by Sarah Wynde
But maybe he and Sophia had something in common, because he didn’t think he was ready either.
“Most of them are gone,” Joe said. “I’m sorry, man. I know you’d like to be rid of us.”
“Hey, that’s not — I’m not — I don’t —” The words tangled on Noah’s tongue. He wanted to tell Joe how he really felt, but he wasn’t even sure how that was.
“The suspense is killing me.” Avery leaned forward, uncrossing their legs. “What’s going on?”
Noah welcomed the interruption. “Some of the ghosts are gone. But not all of them.”
“I, for one, am glad,” Nadira said. “If Misam and I must go through some random doorway into the next world, it should be a Muslim door.”
“Oh, because some random Muslim door would be so much better? I’ve heard about your Hell. It doesn’t sound pretty,” Joe said.
“What Hell is pretty? Eternal torment isn’t supposed to be fun.”
“Don’t start, Mama, Joe,” the kid said. “Bad enough that we are still stuck without making us listen to you argue. All you do is argue. Fight, fight, fight. All day long. Hell is an eternity spent listening to the two of you.”
“Misam!” Nadira sounded shocked.
“Don’t be mean to your mother,” Joe said sternly.
Noah gave a rueful shake of his head, resisting the temptation to laugh. The kid sounded pissed. But his amusement faded quickly when the kid burst into tears.
“I don’t want to be a ghost anymore. I wanted to go.” The little boy wept.
“I’m s-s-sorry.” The crying girl’s words were muffled, as if she cried alongside him. “I’m sorry.”
“We shall go, my darling boy, we shall,” his mother comforted him.
“We’ll find another doorway,” Dillon said. “A better one.”
“Not yet.” The crying girl spoke through her sobs. “We need to go talk to my parents first. I need to go talk to them.”
Uh-oh. Noah wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.
It wasn’t that Noah didn’t want to be helpful. He was willing to do what he could for his voices. But telling some bereaved parents that he could hear their dead teenage daughter’s voice sounded… uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.
“Um, Sophia, it might not be that easy. They might not react the way you think they will,” Dillon said.
The crying girl took a deep shaky breath and said, sounding determined, “They never listened to me while I was alive. But I’m going to make them listen to me now.”
How exactly was she going to do that when Noah was the only one who could hear her?
“Maybe you could send them a letter?” Dillon suggested. “You could get Noah to write it for you.”
Okay, that sounded like a horrible idea. Those poor people. Getting letters from their dead kid? No way. Noah could imagine how his mom would feel in like circumstances.
Nope, never going to happen.
“Your parents aren’t going to believe Noah if he writes to them,” Joe said. “They’ll just think he’s crazy. Anyone would.”
Exactly. Noah would have high-fived Joe if he could.
“I want to talk to them,” Sophia said. “See them. A letter’s not good enough. I need to say good-bye.”
Avery’s eyes were intent on Noah’s face. “What is it?”
Before Noah could explain, the door to the house burst open, the screen flying so fast that it banged into the wall. Grace emerged, followed by Lucas and Sylvie. Her color was heightened, as if she’d been moving fast, but her eyes met Noah’s and she came to an abrupt stop a few feet into the backyard.
She planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t do anything drastic. Isn’t that what I said?”
Her brother moved around her. “Dillon?”
“Uh-oh,” Rose said. “I think your family might be a little upset about this.”
“I sent them texts,” Dillon protested.
“Is he gone?” Sylvie asked Noah directly. She didn’t look as upset as Grace, but she was unsmiling.
Noah shook his head.
“Not yet?” Lucas stepped forward. “Can we, we’d like to, would it be okay if...” He raked a hand through his hair and muttered, “I wish Akira were here. We should have called her days ago.”
“She is on her honeymoon,” Grace snapped. “We are not interrupting her. We are not worrying her.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you text her, Dillon?” She directed the words to the air, glancing around the patio as if she might spot him somewhere among the shadowed greenery lit by strings of fairy lights.
“Yes?” Dillon’s answer was tentative.
Grace glared at Noah. “Well?”
“He did, yeah,” Noah answered for Dillon.
She threw up her hands. “Unbelievable. So damn selfish.” She clenched her hands into fists and pressed her lips together. For a moment, she trembled on the verge of an explosion, but then she turned on her heel and walked out the same way she’d come in.
“Whoa.” Sylvie’s tone was hushed. She put a hand on Lucas’s arm and they exchanged glances. She shook her head slightly. The two of them seemed to be communicating without words.
Noah stood. He wanted to follow Grace. She was pissed, he could see, but he could reassure her and let her know what had happened. And that Dillon wouldn’t be leaving, at least not this evening.
Avery jumped to their feet, too. “Isn’t this exciting? Can I offer you a drink? Some wine, beer?”
“You have upset your aunt,” Nadira said.
“Didn’t you say she didn’t get angry much?” Joe sounded amused.
“I didn’t mean to be selfish. I wasn’t — I’m a ghost! I’m supposed to move on if I can! Akira would understand. I mean, I think she would. Rose?”
“Akira knows ghosts disappear. She’d be glad to know you hadn’t been caught in a vortex again. But I bet she would have liked to say good-bye in person. And, well…” Rose let her words trail off.
Sophia still hadn’t stopped crying, but with a sniff and a gulp, she said, “Just say it. She’s on her honeymoon. You’re not supposed to make people sad on their honeymoons.”
“I didn’t mean… oh, damn.”
Sylvie turned to Avery. “A drink would be great. Some sparkling water for me, if you have it? And Lucas will take a beer. And then we’d like to talk to Dillon for a couple minutes. I assume you know what’s going on, since you don’t seem confused.”
“Oh, yes, it’s been quite something.” Avery picked up the tray of empty glasses, then paused as if considering the plate with its remnants of cheese and crackers.
“Let me help you with that.” Sylvie took the plate and a few stray napkins and followed Avery into the house.
Lucas stepped closer to Noah. “You said Dillon’s not leaving tonight?”
Noah hadn’t said that. He’d thought it.
Lucas grimaced. “Sorry. I usually try to be more discreet.”
“How does that work?” Noah asked. “You hear everything people think? Doesn’t that get noisy?”
Lucas dipped his head, accepting the change of subject. “It can, yeah. Mostly it’s just ambient sound, though, unless I’m focused on someone. Crowds are a lot louder to me than they are to most people, but it’s still just crowd noise. I tune it out.”
Like I do, Noah thought. With my voices.
“Yeah, probably.”
Okay, that was just weird.
Lucas lifted his shoulders in a shrug, smile wry. “Yeah. Sorry. About Dillon…”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “Things went sorta wrong, I guess. I’m not sure how much you know, but one of the ghosts had a gate to another dimension. I’m not voting on whether it’s heaven or hell or someplace entirely different. Some of the ghosts I’ve been dragging around used it, but at least a few missed the boat. I’m not entirely sure who’s still here, but I’ve heard Dillon’s voice, so I know he is.”
Lucas nodded. “No rush, then, I guess.” He glanced around the patio the same way Gr
ace had a few moments earlier.
Noah angled a thumb in the direction he’d last heard Dillon’s voice. Not that it really mattered, he supposed — neither of them could see Dillon — but he understood the desire to talk toward the right person.
Lucas acknowledged the gesture with a minuscule nod and turned in the indicated direction. But he didn’t speak right away. Maybe he was gathering his thoughts, maybe he just didn’t know what he wanted to say.
Or maybe he was uncomfortably aware of the audience. Noah was definitely uncomfortably aware of being an audience. What did you say to the kid you’d lost?
For that matter, what did you say to the kid you’d killed? The friend you’d failed? He had some conversations of his own that he wanted to have, but he definitely didn’t want company for them. Bad enough that the other ghosts might be there, unseen listeners to every word he wanted to share.
Lucas shot him a glance.
And worse, of course, to have someone listening to every thought that you didn’t want to share.
Sha-la-la-la, Noah thought.
Lucas chuckled.
“I hope he’s not mad at me,” Dillon said.
“Would you like some privacy, Dillon?” Nadira asked. “Should we walk away?”
“Yeah, we could go in the house,” Joe added.
Noah cleared his throat. “I can probably make it into the house without dragging Dillon along, if you’d like to be alone.”
“It’s okay.” Lucas sent a quick flash of a smile in his direction. “We said the important stuff a few months ago, I think.”
Sylvie rejoined them. She slipped her hand into Lucas’s and said briskly, “Ya gotta do what ya gotta do, Dillon. If you’re ready to move on… well, you know that’s what I’ve wanted for you. This whole being a ghost business just doesn’t seem healthy to me. But—” She glanced at Lucas, her smile loving, maybe a little rueful. “Your dad asked me to marry him and I said yes.”
“Your parents aren’t married?” Nadira sounded shocked.
“Oh, another wedding, yay! You’ll have to dance with me this time, Dillon,” Rose said.
“If we’re still here, I’ll dance with you,” Joe offered. “Been a long time since I’ve been to a good party.”
“We’ll have such fun!” Rose clapped her hands.
“We haven’t gotten into the details yet,” Sylvie said, “so we don’t know where or when. We were waiting…”
“Until we found you again,” Lucas finished for her. “We’ve been…”
He and Sylvie exchanged looks and Sylvie continued, “…concerned.”
Nadira snorted. “I don’t think that was the word they were looking for.”
“I think your mama means scared,” Misam said.
Sylvie’s phone started ringing. She pulled it out, sharing the screen with Lucas, and nodding in acknowledgement. “Thanks. We wanted you to be the first to know.” Her eyes were bright. There was a sheen to them that might have been tears, but her voice was steady as she said, “It’s okay if you can’t make it to the wedding. We want what’s best for you and if moving on is the right thing for you, you do it.”
28
Grace
Rage boiled in Grace’s throat, hot tears burning behind her eyes.
She was over-reacting she knew, but the knowledge only made her anger stronger.
Damn Dillon. How selfish could he be?
Her feet had propelled her down the hallway, out the front door, past the gate. She was on the sidewalk in a heartbeat, headed anywhere. Her stomach churned. Her face felt stiff, the skin around her eyes tight. Without conscious thought, her legs sent her along Millard Street, past the shops and houses, to the little park at the end of town.
In the deepening twilight, Mrs. Swanson was scattering birdseed by the pond, an assortment of ducks gathered before her. Automatically, Grace catalogued them. Four Muscovy, with their mottled black and white feathers and red backs. Three mallards, one male with his iridescent green head and two subdued brown females. A couple of smaller wood ducks, both male with crested heads and brightly patterned feathers, hung back, away from the bigger birds.
Grace took a deep breath. The brush of the cool air on her hot cheeks was bringing her back to herself.
Dillon was an idiot. But he’d been fifteen years old when he died. It was a selfish age.
She should really tell Mrs. Swanson not to feed the birds. The Muscovys were a nuisance species, big, aggressive, crowding out the native birds.
Instead she came to a silent stop by the water’s edge.
Mrs Swanson glanced in her direction. Her hand stilled in the bag of seed. “Well. That’s not right.”
The ducks began squawking in protest at the pause in their food service, the Muscovys jostling one another, but the old woman twisted the top of the bag closed, saying sternly, “None of that. You’ve had enough for today.”
Turning, she put a hand on Grace’s lower arm. “Come along, dear.”
The tiny woman’s head didn’t even reach Grace’s shoulder, but Grace let Mrs. Swanson lead her back up the slope to the street and down the sidewalk.
“You’ve had a shock, I expect. Some tea will help. Chamomile, I think, or maybe skullcap. It’s very calming. Eases the soul.” Mrs. Swanson paused on the sidewalk outside her front porch. The sign in the window saying ‘Auras Read Here’ was as discreet as pink neon could be.
She studied Grace. “That red’s fading a bit. Not so angry? But that muddy blue, so close to the heart. That’s sorrow. Yes, definitely skullcap.” She patted Grace’s arm. “You wait here, dear, I’ll be right back with a nice herbal mix for you.” She disappeared into her house.
Grace sat down on the porch steps. Lights were starting to come on as full night settled over the town and the breeze was turning chill.
If Dillon wanted to move on, that was surely his business. His choice.
She might not be ready, but was she ever going to be ready? She blinked back the tears that wanted to escape.
She wished she could talk to her mom. Just for half an hour. To hear her mom’s voice, to let herself be folded into her mother’s hug. She could imagine the sharp, searching look her mother would give her, followed by the, “Chin up, darlin’. That’s my girl,” words of approval.
But she’d managed to let her mother go. The loss hurt, sometimes with a sharp burst of pain, sometimes with a deep ache, but she’d learned to live with it.
Dillon, though…
The screen door banged open and Mrs. Swanson rejoined her on the porch, a plastic baggie filled with dry leaves in her hand. “Here you go.” The old woman thrust the baggie in her direction as Grace stood. “One tablespoon or thereabouts, steeped in water that’s almost boiling for three minutes. You’ll find it very relaxing — skullcap makes a peaceful blend. But add sweetener because it tastes like cow manure.”
Grace’s lips twitched into a smile as she took the baggie. “Thanks, Mrs. Swanson.”
“You’re welcome.” The old woman cocked her head to one side, her eyes serious as she regarded Grace. “I hope it’s nothing too worrisome? You and your family, you’ve had some exciting times lately. Your sister’s taken on a big job. Five children? Bad enough when they come one at a time. I remember thinking when I had my third I’d never get a wink of sleep again. ‘Course, she’s got it easier since they’re all housebroke, so to speak. But you got a lot on your shoulders, too, filling your mama’s shoes at that company and all.”
“The company’s doing fine.”
Mrs. Swanson snorted. “I’m sure it is. Don’t mean it’s easy.”
Down the street, Noah emerged from the gate of the bed-and-breakfast. He looked in both directions, searching, but not spotting Grace tucked away on Mrs. Swanson’s porch. Was he looking for her? She moved, stepping onto the lowest of the porch steps into his line of view. He saw her and started heading their way.
Mrs. Swanson followed her gaze. “Oh, honey, no.” She shook her head. “No, no, no.�
��
“What is it?”
Every line on Mrs. Swanson’s wrinkled face deepened with her scowl. “Good girls, they always like the bad boys. But that boy’s aura is a mess. Did he upset you?”
“It wasn’t his fault. I’m not upset at him.”
“He’s got secrets. Hard secrets, the kind with weight.”
Grace knew that already, but she did wonder how Mrs. Swanson could tell that from his aura. What color were secrets? “I know his secrets. Some of them, at least.“
“I’m not blind, you know.” Mrs. Swanson leaned over her porch railing, craning to look at Noah. He was at the corner of the street, waiting patiently while a car turned in front of him. “That gray is… oh. Huh.”
“What huh?”
“The gray’s gone silvery.” Mrs. Swanson peered at Noah. “With some of that sparkle your new sister-in-law’s got. Not so much of it, not like her, but the silver glimmers. That’s strange.”
Grace’s hand tightened on the baggie, the leaves crinkling under her fingers. “Strange good? Or strange bad?”
“Not sure I can say. It’s right pretty. That’s good, I suppose.” Mrs. Swanson regarded Noah with a puzzled look as he walked toward them. “I saw him the other day. Told him to burn some sage. For the cleansing, you know. Never seen sage do so much good so quick.”
Noah had almost reached them. Mrs. Swanson, both hands grasping the porch railing, appraised him before shaking her head and saying, “You must have found some high-powered sage, young man.”
He looked startled and then his face relaxed into a wry smile. “Something like that. Good evening, ma’am.”
“Indeed it is.” Mrs. Swanson considered him for a moment before giving him a brisk nod. “And I’ll let you two get on with enjoying it. You take good care of her, you hear?”
As Mrs. Swanson retreated into her house, Noah shot a glance at the baggie in Grace’s hand. “You rushed right off to your dealer?”
“Ha.” Grace couldn’t help smiling at him. She held the baggie up. “Herbal tea. Made with something that sounds poisonous but apparently will be good for my shattered nerves.” She tried to say the words lightly, as if she wasn’t serious, but a trace of her real feelings leaked through.
