by Meg Collett
As Violet stood out by the bluffs, people started arriving. They’d been instructed to park at the bottom of the hill and walk up through Hale’s haunted maze. He and Cade were down there now, positioned to scare people or turn on the fog machines at just the right moment.
The people of Canaan came right at eight o’clock in droves. Violet watched in wonder as they materialized in the dark, wearing their costumes. She spotted Maggie in her black dress and silver hair. Tooty instantly waved her over to his booth. Emilie Lau was there next to Stevie, scowling in a costume of nothing more than black jeans and a shredded white shirt. Stevie’s friends from L.A., Mark and Abby, were here, as were the florist and the owner of Spanky Franks and the deli keeper and the older ladies from the post office. The entire town had come, and more than half were dressed as Ghosts.
From her safe distance, Violet watched the party build and grow, and half an hour later, people were dancing and drinking and eating her macarons and brain brownies. Kyra and Stevie threaded through them, clipboards in hand, handing out pamphlets or getting signatures for the petition.
The night had barely begun and the party already felt like a living creature with a beating heart.
Violet turned back to the ocean and looked out across the waves. How many times had she stood here, in this exact same spot, and peered out over the water, wondering if her parents could see her, if they were still with her, if she wasn’t as alone as she felt? She came out here to feel less like the only person in the world.
And tonight, she was far from any of that. Life spilled out all around her and cascaded down into the ocean below, carried off on the waves.
Not long ago, she’d been fearful of letting people in her life because no matter what, they always left. It hadn’t felt worth it. But somehow, her thoughts had shifted. She had more people in her life than she’d ever had, and letting them in felt good. It felt worth it. She smiled down toward the waves, praying a silent little prayer that her parents were watching. She hoped they knew they hadn’t left her alone.
“You’re giving them a good show.”
She glanced back as Arie came up to stand beside her. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. I’m standing very close to the edge here.”
“Sorry.”
“Too late now, Arie,” she said, using his own words against him with the same dry delivery. “You’ve already scared the shit out of me.”
His shoulders vibrated with a low chuckle, a hint of white teeth peeking out from between his smooth lips. His trimmed beard gathered the night’s shadows.
“Who am I giving a good show to?” she asked, her attention returning to the breakers below.
“Them.” Arie jerked his chin toward the party. “Standing out here, you’re the Ghost they’ve always imagined.”
“Oh.” She glanced back at the party and spotted quite a few people watching her as they danced and talked and ate and drank. But no one was laughing or pointing or running away screaming.
“Violet . . .”
Her attention swept back to Arie. He watched her face, his eyes sliding down to the high line of lace around her neck and back up to her red lips, then to her eyes.
“Yes?” she breathed out.
“You look beautiful.”
Her scalp prickled and she smoothed a hand down the lace at her hips, his attention locking on the movement.
“Thank you,” she whispered, the breeze nearly stealing her words away.
But he’d heard. He always heard her, even the words she didn’t speak.
The music was a heady pulse at the back of her teeth, vibrating her from the inside out, and her heart mimicked the deep bass. Arie stepped in closer beneath the shimmering lights around them, his boots silent over the ground. Violet instinctively leaned into him, her body aching for the simple touch. Her mind spun from it.
All these people around her. Her house pulsing with life. Never before had she been less alone, but the only person she could see was Arie.
He took her hand, his thumb whisking over the tops of her knuckles. A chill inched down her spine. A deep set of furrows appeared between his heavy eyebrows.
“What are you thinking so hard over?” she asked.
“You,” he said, his words carried on a sigh as if they were a heavy burden. “I want to—”
“Arie!”
They glanced over toward the center of the party. Hale and Cade were by the perimeter of the dance floor, pulling two guys apart as they swung at each other. It was a small scuffle, and not many people were paying much attention to it, but the partygoers’ girlfriends were getting involved, throwing punches at each other too. Kyra stood off to the side, her eyes wide and her hand over her mouth.
“Hold that thought,” Arie said, pulling his hand back, and strode over to help.
Violet watched him go, her lip caught between her teeth. As the guys dealt with the drunk partiers, Violet forced herself away from the bluff and back into the party. She stopped next to Kyra.
“Where’s Stevie?” she asked, not having seen the spunky redhead in a while.
“Oh gosh,” Kyra heaved out. “Just wait.”
“Good or bad?” Violet knew Stevie well enough now to ask when she heard that tone in Kyra’s voice.
“Um, it depends, I guess.”
“Should I go ahead and call the police so they can start making their way over?”
Kyra snorted out a laugh, her attention peeling away from where Hale was depositing the drunks outside the party. Her smile stretched across her pretty, tanned face. Even in her Ghost costume, she looked like a sun goddess. “It might come to that later, but I think we should be good for this part, if everything goes to plan.”
She waved at Hale, gesturing urgently for him to come back. He spotted her and nodded. Without a word, he clapped Cade’s shoulder and pointed back to the party. Arie ensured the drunk guys were gone before he followed the Cooper brothers back into the mix.
The front door to her house opened, catching Violet’s eye. Emilie and a woman Violet vaguely remembered as Annabelle Cooper’s nurse came out, helping Cade and Hale’s mother down the rickety steps. They brought her over to Kyra and Violet. Annabelle waved to Violet, excitement dancing in her eyes. There was a bend to her body that hadn’t been there when Violet had last seen her at Kyra’s shower. She looked less solid than the breeze wisping around them.
Then the lights dimmed.
“Get ready,” Kyra murmured.
Tooty’s music lowered to a steady drum beat, the dance floor lights flashing in time to the bass.
From the side of Violet’s house, a large pumpkin appeared from the shadows. Four shirtless guys, wearing only green tights and jack-o’-lantern black face paint, carried the pumpkin forward. They glided over the uneven terrain onto the dance floor. People parted, their mouths opening at the sight.
The men sat the large pumpkin down and stepped back, fading away from the empty dance floor.
Suddenly, a canon boomed. People shrieked, and confetti rained down from the sky, along with a horrible amount of glitter. Violet waved a hand in front of her face.
Through the confetti and glitter, the pumpkin’s lid flew back and Stevie popped out.
Dressed in a donut costume.
“Oh geez,” Kyra whispered. “I told her the costume was too much.”
“It’s perfect,” Annabelle said, smiling. “It’s Stevie.”
Violet narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t a donut costume at all, but a gold ring, and Stevie’s headpiece wasn’t frosting, but a very large, plush diamond. She was an engagement ring.
“Cade Cooper!” Stevie called. She swung her legs over the edge of the pumpkin and humped her way over the lip. Free from her chariot, she dropped catlike to the dance floor. The costume was too tight around her knees for her to walk right, so she waddled across the floor toward Cade, who’d frozen in place next to Hale and Arie.
Violet choked on a laugh. Kyra’s head fell into her hands, her shoulders shaki
ng uncontrollably with laughter. “Oh my god, I’m going to pee,” she whispered.
Hale had his fist pressed against his mouth to hold back a laugh, and Arie wasn’t fairing much better. Through the crowd, he met Violet’s wide eyes.
By then, Stevie had reached Cade. For all his politeness and good manners, he looked ready to faint.
“Cade,” Stevie said again. She did an awkward sort of splits and managed to lower herself to one knee. She reached down the front of her costume and fished around in her cleavage. “Hang on. Wait for it. This thing is in here somewhere . . . Found it!”
She blew at a curl that had sprung free from her diamond headpiece and fallen over her eye and opened the black box in her hand. “Cade,” she huffed. “I have a question.”
“Okay, Stevie,” Cade managed, his face bright red and splitting with a huge grin.
“I know I’m a big freaking disaster half the time, and you have to spend a lot of time apologizing to people for me. I use my dishwasher to store my purses, and I cuss too much, or that’s what Kyra says. Most of the time, I’m a ticking time bomb, and I screw up a lot. But I love you. Like, I mean, I love you a lot. I love how your khakis make your butt look so hot and I love how you laugh at my bad jokes. I love everything you say. Every single word. When we’re old and dusty, I’ll be saying random shit just to hear you talk more. You’re the best person I know.”
She took a big, halting breath.
“I’ll probably never stop screwing up, and I’ll probably screw up bad a few times, but I love you. And I want to marry you. Mainly so Mrs. Walker and Mrs. Harrison stop glaring at you when you do the walk of shame in the mornings. I mean, come on. We all know they do some freaky shit with Mr. Henderson. Am I right?”
The crowd cheered. Everyone knew about the Petunia Patrol living on Gardenia Street.
When the cheering died down, Kyra coughed loudly.
“That’s my cue to wrap it up,” Stevie said. “So, Cade Cooper, will you marry me or not?”
She pulled out a silver band from the box and held it up to Cade. She flashed him her best smile, though Violet saw it tremble slightly at the corners. She was terrified, but only Stevie Reynolds could propose like this, in a blaze of glory.
Violet’s eyes flicked to Cade. If he said no or hurt Stevie, she would . . . She didn’t know what she would do, but it would be bad. But then, she needn’t worry.
Cade bent over, scooped Stevie off the ground, crushing her costume, and planted a long, deep kiss on her mouth. He pulled back as the crowd hooted and catcalled, the lights flashing around them. Staring only at her, he whispered something against her lips. Stevie was nodding and smiling, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Cade held out his left hand and she guided the band onto his finger.
Next to Kyra, Annabelle put her hand around Kyra’s waist and rested her head on Kyra’s shoulder as she watched her youngest son and his bride-to-be sway back and forth to their own slow song. Kyra looped her arm through Violet’s, linking her to the line of women.
Yes, Violet thought, there was nothing wrong with letting people into her life.
* * *
The party ended at two in the morning when the cops showed up, saying everyone needed to go home. Apparently, there had been a few noise complaints, even though Violet barely had any neighbors, and none were within a five-mile radius. No one could actually figure out who had called the cops since everyone in town was at the party. They’d even caught Mrs. Walker and Mrs. Harrison leaving, wearing witch costumes.
After Hale and Cade saw their mother and her nurse safely off, they helped Tooty pack up his booth. Arie took the fake streetlights down while Kyra and Violet carried in the empty plates of food. Everything had been eaten, and the gallons of party punch Stevie had mixed but not touched was drained dry. They picked up three trash bags full of empty cups and napkins and pulled down bundles of cobwebs. Some threads still clung to the tops of the trees, and they’d remain there until the birds needed them in the spring for their nests.
Cade and Stevie were the first of their group to leave, their heads bent close and their hands linked together. Then Kyra and Hale, with Hale’s arm wrapped around Kyra, guiding her toward his truck as if she were made of glass. She let him, her head leaning on his shoulder.
Then it was just Arie and Violet and the quiet.
Violet’s ears rang hollow from the quiet, and her eyes felt strange without the constant lights flashing across them.
Arie put up the last of the folding tables and wiped his hands on his dress pants. He’d offered Violet his jacket at the start of the cleanup, and even with the cold, he’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing the rippling bulge of his forearms. She wrapped his jacket around her and pulled it tight against her skin.
“I think that’s it for now,” Arie said, rubbing the heel of his hands against his eyes. “What a night, huh?”
“What a night.” Her voice slipped down from the porch, where she leaned against the doorframe into her house.
“I guess that’s—”
“Hey, Arie.”
He looked up at her. “Yeah?” he asked, his eyes catching on her again and again.
“You know what would be funny?”
His lips twitched, the words familiar. “What?” he asked, playing along.
“Telling Stevie we spent the night together.”
It wasn’t a joke, and Arie’s face turned completely serious, his hands stilling at his sides. “What are you saying, Violet?”
Her heart was molten lava in her chest, burning with something she’d never experienced. “I’m asking if you want to spend the night with me.”
14
In that moment, she and Arie were suspended in time, cast through the spools of minutes and years while her words—spend the night with me—settled between them.
Funny how just a few words could change the entire trajectory of a life.
She stepped farther out on the porch, her mother’s dress nearly blue in the moonlight. Arie tracked her every step toward him. He searched her face, the tension in his shoulders and the complete stillness of his body telling her his thoughts were tumbling as quickly through his mind as they were in hers.
“I think,” she said in a near whisper, “this is one of those moments in life you have to step on to get across.”
His gaze snapped to her mouth as she spoke. He drank her words down as if quenching a long, aching thirst, but he still hadn’t said anything.
She offered him a slight smile. “You don’t have to. I’m not asking for a kidney, Arie. This isn’t life or death.”
“Too late now,” he said, his voice raspy as if he hadn’t spoken in days. “You’ve already scared the shit out of me, Violet.”
Her smile spread, and beneath her dress, her skin warmed. “You don’t look that scared.”
His boots scuffed across the gravel and dirt. As he came to her, she noticed the swing of his leg was a little more pronounced, the long day wearing on him, pulling at him piece by piece. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked up. “I’m terrified.”
She held out her hand to him. He didn’t need help up the stairs—he had yet to need any help from her—but she offered it nonetheless. It had been a long day, and their pieces were scattered.
He swallowed and took her hand. His fingers rasped across hers, the calluses of his palms meeting hers. They twined their fingers together, and he came up the steps. She kept her grip sure and strong to prove she could support him, that she was here, living and alive with him right in this moment.
She hoped the weight of her grip conveyed the weight of her invitation.
Turning, she led him through the front door. He paused to close it behind him. The lock slid home, echoing through the silent house.
She took him upstairs, past the graffiti she’d painted over this week, to her room on the second floor, guiding him through the dark by memory. Her dress swished around her legs, her hair slipping over her shoulder as the stai
rs passed beneath her. She felt his eyes on her back as he likely wondered what on earth had come over her.
As if she’d guessed his thoughts, he asked, “Did you have any of Stevie’s punch?”
She forced back a grin. They’d reached her room, the furnace leaking orange light out from below the door. “I don’t have to be drunk to want you.”
Without glancing back to see how he reacted to her words, she pushed open her door and stepped into the warm room, releasing his hand. Only then did she feel the first spike of nerves.
She eased her feet out of the black boots and set them aside, her bare toes stinging against the chilled floor. Arie remained next to the door.
“Do you want to be alone tonight?” she asked him.
He shook his head.
“I don’t either.” She sucked in her cheeks, thinking. “Perhaps I didn’t go about this the best way. I was probably supposed to seduce you first.”
“Jesus Christ.” He raked his hands through his hair, smoothing it back like he normally did, though he gripped the ends as if needing to hold on to something. “You don’t have to seduce me, I promise.”
“Most women would probably ask in a more subtle manner, I imagine.”
“I imagine,” he agreed. “But you’re not most women.”
“What gave it away?”
“Violet.” He didn’t laugh or smile. “What’s happening here?”
“Oh. I thought that would be obvious?”
His eyes closed as if he were reining something back in. Then he spoke, having already arranged and rearranged the words in his mind. “Have you been with anyone else?”
