Keep Me Ghosted (Sophie Rhodes Romantic Comedy #1)

by Karen Cantwell

  “Dating?”

  “Aren’t you asking me out on a date?”

  “Good God, no. No!” He pulled back from the desk. “Is that what you thought?”

  My face began to burn. “Now I feel really stupid.”

  He waved his hands at me. “You shouldn’t feel stupid, I should feel stupid. Not that you aren’t someone I’d enjoy—I mean, you’re very...”

  “What did you mean?”

  He looked relieved that I stepped over his awkward moment. “Right. A meeting. I meant to say that there’s a meeting I thought you’d find helpful. Tonight. It’s a support group.”

  “Support group for what?”

  “People like us.” He motioned to Marmaduke and Moonflower. “You know, people with friends.” He sighed. “Like ours.”

  They had a support group for people with ghost companions? Now that was a meeting I wanted to attend.

  After showing me how to close out the financials for the day, giving me my own set of keys and instructing me on the alarm, we found ourselves outside making arrangements to meet at the Stephens City Community Center at seven o’clock. “There’s a really nice sandwich shop next door—they make a fantastic chicken salad sandwich. Would you like to meet there first for some dinner?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know...”

  “Right,” he nodded. “That would be too much like a date.”

  “Right.”

  “Understood.” He nodded some more. “We wouldn’t want to do that. I guess.”

  “No. No, we wouldn’t.”

  “See you at seven then.”

  “Seven. For the support group.”

  “Not a date.”

  “Not a date.”

  Once I was finally in my car and buckled in, Marmaduke had to weigh in. “That was the most unusual and awkward mating dance I have ever witnessed in my life or my afterlife.”

  “Mating dance? What do you mean?”

  “Do not play coy with me. You understand my meaning just fine. Not since the spontaneous eruption of infatuation between Romeo and Juliet have two people become so instantly enchanted with each other.”

  “Infatuation is a strong word, Marmi. You’re being very melodramatic. Yes, maybe I find him a little cute—”

  “Puppies and kittens are cute. Baby elephants are cute. You don’t find him cute, you are smitten like Cleopatra was smitten with Mark Antony, like Penelope was smitten with Odysseus, like—”

  “Would you stop? Besides, even if I find him attractive, the feeling obviously is not mutual.”

  “You can continue on this path of self-deception, but the very fact of the matter is that Miss Moroseflower is jealous for very good reason. There. I have said my piece. Now, what is this meeting and what is a community center?”

  My wallet contained exactly nineteen dollars and thirty-two cents. That didn’t count the Canadian nickel and two twenty-nine cent stamps. I had about ten dollars in the bank and maybe (if I was lucky) ten dollars available on my credit card. With this, I needed to eat and pay for gas. Taco Bell was always good for a cheap, unhealthy meal, so I made a pit stop at the drive-thru and ordered a burrito and a small Dr. Pepper. While I waited, I suffered in the heat and rehearsed asking Dr. Callahan when I would receive my first paycheck.

  The Stephens City Community Center wasn’t that far from my apartment, so I swung home first to make a quick change into more comfortable clothes and to feed and give some love to the other companions in my life.

  Technically, Bayberry Arms Apartments only allowed one pet per apartment with a two-hundred dollar deposit, and then, tenants were limited to one dog under twenty pounds or one cat. I had pets, but I had never paid a deposit. That’s because I also had a friend in the on-site manager, Mr. Franklin, who lived across the hall. As long as my pets kept quiet, so did he.

  My cat, Uno, was a rescue from the Stephens City Animal Shelter. He only had one eye, but what he lacked in peripheral vision, he made up for in heart. I often found him waiting for me at the door when I’d arrive home. And anytime I sat on the couch, he’d hop up and curl in my lap more like a small dog than an independent and finicky feline. I think he knew that I plucked him from the edge of certain demise, since the one reason I chose him over the others was the fact that he was scheduled for extermination the next day.

  The other animal in my life lived in a cage and spent a lot of time running out his energy on an exercise wheel. Mr. Franklin thought he was a genetically mutated hamster the first time he saw the creature with the bulging eyes and furry tail. I could understand his confusion. When I first found Peter Pan, I didn’t know what he was either. It took some intensive internet searching to determine he was a baby flying squirrel. The best I could figure, he had fallen from his nest in my grandfather’s yard. I had visited my Grampy and found him on the ground under a tall oak tree. Thinking he was a dead mouse, I scooped him up onto a piece of cardboard intending to dispose of him. But when the little guy stirred, I knew he wasn’t dead, and I knew he wasn’t a mouse. I placed him in an old bird cage from my Grampy’s attic and nursed the odd creature back to health, fully intending to release him to freedom once he was ready. Long story short: he never was ready for the wild. I tried several times, but the orphaned rodent just wouldn’t go. He must have decided that I was his mother. So with me he remained, nibbling happily on his treasured almonds and acorns, and keeping fit at night on his wheel. My animals were my family and they were also the reason I remained poor most of the time.

  Since Peter Pan was nocturnal, he was only just beginning to stir when I threw my keys onto the kitchen counter. Peter Pan spent his time in an extra-tall cage complete with hammock, branches to climb, and two exercise wheels. Being a natural chewer, he can’t be left out on his own, but he’s extremely affectionate, so loves to be carried around in a sweater or sweatshirt pocket when I’m home.

  I inhaled the burrito and soda at the counter. Unfortunately, I was hungry enough for two burritos, so I was left feeling unsatiated. Hopefully they’d have munchies at the meeting.

  In my cardboard-box size of a bedroom, I pulled out a comfy, but stylish pair of denim shorts while Uno roused himself from his cat stand in the corner and padded over, purring for a chin-rub.

  Choosing a shirt was trickier. “What do you think, Uno?” I asked while giving him a scratch. “T-shirt or something a little fancier?”

  “You’re asking fashion advice from a feline?”

  I rolled my eyes. Marmi had a habit of disappearing and reappearing without notice. Right now he was posing across my bed, one elbow crooked, head resting on fist.

  I stood and pulled a good old standby from the hanger in my closet. “Fancy t-shirt.” Made of equal parts cotton and polyester, the blues and greens in the watercolor-style print brought out the blue in my eyes.

  Marmaduke frowned. “You shouldn’t wear that one. Go with a simpler piece. Less provocative.”

  Provocative my tushi. It was a t-shirt for crying out loud. A t-shirt that happened to be one of his favorites. He wasn’t pulling the wool over my eyes. I didn’t want to call him on his motivations, however. “So I shouldn’t take fashion advice from a cat, but I should from a British banker who’s been dead for almost a century?”

  “You cut me to the quick. My feelings are truly hurt.”

  Needing to change quickly to avoid being late, I pointed to the door. “Out. I need to change.”

  “What prevents me from watching you undress while I am invisible?”

  “What prevents you is our mutual agreement and your gentlemanly manners, Mr. Dodsworth. It’s what I like most about you. Don’t go turning creepy on me now.”

  “As you wish.”

  After changing, I brushed my hair, touched up my makeup, brushed my teeth, flossed my teeth, gargled, and double-checked my breath. Minty fresh. No, I wasn’t going to be kissing anyone, but I’d be talking, and I wouldn’t want to accidentally kill someone with burrito breath. Then I threw some kibble into Uno’s
bowl, freshened his water, scooped a few pecans and almonds into Peter Pan’s cage, grabbed my keys up from the kitchen counter and, with Marmaduke on my heels, headed out to the ‘support group.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TEN MINUTES LATER I LIMPED, dripping wet, through the automatic glass doors of the swanky new community center. The heat and humidity had somehow increased tenfold during my short drive; consequently, the walk from the parking lot to the entrance felt like a three-hour workout in a steam bath. When I left my apartment I looked cute and perky. Now I felt like a grumpy river rat and was pretty sure I looked worse.

  Spotting a sign for the women’s restroom, I popped in, dried my sweaty forehead with a paper towel, finger brushed my hair, and reapplied a touch of lip gloss. Re-primping complete, I stepped back to the lobby running smack into a guy who was taller than me, but obviously younger. Late teens, early twenties maybe. Concerned more about the meeting and the fact that I was probably late, I gave him a quick apology—“I’m sorry!”—and scooted around him toward the electronic message board on the wall opposite us.

  “Sophie,” Marmaduke said. “I believe you should know that bloke—”

  Not having the time or patience for a Marmi monologue, I cut him short. “Hang on to that thought, Marmi. Let me figure out which room this meeting is in.”

  “But that fellow just now—”

  “Not now!” I whispered harshly.

  The message board flashed a list of meetings with times and room locations. The Stephens City Photo Bugs were meeting in room 101 at 6:30; Jazzed for Jazz were meeting at 6:45 in room 104; The Sunny Scrapbookers were getting together in rooms 106 and 108 at 7:00. The only other group listed, also at 7:00, was Spirited Discussion, but no room was listed. Assuming Spirited Discussion was where I wanted to be, I approached a spectacled, gray-haired lady at the information desk, who told me I could find the group in room 210, which was just to the right after I got off the elevator on the second floor. I thanked her and was about to head toward the elevator when she stopped me with a question. “What exactly do you people discuss?”

  Not sure exactly how much to divulge, I hesitated. When in doubt, I find it’s always easiest to answer a question with a question. “Why do you ask?”

  She lowered her voice. “They’re just a little interesting is all. I’ve seen members talking to themselves when they arrive and when they put their chairs in a circle, no one sits next to each other.” Her forehead unwrinkled and her voice took on a note of sympathy. “Is it a mental health support group or something?”

  I forced back a grin. “Something like that, yes.”

  When I poked my head into room 210, Marmaduke pouting behind me, I understood her question. The chairs were in a circle alright, and seated in them were human, ghost, human, ghost, human, ghost, human, ghost. To the confused lady at the info desk, it looked like people were talking to empty chairs. Evidently, the meeting had already started, as a red-headed, extremely freckled man was arguing with a red-headed, extremely freckled ghost that looked like it could be his father. I’m guessing... it was. They halted their dispute when they saw me. The entire room of people and ghosts turned their heads in my direction. The group went silent. Finally, a woman in a floral sundress and pink flip-flops stood. “I’m sorry, but this is a closed group—”

  “No, no!” Dr. Callahan waved his hand in the air, hailing me. He also addressed the flip-flop lady. “I invited her.” He practically leapt from his chair to retrieve two more from a stack near the wall.

  Embarrassed by the attention, I shrugged my shoulders and tip-toed to the circle while flashing an apologetic smile to the lady in the sundress. Moonflower, who sat on his left, shot angry-dagger glances in my direction, so I was very thankful when Dr. Callahan placed the chairs on his right, asking the sweet little lady there to kindly move just enough to allow room for me and my sheer friend.

  All eyes, human and spirit, were focused on Marmi and me until the chairs were in place and we were finally seated. I cleared my throat, very uncomfortable with the attention. “Please,” I said, “continue with your discussion. I’m so sorry to have interrupted.”

  “Yes,” agreed Marmi. “Do go on with the chin wagging. Nothing like a good family tussle to entertain the dull and put a spark in the weary.”

  “Marmi,” I chastised. “Don’t be rude. We’re guests here.”

  “Rudeness was certainly not my intention. I am nothing but sincere when I say I find generational drama most captivating.” He turned to address the group moderator. “I so apologize if my comment was taken as cheeky.”

  She did not respond.

  “She probably doesn’t understand the word ‘cheeky,’” I said.

  “More apologies,” he said to her. “Rude. Disrespectful. Ill-mannered.”

  Still, sundress lady did not respond, but did scribble on the notebook in her lap.

  Marmaduke’s feathers were getting ruffled again as she continued to ignore him. “Does she understand any of those words? Is the woman completely illiterate?”

  I shrugged.

  The freckle-faced ghost piped up. “What’s chin wagging anyway?”

  “Talking,” answered Marmi. “Chatting or gabbing as you Americans—”

  Sundress lady had finally returned her attention to the group and plowed right over Marmaduke’s newest attempt at capturing an audience.

  “So, welcome to our group, and a special thanks to Dr. Callahan for inviting you. My name is Sandy. I’m the group counselor. Please, go ahead and introduce yourself. Tell us your name, your friend’s name, and what brought you here today.”

  “Yes then, well, my name is Marmaduke Dodsworth, I once hailed from the town of Dartford in Kent, England. I made passage to America in the year of—”

  The lady’s eyes were hooked on mine, however. I knew she wasn’t listening to a thing Marmaduke was saying, but was instead, waiting for me to answer.

  “Marmi,” I whispered, “I think she was talking to me.”

  He deflated. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

  “She does that to all of us,” chimed in a young lady ghost dressed in a long floral dress and bonnet as if she’d once been a pioneer on the prairie. “It’s like we don’t even matter.”

  Other ghosts nodded and murmured, obviously agreeing. Not wanting to stir up trouble, I quickly answered her question. “Sophie,” I said. “I’m Sophie Rhodes, this is Marmaduke. We met in a bar.”

  Sandy scribbled some more. “A bar,” she repeated. “How exactly did you ‘meet’?” She emphasized the word with her fingers mimicking quotation marks.

  “What’s that she’s doing with her hands? Is she speaking in sign language? Does she think I’m deaf?”

  “Those are finger quotes, Marmi. Let me do the talking, okay?” I took a breath, not really sure I cared very much for the way this lady ran her support group. Her questions were a tad condescending. “Last year I was sipping on a beer at my favorite hangout and he sat down next to me. We’ve been friends ever since.”

  “Do you have any sort of romantic attachment to ‘Marmi’?” More finger quotes.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, no, no.”

  “You don’t have to be so adamant as if I carry the plague. I may put on a good show, a tough exterior, a facade of fortitude, but my feelings can be harmed just as easily as yours. And I don’t like this woman with her obsession for... what did you call them?”

  “Finger quotes,” I answered, growing more and more frustrated by the minute. “I’m sorry, Marmi, I just wanted her to understand...”

  “You wanted him to understand, you mean.” He cocked his head toward Dr. Callahan whose face reddened instantly.

  Moonflower’s brows furrowed deeply and her lips pursed. She crossed her arms and a red aura appeared all around her, pulsing. With one particularly strong pulse, the overhead lights flickered.

  “Someone is jealous,” whispered Pioneer Lady to her human companion.

  The sweet little la
dy and her male ghost were growing more and more distressed. The sweet lady finally spoke, but not so sweetly. “Why are we spending so much time on these new people? You told me at the meeting last week that we’d talk about my problem. I want to talk about my problem!”

  “You’re a problem, alright,” mumbled her friend.

  “Shut up, Stan. You had your chance to talk when you were alive.”

  “Says who? Says you? Edna, you don’t let anyone—”

  “Don’t let anyone what, Stan?”

  “Finish a sent—”

  “See what I have to put up with?” Edna shouted. “Constant interruptions. I can’t hear myself think.”

  “Think? You actually think? With all of your yammering—”

  “Of course I think. I would have had a college degree if I hadn’t married you.” She shook her head. “You marry a man and think he’s going to take care of you, but no! You’re suddenly the new mother in their life. Doing their laundry, fixing their meals, doing their dishes, cleaning their house. And they don’t even leave you alone when they die!” She turned to me. “You think that doctor is so handsome now? Think he might be husband material?” She wagged a finger of warning at me. “Run now and don’t look back, Missy! You don’t know how lucky you are.”

  The room went uncomfortably silent for a minute while my cheeks flushed from mortification. If Marmaduke wasn’t already dead, I’d be ready to kill him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dr. Callahan fight back a grin.

  “Yes, well, thank you for that bit of advice, Edna.” Sandy flashed her a brief and noticeably insincere smile. “I appreciate your input. And your problem is duly noted. We’ll continue to address your issues with ‘Bob’ as these sessions continue. So far I think you’ve made terrific—”

  “Stan,” Edna interjected before the woman was done speaking.

  Sandy had armed herself with a stack of papers and stood, apparently to start handing them around the circle. “I’m sorry?”

  “Stan. My husband’s name is Stan. You called him Bob.”

  “She did that last week too,” Stan muttered. “Stan. Bob. How do you get those two names—”