Wake the Hollow

by Gaby Triana

  Bram lies napping on the sofa. He’s wearing his uniform pants but no shirt. His body is lean, arms and chest muscular, and as my mother used to say, Ay, Dios mío. Softly, I close the door to not wake him.

  I’m so enraptured with the sight of him that I almost don’t notice another prop, tucked between his feet and the side of the sofa. A white cat, super real looking. It blinks at me. No way! “Coco?” I whisper, so excited to see her, I almost break into cartwheels.

  Coco yawns and stretches her paw, laying it possessively on top of Bram’s foot, like she’s saying, I see you checking him out, but he’s mine.

  “I can stare at him if I want.” I pet her soft fluffiness.

  She surveys the floor before hopping off the couch and sashaying over to me.

  “I didn’t hear that. At all,” Bram says, stirring, cracking open an eye.

  “You better not have. I can’t believe you got Coco. Thank you so much!”

  “You’re welcome. The moment she starts scratching shit, she’s out of here.”

  “I’ll make sure to get her a scratching post.” I pick up the big ball of white fur and hug her close.

  “I’ll make you a key to the place, so you can feed her.”

  “When did you get her?”

  “Late last night after work. Your mom’s house was so dark, dude. I had to go around with a flashlight searching for her.”

  Late last night. That was after I was there, so he couldn’t have broken the basement window. “You wouldn’t know why the basement window was broken, do you?”

  He shakes his head. “But I did hear a noise inside, almost crapped my pants.”

  So eloquent, Bram is. “What kind of noise?”

  “I don’t know. Raccoons maybe. They didn’t even bother letting the realtor know.” He laughs at his own joke. “Smelled like piss around there.”

  I recall the strong smell of urine in the basement. Were raccoons capable of smashing windows? “Great, my mom’s house will be a haven for woodland creatures if it doesn’t sell soon. Well, we just missed each other then. I was there after school looking for Coco.”

  “You mean I didn’t have to go through the trouble and scare myself shitless? Thanks.”

  “Thank you, Bram, for getting my sweet Coco kitty.” I bend to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, but he holds onto my arm, keeping me near. His breath falters lightly against my skin. I swallow gently.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispers. His soulful dark eyes study my mouth, his hand sliding down until it’s in mine.

  For a moment, I love the way it feels. But then slowly, I slide my fingers out of his. Don’t complicate matters, my eyes do their best to say. Though, honestly, how horrible would it be to just surrender and indulge in happy feelings? Something to counter all the anxiety.

  “I’m, uh…going to get some water,” I say, narrowly escaping the intimate moment. I head to the kitchen, trying not to show him how badly I’m swooning.

  “So you like my armada of decorations?” Bram says from the couch. “It’s all stuff to take to the meeting Friday night.”

  “I saw. Amazing.” I grab a glass of water and fill it, standing at the refrigerator door, reviewing in my mind what just happened. “What do you do when Halloween is over? Your purpose in life ends?”

  “Start on next year, of course.” I hear him yawn and shift around on the couch.

  “So you’re like Jack Skellington when he discovers Christmas, all excited.”

  “Only if you’ll be my Sally.” He gives me a wide smile. “They’re gonna post parts on Friday, for the show. I can’t wait!”

  “Ah, yes, the Headless Horseman might be yours.” I chug back half the water. If he comes close to kissing me again, will I let him?

  “And if I get it, all the girls will be after me. Even you. You won’t be able to resist me. You won’t even remember who Mr. Boracich is.”

  “Wait, what?” I set down the glass and gawk at him. “You really think I’m interested in Mr. Boracich?” I smirk at him. “And a guy without a head, sexy?”

  “He doesn’t need one. That’s how good he is.” Bram laughs, getting up to sit at the counter. Still shirtless. Still the proud owner of an amazing body that I am so not staring at. “What did you think about his theory?” he asks.

  “Who? My teacher crush? I think it’s insanely interesting,” I say, if only to drive him crazy. By now, I’m sure he hates Dane for the way he looks at me.

  Bram laughs in a forced way. “He’s full of shit.”

  “Really? You liked the idea of Shelley and Irving having a kid together. You were all ‘ohh, the horseman versus Frankenstein,’ and all that.”

  He shrugs. “Because it sounds interesting, but I don’t believe it for a second. Boracich’s just another tourist in search of treasure that doesn’t really exist. Next he’ll be saying he found the Headless Horseman’s bones at the Dutch Burying Ground. Pfft, whatever.”

  “Bram.” I wash the cup in the sink and set it in the drying rack. “After the dreams I’ve been having, the voices I’ve been hearing, I honestly don’t know what’s real anymore. But please stop acting weird about Mr. Boracich. Just because he’s sexy, smart, and intelligent, that’s no reason to be jealous.” I bite my lip. I love messing with him.

  “Ha-ha, very funny.” His lips press into a thin line. “People aren’t what they seem. He might not be the gentlemanly scholar you think he is. In fact, he seems like the type of guy who wouldn’t think twice about stealing someone else’s property.” He scoffs and grabs a banana.

  Where’s this coming from? “Who you calling property?”

  He stops mid-peel and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Who said I was talking about you? You give yourself away, Princess.”

  “If you think Mr. Boracich is here to steal something, you’re as paranoid as the rest of Historic Hudson.”

  “I’m just saying…stranger comes from out of town, starts talking about a weird theory in class, riles everybody up, and now he thinks he’s hot shit. That dude doesn’t know anything.” And I would say that Bram is acting just like Brom Bones did after Ichabod Crane arrived in town. He eyes me sideways. “Would you go out with him?”

  I poke my head around the column leading to the dining area. “What kind of question is that?”

  “The perfectly normal kind. What? I’m just asking. He’s not that old.”

  “He’s our teacher, Bram.”

  “After graduation then?”

  I shrug. “I won’t even be here.”

  “Irrelevant. Would you?” His eyes darken with a tiny hint of menace, and his jaw tenses as he awaits my answer.

  He asked for it. I shrug and play the coquette. “Sure, why not? I mean, he’s a nice guy who also happens to have a functioning brain, and he reads the same authors I do. Plus, he’s got great eyes.”

  He waits a moment, probably gauging how serious I am. “Hmm, gotcha.” He picks up his phone and starts tapping on it.

  Seriously? I laugh, shaking my head. “Bram, why don’t you tell me what you really want to say, instead of dogging on poor Mr. Boracich?” Bram pretends to become really absorbed by his phone. “Hello, that was a question?”

  “Huh?” He looks at me as if he completely forgot what we were talking about. “Oh, I was just kidding, Mica. You can have your rubber band, lightning rod, air traffic control tower, whatever. It’s cool.” A flicker of laughter shakes through his chest.

  I remember these games. He’s trying to get me to show that I care.

  “He’s not that tall,” I mutter, refusing to fall for his ploy. Coco pads into the kitchen and rubs her body against my legs. I crouch down to pet her and plant a kiss on her nose before I leave. “Love you, girly.”

  From behind his phone screen, Bram looks up at me. What is he thinking? Ever since he told me that being friends might be a problem, when I told him I wouldn’t be here long enough for us to hook up, he’s seemed to hold back on his feelings. If only he’d tell me, I might know. A
nd then, I can decide, too.

  “Thanks for picking up Coco.” I collect my purse from the coffee table and walk over to him. His face is full of something I can’t decipher. He’s all talk and showy in front of his friends, but with me, he becomes a little kid again.

  “Not a problem, Princess.” He smiles and reaches out to boop my nose.

  “See you at the coffee shop later,” I tell him.

  “If I’m lucky.”

  I head out and close the door, exhaling on the other side. As much as he’s trying to show that nothing bothers him, I think I know the problem. He’s still wondering if we’ll ever have a chance. He told me he loved me before I left six years ago. Does first love ever die? He probably still feels the same.

  Maybe, like an eager jockey, Bram’s just waiting for his horse to fly out of the gate, waiting for the signal—my signal to tell him that I want him. And all I have to do is open the gate and watch him become a knight-errant of yore. Which I might want to, actually, especially after how sweet he’s been to me.

  Except I’m supposed to leave soon. And when I do, I’ll be hurting him again.

  Unless…I choose not to leave.

  ...

  At Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe, finishing Math homework, I hear Sir Fudge in the back, yelling at Jonathan. “For fudge’s sake, keep the scones wrapped or they’ll dry out!”

  I giggle to myself. Good. Someone needs to yell at him.

  I’m polishing off my coffee when I feel the air displaced next to me. “You know, at first I was threatened by you,” a girl’s voice says. I look up and see Lacy, Bram’s ex, hands in the pockets of her puffy parka. She’s even prettier up close with her small nose, sharp cheekbones and chin, and honey brown eyes. Way behind her, I spot Bram looking on.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, glancing up at her.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but now I’m just relieved he has someone else to obsess over.” Lacy laughs a short, weary laugh. “Just watch out for those outbursts of his. Let me know if you need my help setting him straight.”

  “Lacy, I’m not with Bram.”

  She scoffs gently. “But you will be.” She flips the furry hood of her jacket over her head and walks off.

  I watch her leave the shop, chimes tinkling at the door, wondering what the hell that was all about. In the back, Bram just rolls his eyes and goes back to stocking the sugar counter. Finishing up my homework, who should stroll in but Dane again. Right away, his gaze finds me.

  Did he come looking for me? I like to think that he did. Satisfying. Very satisfying. As I put away my homework and pull out Wuthering Heights to decompress, Dane picks up his coffee order and comes over to my table. “Is this seat taken?” He smiles.

  “No, go ahead, Mr. Boracich,” I say, just to see him smile. I know Bram is probably having a hissy fit in the back, but it’s not like Dane isn’t allowed to talk to me.

  “Mica, I’m not that much older than you, I don’t think.”

  “How old would that be anyway?” I ask.

  “Twenty-two. You?”

  “Eighteen.” Well, now that we have that out of the way, we can both sigh and feel better about this coffee talk. “Interesting theory in class yesterday.”

  “Ah, you liked that? I thought it was fascinating when I read it.”

  “Where’d you read it?” I ask.

  “Local articles. It has a lot of people talking. Surely you’ve seen the posters around town about the theft at the Hudson Library. Thought you’d know that.”

  I stare at his clear eyes, the way they seem to know so much about me when we only recently met, the way he tests me to see how much I know. “I’ve been sort of in my own world this week. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I know what it’s like being new in town and having everyone question your reasons for being here. Speaking of my reasons, you said you grew up at Sunnyside, right?”

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “Do you still have connections there? I would love to go visit. I mean, I’m dying to see where Washington Irving worked and slept. You wouldn’t mind being my tour guide, would you?”

  I’m taken aback by the request. I haven’t been to Sunnyside in six years, but I could probably still recite my mother’s historical facts and ramblings. The bad part, though, is that the old house brings back memories. “I don’t know, Dane. Sunnyside is the reason my mother stayed in Sleepy Hollow. Going there will stir up old memories.”

  “Ah. I get it. I’m sorry about that. I’ll go on my own then. I heard there’s lots of activities this time of year.”

  “There are. Literary festivals and stuff. You should look into it.”

  He smiles, wide and winsome. “Well, I won’t keep you. I see you’re busy.”

  I’m so not busy, I want to tell him. Stay and talk to me some more. He has a soft, reassuring way about him, and I just know we could probably sit in silence and not have to speak. But I’m sure he doesn’t want to give people fodder to talk about any more than I do. He tips an invisible hat on his head. “Have a good evening, Micaela. See you in class on Friday.”

  “Good night.” Dane. I smile and watch him go.

  No sooner than a minute after he leaves, Jonathan is by my side, restocking the coffee stirrers. “Jeez, Mica, I didn’t know you had a bodyguard. I better be on my best behavior.” He chuckles his lecherous old man laugh, and I toss three crumpled napkins on the floor just to make him pick them up.

  Chapter Eleven

  “He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition…”

  Things are crankin’ along. Now I have a key belonging to a bank and a ride there, and it’s only Friday. At this rate, I’ll have my answers before the police ever call back.

  As I wait for Bram downstairs by his car under cloudy skies and dense humidity, I think about what I’ll find at the bank. During sixth period Economics today, I fell asleep and dreamed about shadowy people cutting up my mother’s floor and the persistent thought that whatever is in the safe deposit box today is what they were looking for.

  Bram locks up the house and comes down, opening my car door before rounding the back and slipping into the driver’s seat. “All right, ready? Let’s go.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for taking me,” I say.

  “You’re welcome. I had to postpone my pizza and beer hangout this afternoon with Jonathan to take you to this place,” he laughs.

  I shake my jazz hands. “Ooo, first Coconut, now this. I owe you my life, Bram.”

  He smirks at me. “Sassy girl. You got your mother’s key?”

  “Got it.”

  “Then let’s do this.”

  When we arrive at South River Bank south of Tarrytown, I write my name on the waiting list and sink into a plushy seat. What could it be? Research? Jewelry? A flaming bag of poop?

  I imagine finally opening the safe deposit box, and inside—a note: Here you go, selfish daughter of mine, this is what I leave you—nothing.

  “You okay?” Bram takes my hand.

  I stare at its smoothness, his skin tone slightly darker than mine. It should feel awkward that he’s holding it, but it doesn’t. I need the comfort right now. “Just nervous.” With everything going on, I worry about what could be inside her safe deposit box. And if anyone else is dying to know, too—townspeople, Historic Hudson people, police people…

  I close my eyes. At least I’m not alone.

  After a while, a nicely dressed man comes to the waiting area. “Miss Burgos?”

  “Yes.” I give Bram a parting look and follow the man over soft carpeting into a little office overlooking the parking lot. There are potted plants, framed certificates, and pictures of family on a file cabinet behind his desk. Theo Hertz is engraved on a nameplate in front of me.

  “What can I help you with today, Miss Burgos?” He smiles, sitting down.

  I take the tiny key from my backpack. “I need to know if this opens a safe dep
osit box here, or something.” I sound so childish even to my own ears. Now I realize how many things my dad has always taken care of for me.

  “Do you have an account here?” he asks.

  I flip the key over in my hand. “It would be my mother’s. She passed away this summer. It might be in her name or mine.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. What about her other possessions? Did she leave you in charge of them as well? Was there a will?”

  His questions feel like sandpaper against my ears. Why didn’t Mami take care of these things? Why was she so hell-bent on making my life as difficult as possible? “I don’t know anything. I’m hoping this key will give me some answers.”

  Mr. Hertz has a friendly smile. He holds out a hand. “May I see?” I hand him the key to examine. “This does look like one of ours, one of the older ones. The new ones are card keys. But unless you have probate documents allowing you to use it, I won’t be able to help you.”

  Probate documents. Wonderful. “What if I don’t have any? Does her stuff just sit here forever?”

  “Not forever, but for a while. It goes to the state’s unclaimed property office.”

  “But I don’t have any documents.” Bitter resentment swells in my chest. Why would my mother go and put a single unidentified key in an empty envelope like that without any other instructions, or even send a short message in the mail? Unless she was in a hurry.

  My eyes burn with fresh tears. Mr. Hertz plucks a tissue and hands it to me with a sympathetic nod. “Here you go.”

  I press it to my eyes. “Can you at least confirm that the box belonged to her? If it was in her name? I just, I don’t have anything else.”

  “I understand. Believe me, this sort of thing happens a lot.” He types on his computer. “Her name?”

  “Maria Burgos.” I look out the window. In a way, I hope the key doesn’t belong to this bank, that it doesn’t belong to anything. A childish part of me wants to be absolved of any responsibilities my mother might have left me. “150 Maple Street, Sleepy Hollow,” I add.