by Elley Arden
Trish closed the accordion-pleated steel blind and stepped out the side door to look for her grandmother, who, as usual when she was bored, had wandered off. She spotted Gran further down the concourse chatting with Jackie, the operator of the beer stand.
Trish laughed to herself. Gran would talk to a tree stump if there was no one else around. She walked down the concourse to the beer stand.
“Gran, sorry to interrupt you, but I’m closing up.”
“Okay, darlin’,” Peg Noonan said. She waved a cheery goodbye to Jackie and followed Trish back to the stand. As soon as Trish opened the side door, her blood pressure soared. Not again! The small room was littered with spilled sugar, napkins and overturned cups.
She cursed under her breath. In the few minutes she’d been away from the stand he had somehow snuck in and wreaked havoc once again. She didn’t doubt for a minute it was a “he.” No female would be so pointlessly destructive. Fuming with anger, she began the cleanup. If I ever get my hands on the little creep, he’ll be sorry he messed with me, she vowed.
Peg stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the mess.
“It’s him again,” she half-whispered. “The stadium ghost.”
“Gran,” Trish was exasperated. “Please don’t start that nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” the older woman insisted. She grabbed a broom and swept the spilled sugar into a pile. She paused, deep in thought. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting mighty sick of cleaning up after this guy. And I wonder why he only picks on us. There’s got to be some reason. If he keeps it up, I’m gonna have to do a séance; bring him down to explain what he’s got against the Noonan ladies.”
Trish rolled her eyes. She twisted her red hair into a topknot and began wiping down the countertops.
“You’re probably wondering why I haven’t done one before,” Peg said.
Trish laughed. “Gran, that’s the LAST thing I’m wondering about!”
“It’s not easy,” Peg continued, ignoring Trish. “It ain’t just a matter of mumbling some hocus pocus, and the spirit checks right in. It takes a lot of energy, and I’m past seventy. Ain’t got any energy to spare.”
“Well, Gran, don’t worry about it. I’ll hook up a camera and catch the little punks who are doing this.”
“You didn’t hear a word I said.”
“I did hear you, but all this hoodoo business is utter garbage. I thought you gave it up years ago.” She wiped the stainless countertop with a damp cloth to pick up stray crystals of salt and sugar. “This really throws a wrench into my plans to leave early.”
“Go, I’ll clean this up.” Peg stopped sweeping and smiled, a wide, hopeful smile. “Big date tonight?”
Trish laughed. “A big date with my lilac bubble bath and a rerun of Dexter.”
Peg’s smile was replaced with a frown. “Trish, honey, that ain’t right. A pretty girl like you, twenty-three years old, guys banging down the door, and you’re going home to watch TV on a Saturday night?”
“I guess the right guy hasn’t knocked on the door yet,” Trish answered.
“How would you know? You don’t keep ’em around long enough to find out.”
Trish kissed the old woman on her cheek.
“You sure you don’t mind me leaving?”
“No, I have my car anyway, and I want to watch the rest of the game,” Peg answered.
“Okay, see you back at the house.”
“Lock your car doors,” Gran cautioned her. “Lots of crazies out there.”
“Lots of crazies in here, too,” Trish said. “Have security walk you out to your car.”
Ten minutes later, Trish was halfway home, already anticipating her warm bubble bath; she could almost smell the scent of lilacs. The ringing of her phone snapped her out of her reverie. She glanced down. It was her grandmother.
“Gran, is everything okay?”
“Trish, can you get back here right away?”
She was instantly alarmed. Terrible scenarios flashed through her mind. An automobile accident, a slip and fall, a purse snatching.
“I’m on my way,” she said, making an illegal U-turn and heading back toward the stadium. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” Gran assured her. “But can you make it fast?”
Before she could ask anything more, her grandmother hung up. Trish called back immediately, but got no answer. Frantic now, she sped back to the stadium. As she rushed through the entrance, her flaming red hair — a gift from her Irish ancestors — whipped behind her. The security guard looked up from his magazine.
“Hey, Trish,” he called, as she hurried past his desk. “Working late, huh?”
“Is my grandmother here?”
“Yeah,” he said, with a peculiar smile that puzzled Trish, but there wasn’t time to question him.
She opened the door to the concession stand, out of breath, and blinked, trying to focus her eyes in the near-darkness. The only illumination in the tiny room came from a red candle. Eerie shadows flickered along the walls of the stand. Trish peered at her grandmother, who was seated across a card table from a young man. Even in the dim light, Trish instantly recognized him. Her heart jumped, but concern for Gran outweighed any other emotion.
“I got here as fast as I could. What’s wrong?”
“I told you! I’m conducting a séance to find out why this ghost is so ticked off, and I need your help.”
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she frowned.
“Why on earth are you dressed like a gypsy fortune teller?”
“Ambiance,” Peg whispered.
“You scared me half out of my wits, Gran! I drove back here at, like, a hundred miles an hour; I did an illegal U-turn right in the middle of traffic!” She glared across at the handsome young man who was watching the interchange with an amused smile. “And why is he here?”
Peg was all innocence as she tugged at her turban.
“Why Trish, darlin’, you remember Rob Hanks, don’t you?”
“I remember him, yes,” Trish snapped. “I repeat. Why is he here?”
“Nice to see you, too, Trish,” Rob grinned at her. “Your grandmother invited me. Said there might be a story in it. Ghostly ballplayer haunts the concession stand, leaves spilled sugar, shredded napkins … wooo wooo.”
If her grandmother was offended, she didn’t show it. The turban, which looked suspiciously like the striped dish towel they used on the stand, slipped down over her eyes, and she pushed it back into place. To complete her costume, a brightly colored shawl was draped over her shoulders, and a dozen metal bracelets jangled as she moved her hands, whispering something under her breath, tuning them both out.
Rob smiled. “Long time no see, Trish. How have you been?”
She regarded him coldly. She’d been dreading this moment since she’d heard he’d come back to town to work for the local paper a month ago. It was amazing she’d managed to avoid facing him this long. “So you’re the new sports columnist for the Herald? I guess you never made it into the big leagues.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted the low blow. But if old loves burned brightly, so did old angers.
“Ouch,” he responded, his expression hardening. “Teenage dreams. We all have to come to grips with our own limitations, don’t we? Speaking of which, pushing popcorn and hot dogs is a long way from being a world-famous actress.”
“I do this because it allows me to go out on auditions,” she glared at him. Peg held up her hands.
“You both stop it. Now!” Peg gave another hitch to her slipping turban. “How do you expect a spirit to pierce all this negativity?”
“Gran, you look ridiculous,” Trish said. “Can’t you see he’s making fun of you? He’ll write a story for sure — about the crazy old woman at the ballpark.”
Her grandmother ignored her, her eyes shut once more as she resumed her hushed chanting.
With Gran shutting her out, Trish’s attenti
on reluctantly moved back to the room’s only other occupant. Dark hair, dark eyes, square, even, white teeth, that jaw and those shoulders — she knew them well. Too well. Rob looked just as good as he had in high school, damn him.
They sat in icy silence until Trish said, “Gran, I’ll go along with this silly séance business if it makes you happy. But I don’t see why he has to be here.”
Peg paused in her whispered incantations, breathing deeply. “Banish the anger,” she whispered. “Build a circle of love so the spirit will feel safe.” She reached across and grasped their hands. “Rob, Trish, join hands.”
Reluctantly, with a final exchange of glares, the two young people grasped hands as if they’d been asked to hold on to a wiggling snake. As hard as she tried to maintain her anger, Trish couldn’t stop the tingle of electricity that ran through her body as their hands touched. It was almost as though the past five years had never happened.
Suddenly, Peg gasped. The sound was explosive in the dark, silent room.
“It’s Lefty,” her voice throbbed with excitement. “After all these years, Lefty is trying to come through. I feel his presence. Lefty?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”
Without warning, the candle flickered then died. The room was plunged into darkness. Trish tightened her grip on Rob’s hand. She shivered. The room seemed suddenly colder.
“Lefty?” Peg whispered. “It’s me, Peg. Do you remember me?”
The candle burst into flame once again.
“It’s him,” she tightened her hold on their hands. She smiled, a tiny smile. She giggled. “Oh, Lefty, you stop that right now,” she giggled again. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“How’d you do that candle thing?” Rob’s query echoed loudly in the room, and abruptly the flame of the candle went out. The room was again blanketed in darkness.
“Now look what you did,” Peg said, releasing their hands. She fumbled on the wall behind her and switched on the overhead light. They all blinked in the sudden brightness.
“Lefty was right here, and you went and spoiled it.” She glared across at Rob. “I didn’t do that candle thing, as you put it. That was Lefty, and you scared him off.”
“Sorry,” Rob said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a tiny smile. “Who’s Lefty?”
“If you don’t know who Lefty Lefkowitz is, you’re a poor excuse for a sports reporter,” Peg snapped.
“Lefty Lefkowitz? The pitcher? Of course I’ve heard of him. Didn’t he … ” Rob seemed on the verge of saying something else, but stopped himself. “Yeah, he was famous back fifty or so years ago. You knew him?”
“We talked about getting married … ” her voice trailed off.
Trish stared at her grandmother.
“Gran, I thought Grandpa was your soulmate.”
“We had a good life, your grandpa and me,” Peg said.
Trish felt her interest piqued. Gran had sidestepped her question. Suddenly, she was as curious as Rob. Who exactly was this Lefty guy? Had her sweet old Gran had a secret life? Trish looked at her with renewed interest. Gran, who was hugs and kisses, chocolate chip cookies, a safe harbor when both her parents had died in a car accident when she was eight years old — Gran, a woman of mystery?
Rob leaned forward. “Peg? Can I call you Peg?”
“That’s my name. What else would you call me?” She was obviously still annoyed that Rob had broken off her communication with Lefty.
“I’m sorry about the interruption. Did he say what he wants?”
Peg looked at him, pityingly. “You don’t know much about the spirit world, do you? It’s not like they’re making a long-distance call or something. Lefty puts pictures into my head, like mental telepathy.”
“Okay, so what pictures did he put into your head?”
“I’d rather not say. He was kinda reminiscing, ya know.” She giggled, sounding almost girlish.
Trish and Rob exchanged mirthful glances, their animosity momentarily forgotten.
Trish tried to suppress her smile. “Grandma,” she said, “I’m shocked.” The thought of Gran with some long-dead man was both amusing and unsettling.
“Well, Trish, I wasn’t always an old lady, and it was way before I met your grandfather, may he rest in peace.” Gran slapped both hands down on the tabletop. “Rob, you sure spoiled what started out to be an interesting evening.”
“Sorry,” Rob said.
“You don’t look sorry,” Gran said.
“Honest, Peg, I am. If you want to do this again, I promise I’ll be as quiet as a tomb, if you’ll excuse the expression.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Trish groaned.
Gran stretched and yawned. “I’m gonna call it a night,” she said. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll walk you ladies out,” Rob said.
The parking lot was dark and deserted, and Trish, despite herself, was grateful for the presence of a large, muscular man. Peg’s car was close to the entrance, and once she was safely inside with the doors locked, Rob turned to Trish. An awkward silence stretched between them.
Trish found herself flashing back suddenly to their senior year. She’d been so in love with him. It was hard not to wonder what might have happened if they hadn’t had that stupid fight. They’d been looking forward to the future, planning to go to the same local college. Until Rob got that sports scholarship to a private university. He’d asked her to come with him, but Trish had felt betrayed, like she was being deserted for some nebulous baseball career. She’d insisted the school’s very good drama department just wasn’t good enough. One word led to another, with each claiming the other was being selfish. Two stubborn, hard-headed kids, neither willing to give an inch. That fall, they’d gone to their separate colleges and moved on with their lives.
It seemed so petty, so silly now. Especially since his baseball career hadn’t materialized, and her degree hadn’t helped her all that much either.
He must have been reading her mind, because suddenly Rob broke the silence. “I’m sorry for that crack about your acting.”
“Well, I kinda had it coming,” she admitted.
“Truce?” He stuck out his hand.
After a beat, she took it, enfolding his warm palm with her fingers and shaking, even while she wondered if she could really let bygones be bygones.
He walked her to her car and leaned in as she snapped on her seat belt. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat as she thought he might try to kiss her, but he simply reminded her to lock her car doors.
“Good night,” he called, turning to leave.
“Good night.”
Chapter Two
Trish woke up early after a restless night of tossing and turning. She’d dreamed of a ghostly figure pursuing her. Rob had been there, too, holding her, protecting her. Damn! After all these years, he could still haunt her dreams.
She poured her first cup of coffee as Peg walked into the kitchen.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” Peg greeted her.
“Gran, what was all that séance business last night? I thought you gave up voodoo years ago.”
“It ain’t voodoo, darlin’.”
“Whatever. And what possessed you to drag Rob into it?”
“I’ve got a confession to make. I know how crazy you were for Rob back in your high school days. And when I saw his picture in the paper, it all came back to me. I thought I might give nature a little helping hand, if you get my drift.”
“You had no right to do that,” Trish said.
“I know, and I’m sorry. But I hate to see you moping around.”
“I don’t mope around.”
“Call it what you will. You’re twenty-three years old, single, your love life is a revolving door: now you see ’em, now you don’t.”
“And you cooked up that whole séance thing just to get me together with Rob?”
Peg looked shocked. “No! That was for real. I figured the ghost has to be a ballplayer. And clearly he wanted some attention with all
the trouble he’s been causing. So Rob, being an ex-ballplayer, well, I just thought the ghost would be more comfortable in coming forth. And knowing how you felt about Rob, it was kind of a two-for-one, you might say.” She paused. “But the fact that it was Lefty? That was a real bonus.”
Trish placed her coffee cup in the dishwasher. “Gran, I wish you’d forget about this superstitious crap.”
“Are you denying what you saw with your own eyes?”
“If you’re talking about the candle, you probably blew it out.”
Peg gasped but before she could speak, Trish held up a hand. “I’m not suggesting that you purposely blew out the candle. But you were excited. Maybe you were breathing a little harder than usual.” She thought again of Gran’s girlish giggles. “Anyway, I’ve got to open up the stand before the double-header starts.”
“Oh, damn, I forgot,” Peg said. “All that stuff with Lefty brought back memories,” she sighed. “Just give me a minute to have a cup of coffee.”
“Just come when you’re ready. I’ll open up.”
When Trish arrived at the stadium, the day crew was already at work vacuuming, cleaning and restocking the restrooms. Trish unlocked the concession stand and raised the steel shutter that opened the stand to the main thoroughfare. Light flooded into the small room.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. Ketchup stains dotted the stainless steel grill, spilled sugar crunched beneath her feet. “Lefty,” she cursed under her breath, “if you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you.”
“Trish?”
She jumped, startled. For one brief, insane moment, she thought Lefty was calling to her. She whirled around.
Rob stood outside the stand. He leaned over the stainless steel counter and looked down at the mess.
“Lefty?”
“More likely one of those stupid muscle-bound jocks pulling a prank.”
“You have a very low opinion of athletes,” he said.
“They all think they’re something special because they can throw a fastball or hit a triple.”
He laughed. “I see you’re just as fond of athletes as always,” he said.
“With good reason, since they’ve always lived down to my expectations,” she said.
