by Sarah Wynde
“No hospitals.” Akira broke free from Zane to say. That was the last thing she needed.
“No hospitals,” Zane agreed. “Now that Mom and Dillon are gone, how about no more ghosts at all? Ever?”
Akira looked over his shoulder. Grace, Natalya, and Max were standing behind him, smiling with relief, but Dillon, Rose, and Zane’s mom were right there with them, beaming just as happily.
“Um, yeah,” Akira said. “That might not work.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Thanksgiving Day
Akira wasn’t convinced that deep-frying a turkey counted as a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. And if she’d left the whole meal to Zane, they’d be eating stuffing from a box, cranberries from a can, and Mrs. Smith’s frozen pumpkin pie. But as she gazed out the bedroom window at the men clustered around the propane tank, she couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips.
This was their first family dinner in her place (their place, she corrected herself, with secret delight) and Rose was over the moon with happiness, fluttering from kitchen to yard and back again, trying to be everywhere at once, almost dancing with joy.
Akira still wasn’t quite sure what to think of Rose’s return. After the events of August, Zane’s mom had stuck around long enough to talk to each of her children and her husband, conversations facilitated by Akira without the ghostly possession part. Then she’d gone through the opening or passageway or whatever it was, eager to explore whatever came next.
Rose and Dillon, though, were still here: Rose because she liked it, Dillon because Rose insisted that he’d see his own door when it was time for him to move on. According to Rose, Henry was back, too, but Akira hadn’t seen any sign of him. He definitely wasn’t watching Lucas and Zane poking at the turkey, the way Rose and Dillon were.
Akira had asked Rose to tell her more about the doors and what was on the other side of them, but apparently trying to describe any of it was like trying to describe the cloudy place: the right words didn’t exist. In a moment of surprising perception, Rose had said that it was like a butterfly trying to tell a caterpillar about flying. Akira had thought about that, about trying to explain wind currents and air pressure and velocity to a creature that only knew how to inch its way along a solid surface, and dropped the subject.
She was still curious, but she knew she’d learn more eventually.
As Akira watched, Lucas pulled out his phone. He grinned at it, showed it to Zane, and then said something to Max. Dillon must have texted him, Akira thought. He’d been working on communicating via cell phone ever since he and Rose had almost managed the feat in August and he’d gotten pretty good at it. Not long texts, not yet, but he could send a few words at a time.
She wondered what he’d said, but Zane was lifting the bird out of the hot oil, and she realized that she shouldn’t be standing here daydreaming, not when she still had jobs to do. The stuffing and sweet potatoes were warming in the oven, the pumpkin pies cooling on the counter, the cranberry sauce with pecans, dried apricots and bourbon from Rose’s mother’s recipe already on the set table, but the potatoes were waiting to be mashed and the dinner rolls weren’t finished baking.
First, though, she needed to change her clothes. As she crossed to her closet, she looked down at the red wine staining the front of her dress with a frown. Accidents happened, of course, but it had almost seemed as if Natalya had deliberately knocked over her glass.
She thought back to Nat’s arrival. She would swear that Nat’s expression showed a flash of disappointment when she saw Akira at the door. Had Nat been expecting Zane? But Nat had never been anything but welcoming to Akira, and it wasn’t as if she could have been surprised to see Akira here: they were having the holiday meal at her house, after all.
Their house, she corrected herself again. She glanced down at the ring on her finger. They hadn’t set a wedding date yet. Or picked a place for the ceremony or made any decisions about the reception or the honeymoon or even started working on the guest list. But a late October heat wave had inspired Zane to give her an early wedding present: the deed to the house and a new air conditioner.
He claimed that he’d gotten a great deal because the house was haunted. Not that it mattered, but she didn’t entirely believe him. If it hadn’t bothered the owner that the house was haunted before, why would it upset him now?
Besides, the house wasn’t really haunted anymore. Despite Rose’s absolute certainty that Henry was back, Akira hadn’t seen him, and the boys in the backyard weren’t the type of ghosts that would disturb anyone. And Rose wasn’t tied to the house anymore: she could come and go as she pleased. Not that she pleased much. Guests were an exciting treat to Rose, but she was a homebody at heart, perfectly happy as long as she had music and television and the occasional company to talk to.
Not so Dillon. Being torn away from his car by the ghostly vortex had snapped his tie to the Taurus. He could now go anywhere he pleased and he was thrilled to be able to travel. Akira suspected that after the holiday he might head off with Lucas. It’d be a little lonely for him unless he found other ghosts to talk to, but he was ready for some adventure, she thought.
With a sigh, Akira considered her clothing options. Living with Zane meant both of them had to make some compromises about food—he thought meat, dessert and carbs ought to be fixtures at meals, not the occasional treat—and she’d gained a little weight, so most of her dressier clothes were going to be uncomfortably tight. Her hand hovered over a cranberry-colored silk dress. Dry clean only, so she rarely wore it, but she supposed she could trust Nat not to spill wine on her again.
By the time she entered the kitchen, Grace was already mashing the potatoes. “How much butter do you put in, Akira? Nat says two tablespoons is plenty, I say the whole stick.”
“Most of the time I just use milk.” All right, what in the world was going on with Nat? Her smile at the sight of Akira in her new dress was filled with glee, and looked just like Zane’s when he beat Lucas at pool for the first time. Should she ask, Akira wondered?
But then Zane appeared in the doorway, laden down with a deep golden bird, and the moment was gone in the chaos of turkey carving and final preparations.
In the dining room, Akira had put place settings three to a side of the table, leaving the ends of the table empty. The arrangement was a little unusual, but not for a house with ghosts. But before they all sat down, Zane asked if they needed another chair.
When she looked at him curiously, he raised his brows and said, “Henry?”
Smiling—she loved the way Zane remembered the ghosts, even though he couldn’t see them—Akira glanced at Rose, who was almost bouncing in her seat with excitement.
“Oh, no, Henry’s fine,” Rose assured her, waving the suggestion away. “He doesn’t need a chair. But it was sweet of Zane to think of him.”
Akira relayed the message, and then ran her eyes over the table. Had she remembered everything? Butter, salt and pepper, side plates, the rolls, serving utensils for all the dishes . . . .
Hmm. She counted. Yes, a wine glass was missing, the glass that ought to be at her place setting. She glanced at Natalya, who was looking back at her, eyes bright, and then slipped into her seat without comment.
Max said grace, they passed the food, the siblings chatted and bickered cheerfully, everyone ate, but Akira sat silently, brain ticking away, until Zane caught her attention. “Okay?” he asked her, looking a little worried.
She’d been quiet for too long, she realized, so she smiled at him as she nodded. They’d been busy, she’d been happy, she’d felt fine—oh, if she’d thought about it, she might have realized, but she hadn’t been thinking.
She felt as if she was glowing with happiness, and maybe he saw it on her face, because he quirked a brow at her. She just smiled a little wider, and turned her head to Natalya, who was sitting next to him.
“Is this the right dress?” she asked Nat. No one else at the table understood the question, but Natalya press
ed her lips together instead of answering. Akira could see the smile in her eyes, though. “It was a two-year contract,” Akira continued. “So you knew what you’d seen was on Thanksgiving, but thought maybe this Thanksgiving was too soon?”
Natalya still didn’t say anything, but Max was looking curious and Grace and Lucas had paused in their conversation about some complaint filed with the SEC about General Directions that might or might not be going to cause another investigation into their business practices.
Akira stood. She felt as if the happiness was going to explode out of her and she wanted to be next to Zane, touching him, when it did. Walking around the table, she paused by Rose’s chair. “Henry’s comfortable where he is?” she asked.
“Very,” Rose replied cheerfully. “He won’t remember later, but we can remind him.”
Akira nodded, and continued around the table. Nat wasn’t even trying to hide her smile, but everyone else looked mystified. When she got to Zane, Akira held out her hand, and he stood, taking her hand with his.
“We need to decide on a wedding date,” she told him, loving his perplexed expression, the confusion in his blue eyes.
“Okay,” he answered obligingly. “June or October?” Those were the dates they’d been talking about: June for the tradition, October because it was the nicest time of year in central Florida.
Akira shook her head. “I was thinking more like next weekend. We’re going to be much too busy in June.”
She waited for him to realize what she meant, but when he didn’t get it fast enough, she pulled his hand to her and placed it on her stomach, and as Zane realized what she was saying, his face lit up, and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet with exuberant joy.
All she’d been looking for when she came to Tassamara was a place where she could exist, where she could survive unnoticed. Instead, she’d found everything she’d ever wanted.
A home.
Love.
Safety.
And a family.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
If you’re reading this, I hope it means that you enjoyed Akira’s story. (I suppose it could also mean that you’re one of those people that check the ending to be sure you’ll like it before starting to read. I admit, I’m one of those, too, so go ahead, click back a page. You can read this later if you make it this far.)
You know how some authors say that they always wanted to write? That they’ve been scribbling in notebooks their whole life? That it was everything they’d ever dreamed about?
I am not one of them.
Oh, sure, every few years I’d try to write. I love to read and I’m a compulsive daydreamer, so writing is a natural fit. Unfortunately, I’m also tough on myself. I wrote, I read, I hated, I ripped up (and then later, hit delete). And after each failed attempt, I wouldn’t write for years.
Then I discovered fan fiction. And with it, an audience of wonderful, supportive, enthusiastic fellow writers and readers. I wrote about a quarter of a million words of fan fiction before turning to original fiction, and received well over a thousand reviews. I’m not going to list the name of every person who wrote a review (admit it, you’d stop reading!), but I did want to take this opportunity to say thank you: thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who ever reviewed my fics—you gave me the courage to believe in my stories, even when I was sure the words weren’t doing the story justice.
Thank you, more specifically, to Allyrien aka Rachel (my chapters don’t feel real until you tell me what you think of them); to Sara aka Justine (you give me faith that my words work in my most doubting moments); and to Zero aka Tim (a parenthetical is not nearly enough room to appreciate your endless patience and willingness to consult on tone and structure, punctuation and male psychology.)
When I started writing original fiction, I posted chapters to fictionpress.com. Leaving my lovely little fan community for the world of original fiction was a lot like being kicked out of a nest (although I suppose I jumped, really), and I want to thank everyone who reviewed A Gift of Ghosts while it was in progress. So thank you, so much, to Everis, Nereemac, JMill, DonHanz, Amy, Kat, Shayna-18, Kaypgirl, AlternateShadesofBlue, RyaJynx, Darlove99, Lorina Lee Belmont218, Heather, Ann Barthel, Hoshi14, Magz, Miisu, World of Ink, Purplelover, Luckycool9, Ahrendaaria, FamishedNight, Bittie752, Far Wanderer, Cat Parmegiani, Ruki44, Bird That Flies At Dawn, Hatondog, Lonnee, and Shineyma. Your encouragement kept me going.
I also posted chapters to Critique Circle. I need to say first of all that every adverb, every use of the word “was,” and every misplaced comma are mine, all mine, and the people who generously critiqued my work bear no responsibility for the above. That said, I’d like to thank MikeKent, MimiWriter, Harleyquin, Katamuki, LornaB, Jaylia, Mpolish, KSullivan, Baker, Egryphon, and Wim for their insight and feedback.
Jaime Norwood’s comments were exactly what I needed to hear: whether it was point of view issues or doubts about tone, Jaime, your concrete, insightful assistance made this a better book. Christine Pearson, your character analysis helped me enormously, and Maggie Sharp (the world’s nicest sister-in-law!), your questions made for some great last-minute tweaks. Thank you all so much!
Finally, I want to thank my sister, Karen Lowery, for reading what I write and telling me I’m wonderful. Our mom asked me once why I’d never given her anything of mine to read, and I told her it was because I already knew she would read it and tell me it was wonderful and that she loved it and that she was proud of me, and so I was okay with letting her skip the actual reading part. I didn’t let my sister skip the actual reading part, but I still appreciate the unconditional support she gives me. Thanks, Karen!
DEDICATION
A quirky dedication for a quirky book: this book is dedicated to the creators, cast, and crew of the (wonderful, amazing, incredibly fun, tragically cancelled) television show Eureka, for first inspiring my creativity and then annoying me so much that I was forced into originality.* And in particular, to Felicia Day, for this blog post: http://feliciaday.com/blog/five-things-about-2010, and for making geeky girls cool.
*Ahem. Or 95% originality? The Quirky Town trope isn’t exactly new. Other superficial similarities and hidden allusions to Eureka are intended as homage, not plagiarism. Grace as the surprise CEO is one of my favorites!
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
A Gift of Ghosts is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, with the occasional nod to reality and/or other fictions. (Cassadaga exists and is charming; every quirky small town should have a diner with a cook who can prepare anything.)
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 Wendy Sharp
All rights reserved.
Cover art: Lightning Strike by Adam Weeden. Image from public-domain-image.com
Cover design: Wendy Sharp
Visit me on the web at http://sarahwynde.blogspot.com/
PREVIEW OF A GIFT OF THOUGHT
The airport was already decorated for Christmas.
If Dillon had still been alive, he would have said something wry and sarcastic about the materialism of contemporary American society, about Christmas as an excuse to sell stuff, about cheap glitter being no way to celebrate light into darkness.
As it was, he kind of liked it.
He wished he knew what he was doing in the Orlando Airport on the day after Thanksgiving, though. The crowds were crazy. The lines wound back and forth, back and forth, through the huge open space with the gigantic screen of arriving and departing flights. As a ghost, Dillon didn’t have to worry about standing in line, of course, but he was following his father, Lucas, and he didn’t want to lose him in the chaos.
For the first few years of his afterlife, Dillon had been trapped in the place he died: the backseat of a black Ford Taurus. He supposed he was lucky. At least he hadn’t died in a car accident. Eternity stuck in a smashed-up wreck sitting in a j
unkyard wouldn’t be fun.
Instead, he’d died while hiding out in the car trying to jumpstart a psychic gift. Most of his family had one—his grandpa and his Aunt Nat could see the future, his dad could read minds, his Uncle Zane could find anything—and he’d been tired of waiting for his own to show up. He’d thought the prescription pills he’d stolen would make him hallucinate. Instead they killed him. He’d had plenty of time to think about what a stupid way it was to go.
Last winter, though, he’d met a woman, Akira, who could see and talk to ghosts. She’d introduced him to some other ghosts, including Rose, who was pretty much his best friend now. Akira had also, although it was sort of an accident, broken his tie to his car. He was no longer trapped. He could go anywhere, do anything.
He was a little nervous about it.
Oh, sure, he was a ghost, so it wasn’t like anything really bad could happen. He couldn’t get cold or wet or hungry. And he was already dead, so nothing could kill him. But he’d seen that there were dangers for ghosts in the world, and Akira had told him stories. He just didn’t know whether he’d recognize trouble when he saw it.
Plus, what if he got lost? What if he got stuck somewhere and couldn’t get home again? What if he ran out of energy and faded away?
Being dead had done nothing to make Dillon less anxious.
Still, he was determined. Life—or afterlife—had to have more to offer than watching television with Rose or hanging out at Akira’s lab while she worked. Despite all that might go wrong, Dillon was going to travel with his father for a while.
Okay, so maybe traveling with your father didn’t sound ambitious.
But as fathers went, Lucas was the mysterious type. Dillon didn’t really know him. He’d been raised by his grandparents, and for most of his life Lucas had been a “swoop in for an action-packed weekend before disappearing again” father.
