Keep Me Ghosted (Sophie Rhodes Romantic Comedy #1)

by Karen Cantwell

  While invisible hammers pounded on my temples, I tried to process his meaning. Who? Who was going to be where soon? My hand fumbled around the side table for my cell phone. The alarm function was functioning perfectly. And way too loudly. I squinted my eyes to force a focus of my vision, but my fingers weren’t cooperating well enough to tap the proper shut-off button. Three random swats at the screen did the trick though. I squinted again to see the time. Eight forty-five a.m. That seemed awfully late. My mouth was so dry, it actually hurt to talk. “How long has this been ringing?” I asked Marmi.

  “Too long. You agreed to be ready by nine.”

  I fell back on my pillow. “Ready for what?”

  “Work. The good doctor is picking you up, and then driving you to your car, which you left at the bar last night.”

  Those last words brought the entire previous night back to me in hideous detail. From the delicious fries, to Shane and the three shots, and then my blush-inducing flirtation with Dr. Callahan. If memory served right, I talked about how good he smelled, how cute he was, and how sweet and kind he was. Over and over and over again. Even as he was closing the door and telling me he’d be back this morning at nine. I sat up straight, both terrified and mortified. I had fifteen minutes to get ready. I stumbled to the bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain and turned both the cold and hot water knobs to start the water flowing.

  While it warmed, I took two aspirin and gulped them down with cold water straight from the sink. My shower was a three-minute quickie. Just enough to get the job done. I think I even forgot to condition. My stomach was too sour for breakfast, but not sure if I’d be hungry for lunch, I fumbled around the kitchen in my robe fixing a sandwich, just in case.

  “Was it terrible, Marmi?” I asked him while haphazardly knifing egg salad onto a slice of wheat toast.

  “To what are you referring? Your drunkedness?”

  “No. I know that was bad. My throbbing head is reminding me very well, thank you. I mean, the flirting. With Dr. Callahan. Did I totally embarrass myself?”

  “You did not seem embarrassed last night.”

  “Should I be embarrassed today?”

  “You referred to him fifteen times as your ‘Cal Pal.’”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “I counted. And you sniffed him a lot.”

  “Yeah. It’s that cologne. He smells so good.”

  “Oh, he knows that now.”

  I slipped the sandwich into a plastic baggie then stumbled back to my bedroom, taking all of one minute to slip into a navy pair of capri pants, a floral sleeveless number that matched enough to get by, and a beige pair of flats that I usually only wore with jeans because they were so old and worn, but quite frankly, they’d just have to suffice for the day.

  I took a quick swipe through my hair with a comb and thanked my lucky stars that I’d cut it so short—the style didn’t require much care. A little blush and mascara and I had to call myself made-up, because just then, the doorbell rang. Of course. Of course he was on time. He was just that kind of guy. The kind of guy who set a date and kept it to the second. So sweet, and yet, at that very moment, I could have done with a little tardiness.

  At the door, I froze with my hand on the knob, my palms sweaty with dread. The thought of opening the door and having to face my actions from the night before was so intense that my heart raced. I could feign alcohol-induced amnesia. That would get us both off the hook. He had to be as embarrassed as I was. More even. He was a boss with this employee that couldn’t hold her liquor or her libido. Maybe he’d fire me. Geez. Just when I found a job with promise.

  “You must turn the knob to actually open the door, Sophie,” Marmaduke urged.

  The doorbell rang again, startling me into swinging the door open, and declared with way too much enthusiasm, “You’re here! Come in! I’m almost ready.”

  He stepped in with what I detected as a hint of reluctance. Meanwhile, I babbled like a lunatic and ran around the apartment grabbing up various items I needed for the day. Keys. I needed my car keys. They were probably in my purse, but I had better check. “So, hey, thanks so much for this. And for last night. That was really, really nice of you. And way, way above and beyond your duties as my boss.” Keys not in purse. Darn. Where were they? “You know, I just went there for the cheesy fries. Those shots of whiskey...well...sorry, I’m looking for my car keys. I might have left them in my bedroom. I’ll be right back.” I needed my cell phone anyway. Probably the keys were on my bed stand next to the phone. Kill two birds with one stone and all of that. “So I hope you didn’t have to travel too far...I mean, I don’t know where you live, but I hope it’s not too far from...” Keys not on the night stand. I grabbed up my phone then trudged back to the living room, placed my hands on my hips and frowned deeply. “My keys weren’t in there either. I guess this is one of those moments when I have to back track and...” Suddenly it occurred to me that finishing my thought would lead directly into territory I had hoped to avoid conversationally. “Keys. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, huh?” I said instead.

  “You’re very talkative in the morning, aren’t you?” Dr. Callahan finally broke his own silence. At least he was smiling.

  “Huh! Yeah, well, not usually.” Don’t ask me why, but at that very moment, I remembered the previous evening. Dr. Callahan was inching the door closed in a frantic attempt to escape my overbearing eagerness to fawn over him. I said a final goodbye as the door clicked shut, flipped the lock on the knob, stumbled to Peter Pan’s cage and took him out for a quick kiss and cuddle. I had dropped my keys on the floor in front of the cage to free my hands. “Of course!” I slapped my forehead. “Peter Pan’s cage...” I spun around to find my keys lying right where they’d fallen the night before.

  Meanwhile, Dr. Callahan must have been perusing my apartment. “Oh, you like almonds too,” he said.

  I heard the words, but didn’t really register their importance until, when picking my keys up from the floor, I noticed that the cage door was open. Not good. Why was Peter Pan’s cage door open and not closed?

  “You really should keep the lid on. Almonds can go stale like anything else.” From the periphery of my sight and awareness, I saw him moving toward the almond can on my kitchen counter.

  “Umm...” I was too slow. Disaster was most certain. Dr. Callahan had reached the can and picked it up to slip the lid on.

  His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Furry mouse!” he shouted. “Furry mouse!” The can flew high into the air, propelled by Dr. Callahan’s startled toss, and when it landed on the floor, Peter Pan scampered, screeching his little flying squirrel screech. He turned in circles first, then, gaining his bearing, tore for cover under the couch. Poor little guy. I had fallen asleep with him cuddling me, so he never made it back to his cage. He must have crawled into the almond can after a night of frolicking around the apartment like a teenager whose parents were away for the weekend. I cringed, wondering what kind of damage he’d done.

  “That mouse has a very furry tail!” Dr. Callahan shouted. “You should call an exterminator.”

  “That’s Peter Pan, and he’s not a mouse. He’s a flying squirrel.”

  “You have a flying squirrel?” His hand was still on his chest.

  “Long story.” I pushed him toward the door. “He’s a little scared now. You, um...wait out in the hall...” I opened the door and shoved him out. “I’ll handle this and be right out.” I winced. “Sorry. Just one minute.”

  Peter Pan was pretty terrorized, but he allowed me to scoop him up once I moved the couch and talked to him very sweetly.

  “Great,” I told Marmaduke, as I collected my purse, phone, lunch, and keys. “If he didn’t think I was a total zero before, I’m sure he does now. He’ll probably give me my notice when he drops me off at my car. Pink slip, here I come.”

  “I hardly think you have cause to worry. Did you hear the shrill pitch of his cry? He’s probably far more concerned
, and rightly so, that you are questioning his masculinity.”

  The drive to my car was a quick five minute jaunt, but felt like twenty grueling hours of strained conversation. Well, I guess conversation isn’t exactly the right word. More like twenty hours of strained babbling. From me. Dr. Callahan was oddly quiet and distracted. I imagined he was mentally rehearsing the best way to give me the boot. Would he do it when he dropped me off at my car or wait until I arrived at the office? That would be cruel if he waited. A rip-it-off-like-a-band-aid approach at my car would be the most humane. Possibly I should make it easier for him and offer to leave? And would it be too much to ask for my pay for the three days I’d worked? These worrisome thoughts bounced off the walls of my brain endlessly while I blathered on how I’d come to parent a flying squirrel and a one-eyed cat.

  Truthfully, I’ve found both stories to be an ice breaker, so I knew something was wrong when he barely nodded during my monologue. And I really knew something was wrong when my description of how Uno lost his eye didn’t produce the slightest cringe. Everyone cringes at that story—even a Navy Seal who’d seen some grisly action in Afghanistan winced. It’s most definitely cringe-worthy, and yet, all I got from Dr. Callahan was a “huh.”

  As we pulled next to my Honda in the now-empty parking lot of Barney’s, Dr. Callahan finally spoke. “See you at the office.” Short, but sweet. At least he didn’t say, See you...never again. You’re fired, sucka.

  I decided to be brave and ask a tough question. “Are you upset with me?”

  The question seemed to shake him out of some sort of trance. He turned in his seat and gave me a serious, thoughtful look. “Upset with you? Why would I be upset with you?”

  “For getting drunk last night. Making you come pick me up, and then again today.” I didn’t mention the flirting. That was too embarrassing to confront. “I mean, I’d understand if you were. Who wants their employee causing them problems? Right?”

  “No, no, no. You’re not causing me problems. You’re solving my problems.”

  “I am?”

  “You’re the best receptionist I’ve ever had. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be happy if you’d stay away from that Shane guy. I don’t care if he’s a cop or not, he’s obviously not good for you, but that’s just my personal...opinion. And it has nothing to do with your job.”

  “Okay. It was just...you were so quiet this morning. You know. And last night...”

  “I just have things on my mind. Nothing to do with you.” He intensified his tone, emphasizing his point. “At all.”

  “Okay.”

  “Which reminds me, I’ll be leaving early today. I have an appointment at one o’clock. You may have seen it blocked out in the appointment book.”

  “Yeah. I did, when I was confirming patients yesterday. Everything okay?”

  He shrugged. “Eh.”

  An awkward silence ensued, which he eventually ended by pointing to the clock on his dash. “We’d better get going.”

  I nodded, collected my purse, and opened the door. “Right. See you at the office in a few then.”

  The furrows in his forehead vanished and a hint of that crooked smile returned. “Yup.”

  I wish I could say that things got better at work, but it just wasn’t going to be that kind of Friday. Apparently, Moonflower had abandoned her job as Dr. Callahan’s shadow to spend some quality time destroying the office.

  I walked in to witness what appeared to be the aftermath of a tornado. My first thought was that the mystery boy and girl had broken in and robbed him. I felt immediately guilty that I hadn’t warned him sooner. But it didn’t take me long to determine who the true perpetrator was since she was still hard at work.

  Moonflower was behind the reception desk lifting items one at a time, flinging them through the air to land wherever their trajectory led. The floor was strewn with overturned chairs, papers, file folders, pens and pencils, a mug, the computer mouse, a phone receiver, and Post-it Notes.

  Dr. Callahan must have arrived just seconds before me because he stood, stupefied, still holding his briefcase.

  Moonflower had just raised a stapler into the air when Dr. Callahan dropped the briefcase and raised his hands motioning her to stop.

  “Moonflower,” he pleaded. “Please. I’m begging you.”

  The stapler dangled mid-air while she registered his plea. “Johnny,” she cooed. “I don’t want you to beg.”

  “Then why are you doing this to me? Can’t you see this is how I make my living?”

  The stapler dropped like a rock onto the desk, and the clank made me flinch. Moonflower’s eyes softened as she floated to him. “I’m sorry. Sometimes...things come over me. I don’t know what happens to me.”

  Leaning over to pick up a file at my feet, I said nonchalantly, “It’s okay, Jina, I’ll clean this up.”

  Moonflower didn’t respond in any way. Not even the little flicker like the time I tried using the name Jina on her the previous day. She never took her eyes off of Dr. Callahan.

  His ears, however, perked up. “Who’s Jina?”

  I shook the file folder around and acted as if I’d just made a silly mistake. “I meant to say Moonflower. She just...reminds me of a girl I used to know named Jina.” I emphasized the name Jina, but it still didn’t elicit any sort of recognition from the calamitous ghost. Boy, she was a piece of work.

  Marmaduke appeared next to me and whispered in my ear. “My, my, but she does have a violent streak, doesn’t she?”

  I rolled my eyes. She had a streak alright. A freaky streak. We had ten minutes before the first patient arrived, so I needed to get some tidying done post-haste. “Dr. Callahan, do you want to take her back with you so I can get this place presentable again?”

  “Good idea.” He threw me a look of apology and hastened Moonflower to follow him to his exam room.

  “She didn’t seem to recognize the name Jina when I threw it out there,” I said while getting on my hands and knees to collect the debris left in the wake of her tantrum. The paper clips alone were strewn from one wall to the other. I sighed. “Maybe we’re completely off base.”

  “An idea comes to mind.”

  I dumped paper clips in a pile on the front desk, and started setting the chairs upright. “What’s your idea?”

  “The realtor fellow. He knows what the young girl looked like.”

  I gave the waiting room a final once-over to make sure I hadn’t missed a stray pen or paper clip, then set to work tidying my work space. Thank goodness she didn’t mess with the computer. “He hasn’t admitted that he sees ghosts. How can we ask him to identify her?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting we be so bold or forward as to invite him for that purpose. That would be most awkward. However, were he to be here at the same time she was moping around...possibly one thing would lead to another...”

  “You’re pretty crafty for a dead guy.”

  “Yes, well, I aim to please, as you Americans say.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we could give it a try. Or maybe she’ll calm down soon and she’ll cease to be a problem.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Drats. I was attempting a contemporary sarcastic retort and failed. Let me give it another go. Say it again.”

  “Say what again?”

  “That wild fantasy about the violent ghost calming down. Repeat it for me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Um... or maybe she’ll calm down and won’t be a problem anymore.”

  Marmaduke snorted. “Not.” He maintained a deadpan expression for several seconds, then puffed up, very proud of himself. “There. Did I perform the modern-day jibe correctly?”

  “Yes, wise guy, you performed correctly.” I clipped the receiver back into the telephone unit and smiled. “I need to listen to messages. We’ll talk about your idea later.”

  He made an imaginary gun from his thumb and index finger, aiming it in my direction. “Gotcha.”

  Marmaduke
, when attempting to be more American, was funnier than a night at the local comedy club.

  Dr. Callahan’s morning was light as far as patients went, but that didn’t stop Moonflower from doing her best to terrorize the few people who had appointments. His ten o’clock was a kindergartener named Caroline. While her mother filled out forms in the waiting room, Moonflower knocked a framed print off the far wall, causing glass to shatter. The incident also visibly rattled both mother and daughter’s nerves, but luckily no one was hurt.

  While Dr. Callahan examined little Caroline, I picked up shards of glass, hoping that would be the extent of our troubled ghost’s hauntings—at least for the rest of their exam time.

  I thought we were scot-free until Caroline’s mother stood before me, trying to decide on a follow-up appointment time that would work for her schedule. She tapped her pen on the counter, staring at the small pocket calendar in front of her. “Fridays are always best I guess. But it would have to be in the morning, like today. Caroline has afternoon kindergarten. How about...”

  I cringed as her inquiry was interrupted by Moonflower’s cacophonous banshee wail with a bass tone so intense, it actually shook the walls.

  Mother and daughter screamed simultaneously, while the wail continued on like a broken smoke detector that won’t stop even when bashed to smithereens.

  “What is that awful noise?” shouted the mother, covering her ears.

  “Mommy, I’m scared!” yelled Caroline.

  “Our neighbors, I think,” I lied. “They must have a stereo.” Just then, I spotted Dr. Callahan in the hallway, looking determined to save the day, but not knowing how. “It must be those neighbors again, don’t you think, Dr. Callahan? With the loud stereo?” I turned back to the mother. “I’ll ask them to turn it down when we’re done here.”

  “Oh, we’re done here!” shouted the mother while Caroline’s pleas grew in urgency. She packed her checkbook and pocket calendar into her purse and turned to leave with her petrified child. I don’t think she was buying my stereo ruse.