights were pretty much the norm for me. I made a mental note to stop rolling my eyes—at least where anyone else could see me anyway—because it made me look hideous.

  Once my irises were back where they belonged, I stepped into the dress and took another look in the mirror. Not bad. It was slightly too big on me which helped me to not completely hate it. It was strapless and full length with a slit up the side—super sexy, assuming I wasn’t PMSing come prom night. The design was fairly simple—not a single sequin or rhinestone in sight. I liked what I saw so I stepped out to get a second opinion.

  While Diane and Rachel both thought that it was perfect, Shelly gave a slight frown. “Why don’t you like it, Shelly?”

  “It isn’t that I don’t like the dress—it looks very good on you. It’s the color that I don’t like. Red is becoming a little cliché on you, don’t you think? You need to go with something different this time around. And I found the perfect one for you!”

  As soon as I saw the dress she wanted me to try on next, instinctively my eyes rolled back. Yes, I’d just decided to refrain from doing that but the dress she was proudly holding up in front of me deserved a hideous look. Not only was it green, but the skirt portion was a poufy tulle material dotted with randomly placed sequins. The bodice was just as terrible—dark green rhinestones ran from the waist to the bust, fanning out in a thicker band of sparkle as it approached the bust line. It was practically identical to the one she found online and tried to convince me to like. It didn’t happen then, what made her think it was going to happen now?

  “You have got to be kidding me! This is prom we’re talking about here, not the casting call for The Little Mermaid Part Two! I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing! I look awful in green—you know that.” Red was my signature color. Always had been, always would be. Plus, it would help hide the pig’s blood in case things went terribly wrong that night.

  Shelly shook her head defiantly. “I know no such thing. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you in green. Until today. Here, put this on.” She shoved the offending dress toward me and manipulated the hanger so that the stupid thing appeared to be dancing for me. If there’s one thing worse than a green, sequined dress it’s a green, sequined dress twerking in your face.

  I snatched the hanger out of her hand to get her to stop. “Fine. I’ll put the stupid dress on so that I can prove to you just how awful I look in it.” The only complaint Shelly had from today was cramps but she was clearly suffering a symptom as yet unassociated with PMS—stupidity.

  Stomping childishly back into the fitting room with the mermaid costume in hand, I found myself already gloating at the thought that I was about to prove her wrong. I peeled off the red dress a
nd hung it carefully on the hanger, being sure not to damage my soon-to-be prom dress in any way. Then, I snatched the green beast and threw it on haphazardly. It was only going to be on my body long enough for me to prove my point then it was going back on the rack where it belonged— there was no use in trying to make it look good while on me anyway.

  Once I had it zipped, I opened the door with a disgruntled look on my face. What I expected to hear was a chorus of voices proclaiming that I was right, that the dress looked even more terrible on me than it did on the hanger. As always, nothing ever went the way that I expected it to.

  The first reaction came from Clay, who until now had been silently sitting alone by the window. I watched horrified as his jaw dropped and his eyes took on a puppy dog in love kind of glow. “You look…beautiful, Ruby,” he said in words barely above a whisper.

  Oh, geez. I hadn’t even digested the fact that Clay seemed completely enamored with the mermaid version of me when everyone else chimed in.

  “You look like some sort of forest princess,” cooed Shelly. “I told you it would look good on you.” “You were right, Shelly. That shade of green really brings out her eyes—look at how sparkly they are!” Diane began to pet the frothy bottom of the dress. “But I would say a dress like this is reserved for the forest queen—not the princess.”

  Okay, so I had the opinions of one lovesick ghost and two middle-aged women, none of whose opinions were what really mattered here. Rachel would understand exactly how I felt about the dress and agree that I looked terrible in it. Desperately, I turned to her for backup.

  “Sorry, Ruby, but I have to agree with them. That dress is to die for—you’d be crazy if you went with anything else.” “Well we already know that I’m crazy so I guess you have your answer. The red one it is.” I stomped back into the dressing room in a huff. Clearly, PMS also clouded judgment and eyesight. I stripped the dress off and allowed it to lie in a heap in the corner while I changed back into my own clothes. “Forest queen, my ass,” I mumbled to myself. “It made me look more like a sequined, seaweed-covered manatee.”