Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story

by Glover, Sarah M.

  “Hmm. Not quite what he had in mind,” Christian remarked into his beer.

  “We leave at seven a.m. on Friday and arrive in Mendocino around noon. We’ll be stopping at the Dia Vineyards for a wine tasting and lunch.”

  Nick, let’s stop for lunch, I’m parched. And my hair, look at me, where’s my hat?

  Out of nowhere, the voice rang in Andrew’s ears again as it had at the club, too real, too close. Nora’s voice. He shook his head roughly, trying to make it go away.

  “She doesn’t miss a beat, does she?” Christian whispered to Emily, who smiled into her itinerary.

  “Then we have a free evening in Mendocino to shop, dine or—well, whatever.” Zoey waved the word away with her hand.

  Thank God, you packed the gin. Does the house have an icebox? No matter, we’ll survive.

  Andrew took a deep sip of his wine.

  “There, that’s what I was looking for, this ‘whatever,’ not that ‘free time,’” Simon said, smiling and gaining a toast from Christian.

  Zoey ignored them and continued. “We gather at nine o’clock for breakfast bright and early on Saturday, and then we head off to the Noyo Inn where we’ve reserved a room for our séance, um…circle.”

  “Righteous,” nodded Dwayne, taking his pile of steamed kale from the waiter.

  “After our successful communication with the great beyond, we’ll break for lunch and then start our search. Maybe even find the Chamberlains’ house if it’s still there.”

  “I feel like I’m going on a fucking supernatural scavenger hunt,” Simon huffed, eyeing his tofu burger with consternation.

  “I envision we’ll find Nick’s ashes before happy hour,” Zoey said as though they would be looking for the right pair of shoes versus the mortal remains of a man whose belligerent ghost of a mother probably wanted to keep him well hidden. “Next, we’ve got dinner reservations at Café Beaujolais to celebrate. The rest is a free night, then after breakfast we’ll decide where we want to reunite the ashes and head on home. Any questions?”

  “When’s the making-animals-out-of-hand-towels class?” Margot asked.

  “Um, Ms. Zoey, I think you might want to keep lunch optional on that Saturday. These things could take time. Especially if the spirit is, um…” Dwayne struggled for the word.

  “A bitch,” said Margot.

  “Yeah, that. She could make it tough. And there’s the small problem that she wants Emily here dead. Them’s fighting words. We’ve got to be careful.”

  “Andrew, are you okay?” Emily had noticed Andrew leaning back on his chair, sweat on his brow.

  “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard the man utter,” Andrew told her as she switched his cassoulet with her orange kebab salad, still looking at him strangely.

  Nick, you needn’t drive so fast, we have plenty of time.

  “Dwayne is correct,” said Egan, quieting the table. “This isn’t some weak poltergeist we’re dealing with. She’s violent, scary-shit violent, from what they say. If it gets too extreme, I’m going to end it—whether you get your information or not. I don’t think it’s wise to let her inhabit anyone—best to try to contact her directly. Chances are she’ll want to possess someone to get to Emily. We can’t let that happen. It would definitely harsh our mellow.”

  They all stared at each other, not knowing whether to burst into laughter or be terrified to death.

  “Now, let’s all exchange cell phone numbers so we’re all in sync,” said Zoey, trying to restore the vacation feel to their plans for the weekend.

  “You need to call your boyfriend, Emily,” Margot added, munching on some fries. “Tell him you’re leaving town.”

  “Excuse me?” Andrew said to her.

  “It’s nothing,” Emily replied.

  “I think Detective Obester has a thing for Emily. He’s been calling a lot,” Margot told him with a teasing nod.

  “He knows I’m worried,” Emily insisted. “He’s a friend of the family, and there’s nothing new to report. Vandin’s still out of the country.”

  “Did you tell this boyfriend of yours you were leaving the city?” Andrew asked flatly. “In case he needs to get a hold of you?”

  “Yes. Now will you people please drop it?”

  Nick, slow down, please!

  He set down his wine glass, afraid it would shatter in his grip.

  “Well, here’s to our Nick and Nora road trip!” Zoey offered.

  NICK, NO, STOP!

  They all raised their glasses and drank.

  All except Andrew, who had fled from the restaurant and out to the street where he slammed his hands against a car and vomited.

  “Andrew, talk to me.” Emily stood in his bedroom after having helped to carry him in from the car. The rest of the crowd had reluctantly disbursed once they knew he wasn’t going to die on them. They were shaken though, especially Simon, who Andrew had to practically throw out.

  Andrew needed time alone to get his head together. Everything was moving too fast for him to control. The visions, this trip, the warnings, everything was crashing down around him.

  “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

  “I don’t want your help, just leave me alone. I told you, it was something I ate. All I need is sleep.”

  “No! I’m not going to leave you alone. You almost fainted. You nearly cracked your skull open on the sidewalk.”

  “Forget it. I’m tired.”

  “Please tell me this isn’t about Detective Obester, because if it is you’ve gone completely off the deep end, you know that? How can you even think I would have feelings for anyone other than you? It’s insanity. Complete insanity.”

  “He seems to be pretty attentive for a cop, offering up his personal phone lines.”

  “He’s a friend of the family, you know that, and he has a wife and kids. So what if he gave me his cell? I can get him any time I need him. At least he’s accessible. I thought you cared about my safety. Or are you just going to pull the whole protective male brooding crap?”

  “I do care about your safety, but forgive me if I point out that you have a pretty piss poor track record when it comes to your judgment in men.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, nothing, what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, Vandin, you trusted him.”

  “Vandin? How can you even bring him into this? You know nothing about the men that have been in my life.”

  “Men? How many, then?”

  “Don’t you dare stand there and judge me. How many women have you slept with on the road, Andrew? I’ve seen the way women throw themselves at you, hang around after your shows, push through the crowd to get to you. At least my relationships had meaning and lasted longer than the time it took to turn in the motel key.”

  She slammed the door so loudly it nearly fell off its hinges as she marched into the hall. He sat on his bed, his skull on fire. The thought of Emily with other men caused the taste of ocean brine to fill his mouth, the sun to burn his eyes, and screams to tear at his guts. But now they weren’t Nora’s screams anymore, they were Emily’s. His room tilted on its side, and he slid from the bed. The pain in his head was excruciating, and he battled to stand on his feet, overcome with the need to reach her. Lumbering through the flat, he reached the stairway and took the steps three at a time. The conservatory door was open, and he rushed up the stairs.

  The moon cast the room in ghostly iridescence. Emily sat on a wicker couch near the windows, beneath the cover of stars. He hovered above her, his heart still racing.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so bloody sorry.”

  “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  “Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” he said, his voice thick and unsteady against her hair. “Nothing,” he insisted.

  “I love you.” Emily lifted her hands to his face. “Only you,” she whispered. “No one else.”

  He gazed
at her face, her silver eyes, the strong set of her jaw framed by loose curls, and again the roar of the ocean’s waves seized him. And the image of Nora gazed at him in return, and he wanted her in that instant, ached in pain for her. So he cast it away and lost himself to pure instinct. He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered all the ways he loved her. Emily. His Emily.

  He took her in every way imaginable inside that darkened room that night. In the final act of possession, he clung to her, the wisp of a spirit that enveloped him, floating like vapor as he forced himself into her soul. Emily. His Emily.

  Later he wrapped his body around hers and buried his face into her shoulders. They lay there for an immeasurable time, breathing hard, trembling from the unimaginable experience they had shared. Both were shaken not by what they were capable of, but by the desperate and raw emotions it awakened in both of them. They surrendered to it—not wanting to understand, not wanting to fight anymore.

  22

  * * *

  ANDREW GLANCED THROUGH HIS bedroom curtains and watched as swathes of gray fog cast across the sky and forced back the early morning sun that threatened to break through.

  Emily lay sleeping upstairs. During the night he had carried her back to her bed, preferring she woke in the morning there in his arms instead of shivering to death on the cold attic floor. Despite being fast asleep when he crawled in beside her, she soon became restless, muttering and tossing and turning until he had hushed her into stillness. Soon after, they fell asleep intertwined, silent lovers with no more nightmares haunting either of them.

  At dawn he awoke. It took all his willpower to slip out from under the sheets and steal down the stairs, but he had to; he needed to attend to some unfinished business. His plan was to jog to the ocean and make the call from there in the hopes that the crisp sea air would keep his head straight and his emotions at bay. He also had no desire for Emily to overhear this particular conversation. Business was business; Neil had been right, he could not ignore S.J. any longer.

  The air was salty and thick, making the run easy; his muscles were sore yet loosening with every stride. But the salty air only brought back the images from last night. No matter how hard he tried, he could not shake those vile pictures from his mind. It was as though he had been inside Nick, feeling the steering wheel under his clenched hands.

  He’d never been what one would call religious. He believed in God, he went that far, but he put his foot down when it came to any of this past life rot. Yet he had spoken to ghosts, ghosts that had warned him repeatedly about death. And Emily, what about her nightmares? Did the same images haunt her? The same cliffs and sea? Did Nora scream in her dreams?

  His running shoes smacked harder against the pavement and startled a flock of ravens into flight; their caws echoed madly and sent a jolt to his heart. No. This was absurd. Reality—he needed to focus on reality. Ghosts, warnings, premonitions, nightmares, they were not reality. This was what was real: Emily and he would be together all weekend. They would not take any undue risks. They would have their friends by their side. They wouldn’t venture near the edge of any cliffs. They would survive. End of story.

  By the time he reached the coffee stand near the beach, his mind and heart were focused. He was Andrew Hayes, there would be no surprises and no nightmares, nothing he couldn’t control. He dialed the number.

  “Well, if it isn’t the invisible man,” S.J.’s voice scoffed from the other end. “Now, to stand me up for drinks is one thing, but avoiding me completely? Surely you’re not that temperamental, are you?”

  From her tone he could tell she was irritated, but not angry. He still retained the upper hand in all this.

  “Good morning to you too, S.J. I have to apologize for not returning your call. We had a gig last night that’s monopolized our time these last few days. Neil informed me that you rang him regarding the Rolling Stone shoot, and he wanted to make sure that I got back to you as soon as possible.”

  The line hung dead for a few moments. He could almost hear her stubbing out her cigarette. “How many days has it been since I called? Or has it been a week?” Evidently he was wrong. She was angry. She had also put him on speakerphone. “When I call you, I expect the decency of a call in return. If you don’t want to do this, I can easily call Rolling Stone and let them know. They have a vast pool of talent to choose from. Agreeing to this shoot included making yourself available. Are you available or not?”

  “Look S.J., I have apologized. I don’t know what else you want me to say, but that’s the best I can do. If you want to lecture me on another facet of my reprobate behavior, then by all means, be my guest. I have many, many more faults for you to choose from—take your pick. I’m sure the conversation will be riveting. Otherwise, I’d prefer to discuss the shoot. I believe you would as well.”

  Silence.

  “My, you are a smug British shit, aren’t you?”

  “Only when I try.”

  Laughter emanated from the phone. He exhaled, relieved by the sound.

  “Well Rolling Stone wants access to you ASAP, meaning today and tomorrow. They’d like to do some outside location work, and possibly some shots at your home. Neil told me your house is a wreck with walls falling down or some other mess, and Robert thought it would make for a great backdrop for an up and coming band.”

  “Did you say today and tomorrow?”

  “Yes. That isn’t a problem, is it?”

  He hesitated. “We’re going away for the weekend, and we’ve already planned on leaving tomorrow morning—”

  “Whatever you have planned can’t be as important as this. Seriously, Andrew. I don’t care what you have to do, cancel it or postpone it, but you jerk around these people anymore and—”

  “Emily…” Her name slipped his lips before he could stop it. The air on the other end of the phone crackled.

  “Do I need to remind you that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity?”

  He paced along the sidewalk as surfers unloaded their boards around him, their gaze searching the sky and out to sea to assess conditions. The rhythmic tapping of her nails was the only sound on the line. S.J. was right—he couldn’t fuck up this chance.

  “Where do you want us today?”

  He could hear her smile through the phone, and the tapping of her nails ceased.

  “Meet me at my offices at noon. You and your band mates will need to clear your schedules completely for the next two days. And just to prove to you that I do have a heart, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll insist that no work takes place over the weekend, how’s that? Acceptable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then I’ll see you here at noon. You still have my card, right? Or did you toss it away in a fit of rebellion?”

  “Yes,” he said and hung up, letting her decide which of her questions he had answered.

  “Hey, I think we should just tell them that we’ll leave early on Saturday morning. So we lose a night? It isn’t going to kill us,” said Simon, driving their truck downtown.

  “By the way,” Andrew said, glancing over at Christian, “I never got a chance to comment about your proposal last night. Incredibly subtle, that.”

  “Oh yeah, that.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “You’re certifiable. Marriage. Shit. The option of last resort, is what that is,” muttered Simon. “So I suppose we’ll be looking for a new bass player next?”

  Andrew felt his stomach clench at the thought.

  “Never,” Christian answered without hesitation. “Lots of people make it work, right? This whole marriage and touring thing, I mean. I’ve really been thinking about it.”

  Simon proceeded to systematically shoot down every couple Christian fronted, much to his growing consternation.

  “We’ll just find a way,” Christian said with blind optimism. “Zoey is all for coming on the road this summer—if you guys aren’t against it, that is. I figure the bus would be cleaner and we’d eat
decently for once.”

  Andrew’s eyes widened in shock. He looked over at Simon, whose face had taken on a kind of strangled quality.

  “This summer?” Simon slammed on the brakes. “You’re shittin’ me? You’re moving rather fast, don’t you think?”

  “Nah. She’s was taking the summer off anyway. She said she might want to try it out, and as long as she has a sketch pad, she doesn’t care. Called it our ‘Bodacious Summer of Love.’”

  Simon stared at Andrew across Christian’s smiling face. Andrew could feel his heart fall into his gut. How did this happen? How could Christian have gotten so far with his woman while he hadn’t even found the courage to open his mouth to Emily? What was he afraid of? Emily saying no? Her hating life on the road so much she’d never want to go again? Fuck.

  “Now all you gotta do is get Emily to come along and we’re set,” Christian said, echoing his thoughts and giving him a confident slap on his shoulder. “Nice move with the ring. What’s that all about?”

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “Thank God,” said Simon. “But I can tell you right now, you better not sit around the bus and fucking mope for her, cause I’d rather have a white hot soldering iron shoved up my ass.”

  What supportive mates he had… He knew he couldn’t explain the situation to his band mates without incurring more of Simon’s hostility. Simon would never accept Emily if he understood she was truly his muse. But the more he thought about her coming on tour, the more sense it made. With Zoey joining them, the whole situation would be better. Emily wouldn’t be alone as much, or forced to hang around with three sloppy, juvenile, and periodically inebriated men. His sprits skyrocketed. She could tour with them this summer. It might not be a permanent solution, but it pushed back the time when they would be apart. A reprieve of sorts, but a brilliant one, nonetheless.

  By the time they reached S.J.’s office he was totally chuffed, humming and beating his fingers on the dashboard. They could make this work. Everything was going to be stellar. With a valiant sense of purpose, they gazed up through the gathering clouds to the offices on the top floor of a glass and steel high-rise on Sansome, the urban smell of steam and success rising from the streets around them.