Shadow of a Life

by Mute80

“Yeah, I think that’s the name she said.”

  “Huh. I wonder if you’re related to your friend. That would be really funny, wouldn’t it?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You know, because you have Goodwin relatives, too.”

  “What are you talking about, Mom?”

  “My mother was a Goodwin. I’m sure you knew that, honey.”

  “Why would I have ever known that? You never talk about your family. Why haven’t you told me about them before now?” I yelled.

  Mom’s mouth dropped open at my outburst. “Jamie, why are you getting so upset? I didn’t know you cared about your ancestors, I guess. Sorry.”

  “Do you remember any of their names?”

  “Sure. Grandpa and Grandma Goodwin.” She laughed before looking around at her audience to see who would be amused by her joke. Camille was the only one who took the bait.

  “Honestly, Jamie, I can’t remember anyone’s name right now. I just remember Grandpa Goodwin talking about his crazy relatives sometimes. I think there were a pretty wild bunch of people in his family line. If you really want to know their names you can look through their stuff. I think when Dad moved you over here from the other house he just put everything that had been in the attic there into the attic here. Grandma Goodwin saved everything and she passed it on to my mother. When my mom passed away, I inherited all the junk.”

  I looked toward the stairs. “What kind of stuff is up there?”

  “I can’t really remember. Most of it was in old boxes that probably haven’t been looked through in decades. I’m sure it’s mostly paperwork and maybe a few old pictures and trinkets. Maybe you should go through it—there might be valuables up there. Remember to share with me if you find anything worth a lot of money.” She laughed.

  Every part of my body begged for a race up to my room to climb the curving staircase leading to the attic. I was afraid if I acted too anxious Mom would question my motives even more—or worse, she might offer to help. I did not want her around if I found something important.

  “So how long are you staying, Mom?”

  “Do you want to get rid of me already?” she asked, pretending to be hurt.

  “Of course not. I just wondered how much time I get to spend with you,” I lied.

  “Well, I think my friend wanted to leave kind of early in the morning. That’s his car outside. I dropped him off at another friend’s and he let me borrow his car to come over here.”

  I looked outside and saw a blue SUV with New Jersey plates parked across the street. I’d noticed it when we first came home, but assumed it belonged to someone visiting a neighbor. I was glad Dad wasn’t there to witness Mom talking about other male friends.

  The doorbell rang again and that time it really was Travis. Mom offered to drive us all to rent a movie. After the week and a half we’d been having, we opted for a comedy rather than a horror movie, although normally that would have been more fun. I vetoed anything romantic, hoping to avoid watching any awkward love scenes while sitting at my house with the boy I was infatuated with and my semi-estranged mother. Mom offered to spring for the pizza, but I picked up the tab knowing she lived on borrowed money half the time.

  We were soon back at my place enjoying our pie dripping in cheese and the latest comedic release. Mom stayed in the room and watched the movie with us, but thankfully she behaved herself. I had fun, but my mind was on one thing only and it wasn’t the movie. I couldn’t wait to get into that attic, and I desperately hoped Mom didn’t change her plans and decide to stay longer. At the end of the night she offered to drive everybody home so that Camille and Peter wouldn’t have to ride their bikes in the dark and Travis wouldn’t have to walk. I was sure Peter and Cam would be over in the morning and they could just get their bikes then.

  Mom and I stayed up late talking that night—girl to girl and woman to woman. It was nice. It had never happened before. I ended up admitting to her that I liked Peter, and she sincerely told me she hoped it worked out for me because she liked Peter, too. I fell asleep happy that night.

  CHAPTER 17

  Even though I stayed up late, I felt great when I woke up and nearly jumped out of bed. I had a good feeling about the day. I used the bathroom first because there’s just no avoiding that in the morning, but before I showered I went downstairs to see if Mom was awake yet. Whenever she visits she makes a bed for herself on our pull-out sofa sleeper. We always offer the guest room, but she never takes us up on the offer.

  Mom wasn’t in the kitchen or dining room so I quietly tiptoed into the living room, not wanting to disturb her. Instead of finding a snoozing mass on the hide-a-bed, I found a neatly folded pile of blankets with a pillow on top. On the coffee table was a note.

  “Jamesie, I ended up needing to leave earlier than I expected and I didn’t want to wake you up to say goodbye. I had a fun time seeing you. Good luck with Peter this summer! Love you, Lillian.”

  She ended the note by drawing a heart and a bunch of X’s and O’s. That was one of the biggest differences between Mom and Dad. He would always wake me up to say goodbye no matter what time it was, but Mom would rather sneak out in the night to avoid “uncomfortable” goodbyes. Oh well. I didn’t really care. She’d pop in again eventually, and with her out of the house I could get up to the attic and see if my Goodwin relatives had any link to the Goodwins that raised Sophia. I remembered Sophia telling me that soul savers often had a family link to the ghost they were trying to help. I might have been grasping at straws, but it was worth investigating further.

  My stomach growled and I decided to make myself some breakfast before I headed back upstairs. I scrambled an egg and toasted a couple pieces of bread while it cooked. I flipped on the annoying morning news show in the living room again and ate my food on the couch while I watched it, careful not to drop any crumbs. What Dad didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. After my morning meal I headed upstairs for the shower I’d been putting off. I didn’t spend much time in there, but chose to hurry instead—I was a girl on a mission. I threw on a pair of jeans and a lightweight long-sleeve shirt. It wasn’t my typical summer attire, but there might be creepy crawlies in the attic and the more skin I covered, the less chance I had of one of them deciding to make a meal out of me.

  After I’d given sufficient attention to my appearance I checked my phone for messages. Apparently I’d missed a call from Dad while I showered. I called him back and he answered almost immediately.

  “How was your day yesterday? Are you staying out of trouble?” I could almost hear amusement in his voice.

  “Of course, Dad. I only broke three or four laws.”

  “Did you hang out with your friends?”

  “Yeah. Mom came by, too.”

  There was a pause. “She did?”

  “Yeah. I was out with Camille and Peter and when I got back she was here waiting.”

  “Is she there now? Maybe I should talk to her.”

  “Actually she left already. She spent the night, but she was gone by the time I woke up this morning.”

  “That sounds about right.” Disappointment tainted his voice. “Do you have any plans for today?”

  I wasn’t sure whether I should tell him the truth or not. I knew how he felt about me going into the attic by myself. He always worried that I’d go out on the widow’s walk and fall off or something. I wasn’t ten years old anymore, though. I decided to go with a half-truth.

  “Actually, Mom was talking about some of her ancestors while she was here. They sounded interesting and I thought it might be fun to do some research on them today.”

  “Really? That sounds like a worthwhile project. You’ll have to let me know what you find out.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, well I better go. I need to get over to the conference center for a breakfast meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow, honey.”

  “Sounds good. Love ya, Dad.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I pressed the button to en
d the call just as it beeped, telling me I had a new message.

  “When do I get to come over???” Camille texted.

  “As soon as you can,” I responded.

  “On my way.”

  I started to text Peter, too, but I stopped. What if he’s starting to get tired of hanging out with me? I didn’t want him to feel pressured. The whole boy/girl thing was kind of out of my realm of social skills.

  While I hesitated, he called me.

  “Hey.” His voice sounded gravelly that early in the morning.

  “Good morning.”

  “Camille just texted me and told me I have to walk to your house with her. Is that okay?”

  “Sure—if you want to come. I was just about to invite you, anyway.”

  “Good. We’ll be there soon I guess.”

  I was glad that I wouldn’t have to spend the day alone in the attic. I looked at my room, suddenly realizing that I needed to do a little cleaning up—and fast. The only entrance to the attic was through my bedroom and I would seriously die if Peter saw one of my bras on the floor. I made my bed carefully, smoothing all the wrinkles, and tossed the clothes from the floor into the hamper. I cleared everything that had carelessly been strung over the attic staircase’s railing and looked around quickly. It would have to do.

  I was just heading downstairs to look for a flashlight when I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door for Peter and Camille, and together we searched my garage for Dad’s heavy duty flashlights. Dad liked to stockpile emergency supplies and I was grateful for it. The attic had a light, but if my memory served me correctly, it was pretty dim. We stopped in the kitchen to grab a bag of potato chips and some sodas out of the fridge. I didn’t know how long we’d be up there and I didn’t want to starve my friends.

  “Your house is really cool, Jamie,” Peter said as we walked up the stairs. “I like how old it feels—in a comfortable way.”

  “That’s what Dad and I try for.”

  I led them through my room—which Camille had been in a million times before—and headed straight for the spiral staircase. Peter looked around a little, but he respectfully didn’t stare at any of my personal things.

  “In all the years you’ve lived here, I’ve never done more than sit on these stairs,” Camille said. “We aren’t going to find ghosts up there, too, are we?”

  “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind before, but now you’ve made me nervous. Thanks, Cam.”

  “I do what I can.”

  I inserted the key I’d taken from Dad’s desk drawer into the lock and opened the smaller-than-normal door. We were greeted by a musty smell and a puff of dust. I flipped the switch of the flashlight I carried and shined it around before I stepped up into the attic. Nothing but stacks of boxes and stuff Dad and I couldn’t quite part with . . . yet. I stepped forward and pulled the cord of the light bulb, illuminating the space in a yellow light. I was surprised. Between it and the light coming from the balcony window, there was enough light that we probably wouldn’t need the flashlights until we reached the back corners.

  “Hey. Is this how you get out on the balcony?” Peter asked, peering through the window at the world below.

  “Yeah.”

  “I bet you spend a lot of time out there. You have an amazing view of Marion from up here.”

  “Actually, I rarely go out there. Dad’s always afraid I’ll fall off.” I felt like a little kid admitting that to him.

  Peter laughed, but didn’t say anything.

  “Where do we start?” Camille asked as she brushed at the dust covering a tote near the entrance to the attic. I knew that it held Christmas decorations and wouldn’t contain anything pertaining to our search.

  “We should probably start in the back. The storage containers in the front are the ones that actually get used occasionally.”

  The three of us weaved our way through a maze of boxes and clutter to the back corner. Each of us claimed a carton and opened it up.

  “What exactly do you think we’re looking for?” Cam asked.

  “I’m not sure, but if you come across anything that looks important, set it aside and we can look at it in more detail later.”

  “Have you heard from Sophia?” Peter asked quietly.

  “Nope. I texted her again last night and told her about Rita’s warning, but I didn’t get a response. I’m hoping she’s either out of cell range or just having so much fun with Nick that she’s lost track of time.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” He didn’t sound convincing.

  The box I opened first held old household items, most of which were for kitchen use. There were wooden spoons, a tarnished tea kettle, and measuring cups. I removed the tea kettle and examined it closely. It was unusually ornate for a tea kettle and I sensed it would look nice after it was polished. The antique collector in me decided to keep it out when I closed up the box. I planned to take it downstairs and display it on the stove in the kitchen.

  Camille’s first box contained assorted linens—tablecloths, pillowcases, and dishtowels. Some of the items were hand embroidered and we checked them thoroughly to see if any initials had been sewn into the handwork. Nothing.

  When Peter opened his box we were greeted by the smell of old leather. It contained multiple pairs of old work boots in various degrees of disrepair. It only took a second to realize that most of the stuff up there could probably be thrown out or donated to the Salvation Army or some other secondhand store. Dad and I would never use any of it. When we moved, Dad had a hard time getting rid of Mom’s things so he saved them all. She obviously didn’t care about the stuff, so I didn’t think we needed to hang onto it.

  I’d just started digging into another box of kitchen items when Camille let out a blood-curdling scream.

  “What’s wrong? Did you find something?” Peter and I were by her side in a split second.

  “Look.” She pointed to the box she’d been rummaging through.

  “I don’t see anything,” Peter said.

  “Look closer . . . at the bottom.” She shivered as if something had just crawled up her spine and hopped from one foot to the other.

  He peered over the box and shined his flashlight at the contents. At the bottom of the box was a little clump of fur amongst a pile of chewed up paper and black droppings. From the look of it, the mouse had been dead for a very long time.

  “Why did I have to be the one to open that box?” Camille moaned.

  “There’s probably more where that came from. Jamie and I will most likely find our fair share,” Peter said.

  I kicked him in the shin. “Way to make her feel better, Mr. Ashby.”

  “Oops.”

  “I’m sure there aren’t mice everywhere, Cam. Do you want me to get you some gloves?” I offered.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back.” I walked back down the attic staircase and then down the main stairs into the kitchen. I had just pulled some rubber gloves out from under the sink when my phone beeped. It was Sophia.

  “Still here. We’re fine. Can’t talk now.” It was a short message, but exactly what I needed to hear to know that the project going on above me wasn’t in vain.

  I took the stairs two at a time on my way back to the attic to tell Peter and Camille the news. They seemed to have a renewed purpose as they continued digging through the endless stack of boxes. At one point, Peter uncovered a box full of clothes that looked like they were from the first decade of the twentieth century. He and Camille put on a fashion show and tried on the moth-eaten clothing. Some of it was pretty cool—I just wished it had been preserved better. Peter looked pretty good in the long-tailed suit coat and top hat he picked. Camille twirled around in a long blue dress that was close to the right size. The dress was trimmed in age-yellowed lace around the sleeves and neckline and she complained that it was horribly itchy. I laughed at their antics, but didn’t want to stop searching long enough to try anything on myself.

  We continued like tha
t for almost two hours. Eventually we uncovered a few papers containing Goodwin names and set them aside for closer inspection later. We were just talking about taking a lunch break when Camille let out another one of her famous screams.

  “That’s it! I’m done. I’m not staying up her another second.”

  “Now what happened?” I asked with less concern than the first time.

  She pointed to the top of the box she was about to open and stepped back. That time it was the shriveled up body of a dead spider. I’ll admit it looked as if it had been large when it was alive, but that was obviously a long time ago. Peter came over and flicked the spider off the box which made Camille scream for a third time.

  “I can’t believe I’m wearing flip-flops up here. I’m sorry, Jamie, but I don’t really want to do this anymore. Can you just call me if you find something important?” Camille asked.

  “Yeah. That’s fine. I understand.”

  The work would be slower with only two of us, but it might be better than listening to Camille scream and complain every few minutes. Peter and I waved as Camille pedaled off on the bike she’d left at my house the night before.

  “Want some lunch?” I asked.

  “Sure. What’re we having?”

  “I don’t know. We can raid my kitchen and see what sounds good.”

  After searching the fridge, freezer, and cupboards we opted for a myriad of foods not limited to leftover pizza from the night before, orange juice, chicken nuggets, and Oreos. I figured I could eat healthy again when Dad got home. When we’d completely consumed all the junk we set before ourselves, we wound our way back up to the attic. I felt much more comfortable being alone with Peter. Conversation came naturally and there weren’t any awkward moments, which is what I feared most.

  “So . . . how often do you get to see your mom?” he asked when we were once again surrounded by cardboard and dust.

  “Depends. Some years I might see her every month and other years I might only see her once or twice.”

  “That sucks. How long had it been this time?”