Spirit

by John Inman

  “Through the window?”

  Timmy nodded. “He sounded sad. I guess he didn’t like you getting fat.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  Timmy snorted a laugh.

  “You’re making this up,” I said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then talk to him now.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell him to show himself.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re afraid of a bug. You’d prob’ly fall over dead if a ghost popped out.”

  “He’s a ghost?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you see him now?”

  “No. But I think he’s listening.”

  “Does your mother make you wear a straightjacket at home?”

  “Only when we’ve got company.”

  I threw my gloves and hat and bandanna on the basement floor and tried to beat the dust off my clothes. The basement looked marginally better than it had when I’d started. At least you could walk through it now without breaking your neck. I figured that was good enough.

  I pulled the outside security door closed and pushed the deadbolt in place. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

  “What are we having?”

  “The extortion we didn’t eat yesterday.”

  “Is it still good?”

  “Extortion is always good.”

  He was obviously leery. “Well, okay, then, I guess.”

  I threw the kid over my shoulder, making him squeal with delight, tucked Thumper under my arm, making her growl with something less than delight, and headed for the stairs.

  I reached out to flick off the basement lights, and before I could touch the switch, the lights went out on their own.

  I stood there blinking, staring at the switch in the dark. Say—huh?

  Timmy tapped the side of my head with his little fist like he was knocking on a door. I could actually hear the bonking sound it made.

  “See?” he said, still dangling down my back like a feather boa. “Told ya. Ghost.”

  Chapter 3

  GREAT. TWO days with Timmy and already the kid’s head was butchered and my house was haunted. Oh, well. At least the basement was organized.

  Once again, Timmy and I were sitting at the kitchen table. He was making a face over his lunch.

  “This ’stortion tastes like fish.”

  I smiled to myself. “Imagine that.”

  “Where does it come from?”

  “What?”

  “’Stortion.”

  “It comes from Argentina. Great herds of them roam the Pampas looking for little boys to eat. You’re lucky. You ate this one before he ate you.”

  His eyes were leery. He gazed from me to his plate, then back again.

  “It still tastes like fish.” Timmy said, turning to stare through the kitchen window as if mulling it all over. Then his eyes opened wide. “Look at that man.”

  I jumped. What? Another ghost? I followed Timmy’s stare through the window and saw a man standing behind Jack’s MINI Cooper, jotting down the license number. He was cute, but he didn’t look like a cop. He was wearing blue jeans and a polo shirt, and even from this distance, I could tell he had a really nice ass. Shows where my priorities lie, huh?

  “Stay here,” I said.

  Naturally, Timmy followed me right out of the house.

  As I stepped through the front door, I saw the man slip the little notebook he was holding into his back pocket. Happily, it didn’t do too much damage to the outline of his butt. And a fine outline it was too.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  The man was perhaps my age or a little younger, with a shock of chocolate-brown hair waving all over his head. When he turned and nailed me with a pair of warm brown eyes, it took all my willpower not to fluff my hair like Mae West just to make sure I looked my best. An easy smile twisted his mouth, and a flash of white teeth glittered in the sun as he took me in from head to toe. I have to say he didn’t seem too disappointed by what he was gazing at.

  He stepped toward me finally, hand outstretched, and met me at the curb.

  “I remember you from the wedding,” he said. I automatically extended my hand in return, and he scooped it into both of his, not so much shaking as simply holding it. The feel of his skin sent tingles to every erogenous zone on my body. It was a wonder I didn’t ignite like a road flare and lay sizzling in the street.

  Then his words soaked in. I had only been to one wedding in my life. “You mean my sister’s wedding?”

  He nodded, and as he nodded, he gazed down at Timmy and his smile widened. Timmy smiled right back. Maybe he was smitten too.

  The young man’s voice was as soft as a warm cotton blanket when he turned back to me and said, “Your sister’s and my brother’s. That wedding.”

  A long-forgotten memory snagged my attention. A young man just out of high school five years earlier, brother of the groom, chowing down on wedding cake at Sally and Paul’s reception. He sat stiff and uncomfortable in his new blue suit, and he was absolutely stunning with a little dollop of white icing smearing the corner of his mouth.

  “I remember,” I said. “You and your family came into town for the wedding from—” I snapped my fingers, trying to recall. It wouldn’t come.

  “Tucson,” he prompted.

  “Tucson!”

  He laughed at my response. And when he laughed, my erogenous zones tingled again. Every damned one of them. To cover my embarrassment, I knelt down by Timmy and said, “Say hello. This is your uncle—”

  Then I realized I had no idea what the guy’s name was. Happily, the young man filled in the blanks as he knelt on the sidewalk beside me, facing the boy.

  “Sam,” he said, giving Timmy a gentle smile and reaching out to take Timmy’s tiny hand in his big paw.

  “Sam!” I barked. “That’s right!” Then I blushed, because really, what the hell was I barking for? Nerves? Hormones? Endorphins? This time Sam and Timmy both laughed at me.

  I tried to gather up the shredded remains of my dignity and said, “Timmy, say hello to your uncle, Sam.” Then it was my turn to laugh. Uncle Sam?

  Sam watched my mouth curl up and laughed. “And you’re Jason, I think.”

  I nodded. “Yep. Jason.” So we shook hands again. “Did Sally know you were coming?”

  He brushed the hair out of his eyes and glanced at his watch. “I might have mentioned it. I don’t remember.”

  It took me all of two seconds to decide my next move.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “Timmy and I were just sitting down to lunch. If you aren’t in a hurry, come inside and join us.”

  Sam seemed a little stunned by the invitation. I wasn’t sure why. Did I look that inhospitable?

  After a couple of heartbeats, he said, “Thanks, Jason. I’d like that.”

  We stood, and Timmy tugged on Sam’s pant leg before we could walk toward the house.

  “Yes?” Sam asked kindly, bending all the way down so his and Timmy’s noses were only inches apart.

  “You can have my ’stortion,” Timmy said. “It sucks anyway.”

  Sam got that expression one gets on one’s face when a cab driver who can’t speak two words of English starts blabbering in some unrecognizable language about God knows what.

  “Did you say ’stortion?”

  Timmy looked disappointed that Sam was so poorly educated. “Yeah, they find it in the Pampers.”

  “Well, uh, gee,” Sam hedged, obviously not knowing what the heck the kid was talking about. “Thanks, I think. But maybe I’m not as hungry as I thought I was. And by the way. Who cut your hair?”

  Timmy straightened his shoulders—a battered peacock putting every ruffled feather on proud display after a heart-stopping run-in with a passing automobile. “I did. Why? You want me to cut yours?”

  Sam gave a whistle, then made a god-awful face for my benefit alone, turning his h
ead just enough that Timmy couldn’t see it. “Oh, no. Thanks. But yours looks great. Best haircut ever.”

  It was at that very moment I knew I liked the guy. Liked him a lot. Sam seemed like a really nice man, and I have a weakness for really nice men. Especially when they looked like this one.

  I threw Timmy over my shoulder again, this time to shut him up, since he seemed about to jabber on forever, and the three of us laughed our way into the house.

  Sam was muttering to himself behind me. “I’m not eating anything that comes out of Pampers.”

  FINALLY, I had another adult around to appreciate my cooking, and I have to admit, the salmon was delicious. Tender, buttery, perfect. Since Timmy had glowered and pushed his portion to the side of his plate like a dead salamander, I broke down and fixed him another hot dog, which renewed his good humor immediately.

  Sam never took his eyes off the boy, except for those moments when, out of sheer politeness because I was speaking to him, he was forced to lay those sexy brown orbs on me.

  Soon I had set a place and filled a plate for Sam, and we all got down to the business of eating.

  After tasting his food, the first thing Sam said was, “This is salmon, right?”

  And the first thing I said was, “Hush.” I rolled my eyes in Timmy’s direction, hoping Sam would understand. He did.

  Then I decided to do a little interrogating. I was nosy.

  “Why were you so interested in Jack’s car?”

  Sam centered those eyes on me again, and my toes curled. “Jack?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Sally’s boyfriend.”

  “Oh, is that whose car it was? I just liked the looks of it. Even wrote down the model of it just in case I won the lottery.”

  “It looked like you were writing down the license number.”

  Sam laughed. “Why would I do that?”

  I couldn’t think of a reason, so I assumed I was wrong and let it go.

  “So how long are you in town, Sam?”

  “Just a few days.”

  “Business?”

  “Uh, yeah. Taking care of some business for my dad.”

  “You’re pretty,” Timmy said, and he wasn’t talking to me.

  Sam had the good grace to blush. “Thanks, kid. You cruising?”

  Timmy thought that was funny, although I doubted he knew what it meant. Those two little words gave me food for thought, however. My God, is Sam gay?

  “Married?” I asked, being ineptly sneaky.

  “Nope. Gay,” Sam flatly stated, being honest and not sneaky at all. How can you not like a man like that?

  I almost choked on a green bean. Before I could stop myself, the words were out of my mouth. “And I’m sure the gay world is happy as hell about it.”

  He blushed again, this time around a very attractive smile. “Thanks, Jason.”

  “Although you do tend to make the rest of us look like trolls.”

  “Oh, please,” he said. And then he seemed to think he should clarify that statement. Trying to look surprised, he added, “Oh, are you gay too? I didn’t know.”

  Yeah right. And the earth is flat.

  Even with his insincere comment about not knowing I was gay, I found myself enjoying the man’s company immensely. My eyes kept being drawn to his arms. Lord, they were sexy. Nicely tanned, ribboned with muscle, and spattered with a pelt of dark hair I really wanted to reach out and stroke. His longish hair seemed to perpetually hang in his eyes, but he was one of those people who wasn’t bothered by the fact. When he blinked I could see his long, gorgeous eyelashes nudging that curtain of brown hair out of the way. That would have driven me crazy. I’d be wearing a barrette to keep my bangs off my face. And no, I’m not really butch if that’s your next question, although I’m not a flaming queen either. At least, I hope I’m not.

  I finally decided it might be sensible to stop ogling my guest. After all, I was pretty sure he wasn’t here to see me. He was here to see his nephew.

  “About Timmy’s hair,” I explained. “He didn’t fall in the Cuisinart, you know. He cut it himself. I turned my back on him for no more than five seconds, I swear, and look what he did.”

  Sam laughed and reached across the table to run his fingers through what little hair Timmy had left to cover his noggin. Timmy was gnawing at his hot dog and barely noticed the touch.

  “It’s original,” Sam said. “I’m thinking there’s only one way to fix it.”

  “Give it a year to grow out?” I asked. “It might be simpler to just trade the kid in on a new one.”

  “No. Buzz the whole thing off.”

  “What, his hair?”

  “Yeah.”

  “His mother would kill me.”

  “Like she won’t kill you now?”

  The mention of Sally made me wonder just how much Sam knew about what was going on.

  “Sally is gone for a few weeks on vacation. You did know that, right?” I wasn’t sure if this was the time to tell him I was sorry his brother had taken a powder three years earlier and abandoned his family like a heartless shithead, so I bit my tongue and said nothing. Come to think of it, there is probably never a right time for saying that.

  Sam nodded when I mentioned Sally, forking a little more salmon into his mouth. Sipping his water. Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Gazing around the room. He had the appearance of a man stalling for time, which I thought was odd. Then I decided I was imagining things. Sam was too cute to be duplicitous. (See how infatuated I was already? Lord, I’m a slut.)

  Finally, Sam nodded. “There was a message on her answering machine saying she’d be gone for a few weeks and leaving your address and phone number because you were babysitting Timmy.”

  Timmy almost choked on that. Through a mouthful of hot dog he cried out, “He’s not babysitting me! I’m babysitting him! He’s even afraid of bugs!”

  Sam and I laughed. I laughed because it was true. I also laughed because Sam was laughing because he thought it was the ridiculous spouting of a four-year-old. I’m afraid the man had a lot to learn about his nephew’s other uncle.

  Again, Sam was staring at Timmy with a wistful expression on his face. I could see it meant a great deal to him to meet the boy.

  “Have you never seen Timmy before?” I asked. I never remembered Sam visiting. Never remembered Sally mentioning him at all.

  Sam tore his eyes away from his nephew. There was a hint of sadness in their golden-brown depths for a moment, then he blinked the sadness away and focused on me. “No. When Sam was born, I was pulling a hitch in the Navy. Went in right out of high school. Not long after the wedding, in fact. By the time I came home, Paul had…”

  His voice trailed away, and I finished the sentence for him. “… run off.”

  Sam nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. “Yes. I suppose. Run off. Anyway, he was long gone.”

  The timeline wasn’t adding up for me. “So you must be about twenty-three.”

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “And you must have been discharged from the Navy almost three years ago.”

  He did some calculating in his head. I could see him do it. “That’s about right.”

  I glanced at Timmy. His attention was centered on a green bean. He was examining it like maybe it was actually a worm or something. I lowered my voice and leaned in a little closer to Sam. I wondered if I was about to kill a burgeoning friendship.

  “It seems to me if this is the first time you’ve seen Timmy, it’s no one’s fault but your own. Tucson isn’t that far away. You could have driven or flown out to see your nephew on any given weekend, even if you were working.”

  A flash of anger darkened Sam’s eyes for the briefest moment, but then he looked away. By the time he gazed back at me, the anger was gone, replaced by humility.

  “Yes. It was my fault. But now I’d like to make up for it and get to know him. He’s my only nephew. I hope you’ll let me do that. I’ll only be in town for a couple of weeks. I’ll try not to mon
opolize his time.”

  I couldn’t understand the desperate tone of his voice. Once again, I wondered just what kind of person he thought I was.

  “Well, of course you can get to know him. You should get to know him. I don’t know why you would think I wouldn’t let you do that. And I don’t care how much time you spend with him.”

  Sam’s relief was evident on his face. He gave me a grateful smile, which I was still having trouble understanding. But I returned his smile with one of my own.

  “Then it’s settled,” I said. “While you’re in town, you can spend as much time with Timmy as you like. Come over whenever. I work at home. We’ll almost always be here. Where are you staying? Did you fly out or drive? Do you have a car?”

  Again Sam looked uncomfortable. If he hadn’t been sitting, he would probably have been shuffling his feet. “My car’s parked around the corner. I haven’t found a place to stay yet. I just drove into town a couple of hours ago. I’m sure there’s a motel close. Maybe you can suggest one.”

  “Stay here,” Timmy said.

  Sam and I looked over at the kid. He had a green bean poking out of each ear.

  Timmy grinned at the expressions on our faces.

  When he knew he had our full and undivided attention, green beans be damned, he said it again. This time to me. “Let Uncle Sam stay here. Then we can play hide and seek.”

  “Oh, no,” Sam said, but I ignored him. I was still staring at Timmy. The kid looked sincere. Even with the beans.

  “Would you really like your Uncle Sam to stay here with us so you can get to know him?”

  “Sure. It’ll be fun. We could play tag too.” Timmy gave a big tooth-baring grin to expose a green bean draped over his front teeth. Combined with the two sticking out of his ears, it made him look absolutely insane.

  Sam and I laughed. Then we gazed at each other.

  Before Sam could open his mouth and try to wiggle out of the invitation, I asked him point blank. “Would you like to stay with us? There’s plenty of room.” Was there an ulterior motive niggling around in the back of my head? Even I wasn’t sure. All I really knew was that it made sense. What better way for Timmy to get to know his uncle than by living under the same roof with him for a couple of weeks. And it would even save the guy some money. That’s always a good thing, right?