by Cate Lawley
“Right. Does that mean you’re picking up the bill?”
“Yes, please, and thank you.” Hillary raided the freezer for her last stash of donuts. She’d earned one. “When do you think you might swing by?”
“I’ll squeeze him in during my lunch, if that works with his schedule,” Mary Margaret said. “I’m actually rather keen to meet your grandfather. You talk about him a lot.”
“He’s a big part of my life. But you don’t need to see him today. It’s not an emergency, and Brad’s definitely not going anywhere.” Hillary had visions of comforting her grandpa after another failed effort to contact Brad. Those empathetic tugs of understanding she’d experienced only went so far. She felt for her grandpa that no one believed him—but that didn’t change the fact that Brad didn’t exist. She popped another donut to the toaster oven. She deserved two. Today was going to be rough. Then Hillary remembered Gramps’ appointment with the shrink. “Actually, today would be great. I’ve got a client appointment, but I’ll check with him to see if he’s available. It’s probably better I’m not there. You can be vague, and promise to send a report. Then I can break the news later.”
“Oh, my.” Mary Margaret sighed. “Okay. I suppose that’s as good a way to handle it as any other.”
“Thank you, Mary Margaret.” As soon as she hung up, Hillary grabbed a third donut. If ever there was a three-donut day, this was it.
Chapter 5
Hillary’s phone rang just as she was finishing up with her lunch client, a successful businesswoman who didn’t have the time or patience to keep up with styles or find outfits that fit and flattered her particular body type. Getting paid to shop, Hillary sighed. She did love her job. She tapped the ignore button and quickly wrapped up the session. Before she could get back to her car, her phone rang again. She checked the caller ID. Two missed calls from Mary Margaret, and now a third call.
She answered the phone as she got into her car. “What’s happened? Did Gramps freak out? Is he okay?”
Mary Margaret’s voice came across thin and reedy. “Your grandfather is fine. I, however, am not. Can you come right now?”
Hillary paused in the act of stowing her purse. “What’s happened?”
“Ahhh. I’m not…sure. Maybe, um—”
“No, never mind. I’m driving, quick as I can. See you in ten.” Hillary hung up the phone, shoved her purse onto the floorboards, and then did her best to break every speed limit as safely as possible. Unflappable Mary Margaret stumbling over her words, possibly in shock?—not good.
By the time she arrived at her grandpa’s house, her heart was thudding erratically. She’d imagined several horrifying scenarios, all extremely unlikely because they involved Gramps sick or injured and that Mary Margaret would have told her immediately. She slammed her car door and raced up the walkway as fast as her two-inch heels allowed.
“Slow down, Hillary. Everything’s fine.” Gramps looked tickled pink. “I gave your friend a whiskey, and she’s doing much better now.”
Seeing her grandpa looking so cheery put her irrational fears to rest, but that brought up a different slew of potential problems. Eyes narrowed and hands on her hips, Hillary asked, “What did you do to her, Gramps? She’s a nice woman.”
“She’s a peach. And good at her job.” Gramps beamed. “This one’s a keeper, peanut. She can see Brad.”
Hillary grabbed her grandpa by the arm and pulled him the rest of the way up the walk, her heels making a satisfying click as she approached the house.
“Hey, now. Don’t get yourself in a state. I’m coming.”
“Too late, I’m already in a state. You broke my psychic. Of course I’m upset.” Hillary followed her grandpa, who’d taken the lead to open the back door, into the kitchen.
Mary Margaret looked a little pale, but otherwise fine. She’d recovered enough to be busy texting on her phone, so that was a good sign.
Since Mary Margaret was otherwise occupied, Hillary addressed the hot guy sitting on the other side of the table. “I’m sorry—who are you? And why are you here?”
“Ha!” Gramps cackled. “I knew it!”
The strange man’s jaw dropped. “You can see me?” He sat up straighter. “You can see me?”
Hillary covered her face with her hands and rubbed her eyes, ignoring the fact that she was likely smearing eye-liner and mascara. When she lowered her hands, he was still there. Standing, now, and pointing at her.
“She can see me.” He looked at Gramps with a ridiculously large grin spreading across his face and repeated the statement with even greater conviction and perhaps a tinge of hysteria. “She can see me.”
“Brad, I presume?” Hillary sank into the chair next to Mary Margaret, who by now had stopped texting.
“I’ve cancelled the rest of my appointments for the afternoon.” Mary Margaret pushed her whiskey glass toward Hillary.
“Fabulous,” Hillary said, and then she downed the rest of the whiskey.
Chapter 6
Brad didn’t understand why everyone in the room wasn’t jumping up and down in delirious joy. Mary Margaret could miraculously see ghosts—a bonus talent for her. And Hillary should be thrilled she finally had evidence Walter wasn’t cracked. Brad knew how much she loved the old guy.
He waited for the whiskey to take effect, hoping it would soften the sharp edges of her features. As he waited and watched, Walter sat down at the table.
Walter rubbed his whiskery chin. “Haven’t had this many visitors in a long time.”
Hillary motioned for the whiskey bottle.
Walter raised an eyebrow, but pushed the bottle toward her.
“Don’t worry; I’m not driving.” She poured a few fingers in to the glass. “Your fault, so you’re giving me a ride home.”
“How am I responsible? I’ve always been honest about Brad.” Walter sniffed. “Well, after the first few months. I wasn’t so sure myself in the beginning.”
“Anyone else wondering why I’m suddenly visible? Hey,” Brad nudged Walter. “Ask the expert.”
Walter looked at Mary Margaret and said, “He wants to know why Hillary can suddenly see him.”
Hillary’s head bobbed between Brad and Mary Margaret. “I thought…Mary Margaret, if you can’t see him—
“Or hear,” Brad said.
Hillary glared in his direction then turned back to Mary Margaret. “If you can’t see or hear him, how do you now he’s there?”
“Sweetheart, why do you think I’m so baffled? I can see his aura.” Mary Margaret traced an outline of Brad’s form in the air, all the while the lines in her forehead deepened and her look became more intent. “An impetuous nature, a generous soul, guilt…” Her finger stopped. “I shouldn’t be able to see a dead man’s aura.” She turned an apologetic look toward Brad. “I’m sorry. I usually ask first.”
“Tell her it’s okay.” Brad leaned his forearms on the table. He’d learned something—his guilt was a visible thing. Now, if he could figure out why he felt guilty, that would be a significant piece of information.
“He says it’s fine. But he brings up a good question: why now?” Then Hillary squeezed her eyes shut. “The poisoned apple.” When she opened them, every eye was trained on her. “I think a witch did this. She gave me some reading glasses, but I think they were whammied. I put them on—even though I knew I shouldn’t. It sounds whackadoo, even to me, but the glasses made me do it. Granted, I had no idea the result would be that.” Hillary flung her hand in Brad’s direction. “I thought I might make a quick trip to the fifties. See the wonders, admire some biceps, kiss a boy, and all while carrying off flawless make-up and a swing skirt.”
“You know a witch?” Brad asked. Then he turned to Walter, and said, “How did we not know this?”
“I don’t tell Gramps everything.” Hillary had the grace to look at least a little sheepish. “Sorry, Gramps.” She asked Mary Margaret, “Did I miss the aura conversation? If Brad’s dead, how does he have an aura?”<
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Mary Margaret cleared her throat. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Dead people don’t have auras. Not in my experience. And if he’s not dead…“ Mary Margaret shrugged helplessly.
Brad couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Maybe he wasn’t dead?
“That’s inconvenient. If he’s not a ghost, what is he? How does a live person become invisible? Or whatever he is.” Hillary turned intense eyes on Brad and looked him up and down. “And why? Why you?”
Brad lifted his hands. “Hey, the expert says I’m a decent guy, that I have a generous soul. This isn’t my fault. I don’t think it’s my fault.”
Before he could explain further, Walter stepped in. “Brad isn’t his real name. When we met, he didn’t have any memory of who he was. He’d been living in an empty house a few doors down, but then they tore it down.”
“That’s when I met Walter and eventually moved in,” Brad said.
Walter patted him on the arm. “Let me tell it, son. So Mary Margaret gets it the first time round.”
“Fair enough.” Not like Walter didn’t know the details just as well as he did himself.
“So, I’m looking less than my best, wearing a robe twenty-four seven, needing a haircut, and this guy—” Walter hitches a thumb in Brad’s direction. “He sees me fetching my mail one day. He’s standing in my yard and I say, ‘Get lost’ or something similar, and after that I couldn’t shake him. I was the first person who’d spoken to him in months. Since he’d died, we thought. But now, who knows?”
Mary Margaret turned to Hillary and said, “What about Glenda? Poisoned apple—or magicked glasses, rather—aside, can we ask her for help? This is so far outside of my experience, and she’s clearly involved. And Glenda hasn’t acted malevolently in the past. If the glasses let you see Brad and that’s all they do, that’s a good outcome. Besides, if I don’t know what he is, where do I even start?”
“Human, male, all around nice guy, and definitely listening to you talk about me,” Brad said.
Hillary pinched her lips together—he thought maybe to hide a smile—then said, “You know exactly what she means. Are you undead or half dead or, I don’t know, cursed?”
A nasty chill crawled up his back. “How would I know if I was cursed?”
Walter repeated the question for Mary Margaret. Her eyes got big. “I don’t do curses. I don’t do anything that alters someone’s reality. I just read what’s there already.”
“Altering reality—yes, that’s the glorious Glenda.” Hillary let out a frustrated groan. “Except Glenda is AWOL. No cell and no other way to contact her. That woman has the worst timing possible or a vicious sense of humor.”
“I have a small network, mostly online, of people I trust. They all have some connection to the supernatural. I can start by asking if anyone else has experience with someone who’s dead but not dead.” Mary Margaret nodded in Brad’s direction. “Apologies. Until we find a word for what you are…”
Brad shrugged.
“He says that’s fine. Is anyone else wondering at the timing of all this? The very suspicious and perhaps auspicious timing of Brad’s discovery?” Walter asked. “Remember, peanut? My appointment with the shrink doctor lady.”
Hillary’s head slowly fell forward until her forehead touched the kitchen table. And then she started to bang her head—not too hard—on the wooden surface.
“Should you maybe stop her?” Brad asked Walter. But Walter just shook his head.
Finally, she stopped, but her head remained firmly planted on the table. “How am I related to those terrible people? And why is Glenda jacking around with our lives at such a sensitive time?”
“They’re not terrible, just confused and concerned,” Walter said.
A grumbly mumble emerged from under the thick dark curls that had fallen to cover her face.
“What was that?” Brad asked.
Hillary lifted her head up off the table. A red mark marred the skin on her forehead. “I said they’re greedy.” She rubbed her eyes, lightly smearing her mascara. “Okay. Here’s what we do.” She pointed at Brad. “You’re dead or not quite dead, so we find out exactly what’s going on with you and how to fix you. If you’re Gramps’ living, in-the-flesh boarder, he’s not crazy.” She turned to Mary Margaret. “Your job is to milk your network for clues as to whatever Brad might be. Find out if he’s fixable. Or, if not, what we do with him.”
“Whoa!” Brad did not like the sound of that.
She pointed that finger at him again. “You hush. My grandpa might lose his house and end up in an assisted living facility because of you. We’ll try to help you, but if we can’t… Well, Gramps’ unfortunate public image is basically all your fault, and if you’re such a good buddy of his you already know he can’t lie to save his life. So you’re flesh or you’re gone.” She shook her head when he opened his mouth to speak and pointed a finger at him. “Period. Not another word. I’m going to do some research on your origins, which means I need a list of every detail available related to local knowledge, personal history, and the timeline of events. Gramps, you can help him—or, you know, actually write it out.”
Walter didn’t look at all pleased by the pronouncement, but he kept his mouth shut. Brad figured he’d hear all about what Walter was thinking later. Probably over a whiskey after Hillary was home safe.
Mary Margaret stood up. “I’ll get started right away. And, Brad, I’m sorry about your situation. We’ll do whatever we can to help you.”
He liked that one, and he decided that he and Walter had been spot on with psychic nun. Hillary, on the other hand, was a much more complicated equation.
Chapter 7
Scenery flew by as Hillary stared out the passenger window. She should feel bad. She knew exactly how poorly her grandpa had been after her grandmother died. That robe alone should have been a criminal offense. But she hadn’t been able to budge him. Not on the question of the robe, or leaving the house, or even spending a little time with her after school. She’d been young at the time and still in undergrad. But that wasn’t any kind of excuse for her utter failure.
It had taken the appearance of Brad to get Gramps back on track. She’d always known that; she just hadn’t realized that Brad wasn’t a construct created by her grandpa. She’d always envisioned Brad as a kind of bootstrapping mechanism. A way for her grandpa to yank himself out of the grim humor he’d sunken into. Nope. No bootstrapping involved. Just a ghostly not-dead guy who apparently had an appallingly kind heart.
Appalling, because he made her choices now even more difficult. The situation was dire, the stakes too high. And as much help as Brad had been at one time, he’d turned into a massive liability. She had one palatable option: fix Brad. She hoped that worked. Because of the remaining two options, either make her Grandpa an exceptional liar or make Brad disappear, she suspected the second would be much easier.
Complicated questions. Complicated answers. She couldn’t be more annoyed with either Glenda or Brad. And it would only get worse if the psych eval her grandpa had coming up went poorly. She frowned as the scenery flew by. “You drive too fast.”
Gramps laughed. “I don’t. I drive the same speed as everyone else.”
Silence fell again. They’d almost arrived home before her grandpa spoke again.
“You’re not being fair. To Brad, I mean. It’s one thing if you can make him whole again, but to make him move to the afterlife when he’s not ready—that’s not right.”
Her throat burned. Bile? Tears? How about guilt? Could guilt choke a person? She tried to swallow but couldn’t. “I know. We’ll try our best, but you know what’s going to happen. Carol and Tim won’t see reason, not when one keeps cheering the other on. They’re like a starving dog with a meaty bone. How did such a nice man have such annoying children?”
“That’s not fair, either. They’re worried.” After a brief pause, he added, “And they’re good kids.”
That hesitation spoke volumes.
But he’d never admit his children were anything less than his idealized versions of them. Gramps was a really, really good guy.
“Are they worried, Gramps? Are they really? How often do they come to check on you? How much time do they spend with you?” Hillary bit her lip. They were his kids. “They may have started out concerned, but now all they can see is how much easier everyone’s lives would be if you sold that house.”
“You know how busy they both are. Carol and her husband have demanding jobs. Tim has only been married six months He and Suzanne haven’t even unpacked all the boxes in their new house yet. Carol and Tim have their own lives and their own families. And, peanut, it is just a house.”
Hillary pulled her gaze away from the passing scenario and forced herself to look at her grandpa. “Is that all it is, to you? Because if that’s true… If that’s true, we can sell it quickly and set you up in a place that you choose.” She carefully avoided the more obvious question: how was it that she could make time and they couldn’t? She had a demanding job, though more flexible than Carol and her husband’s corporate jobs. And an active dating life, though less active recently.
“If it comes to selling, I’d rather decide where to live than have the choice taken away. Of course I would. But for now, I’m staying.” He fell silent, and when he did eventually speak, his tone had changed. “Almost all of my memories of your grandmother are tied together with that house. But I don’t want to stay at the expense of my friend’s life.”
She understood. She didn’t agree—but she certainly understood. A few more miles passed by and then a suspicious thought popped into Hillary’s head. “All the fun tech stuff you buy?”
“Oh, well, that’s Brad. He likes gadgets. He has a limited ability to touch solid objects, so I do most of the button pushing and such. But he watches the how-to videos and reads the manuals.”
Hillary snorted. “Of course, he does.”
“He’s a good man, peanut.”
