by Cate Lawley
Gramps gave her an odd look. “It’s just now seven.”
Hillary blinked in surprise. She must have been up at six or six thirty. She’d had no idea, thinking the low light meant it was overcast. She never got out of bed before eight, and ten was even better, so she didn’t really know what a breaking dawn looked like any more.
She was just glad that Brad was back. Maybe she’d get a decent night’s sleep tonight.
An hour later, after she’d dragged her laptop and notes into the kitchen, Hillary found an antique store owned by Glenda Goode. But that’s as far as she’d gotten. She looked at the scraps of paper with handwritten notes, a few printed articles, photos, and the original list she’d received from Gramps, all spread out in front of her. Sometimes when she worked, if she could see all of the pieces at once, everything gelled. The cosmic rays aligned, and the whole became greater than the pieces. But not this time. No big picture emerged. No better understanding blossomed. It was just a jumble of rotten, unconnected details.
Her head hurt. And she’d been on hold for too long.
Placing her hand over her phone, she asked Gramps and Brad, “Any chance either of you guys speaks French?”
Two heads shook in response. They’d both returned to the kitchen when they’d heard her on the phone.
She grumbled her annoyance, but quietly. She might still be able to convince the guy on the phone to try to understand—she was sure he spoke a little English—but that wouldn’t happen if he hung up first.
“Hello?” A female voice, possibly quite young, spoke.
Hillary removed her hand. “Hi. I’m looking for Glenda Goode. The owner? Can I speak with Glenda Goode?”
“Apologies. How may I help you?”
“Thank you, but it’s Glenda I need. It’s an emergency.”
“I’m so sorry. I cannot help you. Ms. Goode, she is gone for the day. I have no number for her. I take a message?” The girl’s French accent was faint. But for the r’s and awkward phrasing, she sounded almost native.
Hillary wanted to chuck her phone across the room. What did she care if Glenda’s staff spoke perfect English? None of them seemed to be able to accomplish the most basic of tasks—finding their boss and pinning her down for a simple phone conversation. Hillary gritted her teeth in frustration. It was like the woman had a crystal ball and could predict—and evade—Hillary’s calls. “Yes, please. Be a dear and ask her to call Hillary right away.” Hillary rolled her shoulders as she relayed her number.
She ended the call and dropped her phone on the kitchen table. When she looked up, she found both Gramps and Brad giving her similar looks of manly concern.
“What?” she asked with more of an edge than she’d intended.
“You’re not usually wound quite this tight.” Brad shrugged. “It’s, ah, a little disconcerting.”
“How would you even know?” Hillary closed her eyes and rubbed the heels of her hands in her eyes. Too late, she remembered her make-up…but then she remembered that she hadn’t put any on. Hm. He had a point: she was not at all herself “You do get that it’s creepy you know that?”
“Yeah, sorry.” But his apology was more defensive than heartfelt. “Seven years, at least one visit a week. You can do the math, but that adds up to a lot.”
Gramps looked like he wanted to say something but kept stopping himself.
She stood up and stretched, trying again to ease the aching pull of tired neck muscles. When she was done, she had a brief moment of calm clarity. “I’m not crazy; I just pretend to be when under a lot of stress.” She huffed out a frustrated breath, annoyed with herself. Trying again, she said simply, “I’m sorry.”
“No apology necessary,” Brad said. “I appreciate everything you’re doing. Maybe just don’t make yourself sick over it.”
Her grandpa hitched a thumb in Brad’s direction. “What he said.” Then he walked over and gave her a bear hug. He always squeezed her just a little too tight to be comfortable and just enough to make her heart happy.
Hillary let out a breath that she felt like she’d been holding for days.
When Gramps let her go, she fell back into her chair, much of the tension finally gone from her body. After a minute or so, she said, “I have a plan.”
Two sets of eyes peered intently at her.
“I should get the yearbook I ordered sometime in the early afternoon, and then we’ll have definitive confirmation about Brad’s identity and hopefully jog some memories loose in the process.” Hillary didn’t really have any doubts at this point—but it was a good—and logical--next step. “Why don’t we all take a break until then? Gramps, you can take your morning walk. I know you love the trail around my neighborhood. I’m going to take a really long bubble bath and pretend like Glenda is calling us back this afternoon. Brad…”
She wasn’t really sure what Brad did when he wasn’t keeping Gramps company. She cringed inwardly. She would hate—with a burning passion, go crazy kind of hate—to live life isolated from people, unable to touch anything. How was he not crazy?
Brad lifted both hands. “I’ll be fine.”
She gave them both a lopsided grin. “I feel like we should huddle up and then do a motivational shout out.”
“Go Team Walter.” Brad pumped a fist in the air.
Hillary grinned—and it felt so good to laugh a bit, even if it was on the inside.
Hillary sank into her tub, the bubbles so high they almost spilled over when she was totally submerged, and then her phone rang.
She almost didn’t answer it—but what if it was Glenda?
She dried her hand, tapped the green icon, and then hit speaker. ”Hello.”
“Are you okay?” Beth sounded more than a little concerned.
“Well, shoot. Do you have some timing or what?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been trying to catch you for three days now. This is just the first time you’ve answered. I’ve been worried sick.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize…” Three days? Then Hillary remembered with a creeping feeling of guilt how many times she’d thought about returning Beth’s calls, but each time she’d stopped herself. At first, because she’d been busy, and then because she didn’t want to upset her. Hillary didn’t want to burst her newfound love bubble.
“What’s going on? Is this about those glasses? You’ve been traipsing around the fifties, haven’t you?”
Hillary ducked her head under the bubbles. After a five count, she popped back up. She couldn’t avoid the question forever. Wiping the bubbles carefully away from her eyes, she said, “The glasses are definitely involved. So involved that I’d very much like to speak with our missing witch.” She leaned her head back against the tiles. “No time travel though.”
“Uh-oh. Hang on, let me get a cup of coffee and sit down. Or I could stop by?”
“Nooo. Probably not a great idea right now. Things are just settling down.” Hillary sank lower in the tub and propped her feet up on the ledge. She examined her toes—overdue for a pedicure—while she waited for the background kitchen sounds to die down.
“Okay, I’m ready. Spill.”
And Hillary did. Brad’s existence as more than a figment of her grandpa’s imagination, the looming competency evaluation, Brad’s disappearance, Glenda’s disappearance, her aunt and uncle’s evil schemes.
At which point Beth interrupted. “You make your aunt and uncle sound Machiavellian. Isn’t that a bit much? Is it possible that they’re just worried about their dad?”
“Sometimes, Beth, you’re frighteningly naive. And a little practical. Yes, it’s possible they care. Of course it’s possible they’re worried, what with Gramps talking about his imaginary friend, AKA his interactive hallucination. But I do think greed factors in. You know the land value on that house. And if it was all about wanting what’s best for Gramps, why don’t they check on him more often?” The water had been slowly cooling and flowing out the overflow drain. Hillary pushed
the hot water spigot on with her foot.
“What happens next?”
“An expert does an evaluation, and she diagnoses him with something that means he can’t make financial decisions for himself.”
“Hillary.” The phone practically vibrated with Beth’s exasperation.
“What? You think he’ll get a fair shot? That my aunt and uncle will find some neutral shrink who will actually ask him if he pays his bills on time? Oh, and what about this? Mr. Barrett, would you take Brad’s advice in financial matters?” Hillary could feel the muscles in her neck knotting again. She forced herself to relax and sink back into the bath.
“That’s actually a reasonable question.”
Hillary let out a huge sigh. “I know. That’s the problem. If the honest old guy could just suck it up and lie a little.”
“That’s no solution. Walter can’t even tell a white lie convincingly. You remember when I went through that phase with the highlights and the bangs? I thought he was going to have a stroke when I asked him what he thought. I really don’t see how he managed to stay happily married for so long.”
“You think a happy marriage requires the ability to lie well? Now, that is a cynical side of you I haven’t seen.” Hillary sat up a little straighter. “Uh-oh. Have you been fibbing to your honey? There better not be trouble in paradise, not when all heck is breaking loose on my end. We can’t have two crises.”
“Certainly we can have two crises; that’s simply how the world works. But don’t worry; everything’s fine. Better than fine.”
Something in Beth’s tone of voice gave her away, and Hillary just knew Edward had finally popped the question officially. For once, Hillary didn’t push. Beth would tell her when she was ready. “If you say so. So, what do you think? How do we triumph over the evil curse, the evil shrink, the evil relatives…whew. That’s a lot of evil in one gal’s life.”
“Simple enough. Solve Brad’s problem, and you solve Walter’s. Don’t ghosts hang around when they have unfinished business? Finish Brad’s business. As for your relatives—they are not evil. Your Aunt Carol is really sweet…sometimes. And Tim’s probably docile as a lamb with Carol pulling the strings.”
“Hm. You’re too generous with my family by far. Where did you get the unfinished business thing? Do you have a source I can look up?”
“I need a source? It’s all magic and hoodoo. How are there sources? If there were reliable sources, I’d be a little more on board with magic.”
Hillary dropped under her still plentiful bubbles, this time staying for a ten count. When she reemerged, she could hear Beth calling her name and asking if she was still there. After she carefully wiped her eyes, Hillary said, “You time travel, your boyfriend time travels, and you assume that I’ve been bouncing around in the fifties the last few days—but you don’t believe in magic? That’s crazier than all of my psychics, ghostbusters, tarot readers, and paranormal investigators combined.” Hillary turned on the hot water again. “Not that any of those people’s skills are remotely crazy, I’m just saying.”
“Well, the idea of resolving unfinished business came from somewhere. Maybe there’s truth to it. If there is, what’s Brad’s problem? Something must be tying him to the mortal plane.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s the second thing. Brad’s life is tying him to the mortal plane. He never died.”
Beth took a moment to respond. Eventually, she said, “How can a not-dead guy be a ghost?”
“A curse. The question is: how do we break it?”
A low grumbling sound emanated from the phone. “It’s completely irresponsible of that witch to disappear now.”
Having someone else angry on her behalf had the odd effect of making Hillary much less upset. She couldn’t help a little smile. A shared burden really was lighter. “She did try to help Brad, she just got cut off before the big curse-breaking reveal. Maybe you could drop a message for her at The Goode Witch. Just in case she’s ducking my calls. I tracked her last known location to France, but I still couldn’t catch her there.” Hillary blew at the bubble right under her chin. “Although why she’s cool talking to Brad and not me, I don’t get.”
“That woman seems to have her own agenda, so no telling. But I’ll leave a message. Anything else I can do to help?” Beth asked. “And before you ask, no, I’m not crank calling your aunt or your uncle. Oh, and I’m not testifying that a ghost is a real guy if you can’t produce the physical guy. I like not living in a padded cell, thank you very much.”
Hillary sighed dramatically. “A girl can always hold out hope. And that whole padded cell thing would never happen. You’d only be committed if you were a danger to yourself or others…right?”
Silence followed that statement.
Hillary waited, scrunching her toes against the cold edge of the tub.
Finally, Beth said, “Is there anything that’s not unethical or illegal and won’t get me arrested or institutionalized that I can do to help?”
“That one took a while.”
Beth laughed, but when she spoke her tone was dry. “Just making sure I covered all the bases. You do sound a little better now. Are you going to keep ignoring my calls?”
“Nope. I promise to answer the phone. I really am sorry. It’s been a rough few days. I’m crazy worried about Gramps, and I’m really disappointed in my family.”
“Well, I think you’re focusing on the wrong things. Your family does love Walter, whatever you may think. And the key to Walter’s problem is to fix Brad—break his curse, corporealize him, whatever. That way, you get the win-win-win: your Gramps safe in his own home after producing his no-longer-cursed, real-life buddy Brad and receiving a clean bill of health from your aunt and uncle’s expert.”
“Gramps home, Brad rescued from not-dead-not-alive purgatory—what’s the third win?”
“Oh, sweetheart. You are. You’ll have solved everyone’s problems and can finally let go of whatever has you tied up in knots.”
Hillary had to think about that. Beth was right—it was more than just Gramps. Heck, she was more worried than he was, at this point. A little breath of surprise escaped. “Ugh. I like him, Beth. That’s my problem. I like Brad, and not in an abstract, he-helped-my-grandpa kind of way. All those stories I’ve heard for years gelled, and he was suddenly a real person who I actually like. A tall, muscular, good-looking real person with a really nice tush, by the way.” Beth’s snort interrupted her. “Hey you, hush. You haven’t seen him. But this guy, he’s real now, and he’s in between Gramps and a win at his competency hearing.”
“No—your good-looking guy is the solution to Walter winning his competency hearing. It’s all in how you look at it.”
With that parting shot, Beth ended the call.
Maybe Hillary had been stuck in the past, blaming Brad for creating the problem. She was already working on fixing his non-corporeal state—whatever had caused it—so why was it so hard for her to move forward from this point? To see Beth’s win-win-win solution?
Chapter 12
Brad had asked Walter to spread the documents Hillary had left on the kitchen table so that he could read them all. While Hillary had taken the longest bath ever—was that a girl thing?—he’d reviewed all of the information Hillary had found while he’d been recharging.
When she finally walked in, her dark hair damply curling around her face, he’d finished reading most of the documents. Yearbook picture confirmation or not, he was certain he was Stephen Bradley Sherwood. Once he’d read the article that mentioned his mother, there had been no doubt in his mind. None.
He sat up from the slouched position he’d assumed in the corner of the kitchen and asked, “Good bath?”
Hillary jumped. “Gah! That’s creepy. You make no noise—seriously none.”
“Sorry. It’s part of the package. Walter and I hypothesized that not much substance means not much noise.” Brad shrugged. “Speaking is another question entirely.”
“I’m going with magic
.” Hillary frowned and walked further into the room. “Are you okay? You look…” She screwed her lips up. “You look weird.”
“She says to a ghostly figure lurking in the corner.”
Arms crossed, she said, “You know what I mean. What gives?”
“I read the article about me—Sherwood—going missing and the police calling off the search.”
Hillary’s arms fell back to her sides, and she sat down. She looked worried. “Do you think there’s any possibility that you tried…”
She gave him a nudge-nudge, wink-wink type of look. It took him a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. A sharp bark of laughter slipped out. “No. No way. I did not try to kill myself. Uh-uh.”
Her eyebrows drew close together. She was adorable, like some guy’s cute kid sister. Some guy he didn’t know. Some guy who wouldn’t mind if he grabbed a hold of her—he cleared his throat. “Ah, the article mentioned my mom.”
Her face cleared. Became completely blank, in fact. “Yes.” Speaking carefully, as if considering every word, she said, “I looked for her. What I found isn’t here,” she waved a hand at the table of materials. “But I did look, and I found your mom.”
He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “And?”
“And she moved away. Not long after your funeral. I don’t think she ever believed you…ah—”
“Killed myself. You can say it. We both know I didn’t actually do it, so it’s not a problem for me to talk about it.” Brad was 99.9 percent sure he hadn’t even tried—but without his memory, he had only his gut to rely upon. It seemed so completely wrong, and when he’d run into facts from his previous life, they’d clicked on some intrinsic level. And there was no funky chill of confirmation on hearing the word suicide.
“Okay. So, I’m sure she didn’t believe you killed yourself. There’s a website.” Hillary’s blank façade slipped, and she winced. “A conspiracy theorist website.”
Brad blew out a breath and then pushed himself away from the table. His mom had lost it. At least in regards to his disappearance. There was no other explanation for Hillary’s hesitance.
