by Susan Hatler
“I’m being rude?” He threw me an incredulous look. “This from the girl who just dubbed me a zhost?”
“Okay, you don’t like that term.” I lunged left, then threw my arms wide again so he couldn’t slip past me. “Noted for the record. I’ll just call you Jonathan.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Brilliant idea, considering that’s my actual name.”
“Could you cut me a small break?” I groaned, exasperated. “I get that you’re going through a tough time, but today hasn’t been a dream for me, either.”
“How can you compare—”
“I got pushed out of my body against my free will,” I reminded him. I dropped my hands to my sides. “I realize that’s not as bad as what you’re going through, but it was more than a little scary. On top of that, my English teacher gave me an F on my paper, my Government teacher gave me two weeks of after-school detention, which I missed today, and my mom is going to freak when she finds out.”
He fiddled with the keys. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because . . .” I shook my head, wondering why I was explaining myself to Jonathan when I never explained actions to anyone. Then a little weight settled over my heart. “I feel bad for calling you a zhost.”
The corner of his mouth rose slightly. “That’s all you had to say.”
“Even though I didn’t mean anything bad by it.” I held my palms up, feeling like I needed to make that clear. “And I am going to help you.”
Emotion flickered across his face. “You are?”
“Yes.” I nodded, then a boulder settled in my throat, so I dropped my gaze to the floral entryway rug. “I mean, you obviously won’t give Owen’s body back to him until you’ve figured out where your own body is. So it only makes sense that I lend a hand.”
“Thanks, Amy.” His voice was thick, his eyes filled with appreciation. “Let’s go then.” He reached past me for the doorknob, his arm brushing against mine sending chills across my skin.
“Okay.” I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed my purse off the counter. Then I stepped into a pair of sneakers I’d left by the front door, slipped outside, and together we strode down the walkway. “Now would be a good time to fill me in on your plan.”
Instead of answering me, he continued around the back of the white, beat-up pick-up truck parked at the curb, then opened the driver’s side door. “Owen’s truck?” he said.
I refused to answer.
He shoved the key in the lock and opened the driver’s side door. So much for my passive aggression.
I slipped into the passenger seat as he started the engine. “Uh, hello? Clue me in on the plan.”
“That’s not entirely laid out yet.” He pushed the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb.
I clicked my seatbelt into place. “Isn’t that why you vacated my body earlier? To go and think of a plan? At least, that’s what you told me you were doing.”
He braked as the stoplight turned red. “Maybe go back to the scene of the car accident?”
“To what? Look at the skid marks?” Frustrated, I pressed my fingers to my temples and stared out the window as we passed tract home after tract home. “He has no plan. Apparently I’m going to have to come up with one,” I muttered out loud.
“I’m certainly open to suggestions.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Let’s see. Solution time. You are apparently you, but don’t have a body. No, wait. You still have a body, it’s just six feet under.” The proverbial lightbulb illuminated over my head and I held a finger up. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”
His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “What?”
“We’ll go to where your body’s buried, dig it up, and then you can go back in.” I tapped my finger against my cheek. “You weren’t cremated, were you?”
He shuddered. “How should I know? It’s not like I attended my own funeral.”
“That’s right. You were busy haunting me at school.” Pfft. It was hard to believe I’d ever been scared. I twisted in my seat to face him. “Well, have others in your family been cremated?”
“I’m sixteen. It’s not like I’ve lost much of my family.” He made a right turn and seemed to be driving in circles. “Actually, my grandpa died when I was five. I think I remember them carrying a coffin out after the service. . . Yes, I’m certain of it.”
“Great!” I clapped, then realized that wasn’t exactly appropriate. “Not that your grandpa passed away, but that we’re making progress on finding your body.”
“Know what else I just remembered?” He brushed my forearm, sending goosebumps across my skin. “When I was like twelve, my parents made a will. They wanted to be buried, for sure. My mom didn’t like the idea of her body being burned. She wanted to be embalmed or whatever it is they do. That was really important to her.”
“Awesome,” I squealed, trying to ignore the heat still radiating across my skin from where he’d touched.
He glanced my way. “You’re not one of those girls who screams during scary movies, are you?”
I shot him a look. “Don’t insult me.”
“Didn’t think so.” He shook his head and the right side of his mouth lifted. “You’re an interesting person, Amy.”
I raised a brow. “You’re not exactly dull yourself.”
Wait a minute. Were we flirting? Not exactly a good idea considering the shaky status of his existence. I checked his expression to gauge what he thought of our exchange.
He was squinting out the windshield. Either Jonathan was also wondering if we were flirting or Owen’s body had poor eyesight and he was having difficulty reading the road signs.
We needed a safe topic. “So, um, back to your grandpa. Is he buried locally?”
He nodded. “He’s at Shady Pines Cemetery, along with my grandma.”
“Shady Pines?” I racked my brain, but the name didn’t ring a bell. “Not like I’m familiar with cemeteries, but I’ve never heard of that one. Is it far from San Felipe?”
He gestured to a green sign as we pulled up the freeway onramp. “It’s down 92 just outside of Hillsborough—where I live.”
My forehead wrinkled. “I thought you were from San Francisco.”
The corners of his mouth rose. “No, you thought I was from another galaxy.”
I was so happy to have this brought up again. Not. “Are you saying you lied about San Francisco?”
He changed lanes toward the center divide. “You asked where I was from, not where I lived. I was born in the City, but we moved to Hillsborough when I was a kid.”
Instantly, I wanted to ask why they had moved, to learn more about him. But what if he told me it was none of my business? He brought me along to get his body back, not reveal his life story. Why did I care anyway? It’s not like I’d see him again after today. He’d go back to his life and I’d go back to mine.
The thought was oddly unsettling.
I chewed on my fingernail, focusing on the problem at hand. “It seems smart to check the cemetery where your grandparents are buried. Maybe there’s a family plot or something. Or, I mean, you could just call and ask your parents. Right?”
His jaw tightened as he changed to the right lane, then turned down the off-ramp. Abruptly, he pulled to the side of the road, and threw the gearshift into park. A small choking sound escaped him as he gripped the steering wheel and dropped his forehead onto the backs of his hands. Hard.
My stomach tightened. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to mention his parents.
I heard him suck in a breath and saw the muscles on his neck grow taut. I had the strong feeling he was trying to keep it together, and I didn’t know what to do. I certainly didn’t want to make him feel worse by opening my big mouth and saying the wrong thing.
Finally, I put a hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He cleared his throat, then lifted his head. His face was red, his eyes glassy. “I can’t involve my famil
y in this. My mom’s not strong like you. She cries at commercials, greeting cards, you name it. If this doesn’t work out . . . I don’t want to devastate her a second time.”
“I understand.” My palm bubbled with electricity against his shoulder, so I dropped it back in my lap as his words rolled through my head. “What makes you think I’m strong?”
“Are you kidding?” He peered over at me with a questioning look, then seemed to determine that I was serious because he inhaled deeply. “You sensed me on Friday night on your date with that tool—”
He thought Alex was a tool? Huh.
“—yet you didn’t crumple or freak out. I took over your body this afternoon and the next thing I know you’re holding your fists up ready to fight me off even though you couldn’t see me.”
I shrugged. “I can be goal-oriented when it comes to keeping my body.”
“More than that.” His gaze fell to the pink circles around my wrists. “You threatened a zhost with your hands tied behind your back.”
I tucked my chin. “That term is offensive.”
“Amy.” He threw me a look, then reached for the gearshift, but held his hand there. “You keep trying even when the odds seem hopeless. I admire that.”
Overwhelmed by the compliment, I smiled. “Would you mind putting that in writing so I can show my mom and my teachers? They think I’m a slacker.”
He smiled back at me, then slipped the car into drive. “If I get through this, I’ll do anything you want.”
“I’m holding you to that,” I said, then my mind suddenly pictured all kinds of crazy images—our fingers lacing together as we sit on the bleachers watching a football game, me in a prom dress and him in a tux . . . which was just so totally insane.
Sensations shimmered through me as I relived the feeling of his essence mixing with mine—warm, soothing, perfect. Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my racing heart.
No such luck.
We pulled onto the street and drove in silence. My fingers stayed crossed the entire ride to the cemetery, hoping it was true that the Millers hadn’t cremated their son.
Chapter Six
We arrived at Shady Pines Cemetery just before five o’clock, which was perfect timing since the sign on the door showed that the office closed at five on weekdays. I gave the woman inside Jonathan’s full name and asked if he was buried there, which was all kinds of awkward considering he was standing right next to me.
“Here’s a map for you,” she said, circling his plot number and drawing a line indicating the quickest route to drive through the cemetery to where he’d been buried.
“Thank you.” I led the way out and she literally locked up behind us. Talk about close timing. I turned to Jonathan. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’m going to get.” He got into the truck, then drove toward the plot with one hand on the wheel, chewing on his bottom lip while I navigated with the map. When we found the section she’d circled, he pulled the car to the side of the dirt path and parked under a large tree. His face drained of color. “Never thought I’d be hoping to find my body in a cemetery.”
“If it makes you feel any better, this is a first for me, too.” I peered out my window at the rows of headstones. After we confirmed his body was here, we still needed to get a shovel and dig it up. Talk about gruesome. But the poor guy needed his body back. He couldn’t keep wandering around zombying random bodies. I blew out a breath. “No point in delaying the inevitable.”
“Let me see the map again.” He tugged the paper from my hands. His finger was shaky as he traced the line leading the way to his plot. Then he gestured out the driver’s side window. “The gravesite’s over there.”
“Yep.” I scanned my surroundings, noticing many gifts scattered among the headstones. Tiny foil balloons. Silk roses. “We should’ve brought flowers,” I noted.
“No,” he said, sternly. His eyes steeled as he reached for the door handle. “I’m not going to be here long enough to warrant them.”
“You’re right,” I said, trying to sound positive as well. But, on the inside, I was a wreck at the thought of digging up a body, even though I knew it was to save Jonathan’s life.
“Let’s do this.” He hopped out of the truck then waited for me to come around. His arms were stiff at his sides as he walked, a little hunched over and slowly, across the freshly mowed landscape between plots, following the directions on the map.
On unsteady legs, I followed in the direction he’d pointed, and spotted a girl sitting cross-legged on the ground next to his headstone. She wore a black hoodie, jeans, and appeared to be younger than us—maybe a freshman. She held a lit cigarette in her right hand.
I nudged Jonathan with my elbow. “Do you know her?”
His eyes traveled down to where the girl sat, cross-legged, next to the newly packed dirt. “No idea who she is,” he said.
“Maybe she’s meeting a group of friends here.” My throat went dry as, side by side, we made our way over to her. “I’ve heard cemeteries are the new spot to hang out in. Fear factor and all that.”
Okay, I was babbling. But I’d never visited someone’s gravesite, while they were still alive. Beyond awkward.
The girl didn’t seem to notice us approaching. She continued staring at the headstone while inhaling on her cigarette. My gaze darted to the speckled, granite stone in front of her, which was embossed with: Jonathan Jacob Miller, beloved son and brother.
Brother? I got the strong suspicion this girl might not be here to party. But if she was Jonathan’s sister, then why had he said he didn’t know her? Weird.
Since the girl still hadn’t looked over at us, I coughed loudly—to get her attention and also because her second-hand smoke was invading my lungs. Blech.
She whipped her head around and emerald green eyes peered at me, causing chills to radiate up my spine. She was beautiful, and her resemblance to Jonathan was striking. This definitely had to be his sister.
Smoke billowed up around her ivory face, and her dark eyebrows drew together. “What are you looking at?” she snapped.
“Excuse me?” I tucked my chin, surprised that this girl had copped an attitude for no reason. I felt more than ready to spar words with her. Then I glanced at Jonathan, who stared at her with a horrified expression as if he’d just seen a zhost. I forced my eyes back to the girl, and pasted on a sickly sweet smile. “Do you happen to know the Miller family?”
“What’s it to you?” The girl flicked her cigarette butt on the ground near my foot even though the tip was still lit. Rudeness.
I snuffed the cigarette out with the bottom of my shoe, and it took saint-like effort to maintain my cool. “I’m a friend of Jonathan’s so I thought we could introduce ourselves and ease each other’s pain or something.”
Jonathan elbowed me in the ribs.
“Ouch.” I rubbed my side. So not cool to inflict pain upon me when I was totally improvising on the spot. Not like I’d been given a script.
“Guess what I know?” The girl pulled out a white, rectangular box from the front pocket on her hoodie, opened the top, then shook out a cigarette. She lit the end, took a long drag, then blew out a puff of smoke. “You’re a liar.”
I choked on her words as much as the disgusting gray air she’d exhaled. “What did you just call me?”
She stood, then blew smoke directly in my face. “You’re a no-good, stinking liar.”
Instead of defending my honor, Jonathan chuckled, then coughed into his hand as if to try to cover it up. What the . . .?
I cocked my hip, then crossed my arms, wondering what his problem was. “Something amusing?” I snapped at him.
“Not at all.” He shook his head, but a dimple popped out of the corner of his mouth, making me wonder why he thought this girl’s attitude was the least bit funny when it so wasn’t.
Holding the cigarette between her teeth, the girl lifted the hood off her head, revealing long, dark hair matted down as if she hadn’t washed it in d
ays. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you.” I tilted my head, feeling like I deserved a medal for not dishing this girl’s sass right back at her. “Jonathan and I were friends.”
“I knew all of his friends, sleaze bag.” She took another drag on her cancer stick. “So you’d better tell me what you’re doing here before I go ballistic on you.”
“Please, stop, you’re scaring me.” I rolled my eyes, then gestured toward Jonathan who seemed to have sobered up from his odd sense of humor. “Fine, he’s the one who really knew Jonathan.”
She stared at him through another cloud of smoke. “That true?”
His gaze met hers, then he winced. “Yes.”
“I’ve never met you before.” She eyed him up and down, her expression indicating she liked what she saw. Wow. I was so not that forward as a freshman. Locking her stare with his, she leaned toward him. “Why didn’t I see you at the funeral?”
“Mind if I sit?” He dropped down to the ground with his back to the headstone, tucked his knees to his chest, then circled his arms around them. His eyes clouded. “I’d heard about the car accident on Friday. But I hadn’t learned that Jonathan had, uh, died until I read an article on the Internet today.” He exhaled audibly. “It was quite a shock to me.”
“You and me both.” She sat down next to him, seeming convinced he was telling the truth. She stubbed her cigarette out on the ground, then looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’m Danielle. Did Jonathan ever . . . mention me?”
Her voice cracked and the vulnerable look on her face transformed her into a different person. Not a tough girl like she tried to make herself out to be, but a young girl who was devastated about her brother’s death. I could see the dark shadows under her green eyes.
My throat tightened unexpectedly. I stood motionless, unable to breathe.
“Yeah, he talked about you.” Jonathan’s voice was thick and he placed his hand on her forearm, like he’d done to me earlier in the truck. He paused a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “He said you were a pain in his neck.”
“He did? Really?” Her mouth curved upward and her eyes watered, as if he’d given her the world’s biggest compliment. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, gaze glued on him. “What else did he say?”
