Ghost Gifts

by Laura Spinella

  The first time they had sex—which was the first time they’d met—was in the airplane’s lavatory, halfway through a six-hour flight. She’d been wearing a comfortable wraparound dress that had lent itself to the unexpected event. Aubrey pursed her lips, thinking about it, still a bit stunned by the fact that it had happened. She’d never done anything so impetuous. She’d never even thought of it. Of course, she’d been lucky; it surely could have been reckless misfortune instead of the start of a life together. Thinking about that, Levi slipped to where he belonged—the back of her mind.

  Aubrey touched a silkier dress she rarely wore. I wonder if Owen remembers the beige sheath dress. It could be construed as sexy, or at least I’ve always thought so . . . Aubrey had worn it to work a week or two ago. She’d caught Levi doing a double take. He’d been forced to say something like “Wow. That’s, um . . . different.” Whatever different meant. Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Would you just get out!” she said out loud. She shoved the dress to the right. Who gave a damn what Levi thought? “Even when you’re not being annoying, you’re being annoying.” But a few moments later Aubrey returned to the dress. Huffing, she yanked the figure-hugging beige garb from its hanger. With no time to spare, she grabbed a silky black wrap from the top of her closet, making certain the dress read as sexy, as opposed to different.

  Twenty minutes later, Aubrey and Owen arrived simultaneously at La Petite Maison. They’d always had good timing. He hurried across the parking lot, meeting her more than halfway. His embrace was familiar and the first thing Aubrey noticed was that he smelled like her husband, the scent of patchouli ingrained. Owen said he wore the offbeat, beatnik aftershave because people who didn’t know him figured he’d just finished smoking a joint anyway. He kissed her like her husband too—passionately. More like he’d done in that airplane lavatory and on the floor of their craftsman living room the day they’d moved in. But instead of responding, Aubrey felt a rush of mixed emotions. She detached from the intimate moment, tucking back a wave of flaxen hair that had slipped from his signature ponytail. His arms stayed tight around her. “Sorry,” she said, wiping a smudge of lipstick from his mouth and glancing around the busy parking lot. “It’s kind of public out here.”

  “We can fix that later. Did you have a busy day?” he said, retreating to generic conversation.

  “Busy is an understatement.”

  “New Missy Flannigan developments?”

  She’d answered without thinking. A busy day required details. “Uh, kind of a dotted line story off the main story,” she said. “I meant busy in that I was out of the office all day. Levi and I were chasing down . . . extraneous information.” She didn’t want to lie, but sharing Levi’s deeply personal experience seemed even less appropriate. “You look nice,” she said, changing the subject. Owen wore an open button-down oxford over a tight T-shirt, a trendy leather sport coat over it—it was a look that complemented his slender frame and Bohemian lifestyle. His hand moved lithely over her back, then caressed the nape of her neck. His light irises seemed to smolder, and she guessed the last place Owen really wanted to be was a fancy French restaurant. Before he could suggest “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Aubrey tugged on his hand. “They won’t hold a reservation five minutes in this place.”

  The hostess checked Owen’s jacket, but Aubrey chose to hang on to her wrap. Leading them through the dimly lit restaurant, the hostess seated them in a high-backed booth toward the rear, a private spot. A waitress enhanced the date-like atmosphere, lighting a candle and bringing Aubrey a glass of wine, Owen a bottle of Bud Light. His easy-going habits wouldn’t be swayed, not even by La Petite Maison’s award-winning wine list. She shuffled her wrap on and off, hesitating, looking for a segue into conversation that usually came naturally. Owen darted ahead.

  “I just want to say . . . the way I reacted to . . . everything . . . It was immature, unwarranted. I’m sorry, Bre.”

  The nickname hit her ears like forgiveness. He hadn’t said “Bre” in nearly a year, not since the parting scene in their living room. “Owen . . .”

  He held up a hand. “Just let me get this out. I even practiced on the drive from New York.” She smiled at his cautionary thoughtfulness. “When I found out about your . . . gift, it was a knee-jerk reaction. The perfect excuse for me to be angry after I’d already reneged on what I’d promised. Being so pissed off, it was an easy out.”

  “Yes, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. I should have told you before we were married—that one’s mine,” she said, staring at her glass of white wine. “All mine. I’m sorry I didn’t.” She looked up at him. “But Owen, now that you do know, how do you feel about it, my gift? A year ago your reaction was so negative. It almost seemed like . . . well, it seemed like it frightened you.”

  “I wouldn’t say frightened as much as stunned.” Owen downed a long mouthful of beer, then tapped the bottle on the table. “Maybe it did make me uncomfortable,” he admitted. “But more than that, it hurt, Bre. You didn’t trust your own husband enough to confide in me. That part did make me reconsider a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “To be honest, I spent time these past months wondering if we’d rushed into things in the first place.”

  “And did we?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “No. We didn’t. The time apart . . . the space, it proved that to me.” Owen reached over, taking her hands in his. “Our relationship was whirlwind and spontaneous. But you also got me, Bre—totally. Like no one else ever has.”

  “Okay. But do you get me? Can you accept what you know, live with it? Deal with it?” Owen let go of her hands. She hadn’t meant to say it like that—not in an accusatory way. Aubrey wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer. “I . . . I’m going to the ladies’ room.” She stood, leaving the silky wrap on the seat.

  Once inside the restroom, she peed, though she didn’t really have to, and washed her hands. She dragged a brush through her hair and fussed with the front of the dress. The color was conservative, though the dress was cut low—enough to reveal a hint of lacy camisole. Sexy was not a look on which Aubrey relied, but the suggestive edge had its place tonight. Maybe it could help bridge any angst Owen had about his wife and her gift.

  Seconds later, Aubrey’s take on sensual overtures was doused. A woman came into the restroom: blond, petite, and head-turningly pretty. She wore sexy like a layer of skin. She also wore the quintessential little black dress. It fit her smartly, stiletto heels maximizing the chic ensemble’s appeal. If Aubrey wore heels like that, she’d tower over most men. But the woman appeared affable, flashing a smile of solidarity at their reflections.

  “Men,” she said. The blonde rolled her eyes, pulling a powder compact from her clutch. “I’m starting to wish I swung the other way . . . you know?” She glanced at Aubrey via the mirror and laughed a little. “In a day, mine’s gone from his usual brooding behavior to outright vague. God only knows what’s eating at him now.” She took out her phone, texting frantically. A friend, Aubrey thought, a confidant savvy to the saga of the blonde’s love life. Aubrey felt a touch of envy. She’d never had many close friends.

  “I suppose they all come with their challenges.” Aubrey pushed the restroom door open, thinking she’d just have to do better at negotiating hers. She walked back to the table and sat, seeing that Owen had ordered more drinks. Moments later the blonde glided past and disappeared into the booth behind them. Still, she continued to draw Aubrey’s attention. Most likely it was a spirit seeking an opportunity. It was odd. Aubrey was on her game, if not her guard. She could be immune to strangers if she chose. Aubrey focused on Owen, who was talking on his cell. She could tell from the techno-chatter it was Nicole.

  “Right, just apply the new policy rules and that should allow the VPN to work from the branch locations. Tell them the system should be up and running for the international sites by tomorrow afternoon.” He listen
ed for a few more seconds. “Okay, call if it’s a major meltdown and you can’t handle it. Otherwise”—he smiled at Aubrey—“don’t. Sorry,” he said, ending the call. “New York project, last stages. I left Nicole to finish configuring the firewall.”

  She smiled back and sipped the wine. “I’m glad you have someone who so clearly understands what you do.”

  “When it comes to tech support, Nicole was a find for sure.” He drank a mouthful of the beer. “Handy, to say the least.”

  “That’s not so easy in my line of work, so to speak.”

  “Should I take that as a direct question? The one you avoided before running away to the bathroom.”

  “I realize not telling you was huge. Maybe part of my concern was that you wouldn’t be able to get your mind around my gift. While I see similarities,” she said, pointing toward his phone, “like the average person’s inability to grasp how your brain works, I also see differences. At least I do now. Your abilities, they’re tangible. Mine . . . not so much. Not everyone can deal with my gift,” she said, prepared to give him room to articulate his concerns.

  Owen leaned back into the booth. His moment’s hesitation felt like forever. “Look, Bre . . . I can’t argue how the world at large perceives your gift. But being here, wanting to put our marriage back together . . . I hope that tells you what you need to know about us. That and I assume it . . . your gift won’t be at the center of our lives. I mean, you did do a damn good job of hiding it from me.”

  “And is that what you’d expect? If we’re back together I’d hide it from our life?”

  “Not so much that. I just wouldn’t expect it to be the focus. I thought you’d see that as a plus. I mean, it’s not like you’d ever consider hanging a shingle out front and offering up psychic readings.”

  While he was going for humor, the visual struck Aubrey as anything but. She shook it off; she was being hypersensitive. “Of course not. But I do need to know if my gift is something you can understand.”

  “How about this,” he said, taking her hand in his again. “Instead of me trying to convince you, how about I prove it to you? I want to tell you about my surprise.”

  She’d almost forgotten he’d mentioned one.

  “Remember Sky Secure Technologies?”

  “The tech conglomerate you’ve done work for in the past.”

  “That’s right. They’ve been trying, for forever, to get me to come on board full time.”

  “Have they?” she said, unaware of previous offers.

  “This time, in an effort to make good on my promise to you, I went to them. I made it known that I was ready to settle into one job. One place. They jumped at it.”

  As his surprise sank in, Aubrey realized she’d been right all along. It was precisely what she’d said; Owen only needed the time to catch up with the concept of her gift. “Jumped at it, as in offered you a permanent position?”

  “Not any position. Vice president and chief network architect of their software development. It’s all my freelance work rolled into one awesome scenario and then some. I couldn’t have designed a better position.”

  “Owen, that’s fantastic. And you think you’ll be happy with this—one job in one place, no more travel.”

  “I want to be honest. It wouldn’t be zero travel. Some here and there. Sky Secure has a large net, worldwide clientele. But as the chief architect, they’d be the kind of trips you might want to take with me—Paris, New York, an occasional stop back here. You can see Charley.”

  She sat up taller. “Back here?”

  “Yes. Sky Secure is headquartered in Seattle. You knew that.”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten, or I wasn’t thinking about . . . We’d have to move.” Aubrey shuffled the wrap on and off, reminding herself that she hadn’t tacked a non-relocation clause to Owen’s promise of giving up his freelance life.

  He shrugged. “True. But it would be for a great reason, and it’d be the last one—I swear. You wanted roots, Bre. Seattle can do that as well as Surrey.”

  She smiled at his enthusiasm. “That all sounds wonderful. It’s exactly what I wanted.” She cleared her throat. “But what about my job?”

  “I’ve considered that,” he said, clearly proud of having anticipated her concern. “The brass at Sky Secure has offered an assist. They’ve communicated to me that making an introduction at the Seattle Times, for the wife of the VP of network securities development, would be their pleasure.”

  “Owen, I can’t—”

  His hand rose to her incoming objection. “Nothing handed to you. It would be an opportunity to have a conversation—that’s all. With your work on the Flannigan story, I’m sure you’d be hired solely on your own merit.”

  “Maybe. But—”

  “Bre, come on. You can’t tell me you’re that attached to the Surrey City Press.”

  Aubrey pulled the wrap tighter around herself, too sidetracked to formulate a response. Her job. That was the point. But instead of seeing a newspaper, the masthead and Times New Roman font, she saw a face—even a dimple. “The Missy Flannigan story has been a huge change for me. Since I’ve been working it, I’ve realized some things about my career, maybe what I want or can accomplish.”

  “Okay, if you’ve broadened your horizons, wouldn’t a paper like the Seattle Times be a step up? No offense to the Surrey City Press, but seriously, Bre. Tell me one part of this plan that isn’t perfect for us. So what I need to know . . .” He gathered her hands tighter into his. “Is if we’re still what you want.”

  Aubrey glanced up from her wine glass. A loud pulse of conversation erupted and she looked beyond Owen’s impassioned plea. The voices coming from the booth behind them stonewalled her reaction.

  “Bre,” Owen said again.

  Her hand went up, halting him. Conversation penetrated. The sexy blonde was thoroughly annoyed. The man with her was equally agitated. Aubrey listened to his serious tone; his voice was recognizable—even brooding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “It’s not you, and I am not doing it again!”

  “The hell you aren’t! I let it go the past two nights,” the blonde said. “But I didn’t come all the way from New York to be ignored. Seriously, if you’re hyper-focusing on what you told me earlier . . . There you go again, over-analyzing everything—including the absurd! I told you how it sounded—crazy, just plain crazy. Of course, if there were a shred of truth, a tell-all book might be the way to go. Let me know, my house pays big bucks for the right biography!”

  “Lower your voice. And I wasn’t thinking about that. Clearly this isn’t going well. It’s my fault. I was distracted. Why don’t we just . . .”

  “What?” Owen said.

  Aubrey’s hands balled into two tight fists. The sting of betrayal made her dart from their booth, pouncing on the one behind them. She couldn’t believe her gift had become fodder and the basis of an argument for the two people sitting behind them. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Ellis . . .” Her name came out guilt-coated from Levi’s mouth. “I thought you preferred casual dining.” So furious she didn’t know whether to scream or cry, Aubrey felt completely exposed. Forget a little black dress. She should have just showed up to La Petite Maison in her underwear. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said.

  “Come on, Levi, it doesn’t take a psychic for someone to understand that their ears should be burning. You must be the longtime girlfriend,” she said, not caring if it was inappropriate or rude.

  “Uh, yes, I’m Bethany Grey. How do you know Levi?”

  “I’m Aubrey Ellis. The ‘crazy’ you just heard tell of. But don’t be too hard on him. The trauma of me tends to excuse all sorts of reactions.” With her hands on her hips, she shot Levi a searing look. He put his napkin on the table, rising. “You know, for somebody who looks for positive channels with the dead, the living manag
e to keep right on disappointing! Did your girlfriend even make it home, or did you call her the second I was out of earshot?”

  “Levi?” Bethany said, shrinking back in her seat. “Who is she and what is she talking about?”

  “You see what it gets you. She thought everything I told you was insane. Or maybe she’s like you and needs hardcore proof. Why not? Everybody loves a sideshow demonstration. Actually, Bethany, I got a hot vibe off you earlier. Maybe it’ll pan out. You’ll be convinced and then you can take it all back to your big city publisher. Let them decide if it’s worth a hefty advance or just a good laugh.”

  “Ellis,” Levi said, reaching for her arm. She wrenched it back, unsure if the gesture was meant to soothe her or protect Bethany from the batshit-crazy woman Levi had reported.

  “How could you do this? I trusted you. I thought you understood.”

  “Ellis,” he said again. His voice was so calm she wanted to slap him. “Beth and I were talking about the Flannigan case. I mentioned the newest information we have on Frank Delacort. I probably said more than I should have.”

  Bethany smiled, shrugging. “That’s a definite possibility. When Levi cares about something, he’s hopeless. He can’t let go. But I’m afraid he’s wasting his energy on this one. I’m with the DA and team Byrd. I don’t care what you think you have on Delacort. A body falling out of your basement wall can’t be explained away. Byrd’s your killer.”

  “What you heard was Bethany being sarcastic. She said if there was a Delacort connection, something really outrageous, I should write a tell-all book. About the Flannigan case—nothing else.” Aubrey looked from Levi to Bethany to Owen, who’d joined the commotion.

  “I’m pretty astute with these things,” Bethany said. “They like that in publishing. Call it a sixth sense. Anyway, I guess I’m not really on my game tonight, because I’m still wondering who you are?”

  “I um, well . . . right now I’m somebody who wishes the floor would open up and take a big gulp.” Aubrey wallowed in a deep pang of embarrassment, accentuated by the sympathetic expression on Levi’s face.