by Isobel Bird
“I confess that one of the reasons I wanted this house so badly was because of the fact that it might be haunted,” Mr. Dunning told Annie. “Ever since my experience I’ve been fascinated by such things. It’s why I write about them, really.”
“What are you going to do now?” Becka asked Annie.
Annie shrugged. “I don’t really know,” she said. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can do. If my parents don’t want me here, I’ll just go away.”
But would her parents leave her alone even if she left San Francisco? They’d come to her in Beecher Falls already. Would they keep coming? Annie didn’t know.
“I think right now I should just go back to my friends’ house,” Annie said. “They’re probably wondering where I am.”
“I’ll walk you there,” Mr. Dunning said. “Becka, can you put the groceries away?”
“Sure,” said his daughter.
Annie stood up to go. “It was nice meeting you,” she said to Becka.
“Same here,” Becka replied, smiling. “I’m sorry about the ghost thing.”
“It’s okay,” said Annie.
“Maybe we can hang out some more while you’re here,” Becka suggested.
“I’d like that,” said Annie.
Becka took the groceries into the kitchen while Annie left with Mr. Dunning. She gave the house a final look as they walked away from it. She didn’t know if she would ever see it again.
They walked in silence for a block. Then Mr. Dunning said, “You seem to know a lot about ghosts and the supernatural.”
Should I tell him about being Wiccan? Annie wondered. Would he think she was just some crazy teenage girl who thought she might be a witch? She had a feeling he wouldn’t, so she said, “I’ve been studying witchcraft for a while. One of my friends had a run-in with a ghost this past spring. We learned quite a bit from that.”
“Sounds interesting,” Mr. Dunning said. “So, you’re a witch?”
“No,” said Annie, relieved that he hadn’t just laughed at her, as she knew a lot of adults would have. “I’m studying to become one, but that doesn’t happen until next April.”
“I don’t know a lot about Wicca,” said Mr. Dunning. “I’ve read a little because of the kind of books I write, but I’m far from being an expert.”
“I’m no expert either,” Annie replied. “It takes a long time to learn what witchcraft is all about.”
They turned onto the street where Riza and George’s house was. When they got to the door Annie rang the bell and waited for someone to answer.
“Thanks for walking me here,” she said to Mr. Dunning.
“Any time,” he said. “And I hope you will come and see Becka again. Maybe tomorrow?”
The door opened before Annie could answer, and her Aunt Sarah appeared. “There you are,” she said. “We were starting to worry. Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine,” Annie answered. “Aunt Sarah, this is Mr. Dunning.”
“Call me Grayson,” said Mr. Dunning as he reached out and shook Aunt Sarah’s hand. “ ‘Mr. Dunning’ makes me feel like the father of a teenage daughter. Which I am, but I like to pretend I’m not hurtling rapidly toward middle age.”
Annie’s aunt laughed. “I know how you feel,” she said.
“Mr. Dunning walked me home,” Annie said. “He lives in our old house.”
The expression on Aunt Sarah’s face changed suddenly to one of surprise. “You went to the house?” she said.
Annie nodded. “I wanted to see what it looked like,” she said.
“And how was it?” Aunt Sarah asked carefully.
“I’ll tell you all about it inside,” said Annie. She turned to Mr. Dunning. “Thanks again,” she said.
“Say,” Mr. Dunning said. “I have an idea. How about you and your aunt have dinner with me and Becka tomorrow night?”
Annie looked at her aunt. “Is that okay?”
Aunt Sarah nodded. “That would be nice,” she said.
Mr. Dunning smiled. Annie couldn’t help but notice that he seemed very pleased that they had accepted.
“Here’s our number,” Mr. Dunning said, pulling a business card from his pocket and handing it to Aunt Sarah. “Give us a call tomorrow and we’ll make a plan.”
“We’ll see you then,” said Annie’s aunt.
Mr. Dunning nodded and walked away. He turned once and waved, and Aunt Sarah waved back. Then she and Annie went into the house.
“He seems very nice,” Aunt Sarah said when she closed the door. “And very cute.”
“He is nice,” said Annie. Then she realized what else her aunt had said. “What do mean he’s cute?” she demanded.
“Well, he is,” said Aunt Sarah.
“Who’s cute?” asked George, coming out of the living room and overhearing the tail end of the conversation.
“Grayson Dunning,” said Aunt Sarah. “The gentleman who just brought Annie home.”
“He’s a writer,” Annie told them.
“And he brought you home?” George asked.
“And we’re having dinner with him tomorrow,” said Aunt Sarah. “What should I wear?”
“I still want to know why he brought Annie home,” George said.
“Who brought Annie home?” Riza appeared from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in her hand. “And George, why aren’t you chopping garlic like I asked you to?”
“I’ll explain everything,” said Annie. “Let’s all go into the kitchen.”
Once they were all in the kitchen, Riza went back to making dinner with George’s help. Aunt Sarah and Annie sat at stools around the wooden island in the center of the kitchen, and Annie told them everything that had happened.
“You really think your parents’ ghosts are in that house?” George asked.
“Yes,” said Annie. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve heard them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” asked her aunt, sounding concerned.
“Because there’s nothing you can do about it,” said Annie. “Besides, I wasn’t sure it was really them. Not until today.”
“Why would your parents be angry with you?” Riza asked as she stirred the sauce she was preparing.
Annie didn’t know how to answer that question. In telling her story she’d left out the part about how the fire had been her fault. She’d never told her aunt that, and she didn’t want to do it now. Instead she just said, “I don’t know.”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Then Annie said, “I wish Sophia was here. She’d know what to do.”
“Who’s Sophia?” George asked.
“The woman who runs the Wicca study group I go to,” Annie said.
“Wicca?” Riza said. “You mean she’s a witch?”
“Yes,” Annie said. “My friends and I take a class at her bookstore.”
“If you need a witch, I can help you out,” said Riza.
“You’re a witch?” Aunt Sarah said.
Riza shook her head. “No,” she answered. “But my friend Dixon is. I’m sure he could help you out.”
“How come everyone seems to be clued in to the witch world but me?” Aunt Sarah asked. “Until Annie introduced me to Sophia and her group I’d never even met a witch.”
“Please,” George said as he peeled a potato. “This is San Francisco. The place is crawling with witches.”
“Do you want me to call Dixon?” Riza asked Annie.
“I don’t know,” Annie said doubtfully. “I’m not really sure what he could do.”
“It can’t hurt to ask him,” said Aunt Sarah.
Annie looked at Riza. She really did wish Sophia was around to talk to. But maybe talking to another witch would help. “Okay,” she said. “If you don’t think your friend will mind.”
Riza laughed. “Dixon?” she said. “He’ll do anything for an audience. I’ll call him right now.”
She walked into the other room and returned a few minutes later. “He’s happy to help,” she said. �
��I told him to come for dinner and the two of you can talk about it.”
“Thanks,” Annie said.
For the next half hour they all pitched in making dinner. Annie was just taking the pasta off the stove and pouring it into a colander when the doorbell rang.
“That will be Dixon,” Riza said as she dried her hands on a towel and went to answer the bell.
Annie heard her open the door. A moment later she heard someone say, “Darlings, don’t fear. The good faerie is here.”
“Prepare yourselves,” George said to Annie and Sarah.
Annie gave her aunt a puzzled look. Then Riza came back into the kitchen with Dixon. Annie turned around and had to keep herself from looking as shocked as she was.
Dixon was about six feet tall. He was thin, with bright red hair and startling ice-blue eyes. And he was wearing a billowy pink dress and carrying a wand, just like Glinda the Good Witch in the movie version of The Wizard of Oz.
CHAPTER 11
“How’s it been at home?” T.J. asked Cooper as they walked through town on Saturday afternoon.
It had gotten colder almost overnight, and Cooper was wearing her battered old blue wool navy jacket. She kept her hands stuffed in the pockets as they walked. In response to her boyfriend’s question she shrugged and let out a sigh.
“My mother doesn’t say much,” she said. “I think she feels weird being there with just me. My dad was kind of like insulation, you know. He kept the friction down.”
“But you haven’t been fighting, have you?” T.J. inquired.
Cooper shook her head. “Not at all,” she answered. “In fact, we don’t see each other very often. Mom has a lot of school meetings, and I’ve been busy with my writing.”
“What about your dad?”
“We’re having dinner tonight,” Cooper said. “It feels weird, making an appointment to see your own father.”
“It’s not quite that bad,” T.J. replied.
“I know,” Cooper said. “But it’s sort of like that. Anyway, I don’t really like to think about it much.”
“Well, you’re going to have to think about it sometime,” said T.J. “If they get divorced, then it’s just going to get worse.”
Cooper didn’t respond. She didn’t want to think about the possibility that her parents’ current living arrangement might be permanent. She kept telling herself that they just needed a break and that once they worked out their problems her father would move back in and everything would be like it had always been.
“I didn’t mean to lecture you or anything,” said T.J., noticing her silence.
Cooper took one hand out of her pocket and slipped it into T.J.’s hand. His fingers closed around hers. “I know,” she said. “It’s just too new. And I feel really stupid about it. Most of my friends’ parents are divorced. You’d think it wouldn’t be a big deal. But whenever I even start to think about it I get this sort of sick feeling inside. So I just don’t go there.”
T.J. didn’t say anything. He simply bumped his shoulder into hers, reminding her that he was there when she was ready to talk. Cooper appreciated the gesture, and she smiled at him.
“Speaking of divorces, how’s the band?” asked Cooper.
“They’re okay,” said T.J. “You really surprised Jed and Mouse when you left like that. I think they’re still expecting you to come back.”
“I really don’t think I can,” Cooper said. “I need to do my own thing, at least for a while. Besides, now you don’t have any excuses for not finishing all those songs you’ve got sitting around.”
“Maybe,” T.J. said. “It’s not quite the same without you there. I mean, I like Jed and Mouse just fine, but I didn’t start a band to be in it with them. I did it so that I could play with you.”
“So let’s play together,” Cooper suggested. “Just you and me. You can still play with Schroedinger’s Cat and I can do whatever it is I’m going to do. But we’ll make one night a week just us. We can try out our new stuff on each other.”
T.J. considered her suggestion, then nodded. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
Cooper checked her watch. “I have to meet my dad in a little bit,” she said. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” T.J. said. “And I’ve got to get home.”
“Talk to you later tonight?” asked Cooper.
“I’ll be there,” said T.J. He gave her a kiss and hugged her tightly. “You’re pretty cool, you know,” he said.
“You’re not so bad either,” Cooper replied as he let go. “Later.”
She turned and walked away. She was really happy that she had T.J. around. She still couldn’t quite believe that she had a boyfriend, especially one she could actually talk to about things. It was nice to have someone who understood her, at least most of the time.
She walked to the corner. The light was red, so she waited for it to change. As she did, she heard someone playing a guitar. She looked for the source of the music and saw a girl standing in front of a building across the street, a guitar in her hands.
Cooper listened. The girl was good. She played the guitar with confidence, picking out the notes with both strength and delicacy. There was a small crowd gathered around her, and they were tapping their feet and nodding their heads as she played.
When the light turned green Cooper crossed the street and joined the crowd around the girl. Now she had a better look at her. The girl was a teenager, younger than Cooper had expected. She was kind of heavy, with a round face and full lips. Her long black hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she tossed it around as she played.
The girl’s eyes were closed. Cooper watched her play. She seemed to be lost in the music, her body and her head moving along with the melody she played. Then she opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voiced rolled out, low and throaty. It was an old voice, and Cooper was pleasantly surprised to hear it coming from such a young woman.
“Standing at the crossroads, looking for my way,” she sang. “Mother, do you hear me? Do you hear the words I say?”
The words hung in the air like smoke rings. The girl’s voice had the audience spellbound. Cooper, too, stood enraptured. Something about the way the girl performed, the way she was playing for herself first and for the audience second, resonated within Cooper. It was how she played, too.
Plus, there was something familiar about the girl’s lyrics. Cooper heard in them the same kinds of things she herself wrote and sang about. She listened more closely, and as the girl’s song went on Cooper found herself more and more certain that they shared more than a love of music.
When the girl finished the crowd applauded her. She thanked them with a nod of her head. Some people tossed coins and even bills into her open guitar case. Then, when they saw that she wasn’t going to sing another song right away, they dispersed, leaving Cooper alone with the girl. The girl didn’t pay any attention to Cooper, looking at the money in her case while she absentmindedly played something on her guitar.
“Nancy Wilson,” Cooper said, recognizing the music. “ ‘Silver Wheels,’ although most people only know it as the intro to ‘Crazy On You.’ ”
The girl stopped playing and looked at her. “You like Heart?” she asked.
Cooper nodded. “Not the glam-eighties stuff, but the older songs, yeah. Nancy Wilson’s a fantastic guitarist, and Ann has one of the best voices in rock.”
The girl smiled. “You’re right about that,” she said. “Most people our age don’t even know about them.”
Cooper snorted. “They probably think Courtney Love was the first woman to pick up a guitar,” she scoffed. “But I like all of that older music. Heart. The Pretenders. Joni Mitchell. I know she’s not really a rocker, but I’ve learned some great stuff about tunings from listening to her records.”
“You play, too?” the girl asked.
Cooper nodded. The girl took her guitar from around her neck and handed it to Cooper. “Play me something,” she said.
Cooper took the guitar and slun
g it over her shoulder. She strummed it a few times and then began playing a little bit of a song she’d learned from one of her favorite records.
“The Indigo Girls,” the other girl said, nodding approvingly. “Not bad. Do you do your own stuff, too?”
Cooper started playing “Dancing in Her Hand.” She picked out the notes and then sang the first verse and the chorus. When she stopped the girl said, “Let me hear the rest.”
Cooper played the remainder of the song. As she did, some people stopped to listen. This made her slightly uncomfortable, but she kept going. When she was done she was pleased to hear people clapping, and then she saw more money being dropped into the girl’s guitar case.
“That song is great,” the girl said when everyone had left.
“Thanks,” Cooper replied. “I thought you might be able to relate to it.” She paused expectantly, wondering if the girl would pick up on the subtle clue she had just dropped. Had she really understood any of the Goddess references in Cooper’s song?
If she had, the girl didn’t say anything about it. She just said, “You love Heart and play guitar. Where have you been all my life?”
Cooper laughed. “I’m Cooper,” she said, handing the girl’s guitar back to her.
“I’m Jane,” the girl said. “I know, it’s really boring. But I sort of like it because of that. I called my band Plain Jane.”
“I like it,” said Cooper. “So you’re in a band?”
“I was,” Jane replied. “Not anymore.”
“Same here,” said Cooper.
“How sad for us,” Jane said, frowning dramatically. “So much talent yet bandless.” She knelt and started scooping the money out of her case. Most of it she stuffed into her pocket, but she handed some bills to Cooper.
“What’s that for?” Cooper asked.
