by Etta Faire
He raised an eyebrow at me.
I didn’t give him time to answer. “I mean it was nice that we gave this relationship a second chance because I always hated how things ended last time. I’m sorry for that, by the way. Don’t know if I ever apologized. And I’m sorry for snapping at you in the car the other day. You hate trash duty. I should’ve known that…”
“Do you want to break up?” he said, interrupting my ramble.
The million-dollar question. I stared at him a second. “No,” I finally replied, with certainty. “But, you should probably know I work with ghosts now. I help them solve their murder cases.”
He half-chuckled.
“I know you think that’s strange. And it is strange, but I can’t change it. Or myself. I’m not going to compromise any part of me anymore. And now that you know that…”
I paused for him to tell me it was okay, but he didn’t. He only chewed. His apartment seemed particularly bright, the fluorescent lights contrasting the darkness from the dining room window. I circled the air with my fork. “Well…” I said.
“Well, what?”
“It’s your turn. Do you want to break up with the strange woman who works with ghosts?” I asked, putting the fork in my mouth, realizing it didn’t have anything on it.
“Of course not. I didn’t want to break up twelve years ago either. Just because people disagree with each other doesn’t mean people give up on each other.”
Ouch. That one hurt. He seemed to sense that, and went on. “I really wish you’d stop snooping, that’s all. This isn’t about trash duty or ghosts. Things can get serious.”
“Well, you can stop worrying. We’re probably about to call off the seance anyway. I heard from Paula Henkel that we haven’t sold a single ticket. Not even one.”
“The town’s afraid,” he said, mouth half-full of shrimp. “Myles Donovan’s a lot of people’s boss’s boss’s boss. Not to mention two mayors are involved here and the police department likely too.”
“But if we stand up collectively to this bullying, then their bullying can’t work.”
A smile escaped his lips. “I don’t think you know how bullying works. This is the kind of intimidation that doesn’t technically exist. People just know not to rock the boat. Nobody’s actually being threatened.”
I bit on the tip of my empty fork. He was right.
He slid his chair closer to mine. “But the fact nobody’s willing to come to your seance says you’re onto something worth fighting for here. And if there’s one person in this town who can get people to collectively fight… for something they don’t even know they should be fighting for… you’re that stubborn person.”
I jumped up and threw my arms around his neck, kissing his scratchy cheek, quickly moving down to his lips. Soft and thick, and garlic-smelling. I sat on his lap and kissed him some more. Sometimes all a girl wants is someone who believes her stubbornness is worth it.
Justin’s phone rang, an odd sort of ringtone, and he reached in his pocket. “I have to take this,” he said, practically pushing me off of him. I scrunched my lips up and went back to my linguine, pretending to be interested in eating when all I really wanted to know was who in the hell was on the other end that was so important right now.
All he said was, “Okay, got it. Thanks.”
Two minutes later, we were walking through his parking lot out to my car, my teeth chattering from the bitter wind blowing around us as I swung my plastic bag full of leftovers. My consolation prize. So much for makeup sex.
Like usual, I searched through the trees of the Dead Forest as we passed by it to get to my car. A chill went up my spine and it wasn’t because of the wind. I pulled my jacket in closer.
“You okay?” Justin asked, because the Dead Forest didn’t bother him. He believed the town’s Wikipedia page when it said the Dead Forest got its name because the soil was too acidic to grow crops anywhere near it.
That poor man lived in denial.
One of Justin’s neighbors stumbled toward us, holding his shoulder. I recognized the pale blonde man as the guy down the hall on Justin’s floor.
“Justin,” he said as he passed. He stopped and looked me over, watching as I hopped from one foot to the next, trying to stay warm. He was only wearing a thin jacket, but he didn’t even look cold. But then, neither did Justin and he wasn’t wearing a jacket at all.
“We haven’t met,” the man said, holding out a hand. His voice dripped with sexuality and his nostrils flared a little.
Justin pulled me in closer before I could shake his hand. “And you’re not meeting now,” he replied, making me take a step back by how oddly protective my boyfriend was being all of the sudden. First with Parker, now with this guy. Didn’t he trust me?
The man nodded to me. “If you ever want to speak for yourself, I’m just down the hall from your police protection over here. Name’s Knox. I have handcuffs too.”
Justin pulled me along to my car, stopping just in front of it to give me one last kiss, as his neighbor made his way inside.
“Your apartment complex is so… interesting,” I said when we came up for air.
“It’s cheap and clean, and most people are afraid to live so close to the forest. But that also means it attracts the kind of people who aren’t afraid to live so close to the forest.”
I looked at the spindly trees swaying menacingly behind him, like giant finger bones, wagging a final warning to stay out. I didn’t need any warnings, thank you very much.
He turned around. “It’s all a rumor,” he said, shaking his head. “But I’m thankful for it. I get almost free rent.”
We kissed good-bye again and I drove off through the parking lot, watching Justin in my rearview mirror standing right in front of the forest, staring at it. He wasn’t afraid of anything, all right. I was just about to pull out onto the main road when my vision went blurry and dark again. The white spots were back. I pulled over to the side of the parking lot so I could close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, the only things that seemed to help when these episodes came on.
After about a minute, I opened my eyes again, my vision back to normal, even though my heart still raced. I took a deep breath and looked in my rearview mirror again, wondering if Justin had noticed me off to the side of the parking lot and was worried. He hadn’t.
I only knew this because I saw him, clear as day, slowly walking into the forest.
Or was I hallucinating again? I swung my car around so fast I almost hit the dumpster by the parking lot’s entrance. But I needed to know.
I pulled into a spot right by the edge of the forest, exactly where I thought I saw Justin entering, and waited while I peeked at every shadow in the trees. Ten minutes later, I decided I was insane. There was no way a man in just a dress shirt went anywhere but back inside.
What was wrong with me nowadays?
Chapter 16
Just telling stories
Mrs. Nebitt turned her nose up at the box of socks I set on the counter next to her computer just before story time the next morning. She pursed her lips, white hair blowing softly from the heat sputtering out of a nearby vent. “I see you were serious about the socks.”
I didn’t answer her. I adjusted my leggings so they’d sit right under my boots. Even though I’d tried my hardest to look professionally cute that morning, nothing had worked in my favor. My curls frizzed, my eyeliner smeared into what looked like dark smudge streaks along my eyelids, and I couldn’t find anything to wear except my go-to winter outfit, an oversized sweatshirt and black leggings. I was pretty far from professional or cute. But in my defense, I hadn’t had much sleep last night. I could only think about the hallucinations I’d been having lately, and how they were getting worse.
Mrs. Nebitt continued. “Do you know what books you’ll be reading, or do you need my help in selecting some?”
“I’m going to start off with If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” I said. I rummaged through my box of socks and pull
ed out a tan one with googly eyes glued to the front of it. It hung sadly in my hand like a vintage photo of a toddler holding roadkill.
“What is that?”
“It’s a mouse. I couldn’t spend too much money on this either. The library isn’t the only one with limited funds around here.”
I stretched the sock over my hand and moved its mouth around. Mrs. Nebitt rolled her eyes, and I could see her point. Its cardboard cut-out ears were unevenly spaced and one was falling off a little. “I don’t need puppets,” I said, taking it off and tossing it into my box of props. “Do you have any instruments? We could do a musical theme.”
The door opened and Lil Mil shot into the library like someone had yelled, “Go.”
“I heard there’s gonna be games and puppets and hula hoops and singing,” the little girl said in a gruff voice, pulling her pink hood down to reveal a mass of dark curly hair.
I turned to Mrs. Nebitt. She chuckled under her breath. “Have fun,” she said.
Parker wasn’t too far behind his little girl. He flashed me a smile when he came in carrying Benjamin. “Kids are excited. Can you tell? Thanks for doing this.”
I had no idea what I’d signed up for. I grabbed a stack of printer paper from under the cabinet and Mrs. Nebitt glared at me through her coke-bottle glasses like she was mentally counting the stack.
“C’mon. How much is paper? The library’s gotta contribute something.” I grabbed a handful of the tiny pencils people used to write call numbers with too.
The walls shook and the floor rumbled under my feet as the sound of NASCAR filled the library. Low, thunderous, revved-up engine noises were followed by laughter and hooting.
Mrs. Nebitt threw me a scowl like story time had been my idea.
We both walked to the large windows at the front of the building and watched Shelby and her twins struggle to climb out of a large black pick-up truck that took up the entire lot. Bobby, her fiancé, jumped out to help her, his puffy dark hair seemed to morph into his eyebrows, kind of like Satan and Raggedy Ann had a love child. He handed Shelby their humungous baby.
Shelby’s hair was still pink, matching the accents in her 50’s-style wool coat. She sashayed across the parking lot, her four-year-old twins leading the way.
Opening the door for Shelby, I was instantly greeted with the stench of exhaust, and I took an extra-long inhale, hoping the fumes would help me get through this story time.
“Bobby’s brothers are using my car again today,” Shelby said as she went inside.
“They still driving you crazy?”
She looked at me like that was the dumbest question I could’ve asked. Everyone knew her Christmas visitors were still visiting, and it was almost February. Four adults and five kids living in a three-bedroom apartment.
“Every night’s a beer fest. They don’t work. They don’t chip in with the housework. I’m putting my foot down tonight. Mark my words. Either they go, or I do.”
“I’ve only been telling you to do that since New Year’s,” I said. “That’s almost two months of frat parties.”
I grabbed my box of puppets from off the counter and headed over to the kids area.
“They got a laundromat here?” Shelby asked when she saw my socks. I didn’t answer her.
The kids ran around, tagging each other, swinging their coats around like weapons.
I dragged a small plastic blue chair over to the center of the room and sat down. “Okay, everyone” I called, my voice cracking with every syllable. I tried to bring it back to normal. They could probably sense fear. “Come sit down. Story time is about to start.”
Lil Mil put her arm around my shoulder and peeked at the book in my hand. “It’s the mouse with the cookie again, you guys,” she announced to the group like we’d had millions of story times together and this was always the story.
“That’s your favorite book, Lil Mil,” Parker said. “Sit down.”
“And, it has puppets this time,” I said, nodding to Parker and Shelby who were sitting next to each other on chairs. I pulled out my tan sock and the circle shape I’d cut out of cardboard. Shelby threw her hand over her mouth like she was holding in laughter when she saw me breaking out my props. I ignored her. “Who would like to give the mouse this cookie?”
“Ew. That’s a smelly sock and a dirty, old piece of cardboard,” one of Shelby’s four-year-olds said. A whoosh of cold blew through the library when the door opened. I looked up from my sock, wondering who else was coming to join my story time. A gorgeous blonde with salon-style highlights and a cute, fur-trimmed jacket sauntered in, holding the hand of an equally stylish four-year-old blonde girl.
Mrs. Nebitt looked at them then quickly went back to her computer, almost like she recognized the woman, even though I had no idea who she was.
The woman told her daughter to sit down quietly then smiled at me. “Sorry we’re late,” she said, taking a chair and moving it over to Shelby. I could smell her expensive perfume from my rickety child’s chair in the front of the circle. She introduced herself to Shelby and Parker and I leaned over to hear.
Her little girl dutifully went over and sat down next to Lil Mil. They talked for all of three seconds before Lil Mil put her arm around the girl and announced to the group that this was Clarisse, her bestest friend in the whole world.
“You are so pretty,” Lil Mil went on, poking the cheek of her new best friend. “I’m gonna show you how to do a fake burp later on.”
Parker’s face went red and he said something to the girl’s mother.
I was losing my audience and I hadn’t even started yet. I quickly slipped the sock puppet on my left hand because I needed my right one to hold the book, but it was awkward and uncomfortable. And the puppet just kind of flopped there until its ear came off in the middle of the story and the kids all laughed and took turns throwing it at me. Thankfully, they had terrible aim.
I tried to pay attention, do things like I’d planned to do them, but all I could think about was that weird forest yesterday and how I’d been almost one-hundred-percent sure Justin had gone into it. But now that I was thinking about it, I was almost one-hundred-percent sure he couldn’t have.
The cardboard ear smacked my forehead and I snatched it away before the kids could grab it again.
After I’d read two books, I was ready for a nap. No wonder preschool had those. Obviously, they were for the adults.
I told the kids to sit at a table and draw out their favorite parts of the stories, but not to worry about mistakes. Mistakes were okay in my book, which was why I’d brought these cool, stubby pencils that didn’t even have erasers. Then, I handed out the printer paper that Mrs. Nebitt was probably going to dock me for.
“Is this fun or what?” Shelby said to her sons.
They didn’t even bother to answer “or what.”
I pulled my friend aside. “Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the mysterious woman.
“Her name’s Lila. She just moved to Landover. Isn’t she cute? She looks like she likes makeup.” Shelby was always looking for new clients.
“And it looks like she has plenty of money for a big ole pile of it,” I added.
I tossed my pathetic socks back in their box and trudged over to the front desk like a woman defeated.
“Well, how did it go,” Mrs. Nebitt asked. “Were your puppets the success you were hoping they’d be?”
“And now we know why I’m not a teacher,” I said. “I’m exhausted and I only did half an hour. You can do the next story time, thanks. I’m done.”
We both looked at each other for at least half a minute without saying a word. She finally spoke. “Perhaps, we can come to an agreement. If I locate real puppets, crayons, paper, and…” she paused to inhale deeply, “instruments, will you continue with the story times?”
“Once a month, tops,” I said and we shook on it.
The library’s counter was full of fliers: one for the opening of the new French restaurant complete wi
th coupons. Another for half-off a spin class at Donovan’s gym. The obligatory tax forms all libraries had to have this time of year. But there was something pretty obviously missing from the countertop. “Where’s the advertisement for the upcoming seance?”
Mrs. Nebitt was looking at her computer monitor, apparently too engrossed in whatever librarians looked at back there.
I wasn’t giving up that easily. “Are you even selling tickets?”
She turned her hearing aid up. “I’m sorry. Tickets for what?”
“The seance.”
“I haven’t sold any. Sorry. I took down the flier because I heard it’s been cancelled.”
“No. Not yet. Put the flier back up.”
She looked around, like she was being followed or something, then lowered her voice. “It’s not like Paula’s paying for this advertising. This is a library, not the Gazette.”
I thought that statement over for a second. The Landover Gazette might be interested in the seance, seeing how the old owners were instrumental in the cover-up.
Parker came over to us. “We need more paper,” he sang then turned to me. “Great story time. The kids loved it.”
“They loved the part where they threw a cardboard mouse ear at me.”
He laughed. “So that’s what that was. I thought it was another cookie.” He pointed to the flier about the gym, the one taking up the library’s prime real estate spot for fliers. “First class is free. You should stop by. I happen to know the instructor.” He pointed to himself.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Mrs. Nebitt handed him a small stack of printer paper and he went to walk off with it, but stopped himself. “It’s funny how life works. The blonde over there’s Lila Donovan. She’s new to the lake too. When I met her at her family’s grocery store, I told her all about the library’s story time and she told me all about the new spin class her grandfather’s gym needed an instructor for. Isn’t that something? And now, her daughter and my daughter are hitting it off.” He walked away.
