by J. J. Cook
Beau’s was having two-for-one margarita night and the evening stretched into early morning as the bar closed. The bartender finally told them to go home.
Ricky had declared himself the designated driver. Most of them ended up in the back of his pickup, including Stella, who’d protested leaving her Harley at the bar. She knew she probably wasn’t in fit shape to drive though, especially negotiating the sharp curves on Firehouse Road.
The porch light was on and the door was standing open, as it always was when she returned. Everyone shouted drunken goodbyes to Eric and told him they wished he could’ve been there. Zane kissed Stella as the others laughed and taunted Zane about being jealous that his girlfriend lived with a male ghost.
Stella told the raucous group goodnight and closed the cabin door behind her. There was a light on in the kitchen but the rest of the cabin was dark. She could see something had happened to the cakes, brownies, and other food that had been there. She hoped Walt didn’t eat them all.
Eric was on the back deck. She could see him without any lights on. In the blackness, he had a faint glow about him. There were other times he appeared so real that she felt he could be mistaken for a living, breathing human.
Stella stumbled through the living room and tried to open the back door to the deck.
“It’s already open,” Eric said. “I think you’ve had a few too many.”
She got through the opening and collapsed into one of the hardwood rocking chairs that he’d made when he was still alive. “It would’ve been a waste not to drink both margaritas since I got a free one with each one I paid for. It made good economic sense.”
“Well, in the light of that economic discovery, I’m glad you didn’t try to bring the Harley home.”
“Me too.” She sat back in the chair and listened to the noise from the river.
There was a steep drop-off from the cabin to the Little Pigeon River so that the structure seemed to hover over the water.
“It’s so quiet here. I’m going to miss that. Back home, you can’t sit outside for more than a few minutes without hearing people arguing or a siren going off. That’s what happens when you live around a few million people.”
Eric was in the rocking chair beside hers. “You don’t have to go back. This is a good life here in Sweet Pepper. You have friends and an important job.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes. Her head was beginning to ache. Maybe those margaritas weren’t such a good idea after all.
“But I don’t belong here. Not really. I’m from Chicago. I have friends and an important job there too. Not to mention the extensive Griffin family. I can’t stay here. Maybe I’d like to. But I can’t.”
“I guess you have to do what feels right to you.”
“That’s the problem.” She stared at him. “I don’t know what’s right anymore. You’ve changed my life. Before, I only had to worry about me. Now I have to worry about you too. It was stupid of you to leave this land to the town. Bob Floyd wants to burn down the cabin. What are we supposed to do about that?”
He smiled. “I was expecting him to realize that this property joins his a long time ago. His father wanted to put a whitewater rafting access center here fifty years ago. I’m sure that’s what he wants to do now. He wasn’t particularly creative when he was a kid. I’m sure he’s only following his father’s game plan now.”
“He wants to do it as much to get rid of your ghost as he does whatever else,” she replied. “I don’t think he likes you.”
“It’s a long story. He wanted to be a firefighter—he couldn’t do the work. People grow up and get bitter about those things—and sometimes become the people who make the decisions.”
Stella put her hand on his chest. There was a slight zing, like static electricity, but he was solid to the touch. “Why are you so calm about all of this? It really bothers me.”
“As I’ve said, I’m dead. What else can they do to hurt me?”
“Burn down the only place you can be right now. You won’t have any place to haunt. Don’t you see? You’ll be exercised.”
He laughed at her. “You mean exorcised, I think. And no, I don’t see that. I’ll be able to wander around in the woods. I’ll be a free spirit.”
Stella leaned against him—she had this feeling that she was going to fall out of the rocking chair otherwise. The deck suddenly seemed to be tilting downward.
“You know I care about you, right? You saved my life. But it’s more than that. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want you to live out your ghostly existence in your home. That’s what I want.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m from another time, another place. I’ll be fine. I always have been. You have to live your life while you still have it. Get married. Have babies. Be happy. I had my chance to do that and I blew it. Don’t make my mistakes.”
One minute, Stella was listening to him—his blue eyes seemed too intense to be real. The next minute, she’d passed out on him. Lucky for her that he could be solid.
“Never mind,” he whispered as he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
She let out a loud, snorting sound in response.
No one could tell someone else how to live. Eric put her in bed and pulled off her boots before he covered her with the comforter.
Friends, like Walt, had tried to tell him that he’d end up alone if he let the job consume his life. He never worried about it. There had been plenty of time ahead of him to find a wife, and father a family.
Then he’d woken up here after the fire, terrified and completely alone, and there was no time left for him at all.
He had forty years to think about everything he’d missed before Stella came into his life. Since then he’d thought many times about how wonderful they would have been together, if they were both alive.
That wasn’t to be.
He watched her sleep for a long time, sitting on the bed beside her. Usually, if he tried something like that, she woke up and yelled at him, saying he was “creeping her out.” She was out of it that night though. He could watch her as long as he wanted to.
Part of him hoped she would leave Sweet Pepper, for her own sake.
His heart wanted her to stay.
Maybe Bob Floyd would end that quandary by burning down the cabin. He was pretty sure that would mean the end of his half-life existence, even though he would never admit it to Stella.
• • •
Someone was knocking on the door.
Stella moaned as she put her head under the comforter.
Whoever it was kept knocking.
“Go away,” she yelled. “Walt—that better not be you.”
“Not Walt,” Eric said. “It’s two men and a woman. The woman must be related. She looks like you and Abigail.”
“What?” Stella sat up quickly and then regretted it as a steel drum band started playing in her head. “It’s my parents. Oh my God!”
“Is that your brother?” Eric looked out of the window space between the thick wood blinds.
Stella opened one eye and looked out. “It’s Doug! What were they thinking? They brought Doug.”
“Doug?”
“My ex-boyfriend.” She was still dressed (surprise!). Her clothes smelled like smoke and margaritas. Her mouth tasted like something dead had curled up and died in there.
Oh well. She’d have to do.
“Shoes!” Eric reminded her. “Is that the man you found in bed with your friend?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Stella recalled the first warning she got about wearing shoes in the cabin to avoid being stung by a southern scorpion. “You know, I’ve never actually seen one of those in the cabin.”
“I try to keep them and the snakes out,” Eric replied.
“All of that and you bake too.” She smiled at him. “What happened to all the cakes? You
didn’t float them down the mountain, right?”
“No, Walt took them to the cake event at the church.”
“What about Hero?” She suddenly realized that she hadn’t seen the dog last night and he wasn’t barking at their visitors this morning.
“His mother came to get him yesterday, along with their two human friends.”
Stella finished tying her shoes and pushed her thick red hair into a ponytail holder. “I hope there’s at least one Coke left in the fridge.”
“There is. Why would your parents bring your cheating ex-boyfriend to see you?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She stalked out of the bedroom and answered the door.
Chapter 8
“Dad. Mom. What are you doing here?”
“Stella!” Her father grabbed her in a big bear hug. “You look terrible. Are you eating? You know how you forget sometimes and then eat something you shouldn’t.”
Sean Griffin was about six feet tall with a flat stomach and muscled chest. He had close-cropped bright red hair, blue eyes, and a heavily freckled face. He worked out religiously and ran a few miles every day. He was also a health food nut who had raised his daughter on wheat germ and fresh vegetables, as much as he could.
Barbara Griffin pushed her husband aside. “You’re hogging up my daughter.”
She wrapped her arms around Stella and held her close for several moments. “I’ve been so worried about you since you didn’t come home in October. I think you have some explaining to do.”
Barbara looked like an older version of Stella, but with brown hair, graying in places. They had the same brown eyes—one of the things that had reminded Stella of her when she’d first met her grandfather, Ben Carson.
“Come inside.” They were still standing on the porch. Stella whispered as her mother moved away, “Why is Doug here?”
“Because he still loves you. He made a mistake. You’ve known each other your whole lives. I think you should at least talk.”
Doug started up the stairs, a big, confident smile on his handsome face. “What? No hug for me? I’m hurt.”
A cold breeze came from inside the cabin. It rushed between Stella and Doug, reaching him as he held out his arms to her. Nothing else moved, not even the wind chimes on the porch, but the breeze blew Doug right off the top stair. He hit the ground with a dull thud.
Barbara and Sean ran to help him up.
Stella looked at Eric, who was standing on the porch, laughing.
“That was nice.” She had to school her face, torn between the urge to laugh and being upset with him.
Eric shrugged. “He deserved it.”
“What in the world was that?” Barbara asked.
“Earthquake,” Stella answered.
“Earthquake?” Her mother stared at her. “They never had earthquakes when I was growing up here.”
Sean jumped in to support Stella’s theory. “I’ve read that this area is on some kind of fault line. They get micro-quakes all the time.”
Barbara didn’t agree with that, but she helped Doug into the cabin.
Stella shut the door behind them. This was going to be terrible.
“This is quite the male retreat, isn’t it?” Sean looked around. “Didn’t you say it used to belong to the old fire chief?”
“Yes. That’s right,” Stella answered. “Would anyone like coffee?”
She grabbed the last Coke out of the refrigerator and chugged down half of it.
“Are you drinking coffee now?” Barbara looked at the coffeepot on the counter.
“Not really,” Stella said. “But everyone else does around here, so I keep some handy. There aren’t any coffeehouses around the block.”
“You’re still drinking those sodas loaded with caffeine and sugar.” Her father frowned. “No wonder your color is bad. I’ll bet there’s not a carrot in that refrigerator.”
He’d win that bet. “How about some breakfast?” she offered. Her father was a big believer in eating breakfast. It would also get them out of the cabin and give her a chance to collect her thoughts.
“That sounds great!” Doug’s face perked up with the idea. “All we had were some crackers on the plane, and that was a long time ago.”
Sean hugged his daughter. “You keep breakfast on hand. I’m so proud of you.”
“If you consider Pop-Tarts a breakfast food,” Eric added, unheard except by Stella, even though he was standing right in the middle of the excited family group.
“I don’t exactly keep it on hand,” Stella admitted. “But I frequently eat breakfast at the café in town.”
“Is that still the old Sweet Pepper Café?” Her mother smiled. “Are Lucille and Ricky still there?”
“Yes. And their son, Ricky Junior, works there too. He’s a member of the fire brigade, one of my co-assistant chiefs.”
“Sounds good. I’m hungry. We don’t have to eat grits, do we?” Her father put his arm around Stella’s shoulders. “You’ll have to tell me where you came up with your creative titles—co-assistant chief? Chief Henry would blow a gasket if he heard that one. So would your uncle!”
“Never mind,” Stella said. “You try setting up a new fire department with old equipment and people who have never fought a fire. It makes you creative. And I think you should eat grits. You’re in the South.”
“Not me.” Sean kissed his daughter. “You know I don’t go in for politics. I put out the fires and then I go home. I’m not eating grits.”
“Let’s go,” Barbara said. “It’s only a few miles back into town from here, if I remember correctly.”
Stella went to hop on her bike and realized it was still at Beau’s. After explaining to her father that she’d left the Harley at the bar, she rode down with them in their rental car—in the backseat with Doug.
“I could ride with you on the Harley when we pick it up,” Doug volunteered with the sweet smile that she remembered so well. “No reason for you to go alone.”
Stella looked back at the three hopeful faces in the car as she got out when the car had stopped. “I don’t think so.”
Before Doug could insist—knowing her parents would be on his side—she cranked up the Harley and was gone. It only occurred to her a few minutes later that she’d forgotten her helmet. It was still strapped to the bike.
She stopped and put it on, wondering what could possibly make Doug think they should get back together. And why did her parents think it should happen? They’d been as angry as she was when he’d cheated on her.
Her mother had hinted earlier that she should be forgiving. Stella didn’t know how to be forgiving when she was still as angry now as she had been then. A year wasn’t enough time to forgive and forget seeing him in bed with her friend.
Maybe she just wasn’t the forgiving kind.
Yes—she and Doug had grown up together. That made the broken trust between them even harder to bear.
Eric had been very clear about his feelings when Doug had tried to come into the cabin. A smile tugged at her lips when she thought about it. She hoped she could keep Doug out of the way for however long they planned to stay.
Had anyone mentioned how long that would be?
Stella met her parents at the café and they went inside together. Ricky Senior and Lucille picked them out of the early morning crowd right away. They ran to hug Barbara and meet Sean, and then finally welcomed Doug and Stella.
Lucille sat them at a special table. She and Barbara cried as they talked about the past. Ricky Senior introduced his son and sent him for coffee, and what sounded like everything on the menu.
“Isn’t there a fire somewhere, Chief?” Ricky Junior asked Stella.
She grimaced. “If there was, I wouldn’t be here.”
“That way is it?” He grinned at her. “It’s not your parents, right? The proble
m is the ex, isn’t it?”
“Don’t you have food to get?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get as much as I can so you can take your time eating with him. No extra charge.”
Stella rolled her eyes, sat back in her chair, and prepared to hang around for another hour until practice at the firehouse. Everyone in the café was staring at them. They were probably on their phones, spreading the information faster than Ricky got their breakfast.
How often did a local heiress come home after so many years?
She didn’t mind her mother reminiscing about old times with Lucille. She very much minded sitting next to Doug. He kept trying to talk to her and was smiling at her.
He finally slipped his chair closer and bent his head near hers. “We could leave, you know? Just take off. Get out of here so we can be alone.”
Stella glanced at her mother and father. They were actively involved in discussing Barbara’s childhood.
She looked into Doug’s blue eyes, which she’d once written a poem about when they were in sixth grade. “We aren’t getting back together. I don’t know what my mom said to you—it’s not happening. You should’ve stayed home.”
His confident expression faltered as he took in her words. “I told you I’m sorry, Stella. What more can I say? We all do things we regret. Like you punching me. What was that all about?”
Stella could hardly believe he’d even bring that up. “Punching you was about finding you in bed with my friend. How could you do something like that? We’d talked about getting married the day before.”
“Like I said.” His tone was reasonable. “We all do things we regret. I think it’s time to forgive and forget, don’t you? We’ve always been great together. You know that. We’ll be stronger in the future because of this.”
“I’ll be stronger in the future because I won’t be with you! I don’t know how else to say it—without punching you again.” Stella stared at him as she would have at a fire she was assessing. “You won’t ever be part of my life again. You don’t get a second chance. That’s it.”
She hoped she’d made herself clear. Maybe he’d head back to the airport now and leave without her parents.
