“That’s nice,” Gram says. “Lord, I can’t believe how much you look like Livvy. Every day, you’re more and more like her. So strange, considering your mama and all…” Gram squints at the screen as if trying to see me better.
Her sister, Livvy, died in a some kind of accident that was terribly traumatic for Gram. Her death was so distressing that Gram has never shared the details with me. She just says things like “She was taken too soon,” “Her loss was a tragedy,” and “Maybe when you’re older.” I’m still waiting for that to happen. I used to visit her grave with Gram when I went to Baltimore. We always put shells there because that was something special to them, then Gram would make me pray for her. A lot. Gram’s kind of obsessed with me being like Livvy. That’s why I have her key and why Gram always brings her up. I usually try to change the subject because I know thinking about her sister makes her sad.
“I gotta get this old man to bed now, Jade, but you call us soon and let us know what your daddy says about comin’ for a visit.”
“Po so na,” Papa says, scowling, probably because she called him an old man.
“Okay. Night.”
“Good night!” Gram says.
They’re both still waving like crazy when I close the connection.
The air in the dining room is thick, heavy with the scent of blood and dirt. I crouch in the corner beside the antique oak table and imposing china cabinet, hugging my knees and listening to her mournful cries.
“Eliza. E… li… za.”
She’s sobbing and wailing, but I can’t see her. I look all around, but she’s not here. I cry tears of sympathy for the horrible sadness she feels. Finally, she staggers in from the hall, her head down, face hidden. I can still hear the keening, but she won’t let me see her face. She reaches the table and leans on the back of a chair. When she looks up, her eyes are purple and bulging, her lips blackened—frozen in a scream. She flies toward me. I close my eyes, ready to take the hit.
“Jade!”
I jolt awake and find myself sitting up in bed, held in Charlie’s arms.
“Shh, you’re okay,” he murmurs in my ear, his breath hot on my neck.
I squeak and hiccup, tears streaming down my cheeks. What the hell is happening to me? Charlie strokes my hair. His scent, like salt and sweetness, fills my nose. His chest is warm against my face.
Someone thumps up the stairs. Mike or Mom or both? Charlie stands and folds his arms over his chest, flitting his gaze around as if looking for a place to hide. This isn’t going to look good. We both know that, but we don’t have time to do anything about it because in two seconds, my mother’s in the doorway.
Chapter 6
“What’s going on?” Mom asks, flicking on the light.
I cover my eyes to protect them from the brightness.
“I think Jade had a nightmare,” Charlie says, gesturing at me.
I swipe at my cheeks and nod. Mom squints at him as if she’s thinking maybe I was screaming at him. Or because of him.
Mike wanders in behind Mom, rubbing his eyes. He wears a robe that’s open in the front, revealing his bare chest and a pair of boxers. Not something I ever wanted to see, but it’s too late now. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“I had a nightmare. I’m fine, though.” My voice is hoarse. “Sorry.”
My mother sits next to me on the bed. She’s wearing a pair of sexy shorts and a camisole top that makes me intensely embarrassed for her and for me. Seriously, Mom?
“Why are you crying?” She rests her pale hand on my arm.
“I’m not,” I say, but obviously this is a lie because I’m wiping at my eyes with shaky hands.
“We’ll head back to bed, then. Hope you feel better, Jade.” Mike must realize it would be best to leave whatever is going on to my mother. He scratches at his belly and claps Charlie on the back, directing him back into the hall. Charlie eyes me as he goes.
What am I going to tell him tomorrow? Two nights, two nightmares. Is this what the future holds for me? If so, Charlie’s gonna give me up to our parents. He won’t be able to keep my nightly outbursts to himself. I’ll have to tell him something to keep him quiet until I can figure out what to do about the dreams.
“I’ll be right down,” Mom tells Mike as he walks out the door. “Are you all right?” she asks once they’re gone. She brushes my hair away from my face.
“Yeah. It was just a bad dream. No big deal.”
“You screamed, though. Loud. Was your door shut?”
“No.” I hate lying again, but I don’t want her to know how loud I really was. Having the ability to see ghosts requires excessive amounts of lying.
“Well, you should probably shut your door at night. Is everything okay with you and Charlie?”
“Yeah.”
“Why was he in here?”
“Because I screamed. And he’s right across the hall.” My voice is sarcastic like, Duh, Mom. Of course he was in here. Thank God, Brendan is farther down the hall. Or maybe he’s staying over at Ryan’s again.
“Okay. Do you need anything?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Good night. Hope you have better dreams.” She hugs me.
“Yeah. Me too,” I say as she leaves.
Not that I’ll be dreaming again tonight. I’ll be fighting off sleep like a heavyweight boxer in a championship match from now on. Red Bull and No-Doz, here I come. Lacey is the worst ghost that’s ever happened to me, and I’m at her mercy. I curl up on my side to ponder the severity of my fate. A few minutes later, someone taps on the door.
“Come in,” I call softly.
Charlie—now wearing a shirt—comes in and sits on the edge of the bed. I hold my breath when he rests his hand on my knee.
“What’s up with your dreams?”
I sit up a little, being careful not to dislodge his hand. “I don’t know.”
“What are they about?”
“Nothing.”
“Jade…?”
I meet his gaze, pleading with my eyes for him to stop asking questions. “I can’t…”
I wish I could share this with Charlie. Having someone to talk to who’d understand and believe me? That would be incredible, but the desire to tell him pulls against the knowledge that he won’t believe me. He’ll think I’m crazy.
“Maybe we can talk tomorrow. Are you working?” he asks.
“No.”
“We’ll go to the beach then. Or out in the boat when I get home from camp.” Charlie coaches at a summer sports camp in the mornings and works as a busboy at a restaurant a few nights a week.
I start to respond but feel a lump in my throat at his kindness. I nod instead.
“Are you staying up?”
“Yeah. For a little while.” Like all night if I can.
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Night.” He stands and leaves, taking his warm hand with him.
Part of me wants to call him back to see if he’ll hug me some more. I wish Mom hadn’t interrupted that part. Even though I was delirious from the dream, I still knew how awesome that was.
And what am I going to tell him tomorrow? I need to think up a story, a really good lie so he won’t find out the truth. But what if Lacey starts throwing books and lamps in front of him? What am I going to say then? Living at Fair-Ever is getting complicated. And I have no idea how to fix it.
Chapter 7
Dear Anon,
Wow, it must be very exciting seeing ghosts, but I can see where it would also be a problem. Being a ghost hunter, I would love to get more information from you about the ghosts you see and where you see them. As you can tell from my website, I live on Nantucket Island, and that is the primary focus of my ghost hun
ting.
I’m not in the business of ghost banishing, but I’m attaching a link to a website on how to get rid of ghosts. The author gives very practical advice on how to banish specific ghosts but not on how to stop seeing them altogether. If you’re a medium or a clairvoyant, I imagine this won’t be possible or would involve some kind of exorcism performed by a priest. I will do some more research for you on that.
Please write back with a few of your stories if you can.
Sincerely,
Martin Fitzgerald
My mind swirls with confusion and excitement. Martin Fitzgerald believes me. He doesn’t think I’m nuts. Could I be a medium? Clairvoyant? I’ve heard these words before, but I google them again anyway to see if the descriptions fit me and what’s happening with Lacey.
Clairvoyant means you see spirits. Check. Clairaudience means you hear spirits. Check. Clairsentience is sensing spirits and hearing their thoughts. Well, that sounds like the kind of thing a crackpot scam artist would make up to get your money, but whatever.
When I click on Martin’s link, I realize I’ve been to this website before. It details information I’ve already read about—holy water, holy salt, setting a pair of shoes facing different directions, and stuff like that. Supposedly, the shoes part confuses the spirits, and they leave. What I’d like to tell these people is that my spirits are confused enough as it is; I don’t need to contribute to it. Even though I’m awake, I stay in bed until I’m sure Charlie’s left for camp. I have all morning to come up with a story, so I decide to call my dad. He’s at work, but he answers his cell.
“Hi, honey!”
“Hi.”
“How’s it going?”
“Okay. Pretty good.”
“Are you all moved in?”
“Yeah. How’s work? Are you really busy?” Asking this is part of my plan. Dad will be more open to me coming for a visit if the resort isn’t busy.
“It’s okay. Nothing crazy.”
“Maybe I could come for a few weeks, then. After the wedding,” I say.
“What about the coffee shop?”
“It’s just a summer job. I really want to see you.”
“How many weeks are you thinking? I don’t think your mother will want you to be gone for too long.”
“Joint custody, Dad. Remember?” Why does my mother always get her way? Geesh.
“Yes, but—”
“What if I wanted to move to Colorado? To live with you all the time?”
“Jade, honey, that’s a big decision.”
“We could ask her, though.” I wish he wanted me, that for once he could just stand up to her.
“Is everything okay with the Dowlers? Is something going on?”
How do I tell him the freaking haunted house is the problem? “They’re fine. I just… miss you.” My voice cracks. I do miss him. The last time I saw him was April when he came to visit after the big engagement party. He wanted to meet the Dowlers and find out about my new family.
“I miss you too, sweetie. Talk to your mom and let me know what she says. Maybe you can come in August if that’s what you want.”
“It is. Really.” I hope I don’t die of sleep deprivation in the meantime.
I’d miss the good parts of Nantucket—my friends, the beach, my mom—but living without a ghost would be worth being away from them. There would definitely be ghosts in Colorado, but I wouldn’t have one in my house. I’d have a safe zone, which I have quickly learned is no small thing. No small thing at all.
Chapter 8
I clutch the sides of the dinghy until my knuckles turn white.
Charlie flashes me his crooked smile and hauls back on the oars. “I know what I’m doing,”
“I know,” I reply, feigning nonchalance.
I don’t want him to discover how unaccustomed I am to being in a boat. I feel so ridiculous living on an island surrounded by the ocean and being so completely ignorant of all things nautical. My family just never did the whole water thing. Boating seems to be for the more well off, and that certainly didn’t describe my family, especially after the divorce. I try to calm myself by inhaling a big breath of the salt air.
The sun gleams down, reflecting off the water and making me glad I have my sunglasses. Sometimes, I forget to notice how gorgeous the world around me is. Becoming immune to the sights is easy to do because Nantucket is like living in one continuous picture postcard. You eventually overlook the beauty because it’s just always there. But today, I’m taking in all the little details: the soft ripple of the waves, the soothing calm of the breeze, the boats languishing on their lines.
We arrive safely at the Dowler’s boat in the middle of the mooring field. The white, fiberglass vessel is about twenty-five feet long with two gray outboards on the back labeled Johnson 150.
When we get close, Charlie grabs the side and pulls our dinghy to the back. He shimmies onto a platform beside the motors and steps onto the deck. “Take my hand and stand up slowly.”
I accept his offer, nervous energy building in my chest. I have to keep my eyes down so I don’t trip or miss the step, and once I’m on board, he grabs my hip with his other hand to steady me. I glance up, meeting his eyes. For a split second, we’re sort of hugging. Or maybe dancing.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. My eyelashes may be fluttering, and my cheeks are definitely heating up.
“Yeah,” he answers.
He keeps his gaze fixed on me for another moment or two before surprising me by lunging away. I stumble a bit at the loss of him. He hangs over the side to grab the dinghy before it drifts out of reach. Oops. My fault, I guess, for distracting him with my fluttering lashes. Ha!
I sit on one of the white vinyl seats behind the center console. Charlie finishes tying off the dingy and unhooks us from the mooring. I shove the towel bag under the console and examine the dashboard of the boat, trying to figure out how the controls work. The air is humid and close, making my clothes cling to me. I want to shed my T-shirt, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Showing him my bikini body would be a bold move. He’s probably seen me before at Nobadeer Beach or on Facebook, but being alone with him while half naked is different, especially after middle-of-the-night hugging.
The motors start, and he maneuvers the boat at a snail’s pace through the mooring field. The harbor is busy with boats coming and going around Brant Point, in and out of the jetty, headed for the mainland or fishing or just cruising. We aren’t allowed to go fast and make waves until we are past the lighthouse at Brant Point, so we fall in behind the giant car ferry. Our boat is dwarfed by its massive size—miniature people in a miniature boat. I’ve never seen the ferry from this angle, and it’s like seeing a familiar object in a whole new light.
I kind of wish we could just follow its path all the way to the mainland. If we never stop, maybe we won’t have to talk about last night. We can just skim over the waves until all the bad stuff is forgotten. I can pretend that Lacey and my nocturnal dramatics aren’t the whole point of this trip. I can imagine Charlie and I are just on a date. A boating date.
Charlie pulls off his shirt and glances at me as he throws it under the console. “It’s freakin’ hot,” he says over the whining of the motors.
“Yeah.” I nod, adjusting my sunglasses.
Charlie’s nose and cheeks are turning red, and I can see sweat along his hairline. I would tell him to put on some sunblock, but I don’t want to sound like my mother. The heat and intense sunshine are always surprising at the beginning of the summer, as if we don’t really think they’ll ever return, and then they’re suddenly here.
Once we pass the no wake zone, Charlie gasses the engines. We fly over the water, through the break in the jetty to the outside of Coatue—the strip of sandy points that create the harbor of Nantucket. I clutch the arms of my se
at as we careen over the soft roll of the sound. Charlie steers the boat past the ones anchored near shore and drives parallel to the beach. I sneak glances at him. His naked torso and arms are hard to ignore. He stays focused on driving. I hope he’s forgotten why we came in the first place. Maybe he’ll just want to have fun, too.
Once we’re far enough away from the other boats, Charlie pulls back on the throttle, silencing the motors. A flock of seagulls on the beach squawk and flap about our intrusion. He moves to the front of the boat, above the little cabin, and throws over the anchor he’s already prepared. He watches the line closely, and when it becomes taut, he tightens the knot on the cleat.
He climbs back along the railing and drops himself into the captain’s chair with a huff of breath. He swivels the seat so we’re facing each other, our knees almost touching. “Okay. Tell me.”
I blink, disbelieving. He certainly didn’t forget why we came, but does he really expect me to just blurt out my story? Right now? “What?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“You said you’d tell me.” He leans closer. “About your nightmare.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
He gives me one of his killer smiles, as if he has been waiting for me to ask this very question. “Because. I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You have nightmares?”
“No. I have a crush.”
Oh my God! Seriously? Does he think I want to hear about some preppy nanny he sees at camp drop-off? Or some college girl at the restaurant? I thought this was about me and my nightmares. Welcome to my new, waking nightmare.
Ever Near (Secret Affinity Book 1) Page 4
