Ghost for Sale

by Sandra Cox

  “Oh not right away.” He went on to outline his plan, ignoring my last statement. “After I get my four-year degree, I’ll be going on to grad school and I need to get established, but in a few years.”

  Marcy walked by, sipping on a can of soda. “Pull the plug,” she advised in passing and kept going.

  Good advice. I rubbed my head and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to deal with this. The problem was I never wanted to deal with it. I took a deep breath. “Clayton, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  “What?” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded incredulous. Clayton Bradford III wasn’t used to being dumped.

  “We’re through.” There I’d said it. Finally. Relief washed through me…for about a nanosecond.

  “You’re tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “What part of ‘it’s over’ don’t you understand?” I spoke slowly and carefully. Maybe he had a hearing problem I wasn’t aware of. Elbow propped on the side of the couch, I held my head. The headache I’d kept at bay came thundering to the fore.

  “Is it the wrong time of the month?”

  “I can’t believe you just said that. Goodbye, Clayton.” I ended the call.

  “Well, I did it, Liam. You never approved of him anyway, did you?” I spoke to the room at large.

  There was no response. I hadn’t expected any, but I’d hoped.

  Marcy came back into the room and plopped down beside me. “Did you break it off?”

  “There was nothing to break off. We were never an item. But yes, I did.” I rubbed at the hollow spot under my left breastbone.

  “You’ve had quite a time of it, haven’t you?” Marcy said.

  “Yeah, but I’ll survive. I miss him.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Marcy hopped off the couch.

  “If it’s Clayton, don’t let him in.”

  “What about Patrick?”

  I shook my head. “I just can’t deal with another man right now.”

  “Gotcha.” Marcy headed out of the room. She was gone for several minutes. She stepped back in wearing a curious little smile. “I know what you said, but I’ll take care of this one if you’re giving them up for a while.”

  “What are you talking about?” The comment confused me.

  She held up a finger, walked out, and came back moments later with a nice-looking young man in tow, her hand on his arm.

  I frowned. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Hello, Ms. King.”

  “Officer Atwell?” He didn’t have on his blues or I would have recognized him immediately. He wore faded jeans and a button-up, short-sleeved, white shirt that set off an impressive set of pecs.

  “I suppose ‘I just happened to be in the neighborhood’ is a bit lame?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels, and grinned sheepishly.

  “A bit.”

  “Cuz has a headache, but I for one am thrilled you stopped by, Officer Atwell.”

  “Please, call me Ryan.”

  “Ryan.” Marcy looked into his eyes, fluttered her lashes, and stepped closer.

  Ryan looked bedazzled. He cleared his throat. “That’s quite a security system you’ve got.”

  Marcy and I looked blankly at each other.

  “Thank you,” Marcy said.

  “Who lives in the mansion next door?” was Ryan’s next conversational gambit.

  Marcy made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “My parents. This is the guest cottage.”

  “The guest cottage?” His eyebrows rose.

  I swallowed a giggle. If I wasn’t so miserable, I’d be enjoying myself.

  “Would you like me to show you around?” Marcy leaned against his arm and gave him her killer smile.

  Ryan smiled back. I could have sworn he started to accept before he looked at me questioningly.

  “Go right ahead. You’re in good hands.” I waved them on.

  They walked out chatting.

  Well, well, well, Marcy and the policeman. Wouldn’t that be interesting? I certainly didn’t know Ryan well, but what little I did know I liked. I approved of him for my cousin. And since I couldn’t face any type of relationship, it simplified my life.

  I pushed off the couch and headed to my bedroom. Without Marcy and Ryan around, silence closed in on me. It was hard to catch my breath, hard to move one foot in front of the other. I made it to my room and fell face down onto the bed. Depression enveloped me like a shroud. I would work on Liam’s story later. Social interaction had held pain at bay. Now it flooded my system. I closed my eyes, and with no effort at all slid into oblivion.

  * * * *

  “Caitlin, wake up.” Marcy shook my shoulder.

  “Go away. I’ve barely closed my eyes.”

  “Caitlin, you’ve been out for five hours. Patrick’s on the phone.”

  “Why do you keep making me take phone calls?” I mumbled and put the pillow over my head. “I’ll call him later.”

  “This isn’t healthy. Talk to Patrick.” She plucked the pillow off my head.

  “Give me a break.” I grabbed the pillow away from her and stuck it back over my head.

  “Ignoring everyone isn’t going to help anything.” She grabbed it back.

  “Give me some grieving time.”

  “I gave you as much as you’re going to get.” Her arms hugged the pillow so I couldn’t grab it back.

  “A few measly days, get serious.” I sat up.

  “Just talk to Patrick, okay?”

  “Sure.” I pulled myself out of bed and trudged to the living room. Why hadn’t he used my cell? I could have ignored that. Then again, he probably had.

  “Patrick.” I picked up the phone, slumped onto the couch, and let my head fall against the back cushion.

  “Cat, how are you?”

  Great. Peachy. How the heck do you think I am? I fell in love with a ghost and he left me. “What do you want, Patrick?”

  “I’ve been worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Concern came through in the warm timbre of his voice. The tight kernel of pain loosened, but it didn’t go away. I doubted if it ever completely would, but there was something about Patrick that always made me feel better. “I appreciate that.”

  “How about if I pick up a couple of lattes and come over?”

  I hesitated. “Patrick—”

  Before I could refuse, he cut in, “I’ll pick one up for Marcy too. What would she like?”

  I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Iced peppermint for both of us.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Okay.” Boneless, I sunk deeper into the sofa.

  “And, Cat?”

  “Yes?”

  “I won’t overstay my welcome. I just want to see you.”

  “I know. Bye.”

  “Bye.” As I hung up, Marcy appeared.

  “Lurking?”

  “Unashamedly listening.” She laughed and sat down.

  “Patrick’s bringing us lattes.” I pulled my legs under me and leaned my elbow on the arm of the sofa.

  “He’s a thoughtful man. You could do a lot worse.”

  “Give it a rest. Liam is barely gone.”

  “But he is gone.”

  “That one I’ve figured out for myself.”

  “Have you? There’s not some part of you waiting for him to reappear in human form?” She watched me, her gaze searching.

  “He’s moved into the light.” My heart tightened. I was happy for him, of course. But that didn’t make being left behind any easier. “You seemed mighty interested in Ryan.”

  A flush traveled up her neck and added a nice rosy glow to her high cheekbones. “Your policeman is easy on the eyes and a decent guy.” She tapped her lip and added thoughtfully. “Both he and Patrick are different from most of the men in ou
r crowd.”

  “Yes, they are. And he’s not my policeman.”

  “Do you have any interest in that direction?” She bit her lips together and watched me.

  “Not even a little.”

  “Then you don’t mind if I have a go at him?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Whew. That’s a relief.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is about him, but I find him extremely appealing.”

  “You should see him in uniform.” I grinned.

  “I intend to.” Her lips quirked upward.

  Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Marcy hopped up and trotted out of the room, her long legs moving at a brisk pace.

  A moment later, Patrick came in carrying two lattes.

  He handed me one. “That was fast.” I looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Marcy?”

  “She mentioned painting her nails and disappeared.” He eased down beside me and set his latte on the end table. With a touch as delicate as a surgeon’s, he lifted my chin and studied me. “Even the circles under your eyes are lovely, more violet than black or gray. You’re such a pretty thing.”

  Embarrassed, I jerked my head away. He let his hand fall to his side. “Can you talk about it?”

  I didn’t want to bring him pain, but I didn’t want to lie to him either. In the long run, I had to believe the truth would hurt less. Besides, how vested could he be? We didn’t know each other that well.

  I lifted my chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I fell in love with a ghost.”

  “I got that part of it.” He grimaced. “It’s the rest I don’t understand.”

  “The rest?”

  “You know, girl meets ghost, ghost sweeps her off her feet.” His voice was light but his neck stiff. Cords stood out in his forearms.

  “You won’t believe this.”

  “Try me.”

  “My cousin purchased him on eBay.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  “Told ya.”

  “Even if I don’t believe it, it sounds like a good story. Tell me.” He leaned back into the cushions.

  Silence thrummed between us. He watched me patiently.

  “You win.”

  I pretended I didn’t hear him murmur, “I doubt it.”

  The story came tumbling out. At times, he laughed appreciatively. At others, he shook his head in disbelief. When I’d finally finished, I leaned back against the cushions, my insides lighter, like some of the coiled tension had loosened.

  “That’s quite a story.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” I picked up my latte. By now it was a bit watered down, but it didn’t matter. “Thank you.”

  “No big. Even a poor college student can afford an occasional latte.”

  I shook my head and returned his smile. “That too. But mainly just for being. You seem to know exactly what I need even when I don’t.”

  “It’s a gift.” He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the tip of my nose. “How about we watch some old movies? I brought some with me.”

  “I’m just not very good company tonight, maybe another time.” I shifted and rubbed my arms. I was cold, always cold.

  “Okay, not in the mood for movies. I get it.” He pushed off the couch and looked down at me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? I’ve got a backup plan.” He hauled me to my feet and pulled me across the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  His fingers locked around mine, he led me through the door.

  I tugged at his hand as he headed for his car. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Not a problem,” he responded, his voice amicable. He stopped and looked around. “How deep is this lot?”

  “About seven acres, I think,” I answered, confused.

  “That should work.” He dropped my hand, opened the back seat of his car, and leaned in. “Any open spaces?”

  “Yeah, out back.” My interest came sluggishly to life.

  He backed out of the car carrying a tripod and a telescope. “Let’s star gaze.”

  “You came prepared for all contingencies, didn’t you?” I said, unsure whether to be upset or touched.

  “Yup, lead the way.” He got a better grip on his equipment and turned toward me.

  “Okay.” Defeated, I walked around the hedges to my aunt and uncle’s property behind the manse. We strolled in silence for a bit through gardens that smelled like sweet nectar. An occasional night bloomer’s silvery head waved as a light breeze rustled through branches. Overhead a night bird twittered.

  “Nice.” Patrick’s voice was quiet. The still night had that affect.

  The path we were on led out of the garden to a wide open space, with a couple of old oaks breaking the stretch of flat green.

  “This should do it.” He looked around and stopped. With practiced ease, he settled the tripod and telescope. He slouched over, his eye on the eyepiece, his hiney, covered in baggy jeans, in the air. He pointed the scope toward the sky, made some adjustments, and grunted. “Take a look.” He stepped back.

  I put my eye to the scope. “Everything’s blurry.”

  He made some quick adjustments, turning the circular cylinder first left, then right. “How about now?”

  The stars sprang into view. The sky came alive like a thousand sparkling diamonds. “Oh, Li—”

  I stopped myself from saying, Liam you should see this. In such a short time, he’d become an integral part of my life. We’d bonded, become one person, at least in the metaphysical sense. Instead, my eyes filled with tears and my heart murmured, Are you up there, Liam? Are you happy?

  As if in response, one lone star shot across the sky toward me, then disappeared. The stars blurred as my eyes filled.

  “Thank you, Patrick. That was truly wonderful.” My throat was thick and tears rolled down my cheeks.

  “Then why are you crying?” He stepped closer and thumbed a tear off my face, then another. “Don’t cry, pretty girl, please don’t cry.” He slid a warm comforting arm around me, leaned down, and kissed one wet cheek, then the other. His lips hovered near mine. I knew what was coming. I didn’t try to stop him. Liam was gone. Patrick was here. His lips met mine, tentative and warm. His grip tightened.

  My throat swelled shut. I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t right. I shoved against him, panting. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  His arms dropped to his side. “Too soon. I knew that. But for a moment it felt like…” His voice trailed off.

  “Yeah, I know. But I just can’t.”

  “It’s okay. No rush. We’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe we should call it a night.”

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “Will you be all right? I could always stay over. Sleep on the couch.” He lifted my chin, his gaze searching mine.

  “Thank you. I’m truly touched. I’ll be all right. Marcy’s in the house. It’s time I got some of this down on paper. It will help me heal.”

  “And hopefully give you closure.” He gave me a rueful grin.

  “Patrick, I…”

  He interrupted me. “I know this may not work out the way I want it to.” His gaze held mine. “You’re worth the risk.”

  Was I? I wondered. Since I’d met Liam and Patrick, my former dating values seemed rather shallow.

  “Well, I guess I’d better get going.” He picked up his equipment and tucked it under his arm. With his free hand, he clasped mine and we walked to his car.

  He shoved the telescope into the back seat and leaned against the door. “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.” With any other guy, I’d wonder if he meant it after the fiasco in the backyard, but Patrick wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. I hoped I wasn’t setting him up.

  He shoved away from the car, took my hand, kissed my palm, and closed my fingers around it. “Get some
sleep, sweet Cat.”

  His gentleness undid me. My eyes pricked again. “Thanks.” I waited till he drove off before I trudged back in the house. Once in the bedroom, I dropped across the bed, exhausted, waiting for sleep to overtake me.

  It never came. A thousand pictures of Liam swirled through my mind: Liam stretched out by the pool, accompanying me on my dates with Patrick, the look on his face as he rode in Marcy’s Vette, and finally the shooting star.

  Uttering a word my mom wouldn’t have approved of, I flung myself out of bed and headed for my tiny study. I turned on the light and stood there. Could I do this?

  I slid into the chair and pulled up a blank document. I looked at it for a long time, my mind racing. Finally, I began.

  Liam O’Reilly grew up in the little town of Ruby Falls. He came to manhood during the tumultuous times of the Civil War. But war wasn’t what killed him.

  Chapter 18

  Three months later

  The August sun beat down with merciless intensity, humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife. The family and Patrick stood grouped around Marcy’s Vette and my bug, Pinkie, both cars packed so tightly there was barely room for the drivers.

  “Honey, don’t you want us to help you move in?” It was Mom’s swan song. She’d been singing it monotonously ever since I told her I wanted to move in by myself with no parental help. She dabbed at a bead of perspiration on her forehead with a tissue.

  “You were there just last week and Parents’ Weekend is coming up in two weeks. I’ll see you then.” I also knew my lines by heart. Aunt Janet and Uncle Leon came over and gave me a brief hug and kiss before they moved to do the same with their daughter.

  Mom sighed, tearing up, and hugged me. “Call me the minute you get there.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, baby.” She gave me another fierce hug, then stepped back as Dad took her place. He slipped me a slim brown package.

  “You got it back already?” I’d spent six weeks writing Liam’s story. I’d locked myself in my study only coming out to eat and sleep. When it was finished, I’d given it to Dad to proof. He’d read it, put his seal of approval on it, and offered to get it printed.