Ghost Time

by Courtney Eldridge

  I walked the whole way, too. Sometimes Cam could talk me down—just about all the time, but not now, not this time. I remember the sound of the gravel crunching behind me, as he slowly turned, pulling into our parking lot, but I didn’t turn around even then. But he still waited out front—Cam waited until I got inside, and then, after I closed the door, he flashed his lights three times, shining through our curtains. Standing there, in our living room, alone, there were so many words, banging around in my chest, working their way up to my throat, choking me, and all I could think was, Why am I such a spaz? It was so embarrassing, because I knew what I was doing, and I knew it was wrong to behave like that, but I just couldn’t do any better. And my eyes welled up, because it was his big day, that envelope was his ticket, and he earned it. Cam worked so hard, and I felt awful, so awful, seeing myself like that: small.

  So I went back outside, fast as I could, and just as he was about to pull a U-turn, I leaned over the ledge, over the rail. I didn’t even know what to say for myself, behaving like that, but he stopped and looked up at me. I could see him perfectly, too, because of the big overhead light that shines down on the parking lot; it’d just turned on. Still, all I could do was hold up my hand, press it flat against the air. That was all I had to say for myself, really. Cam looked at me, through the windshield for a moment, and then, he did the same, waiting as I moved my hand, aligning it, so it fit, pressing against his.

  I didn’t see him again until Monday morning, because he went with Karen to do some work on the properties she owns, somewhere in the Catskills. I worried for a second whether or not he’d pick me up Monday morning, but he did. I was so happy, too, when I saw him pull into the parking lot. I had an apology all prepared, when I got in the car that morning, then he leaned over and kissed me, soon as I closed the door. He goes, Before you say anything, I want to ask you something. He looked so serious, too, like he’d been thinking about it all night. All right, I said, bracing myself, taking a deep breath. Then he goes: Have you ever seen a thunderstorm in the desert? No, I said, waiting, thinking, I’m the storm or the desert or where are you going with this? Natural disaster, what? And he goes, No? I said, No. I’ve never seen the desert. Pictures, I said, shrugging. You’ve seen pictures, he said, smiling. I was just like, Yes. Looks cool. Very, um, mystic, I said.

  He looked out his window, thinking it over, and then he goes, Thea, Thea, Thea…, squeezing the steering wheel with both hands. What are we going to do with you, Theadora Denny? I go, Is that a rhetorical question? Then he turns and looks at me: You’ve got to see the desert, Thee. You just gotta see it to believe it. And it is mystical, it’s… it gets in your blood. It’s like, I don’t know. Corny, but it’s just one of those places that make you feel so damn small, so completely insignificant, but in the best possible way, he said. Which is what? I said, and he said, Humbled. And then, when it rains—I mean, it almost never rains, but if you’re there when it does, it’s like watching the earth and sky going ten rounds. Awesome, he said.

  Someday, I said, still waiting for the gist. By that point I was just like, Okay, let me have it already, you’re making me tense here with these weather reports. No, listen, we need to go, he said, and I said, I know: first bell is in ten minutes. Cam goes, I meant the desert, friendo, and I was just like, Oh. Right, I said. Why not? he said. We could road trip, end of the year, we could just hit the road, he said, and I was like, Oh, right, like my mom would ever agree. And he goes, She likes me, babe, and I go, Yes, she does, but but not that much. Cam goes, Leave the talking up to me, pulling out. You’ll love it, he said. Joshua Tree, Death Valley. And I go, I’ll love Death Valley? Thea, you wouldn’t believe the flowers there, after it rains, he said. Fields of purple flowers like you’ve never seen. I want to take you to the desert, he said.

  I thought about it, and then I said, Cam, don’t tease, no longer amused. Thea, he said, reaching the stop sign, right before the highway. Do I look like I’m teasing? he said, turning to look at me, all serious. I looked at him, but I didn’t answer. Well? he asked. No, I said, and then, pulling out, he goes, That’s because I’m not teasing. I’ve decided you need to see the desert and we need to take a road trip. You’ve decided, I said, and he goes, I think what you meant to say was, Oh, thank you. Or maybe, Cam, you are the greatest boyfriend in the whole world, he said, and I started laughing.

  Thing is, he’s so forgiving. It’s one of the qualities I admire most about him, how he could watch me screw up in some completely stupid, hideous, shameful way, and he’d forgive me, too. And I just kept spazzing out, since the day we met, and I kept waiting for him to see how ugly I was, inside, and if he saw it, well, all I know is, he never looked away. We just sat, quiet, all the way to town, until we pulled into the school parking lot, and he turned off the ignition.

  Then he turned to me and he goes, You still getting your head around that, or you need some help, there, Sparky? I started laughing, trying my hardest not to laugh, but once in a while he’d throw out some nickname. And I am so not Sparky, trust me. Yeah, I need something, all right, I said. You’re telling me, he said, because I need something, too. So maybe we could work something out, you and me, he said, winking at me. Now, he sighed, sitting back, so he could get a good look at me, his head freshly shaved, grinning as wide as the day is long, as my grandpa used to say. About that apology? he said.

  I felt the blood heading straight for my cheeks, and then, almost as though it was ringing from the heavens, the bell! I raised my arm in V for victory, practically punching the top of the car. And that, friendo, that is what we like to call saved by the first bell, I said, taunting him, still holding my arms up high, and his face. Oh, what I’d give to have a picture of Cam’s face at that moment, but, then again, who knows. I guess Nanna was right: there are times when you just have to look at what’s right in front of you, take it in, and hold on as tight as you can, every last detail.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 2011

  (TWENTY-FIVE DAYS LATER)

  2:57 PM

  I have no idea how I made it through the week, but Friday, after school, standing on the front steps, I couldn’t stand the thought of getting on the bus again, and I didn’t want to go home. After everything that’s happened, I didn’t want to be alone any longer than I absolutely have to be. Which is not me at all, I know, but it was getting lighter out, every night, and I just wanted to sit somewhere I’d be left alone for a couple hours. Not school, not home, so I went to Silver Top.

  It felt so strange, because it was the first time in six months that I’d been there without Cam. It was past three, but the Elders were still there. I’ve always called them that, because they’re like a tribal council, the Elders. The first time Cam saw them, he said it looked like they must have called shotgun on the big booth in the back sometime in the sixties, and it’s true—no one dares sit in the back booth if they’re around. You know Silver Top has been open since 1963, and it hasn’t changed one bit since then. Like it’s still got the long row of round chrome and red leather stools at the counter, padded booths, and a rotating glass pie case. It’s a time capsule, and it’s definitely not Starbuck’s. Which is another reason I love it.

  And the Elders, they all wear a matching uniform, more or less. It’s like this old-timer’s dress code, and there’s a little bit of variation, but their favorite look is something like a red and white checkered shirt, black Justin boots, and, of course, baggy-assed Levis, which they still call dungarees. I’d never been close to any of the four of them, but I just knew they smelled like the old man cocktail of whiskey, Old Spice, and Marlboro Reds, with the faintest whiff of engine oil, even though they scrubbed their nails spotless with Lava soap.

  Anyhow, this is where they come, it’s their home away from their homes, and they come every day, talking, not talking, like men who’ve known each other fifty years do, I guess. But sometimes, the way they look out the window, you’d think it was the silver screen. And when you walk in—doesn’t matter if you grew up
here, doesn’t matter if you were here yesterday and the day before and every day for the past month—you’ll hear growling in their stares. They’re like the watchdogs of a time past, and they know it’s passed—the Elders know better than anyone that it’s gone, that their time has come and gone, and that’s what makes it all the more valuable, their padded booth at the back, their clear view out the window. It’s one thing that will never change, so they hold on to it for dear life.

  Anyhow, I couldn’t bring myself to sit in the same booth where we always sat. I just couldn’t do it, so I sat a few booths away, looking at our booth longingly, with this pang in my chest, like, Ugh, there’s our booth, where we like to make fun of people who have things like Our Songs…. Seriously, I caught myself getting all sentimental, but we spent so much together, right there, with nothing in the world between us but that Formica tabletop. Honestly, I was so out of it, I didn’t even think about the fact I’d opened my old notebook to some sketches of Cam’s hands that I’d drawn months ago, and I spread the spiral notebook open. I thought I was in the clear, too, but then my ears started burning, because I knew the Elders must have been talking about Cam, when I walked in, not sure whether or not to keep talking. Then one of them said, You hear the news? Then another one of them said, Hear what? FBI’s involved now, one said, and another Elder said, I’ll be damned, and another one of them said, In that case, you better get in line, and he took a lazy sip of coffee, slurping out loud.

  I know because I saw the whole thing in the window’s reflection. My ears were beet red, and then, sure enough, the bell rings above the diner door, and I know who it is, without even looking: it’s Agent Foley. It happened so quickly, I didn’t think to grab Hubble when I heard the bell, and a second later, he was standing over me. I could feel him, so I didn’t look up, and he waited, and I ignored him, until, finally, Foley goes, Hello, Theadora. Would you mind if I joined you? I didn’t look up, because I was too afraid to look him in the eye, and the whole place went quiet. I knew the Elders were listening, but I told him, I go, Yes. I would mind very much, reaching for my sketchbook. Of course: you’re working, he said, in that annoying pleasant tone that makes me want to stab his hand with a pencil, ugh. So what’s he do? He walked straight over to our table in the corner, directly in front of me, then he goes, Wonderful drawing, by the way. Those hands are so lifelike, Theadora, he said, sitting down, removing a discarded newspaper from the seat beside him, putting it on the table.

  I tried ignoring him, and at the same time, I tried not listening to the old men, but the blood started in again, and I could feel it moving straight for my cheeks. Still, at that moment, trapped there, between two worlds, I couldn’t care less who drove through the net on the highway or who defaced the school flag, and then, looking down at what I’d drawn, realizing my hand hadn’t stopped moving the entire time Foley approached me and walked away, at that very moment, I began outlining and shading the words I’d written, But what did they do with all those stars?

  From the moment she laid eyes on Foley, Sharon, the owner of Silver Top, didn’t trust him. It was so obvious, too, when she walked over, just how stiff she was and how she stood back, saying a dry, curt hello, before she asked what she could get him, holding the plastic menu like a shield over her chest, not even setting it down for him to look at. Sharon wasn’t having anything to do with him.

  Coffee, please, he said, and she goes, Anything else? her voice as flat as a board. Just coffee for now, thank you, Foley said, and I could feel him smiling. Then he just sat there, with his hands folded on top of the table—I could see his hands, touching our table, and it grossed me out. I could feel him watching me, studying me, like he did in the conference room. So I had him in front of me, and behind me, I could feel the Elders staring at him, right through me, and they didn’t like him, either. No, I could feel their stares like a furnace blowing behind me, and sitting there, between them, I felt like I was caught in a cross fire, until Sharon brought Foley his coffee. Then she came over, blocking his view. Fill ’er up, darlin’? she asked, looking at my glass. I shook my head no and looked up, smiling at her, so grateful for her protection, and I practically grabbed her wrist when she stepped away, hearing something drop in the kitchen, leaving me, like a sitting duck.

  In all that time, I bet you no one blinked. It was so tense, and when it was clear that neither side was backing down, the old men started talking, like Foley was invisible. They were upping the ante, see, staring right at him, but really, looking right through him, just daring Foley to speak. I knew he knew what they were doing and he wasn’t going to fall for it, but that wasn’t the point. Territory, that’s what you have to understand about people around here, the way they look at the whole world is about territory, and Silver Top belongs to the Elders.

  I heard it was clean, too, said one of the old men. It was Del, I think, and they were back to talking about the school flag again, about the missing stars. I hear it looks like a seamstress cut them out, one by one, all fifty stars, but sewn up so there wasn’t one loose thread, he said. What do you make of that? he asked. Dunno, why go to all that trouble? said Frank, who was the tallest and had the highest voice of the bunch. Did you see it? Del asked. I saw it, Frank said, Everyone’s seen it. School might as well charge tickets, don’t have any money in their budget. Well, there you go, Del said.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone rang. I mean, I tried to play it off, because everyone must’ve noticed, it spooked me so bad. The strange thing is—I mean, aside from the fact no one ever calls me, and thinking it’s Cam every time my phone rings—when my phone rang, just then, I felt it in my bowels. Gross, I know, but it just twisted me up and made me so nervous for some reason. And I tried to play it off, checking, but I didn’t know the number, so I ignored it, sighing, like, whatever. So I put my phone away again and acted like I was too busy to care. But Foley was smiling—I could feel it, and to be honest, between the phone call and the vibe he was giving me, I started sweating. My hands got all clammy, and I was afraid I’d smudge both pages of my sketchbook. So I pulled my phone out again, acting like I was texting someone, just to keep my eyes busy, but then my phone rang again. I thought maybe it was the same number, the same person calling back for some reason, but it was a New York number, 212. I don’t know anyone in New York, but I was curious.

  So I waited for both voice mails to come through, and then I turned to the window, looking away so Foley couldn’t see my face, listening to the two messages, both from reporters. Can you believe that? Both calls were from reporters; one was a man, and the other was a woman, and they both said they wanted to speak to me. I couldn’t imagine why some missing teenage kid would be big news, seeing as he’s a legal adult, and no one had any information. I mean, people go missing all the time, right, so I nodded my head, looking at my phone, like, Really?

  Foley knew—I could tell he thought he knew something about the calls or maybe he even knew who was calling. But I just ignored him and turned to look for Sharon, give her the sign. I caught her eye through the short-order window, and she put her hand up, so I left my money on the table and grabbed my books, trying not to look like I was running out. It’s just beginning, you know, Foley said, speaking to me, but loud enough for everyone to hear, and I knew it then. They smell blood, he said, and hearing that word, the Elders stopped talking, and it was like the scene in a movie where there’s the popping and cracking of shotguns and pistols, and everyone’s got their finger on the trigger. I couldn’t see either side, but who needs to see a gun to feel a trigger being pulled?

  All I knew was I had to get the hell away from Foley, because if I didn’t, he was going to say something else. So I walked out, and I knew Sharon would stall Foley if he tried to follow me—she always said she’d worked in a diner long enough to know a bad egg when she smelled one. Foley must’ve left cash on the table, because I heard the bell above the door chime twenty seconds after I got outside. Not even thinking about it, I grabbed my
phone to call my mom and tell her I’d meet her at her office, but when I heard footsteps behind me, I had this feeling that Foley was about to say my name, and I swear, if I had to hear him call me Theadora one more time, I was going to scream. So I turned my phone off, and just started walking as fast as I could. Then, when I heard a car start, knowing it was him, I bolted.

  I don’t know how long I ran or where the hell I was going. I didn’t know that part of town at all; I just kept cutting across people’s back lawns, trying to stay away from the road, dodging a couple of spotted terriers who were looking for a fight. And then, at one point, I was so out of breath, I stopped and hid behind a tree along the dividing line between these two big backyards that must’ve been like two miles from town, at least. There I was, hiding behind a pine tree, my heart and lungs pounding like timpani drums in my ears, trying to remember the last time I ran like that. When I looked up, catching my breath, in the next house over, in this backyard, I saw this blue dome—a tent or something. There were cars parked in the driveway, but I didn’t see anyone moving around inside the house.

  At first, I just wanted to get a better look, see what was beneath the blue dome. I knew Cam would’ve been so proud of me, too, sneaking over to take a look, and it hurt for a second, not having him there. Then it felt like the only way to find him, to be close to him, was to touch the thing, like you have to touch home base in a game of tag: it had to be done, that’s all I can say. Still, the whole time, I kept expecting someone to come out and ask me what the hell I was doing in her backyard, but no one did. And then, once I reached the dome, I don’t know what got into me, but I had to get in, because it reminded me so much of the forts I used to play in when I was a kid. Really, what is it about kids and forts? I guess it’s about having a place in the world we can believe is safe, even if the roof is made of a felt blanket with baby blue teddy bears on it, you know?