Second Chance

by Audra North

  Was there?

  And what was it that the maybe-ghost had asked? Whether I liked his trick?

  She slid a slim volume of poetry into its place and moved to the next set of shelves. It just didn’t make any sense. If there really was a ghost, why was he appearing to her? The explanation in the back of the book had said that he only showed up when he needed to teach people a lesson, but she’d already had enough lessons in life. Hard ones. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like to learn another one. It would probably kill her.

  She moved aside a couple of large anthologies. At least Collin had shown up just before she’d tried to go barreling down the stairs after seeing that shadowy thing. With the way she’d felt so wild and lightheaded, she might have fainted as she descended, and that would have been the biggest disaster of all.

  And part of her had to admit that she’d enjoyed being in his arms. Hadn’t she been thinking about the touch of a man, right before he’d appeared again? And not just any man. She’d been thinking of his touch. His hands and his mouth and...oh, goodness, he was so handsome. And just as good-looking on the inside as she’d remembered. His accent had faded a bit more with time, too. Back in high school, she’d known just from hearing him speak that he’d spent some part of his life in Ireland. But now, she wouldn’t have guessed that the lilting cadence of his speech had come from a childhood there. She missed the accent, though. Somehow, it made her nostalgic for the girl she’d been. For the crush she’d had on—

  “So, do you think he’s a hottie, as you ladies like to say these days?”

  The voice intruded on her thoughts so abruptly that she let out a little squeak, but this time she didn’t scream. In fact, she felt surprisingly…calm.

  Instead, she turned around slowly, feeling her heart beating only marginally faster than usual. It was as though she’d had a little time to get used to the idea of a possible haunting, and the appearance of a ghost didn’t frighten her as much, in the larger, better lit space of the main library.

  In fact, when she saw it again, a smoky figure floating toward her, she managed to keep her cool and stand her ground, studying the ghost closely enough to realize that—

  “Is that a cigar you’re smoking?”

  “Cuba’s finest,” he said jovially, cracking a crooked grin. “Thank God I died before the embargo.”

  She could see him more clearly now, probably because he wasn’t floating just below a light bulb. He seemed almost real now, a nice-looking man around her own age, dressed in high-waisted trousers, a white button-down shirt, and short vest. No shoes, just tartan socks, like he had just gotten home from work and had taken off his suit jacket and shoes to unwind. And that damned cigar…

  “You’re not allowed to smoke a cigar in the library!”

  “Are you really trying to convince me that you can smell this thing?” He raised an eyebrow, and she paused.

  She took a surreptitious deep breath, but the ghost caught her. “What, you think I’d waste a perfectly good real cigar on my dead self? I can’t smell, I can’t taste. I can’t breathe.” He waved the cigar around, and she followed a cloud of ghostly ashes as they drifted toward the carpet. They disappeared just before they hit the dark green floor, though, disintegrating gracefully, as though an invisible hand had simply reached out and snatched them up.

  “God,” she whispered.

  “No, no. Not God. Though it wouldn’t be the first time a pretty lady made that mistake. My name’s Bill.”

  She snapped her head up at that, the feeling of being in a dream disappearing with a crack. “Your name is Bill? Ghosts aren’t named Bill.”

  He humphed and tapped the cigar, dropping more ash toward the carpet. She tried not to cringe as it fell. “Okay, Miss Ghost Expert—and, yes, I’m being sarcastic about the expert part, considering that you flew into a tizzy when you saw me earlier—what should ghosts be named? I’m going to go with ‘Bill’ until you come up with something better. Least because it’s my name.”

  Was this really happening?

  She crossed her arms and scowled. “Well, ghosts should be named something venerable, in light of their situation. Like…Horace. Or, at least ‘William’ instead of ‘Bill.’”

  “I’m a spirit from the hereafter, not a lawyer, toots. And if you think ‘Horace’ is venerable, then it doesn’t matter whether you’re making me up, since you’re crazy for thinking such a thing. Horace Fulkes is proof enough that the name is not enough to merit the description of venerable.”

  “Who is Horace Fulkes? And did you just call me toots?”

  Bill nodded. “Take it as a compliment. If I’d called you ma’am, it’d mean I didn’t like you much. You might be kind of uptight, but you’ve got spunk. I like that.”

  Marnie was shaking her head, trying to understand how she’d gotten into this bizarre situation, but Bill continued. “Horace was the ice man for five weeks back in ’18, before Mr. Simmons caught Mrs. Simmons doing something with Horace Fulkes on the kitchen counter that they couldn’t pass off as just a regular old ice delivery.”

  “Why would I hallucinate something this weird?”

  “You think you’re hallucinating?”

  “Of course I do! I mean, I thought I was. I read a children’s story about you, for goodness’ sake. No one has seen you, ever. At least no one I know. Most people haven’t even heard about you! You weren’t supposed to really exist. You know, like an urban legend.”

  He waggled his brows at her. “Who says I’m not a legend? Maybe not in the same way you’re thinking, but many a folk has said something to that effect about me when I was still alive.”

  Marnie crossed her arms in front of her chest and rolled her eyes.

  Bill humphed. “Fine, maybe you’re right. Maybe you are having a mental breakdown and I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

  She uncrossed her arms and slumped, looking down at her hands before she sighed heavily. “Not likely. I’m the most sane person I know. The fact that I’m having a conversation with you is proof enough that I know I’m not making this up. I don’t talk to myself, I don’t usually scare so easily—the attic incident notwithstanding—and I can handle a little ghost.”

  “Hey, who are you calling little?”

  She laughed then, at his fake-belligerent expression, and he smiled as he put out the cigar in the air and threw it somewhere past the shelf, making her scoff in disgust. “I was just beginning to warm up to you, you know. And then you had to go and do that.”

  “I think you might be less sane than you say you are. You’re talking to a dead guy but me tossing my ghost cigar into the stacks is what gets you bent out of shape?” He sighed at her belligerent expression. “You really do need a lesson.”

  “So, is that true, too? You appear to people who need to be taught a lesson? And was that really you who made my dad fall this afternoon on the carpet?”

  He snarled, as though the very mention of Marnie’s father got him angry. “Your Pa’s a real piece of work. He deserved what he got. Too bad he was holding on so tightly to Patrick. I didn’t mean for the kid to trip, too, even though neither of them were really hurt.”

  At least he seemed to have some sense of honor, even though he liked teasing her. “Yeah, well, now that it’s already done and only their pride was bruised, I’m willing to say that maybe he got what he deserved.”

  “You never saw that kind of behavior back in my day. Brats, sure, but not that kind of disrespect. Of course, back then everything was different. Still. No six-year-old like your little brother would have lasted long.”

  “He’s not my little brother.”

  “Isn’t he your dad’s kid?”

  “Yeah, I mean, biologically he’s my half-brother. But he doesn’t know that and my—Brent acts like he doesn’t know me at all. As far I can tell, Patrick doesn’t know that we’re related. I don’t think he even knows that my dad was married before, that I even exist as someone other than the mean librarian.”


  Bill laughed at that. “You’re nothing compared to that Mrs. Waters that was the librarian before you.”

  “Did you ever appear to her?”

  “Hell, no!” She probably would have ignored me, anyway, like she ignored everything else except her damned books.” He pulled another ghost cigar out of his pocket and a match appeared out of thin air. “You’re different, though, Marnie. I’ve been watching you.”

  “Oh, good, because that’s not creepy or anything.”

  “Oh, come on. I don’t have anything else to do. It’s not like I follow you into the ladies or hide in the air vents and try to look up your skirt.”

  “You—you what?”

  “I said I didn’t do those things. Sheesh.”

  “I cannot believe we are actually having this conversation. Of all the inane—”

  “Look, I’m not trying to work you up. But maybe you need to just let go a little. You know, have some fun. Kiss a guy who saves you from your shit-for-brains pops and handsome old ghosts.”

  “Saves me from—wait. Do you mean Collin? You’re telling me that I should kiss him?”

  “Yeah, I mean,” Bill raised his voice to a falsetto and clasped his hands in front of his chest and sighed, “Collin.”

  “You are the weirdest ghost…” She stopped herself. What was she doing, talking about this kind of thing with a spirit?

  “I do not need a man. I do not need to fall in love or settle down—which even sounds awful—or be anything but on my own. I took care of my mom. I put myself through school. I’m fully capable of anything that life can throw my way without help. I can change my own oil and I can pay my own bills and I’ve fulfilled the most fundamental requirements of existence by my own merit.”

  There. Discussion over.

  But instead of disappearing like she’d half-hoped he would, he just shrugged as though everything she’d just said didn’t matter at all. And then he asked, “But at what expense?”

  At what expense?

  They were staring at each other, she and Bill, those words hanging in the air between them, when she heard Collin’s voice.

  “Marnie?”

  What was he doing in here again? He should be on the highway by now, heading back home to whatever place he lived in. The place where she didn’t belong, regardless.

  Except…well, that wasn’t fair to him. He’d taken time for her. He’d helped her. And that was more than she could say for any other man in her life.

  Kiss a guy who saves you...

  For a second, Marnie imagined what that might be like, to pull Collin’s head down to hers, to feel his lips sliding over hers—

  “Marnie?” he called again.

  Bill disappeared immediately, almost as though he was a ghost balloon that someone had just popped out of existence, and Marnie blinked at the empty space where Bill had just been, wondering where he’d gone.

  “Marnie, are you here?” Collin’s voice sounded closer now, and Marnie shook off the fantasy.

  “Over here,” she called back. “In the row labeled ‘305.31 to—” she craned her head to look at the call numbers written on the paper signs she’d taped to each end of the long shelves. “362.2.”

  No doubt he’d just forgotten something and was coming back to collect it so that he wouldn’t have to make a separate trip and have to see her again. To have to bear to look at her.

  I can’t even bear to look at you.

  That was exactly what her father used to say when she would try to get his attention for some accomplishment, like an art award or a reading comprehension test that she’d scored well on.

  She heard Collin’s steps coming closer, and then there he was, backlit by the main room lights as he stood at the end of the row. His broad shoulders were clearly outlined, and the way he was standing, legs slightly apart, only served to enhance how very masculine he was.

  It made her want to reach out and trace her hand over his body. To push his clothes off and pull his shadowy self down to cover her, right here in the stacks.

  “I’m sorry, I know you’re closed now. But the door was open and I figured I’d come back in. My car won’t start.”

  She shook off thoughts of him thrusting into her and tried to focus on the car problem, but the words came out thick and slow. “Oh, no. I’m sorry to hear that. Did you accidentally leave your lights on, or something?”

  He stepped closer, and her senses went haywire, her fingers curled inward, trying to find purchase in the fog that was clouding her brain.

  “No, they turn off automatically. I don’t understand. I just bought it last year, and I took it in to have it serviced barely a week ago. They probably messed something up.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, rumpling the dark strands. She imagined it was her fingers stroking through his hair as his tongue played with hers…

  “Do you mind if I use the computer to look up the numbers of tow services? It’s a little easier than having to do it on my phone, since I don’t have to flip back and forth to call around. And it’s definitely warmer.”

  Oh, goodness. She’d been thinking about kissing him while he’d been waiting for her help. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  “Sure, no problem. Come on, I’ll let you use my laptop in my office, since it’s a newer computer and faster than the public ones. Just let me lock the doors first.”

  She slipped past him, taking care not to touch him lest she go up in flames, then led him out of the stacks and over to the large double-doors of the front entrance, where she tried to throw the steel rod that locked the right door into place. The left door would then bolt into the right one. But no matter how hard she pushed at the metal, it wouldn’t budge. She tried pulling it upward, instead, but still no luck.

  “Strange.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Usually, I don’t have a problem to get this rod to move up and down easily, but today I’m yanking on it with practically all my strength and it just won’t budge. Our maintenance man recently gave the sheath a good oiling, so I don’t think the problem is lubrication, but maybe since it’s a pretty big, thick one—”

  She broke off at the sound of a muffled chuckle.

  “Wha—oh, God,” she groaned, suddenly realizing what she’d been saying about oiling the sheath and lubrication and a big rod and oh dear did she really go on about yanking on it?

  He was pink now with suppressed laughter, but finally calmed down enough to say, “I apologize. At heart, I think I’ll always be a fourteen-year-old boy. But at least I’ve managed to learn a few things about doors and such since I’ve been that age that I might be able to help you out.”

  He stepped forward, coming so close to her that she actually backed up against the door, feeling her heartbeat speed up. She stared at him, transfixed, her lips parting as his body stopped just inches from hers and his head leaned down, down—

  “Um, is it okay with you?”

  “Yes,” she sighed, feeling her shoulders sway forward, moving to meet his, but before she could tip her head back and push up on her toes, he turned away and slid a small flashlight from his jacket pocket, flipping it on with a grin. “Brought it back in with me.”

  Of course. She realized, quite belatedly, that she was still standing in front of the door, blocking him from being able to look at it. He’d been asking her if it was okay for him to get by, not to kiss her.

  Like she’d been daydreaming about earlier. Like she wanted him to.

  She was such an idiot.

  She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment, then moved away so that he could stand directly under the doorframe and shine the light up. “Ah, yes. There it is. The, um, rod is slightly misaligned from the socket. Ahem.” He was clearly stifling a laugh. “Maybe an overzealous kid hit the door too hard, or something.”

  He pushed against it and tried to push the rod up, but it still wouldn’t move. “Damn, this thing is too far out of joint.” Maybe, if I put all my weight into it and you slide it into
place, we can get this closed.” He gestured for her to move forward.

  She had to stand right next to him, her arm brushing his hip as he pushed against the wood. Wow, he felt good. And, oh, he smelled good, too. She caught a whiff of a clean, outdoorsy scent coming off of him as he pushed and she was finally able to slide the rod home.

  “Done! I don’t think I’ve ever put this much effort into getting a shaft into a hole,” he said, deadpan, and she couldn’t keep from letting out a loud peal of laughter.

  By the time they had calmed, both their cheeks were pink from laughing. She threw the bolt on the left door and sighed with relief. “That one was much easier, thank God. When I leave later I won’t have to call a passing WWE wrestler to help.”

  “Hey, no. Never. I mean, unless you want to call a wrestler. Otherwise, you know, you can always call me.”

  Collin Morgan. Always coming to her rescue.

  Kiss a man who saves you…

  Now she really wanted to kiss him. But would he welcome it, or be unpleasantly surprised?

  Buzz buzz buzz.

  A loud vibrating noise sounded in the space between them. He gave her an apologetic look and slid his phone from his pocket. She caught a glimpse of the name on the screen. Rebecca.

  Oh thank God she hadn’t done it. Rebecca was probably his girlfriend or maybe even wife, even though he wasn’t wearing a ring. She would have been so ashamed if she’d made a move.

  She stepped away from him just as he rejected the call. Probably didn’t want to have a private conversation with her listening in. She pasted a smile on her face and pointed to her office.

  “Come on. I’ll get you set up with the computer so you can get out of here.”

  Chapter Six

  Ten minutes later, Collin emerged from Marnie’s office, feeling like he’d just entered some parallel universe where everything in Wilford operated as though it were still a 1950s small town.

  Marnie arched a brow at him and gave him a curious look. “Any luck?”

  He shook his head. “I called three places and all of them are shut down because of Halloween. Two of the guys are taking their kids out trick-or-treating and one of them is at a Santería ceremony.”