by Lyla Payne
My cousin clears her throat, gaze flicking between the two of us, and gets up from her chair. “I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit. My feet are killing me and I’m right in the middle of that damn Nicholas Sparks book.”
“You’re reading it?” My lips want to smile but the rest of me refuses.
“Yeah. I don’t want to be caught unawares again and you know half the ladies in this town are on the waiting list.” She shrugs, not looking the least bit ashamed. “It’s not that bad, actually.”
I snicker at her as she waddles from the room, leaving Beau and me alone. He tugs on my hand like he wants to pull me onto his lap but I slide free, going to the chair my cousin vacated and flopping into it.
“I’m glad you’re here. I have the afternoon off and I was thinking we could hang out. Go to lunch, maybe to a movie if you’re feeling like it…” He trails off. “What’s wrong?”
The tears I’ve been holding back for hours spill over. A whisper is all I can force out of my throat, so tight it hurts. “This isn’t going to work. You and me.”
His eyes go wide. Panicked. “No, Gracie. What are you talking about? What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” I bite back a sob. “I mean, I spoke with your brother again, but for once, I think he was actually trying to be helpful.”
“Not if he was filling your head with nonsense about you and me.” The serious slant of his voice, like a father scolding a small child, almost makes me laugh.
“No. It’s not nonsense, Beau. Your family…your mother hates me. Do you really think we can live happily ever after like that?” I shake my head, crying harder. “I can’t go through this again. Can’t turn away from the right thing to do because she doesn’t approve. What if it has something to do with us next time? Or Amelia? Or our kids?”
“We have kids now?” He’s trying to joke, to make light, but it’s not working. The desperation in his eyes says he knows it, too.
“I won’t live my life by Cordelia Drayton’s rules, Beau. You do, and that’s okay because you’re one of them. They’re your family and I’m not, but I just don’t see how to make it work and keep all the pieces of Gracie together at the same time. I’m still finding some of them. I’m not letting anyone scatter them again.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I think we’re both going to be happier in the long run if we just call this off now, before we get in any deeper.”
Beau’s out of his chair and over to mine, pulling me up and into his arms before I can even think about stopping him. I don’t want to stop him. I want to stay in his arms forever and pretend they can shield us from the big, bad world full of gray areas and disagreements and responsibility. The truth is, they can’t.
For now, I breathe in the scent of him and let him rock me back and forth like a child.
His voice rumbles out of his chest, breath hot on the top of my head. His voice is calm, soothing, but it’s also scared. “We’re not going to do that, Gracie. I don’t know about you, but I’m in all the way. I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, and if that means making you my family, not them, I’m willing to do that.”
“But what about your dreams?” I sniffle, getting snot all over him.
“Dreams come and go, Gracie Anne. They change with our lives, right? With the people in them. I don’t need to be President of the United States. I need you.”
It’s all too good to be true. Too confusing. Too…questionable after all my recent interactions with Mrs. Drayton, and right now, with Amelia in a pinch and Will and Mel’s lives walking a precarious tightrope, I can’t afford to go into battle with her.
But Beau’s right about one thing. I’m all in, too. Whether I walk away from him today or in six months, it’s going to hurt like a bitch. So, even though he hasn’t convinced me of anything other than the fact that this can wait, I look into his eyes and try on a wobbly smile. “You know everything you just said is bullshit, right?”
“Gracie…”
“Okay, maybe not everything. But it’s not going to be that easy for us to be together. I’m just getting to a point where I’m happy with me again. I love you, but I love me, too.”
“I don’t want to change you, sweet girl. Never. Not one quirk.”
My heart wants to lift off and soar, but something’s stopping it. I’m a little worried it’ll be stuck here on earth forever, and that’s not really where hearts belong. “I don’t want to change you, either, Mr. Mayor. And I’m afraid that’s always going to be our crossroads.”
“Then we’ll keep crossing them. Together. Don’t leave me alone, Gracie Anne.”
I bite my lip. He kisses them straight.
My phone rings before we can make any promises, and for me, that’s a relief. The number on the caller ID says it’s the Heron Creek police station, which is normally a call I’d avoid. Right now, any distraction sounds pretty good.
“Hello?” I answer, taking a step away from the intoxicating pull of my boyfriend’s sweet, sweet picture of the impossible future.
“Miss Harper?”
“We’re back to that again?”
“Afraid so. We’ve got another breakin, this time at the bank. I’m afraid that your father is one of the prime suspects, given that he’s a wanted thief and he’s just been in town.”
I shake my head slightly, trying to switch gears. “Okay. Who’s the other prime suspect?”
“That would be you. I need you to come down here as soon as possible.”
My mouth goes a little dry but honestly, I’ve been through too much to react properly to the news. Or maybe it’s just that being arrested hardly hits my radar as trouble these days. “You’re not going to arrest me in front of the whole neighborhood again?”
“Not unless you want me to. I’m not going to arrest you at all, hopefully. We just have some questions.” He takes a beat. “I’m just about to step into a meeting with the FBI. Can you come in first thing tomorrow morning?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t leave town.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
I go out to Daria’s office later that afternoon since she texted me a while ago and said she needed to see me. Beau and I are going to hang out this evening, instead, maybe have dinner, since after he heard Travis’s news he wanted to go back to work and see what he could find out. I doubt they’ll tell him much since he’s all emotionally invested or tainted by our relationship or whatever, but a herd of elephants couldn’t have stopped him from trying.
It doesn’t worry me all that much, since I didn’t rob the bank and probably have an alibi, depending on when it happened, but the whole thing certainly has my curiosity up. Hopefully tomorrow morning’s chat with Travis will satisfy at least some of that.
Daria’s hair is purple again. I quite like it on second look. It suits her.
I give her a smile. “Hey.”
“You look like hell,” she informs me.
“It’s been an exciting few days and I’ve been unable to keep up with my beauty regimen.” I collapse on her dusty couch without being invited, feeling as though seeing the things we’ve seen together means we can dispense with the pleasantries. “How are you?”
“I’m finishing up that case you went out on with me. Thought you might be curious what I found.”
I flinch. “Do I want to know?”
“It’s no worse than what you’ve already seen. Aren’t you curious?”
“In general, yes. But I’ve found it to be one of my faultier instincts.”
“Noted. I’ll try to make it worth your while.” She makes drinks at the wet bar and drops what looks like a whiskey-based concoction on the table in front of me before taking a seat in a chair opposite. “There weren’t many surprises. The man we saw—in different states—at the front door was a big-time moneylender in the early nineteen hundreds who doubled as a bookie, of sorts. He ran illegal gambling and drinking establishments all over Mount Pleasant and was, by all accounts, meaner than hell.
He murdered more than a couple of people who refused to pay back debts, and yeah, he was charged with beating his wife to death. Was acquitted by a hung jury, one that was probably packed with men who owed him money at one time or another.”
“He sounds like a real peach.” The drink is good. Has a cherry flavor.
“As you saw, it gets worse. When his elder daughter fell ill, he refused to spend any money on doctors or drugs or treatments. It sounds like it was something with her liver, maybe cancer. She wasted away and it was painful. Until…”
“Her sister killed her. Put her out of her misery.”
“And paid with her sanity. The younger daughter died not long afterward in a mental institution.”
A shudder works through me. What an awful story.
“They’re all gone now. Moved on. I worked with a priest and another medium, one that specializes in violent spirits, a few nights ago. The homeowners haven’t reported any further activity. So far.”
“That’s good. I’m sure they’re very grateful.” Daria uses her gift for good, the way I hope I do; she’s just more active about it. Going out to find the ghosts who need help, whether they know it or not. She’s braver than I am. But she’s also had way more time to come to terms.
“So do you think this is something you’d want to do? Like, for money?” Daria swirls the ice in her drink, studying me from under her deep purple pixie cut. “I could use a partner sometimes.”
I shake my head without thinking about it. “I have a job. I love my job. Well, not my job as a librarian, exactly, but I want to keep working as an archivist. I prefer to let the ghosts come to me. That’s about all I can handle.”
“Well, the offer’s on the table.” She gets up to refill her drink.
“I want to thank you, though, for showing me how to ground and open the doors and things like that. It gives me a little bit more control.” I swallow more of the whiskey cocktail, enjoying the burn and the warmth. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to hear them on command? It only happens when they want to show me something, not when I want to see it.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She sits down again. “I do know that this is something you can practice. The more you do it, the better your control. That’s important because there are spirits who are more powerful than others. Mama Lottie is the strongest one I’ve ever met, but she didn’t try to get inside me. The ones that do that are the worst.”
I don’t ask the obvious question because I can’t even handle the answer right now. The mention of Mama Lottie brings up the real reason I came when she summoned me. “My friend Jenna at Drayton Hall said she could turn off the security cameras by the river if we wanted to go back out there.”
“I do not want to go back out there.” Daria grimaces.
“Neither do I, honestly, but I need to know what she wants in exchange for helping me. It’s life or death.”
“I’m going to need details.”
“Okay, but you’re going to have to assume voodoo curses are real.”
“In my experience, all of the worst things are real. Shoot.”
I spend the next twenty minutes telling her about Anne, about the horrid relationship she’d had with the jealous man she’d been forced to marry and how that had led to his lover putting a generations-long curse on the male line branching from Anne’s first husband, who had been the love of her life. I end with the fact that Amelia is now carrying the current extension of that line and that her life has been threatened, directly and indirectly, several times. The part about her depression and the lawsuit and all that I leave out, both because it’s personal and because it’s just too much to rehash. Exhaustion pokes holes in my bones again at the mere thought.
“So, you can see why this is important. Amelia’s baby won’t survive thirteen years like this. She’ll find a way to get to him before then.” I sit up straighter, like I’m facing Mrs. LaBadie again right now. “Mama Lottie says she can help, that she will help, and we know she’s got some serious power. I have to know how to convince her. We may not have another chance like this before it’s too late.”
Daria studies me for another couple of minutes, chewing on her bottom lip. Then she heaves a dramatic sigh and rolls her eyes. “Like I can say no to that. We’re peas in a pod, you and me. Gluttons for punishment because of our baked potato hearts.”
“I have no idea what that means.” Relief sags my shoulders all the same.
“You know, soft?”
“Oh…right.”
“Well, let’s go.” Daria leaps up, a bundle of wound energy as always.
“Right now?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Given that I might be arrested tomorrow for a crime I didn’t commit, I guess there really is no time like the present.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Since Jenna agreed to help by turning off the cameras that point to the back of the property, at least we don’t have to worry about ending up in jail. Again. And thankfully, Cordelia did not end up pressing charges against Daria the last time, a fact that would make me think she might have an actual heart beating in her chest if there hadn’t been so much evidence to the contrary of late, but it’s good news all the same. At least I won’t have to feel as though I owe her for more than coming out here to talk to the Creepiest Ghost Alive for a second time.
Daria’s nervous; the quickness of her gait, the way she keeps flicking glances over her shoulders, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest all give her away. I’m feeling like a big tangle of anxiety myself, both over seeing Mama Lottie again and because of what she might be going to ask me—us—to do. How far will I go to protect that little boy? How far will Amelia go?
According to Leo, as far as it takes. That thought just fills me with more trepidation. If it’s possible to have a heart attack at nearly twenty-six, this is going to be it for me.
We’re close to the Ashley River now, and the movement of the wind over the water washes my sweaty skin with a cool breeze. I’ve loved this spot my entire life, but now, after seeing Mama Lottie here twice, it’s taken on a darkness that makes me sad. I wish it could be banished but I’m not sure whether that sort of thing can ever be driven off once it’s really settled in. Maybe it’s always been here and I just couldn’t see it until now.
Daria sits on the lush autumn grass, even though she’s wearing white jean shorts tonight, and I follow suit. We close our eyes together, going through the process of meditating and opening that’s getting more and more familiar to me each time. It feels natural. When she first started telling me about all this crap it sounded hokey, new age, something that she did only to make people think she’s doing something they can’t. But it’s none of those things. It’s peaceful, talking to my spirit guide even though he or she still hasn’t talked back. I feel connected to the earth, to myself, and to the dead people who are always around but only occasionally choose to show themselves to me.
The theatre door opens in my mind. We spend another several minutes assuring our spirit guides that we’re only here to work in goodness and light. I say another silent, quick prayer that Mama Lottie feels the same way, then the two of us open our eyes.
The scenery remains the same. Giant oak trees stand sentinel over the night, touching the water with their sleeves of Spanish moss. Light from the moon reflects off the river, moving lazily in the direction of the harbor. Birds hoot, animals rustle quietly among the leaves as they settle in for the night, and stars twinkle above our heads in a deep blue sky. It’s idyllic, and the familiar peace of the setting winds through me.
I wander forward and Daria follows. We keep our eyes open, sweeping back and forth. We’re looking for Mama Lottie and don’t see anyone else, which Daria mutters is weird. The last time we were here she saw tons of spirits, even when I didn’t, but tonight—according to her inappropriate wording—the grounds are dead. For real, this time.
“Maybe she’s not here,” I say quietly, disappointed. I don’t know how many nights J
enna will be able to fool with the cameras before the security company notices something’s amiss.
“She’s here,” Daria breathes. “She’s coming.”
My heartbeat quickens. Sweat breaks out on my palms as though my body senses Mama Lottie’s presence before my eyes register her. Tonight she’s sitting on a bench, staring out toward the water before she turns, her mysterious dark eyes reaching straight into my soul.
“She says she’s happy to see us. She doesn’t like unfinished things.” Daria’s voice is tight, and it’s easy to see she’s struggling to keep the fear off her face. “She wants to know how the baby is.”
“What baby?” I whisper.
“Jack.” Daria looks at me, questioning.
I never told her Amelia’s name for the baby. Fear trembles in my legs, begs me to run away and never look back. But I can’t do that. Whatever it takes. “He’s fine. Strong.”
Mama Lottie nods, looking pleased. More than pleased. Smug.
“She says he’s not going to stay that way unless you break the curse.”
“Duh.” I want to explode, and I talk straight to Mama Lottie, even though I can’t hear her. I guess she can hear me. “We know we need to break the curse. We believe. We just don’t know how. Or if it can be done.”
“It can be done.” A low, throaty whisper threads into my mind.
I almost stumble, and my hand shoots out, grabbing Daria’s forearm so hard she yanks free. “I can hear her.”
“Curses can be broken, sure. They’re all made that way,” the voice continues. “You can’t do it, though. You don’t have the blood.”
“The blood?” My father’s voice, telling me that I have an ancestor named Carlotta, flits through my memory. “You said you would help.”
“Said I could help. Not that I would. Not unless you help Mama Lottie.”
“You can save Jack for sure? He’ll live until he’s an old man?”
The ghost frowns, then wags her finger at me the way she did the first night we met and she was warning me away from that snake. “Can’t make promises like that. No guarantees about life and death, you know that. I can break the curse. The boy’s destiny will change, but the rest is up to him. And you.”
