Lily's Ghosts

by Laura Ruby

  But she seemed familiar. “Haven’t we met somewhere before, dear?”

  “Probably. My mother works across the street. At the gift store? I’ve been there a couple of times. I’ve seen you looking out your window.”

  Madame held her breath. “Your mother is blond? With an orange cloak?”

  “That’s her.”

  “I see,” said Madame Durriken, mind racing. The ghost boy often followed the blond woman to the store. What was this? A trick? She lead the girl to the table at the front of the store, surreptitiously biting down on the silver pendant. It was genuine, she was sure of it. She clasped the necklace at the back of her neck and arranged it on the yellow caftan.

  “What’s your name, my dear?”

  “Lily.”

  “Sit down, Lily, and explain what you need me to do.”

  “I want you to contact a dead person.”

  “Someone specific?”

  “My uncle Max.”

  “And why would you like to contact your uncle Max?”

  “Because he’s haunting us, that’s why.” Her green eyes dared Madame Durriken to disagree. “I want to know what he wants.”

  So do I, you little ragamuffin, thought Madame Durriken. And when I can be sure that he’s YOUR business, I can get back to my business. For example, how many more necklaces you will bring me. “Of course…er, Lily is it? Lily. Has your uncle ever appeared to you? Have you seen him?”

  “I kind of thought you had,” said the girl.

  “Whatever do you mean?” said Madame Durriken.

  The girl smiled a knowing smile that Madame Durriken didn’t care much for. “My mom told me how you ran out of your store yelling about a boy who was on fire.”

  “Dear, I never yell. Perhaps your mother was mistaken. So I take it that you’ve never seen your uncle yourself?”

  “There was a painting on the wall.”

  “What does he look like?” said Madame Durriken, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

  “Light hair, grayish kind of skin. Weird green eyes.” The girl tipped her head, considering. “I think he looked like a ghost even before he was a ghost.”

  That’s him, thought Madame, that’s the loping lunatic. “Uh-huh. What’s been happening to make you believe that your uncle is haunting you?”

  “The phone rings and there’s nobody on the other end. My books and some other things have been moved to different places. I’ve heard footsteps and weird breathing when no one was there. Other stuff.”

  “But you’ve never seen him in his ghostly form?”

  “No,” said Lily.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Lily, crossing her arms.

  “Of course you are,” soothed Madame Durriken. “Why don’t you tell me everything you know about him.”

  “I don’t know much. He died before I was born. In a fire in the attic. The newspapers said that he set it himself as a prank but then he got trapped.”

  Stupid, thought Madame Durriken. When she was a child, her brother had accidentally set the family trailer on fire, killing Madame’s ant farm. She’d hated the trailer, but she had never forgiven her brother for killing the ants.

  “Do you know how old your uncle was, Lily?”

  “Seventeen, I think. A few years older than me.”

  “Was anyone else harmed in the fire?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you know where he’s buried?”

  “No. But I know he had a funeral. It said so in the paper.”

  Madame Durriken sat back in her chair, hoping the relief wasn’t visible on her face. Nothing for her to worry about, no connection to her at all! Thank goodness! She’d seen enough movies in which people were haunted until they solved a crime or found the bones and gave them a proper burial or some other such nonsense, and Madame was not looking forward to that. A stupid kid gets himself killed, then spends the rest of eternity doing a jig in the Cape May mall, driving his relatives nuts. It was hilarious when you thought about it.

  As soon as the silly twit left, Madame decided, she would call that guy who did the Cape May ghost tours and let him know all about the fire boy on the mall. With the mall added to the tour, Madame Durriken was sure to make a mint from all the amateur spirit seekers.

  Madame’s thoughts cheered her, and she began to shuffle the tarot cards. Now that the mystery of the ghost boy was solved, she intended to have a little fun.

  “What are those?” Lily asked.

  “These are tarot cards, dear. They help a psychic divine the future.” Madame spoke slowly, as if talking to the slow or foreign.

  “Will they help you talk to Uncle Max?”

  “In a minute. It’s important to establish the energies that surround you.”

  Madame Durriken bestowed her wisest, most trustworthy smile on the girl and pushed the deck at her. “Please shuffle the deck seven times. When you are finished, cut the deck into three piles.”

  The little urchin did as she was told, and Madame Durriken commenced the “reading.” As usual, she kept very still and silent as she gazed at the cards, a little concerned frown playing at her brows. (She had perfected this look in the mirror.) She waited until her client was nearly shaking with suspense before murmuring, “There’s a young man.”

  “Max?”

  “No, a living young man. Do you know of whom I speak?”

  The girl bit her lip, then nodded.

  “Are you…involved with this young man?”

  Another cautious nod.

  Madame Durriken paused for effect. “Perhaps you did not take the time to get to know this young man as well as you should have.”

  The girl started, blinking heavily. Madame almost brayed with the deliciousness of the moment. The young ones were so easy to play that she almost felt guilty. Almost.

  “I understand how that can happen, believe me. I was young once. But I must warn you that this boy is up to no good.”

  The girl found her voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “See the cards, here and here?” She flicked a hand at random cards in the spread. “It seems that you are not the only young lady that this boy is…um…oh dear, how shall I put it? You’re not the only young lady he’s associating with.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” said Madame Durriken. “He’s got other girlfriends.” She pointed to a card on which was a picture of a fair-haired girl with two cups. “There’s a blonde. And probably more. A couple of blondes. You’re being played for a fool, child,” said Madame Durriken. She held up the remains of a slice of pizza. “Do you mind if I eat while we talk?”

  “What? Uh, no.” The girl looked as if she had been slapped. She rubbed her lips with her fingertips.

  “Cheer up, dear. There are many other fish in the sea, as I’m sure you’re mother would tell you.”

  The girl frowned. “What are you saying about my mother?”

  A touchy one, that was for sure. What fun. “Nothing, dear, nothing at all. I’m just trying to tell you that there will be plenty of other young men.” Madame Durriken knew that the silly girls never wanted to hear about the other young men coming along, that it just made them feel worse. “But I do see that you do very well in school,” said Madame Durriken, chewing loudly. “And I see that you will become very popular, very, very popular, sometime soon. This spring, I think. I suggest cheerleading. The universe says that you would make a wonderful cheerleader.”

  The girl gripped the armrests of her chair, gaping at her in horror. Madame smiled blandly back, taking another bite of pizza to hide her amusement. As she watched, the girl turned her head away and swallowed hard several times. Then she said, “Can we please talk to my uncle now?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know the name of your future husband? I’m seeing the letter H. Huey? Herbert? Huckleberry?” She closed her eyes and put an index finger to her templ
e. “Give me a minute, it will come to me…”

  “Did you hear that?” said the girl.

  Madame’s eyes flew open. “Hear what?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I heard someone whispering.”

  Madame heard it then, barely, a dry scratchy sound that made her knees turn to water. She looked down, a moan strangling in her throat.

  The tarot cards were assembling themselves into a pile, as if invisible hands scraped them together. The cards dragged against the tablecloth, making a chafing sound. Neither Madame Durriken nor Lily moved a muscle, mouths slack with shock.

  A card flipped over on its back, landing face up in front of Madame Durriken. Madame stared. “M-Max?” she said. “Is that you?”

  The card flipped over again, facedown, then flipped face up again.

  “Read it,” the girl said.

  Madame Durriken looked down at the card. There was a picture of a ship with several torches burning on deck. “Er…smooth sailing?”

  A lightbulb in the fixture over the door burst, raining slivers of frosted glass on the carpeting.

  The girl watched the glass settle on the floor. “Try again.”

  “Happy trails?”

  The front door opened, letting in a blast of freezing air, then slammed shut.

  “Um, a vacation? Traveling for business?”

  The dragon-shaped letter opener whipped through the air and stuck in the wall over Madame Durriken’s head.

  “Are you reading the card?” said the girl.

  “Yes, I’m reading the card!” hissed Madame Durriken.

  “He’s trying to tell us something. What’s the card supposed to mean?”

  “How should I know?” Madame Durriken shrieked. “It’s a picture of a stupid ship!” She looked up at the ceiling. “It’s just a boat!”

  The card flew off the table, and another took its place.

  “You mean it was a boat?” said Madame Durriken.

  The new card depicted a man with a crown of leaves sitting on a throne, another man begging at his feet.

  “A king,” barked Madame Durriken.

  A figurine of Merlin suddenly rolled off its pedestal on the counter and landed with a dull thud on the carpeting. It continued to roll until it hit the wall. Then it backed up, hit the wall. Backed up, hit the wall.

  “That’s not it,” said the girl, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

  “You’re a big help.”

  Merlin crashed into the wall, thud, thud, thud.

  “A prince,” said Madame Durriken.

  “A man,” said the girl. “A father. Wait! A brother.”

  The card flew off the table. A new card replaced it. This showed a beautiful, black-haired woman wearing a toga emerging from the waves.

  “A woman,” said Madame Durriken.

  The coat tree fell over, smashing a glass display case.

  “The ocean,” said Madame Durriken.

  One by one, the crystal balls on the shelf exploded, as if they were no more substantial than balloons. “Supermodels!” shouted Madame Durriken, a cold sweat breaking on her forehead. “MTV!”

  “The beach?” the girl said. Again the card flew from the tabletop to the floor, and was quickly replaced.

  The next card depicted a dancing clown skipping down an open road. The Fool. Madame put her face in her hands. For the first and the last time in her life, she knew exactly what that tarot card meant, exactly what she would have to do.

  She did not say a word, but she didn’t have to. The cards suddenly took wing and flapped to the floor like broken birds. Merlin made one last run at the wall, then rolled onto his back, still. The clasp on the necklace shuddered and opened, and the pendant fell from Madame Durriken’s neck and landed on the table. Like some metallic tadpole, the necklace snaked medallion-first towards the girl, and then stopped.

  The girl looked down at the necklace, then up at Madame Durriken. She was trembling like a wet kitten. “I…I think he wants me to have it.

  “Take it,” said Madame Durriken. “Take anything. How about a piece of pizza?”

  Madame staggered to her feet and grabbed an armful of the moon-embroidered cloaks and a large carpet bag. She reached into one of the smashed display cases and grabbed handfuls of jewelry. She threw the jewelry into the bag and watched as the girl scooped up the silver necklace with shaking fingers, closed the clasp and shoved the necklace in her pocket. Madame kicked the coat tree out of the way to open the door for them both.

  “If you’re ever in South Carolina,” said Maple Ann Spatz , “do me a favor? Don’t look me up.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Breathless and reeling, Lily ran from the diner back to Something Fishy.

  “Long line?” her mother said as Lily handed her the sandwich.

  “Yeah,” said Lily.

  Her mother opened the wrapping and picked the lettuce off the bread. “Are you all right? You’re white as a gho—” she coughed. “Never mind. Eat your sandwich.”

  The rest of the afternoon Lily’s thoughts spun like hot socks in a dryer. If she had doubted that there were ghosts, she didn’t anymore. Max had practically wrecked the Good Fortunes Shoppe. But, Lily thought, he hadn’t really hurt anything, had he? At least, he hadn’t hurt her or Madame What’s-Her-Face. Did this mean that he wasn’t dangerous? Maybe he wanted Lily to do something, something that would put him, as Vaz had suggested, “at peace.” A boat, a brother, a beach. Clues, obviously, but what did they mean?

  Boat, brother, beach. Like something from one of those bad books you had to read in first grade: See the MAN on the BOAT! Maybe Uncle Max had had a boat. She remembered something Vaz said about a boat when they were in Bailey’s library. What was it? Yes! One of the mysterious fires that Max set had burned a boat! But why would Max burn up his own boat? What was that stuff about the brother? Was he talking about Wes or himself? And what was she supposed to think about the strawberry jam? How did that fit in?

  She rubbed her temples. She had found out so much in the last week, but none of it made any sense. It was like trying to understand a whale by pressing your nose up to it; she was too close to it to see the whole thing. She wanted to talk to Vaz.

  But then she thought about what Madame Durriken had said. That Vaz was no good, that he had other girlfriends. Blonde girlfriends. Like Kami. Dandelion Woman hadn’t been able to read a single tarot card in the way that Max wanted her to. But then, Max didn’t seem to want her to read them the regular way. Madame was a greedy dried up old twig, but did that make her a total fake?

  Lily slumped at the glass counter, too tired to think anymore. She rested her head in her arms and soon she was asleep, dreaming that she and her mother were sailing a boat — not on the water, but through a storm cloud — towards a pot of gold at the end of a fuzzy, indistinct rainbow.

  * * *

  That night dinner was popcorn, sliced apples and cheese in the TV room, with both a warm fire and bright TV flickering as distractions. Lily flipped the channels so fast that her mother claimed it was like looking out the window of a moving train. Lily was relieved when her mother got bored and dizzy and finally went off to bed, leaving Lily with her jumbled thoughts and a quietly purring Julep.

  Three hours and the phone hadn’t rung, not even for a crank call. Lily wondered if Vaz had tried to reach her, but since there was no answering machine, there was no way to know. He liked Kami, Lily could tell, but he could have changed his mind. Didn’t people change their minds all the time? And, just this once, couldn’t someone change his mind to include Lily rather than cutting her out?

  Her stomach felt like a living thing, like a crab scuttling around, pinching her from the inside. Lily thought about what Vaz had said, how he thought she had lived an adventurous life. It hadn’t felt like an adventure. She remembered all those dinners with all her mother’s boyfriends, remembered the expressions on their faces as they watched her mother talk, laughing, joking, waving her pink-tipped hands. Those guys tho
ught that Lily’s mother was one big adventure wrapped in an orange cloak. What if Vaz thought Lily was like that and then found out that she wasn’t? Would he leave the way all her mother’s boyfriends, the way her father did?

  Lily turned off the TV and stared into the flames. She found that if she let her eyes lose focus, the flames looked like tiny writhing people with streaming yellow hair and hearts of blue. She wondered if that’s what Uncle Max had seen in fires, if that was why he set them. Why had he set them? Was he a terrible person? Was he crazy? Was he jilted by A. B.? She wished she could ask him.

  Why not ask him?

  Lily sat up as straight as she could in the squishy furniture, her crab stomach jittering wildly. Never in a million years would she have imagined she would be trying to talk to a ghost. “Max?” she whispered. Louder. “Uncle Max?”

  The fire danced and Julep stretched, but the rest of the room was still as a church. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, hoping that she would sense Max’s presence in her skin, a cold wind, a chill finger on her arm. “Uncle Max? My mom’s getting mad and I go back to school in a week. I don’t have much time. Do you need me to find something or someone? Would it help? Would you find peace then?”

  A log in the fire snapped loud as a gunshot and Lily opened her eyes and whipped her head around to see not Max, but the larval head of Bailey Burton glaring in the window. She blinked and he was gone.

  She hugged herself, feeling a pulse all the way down to her toes. She knew two things at once, as sure as she knew that snow was cold and the sun, hot: that it was Bailey Burton’s hand she had seen pressed in the window the first week they had arrived, that it was Bailey Burton who had been watching her that first day on the beach.

  * * *

  The next morning, Lily stumbled half asleep into the kitchen for breakfast. She’d hadn’t slept well, dreaming that her hair had gotten caught in the propeller of a boat that dragged her around the ocean. Her scalp ached.