“Listen,” he said, “why don’t you take the truck with Christian and Simon and get out of here, and we’ll meet up at the hotel. There’s no reason for you to stay here any longer.”
“What?” cried Simon, “and leave you to enjoy that marvel of automotive engineering all by yourself? Perish the thought. You and Christian head off. I’ve been dying to ride in the back of that sweet monstrosity forever.”
Zoey smiled at both of them, relief flushing her cheeks. “Well, I guess—enjoy the Big Doobie.” And with one hand she snagged Christian and hauled him over to the truck.
“The Big Doobie,” Simon repeated, peering at the Lick a Witch bumper sticker on the back of the van as the afternoon sun beat down on them. “Please tell me they have beer back there.”
“I think they have Frank Zappa and Jerry Garcia back there from the looks of it.”
Simon snorted, and Andrew paused. “Listen, I just want to say thank you for being there today. I don’t know how I would have made it through without you.”
Simon followed his friend’s gaze to a second story window where they could see Margot pacing while she waited for Emily to finish her call. Simon’s face looked more careworn than Andrew had ever seen it, older. “It was nothing,” he tossed off, but it didn’t hide the ache in his voice.
So it had happened, Andrew thought, glancing at Simon. Of all the women Simon had encountered on the road, from ones who had thrown their bras, much less their contents, at his feet, he chose the one who didn’t want him.
“It still doesn’t make sense to me,” Andrew worried out loud. “Why would he kill himself? Why not try to shoot us, at least?”
“And that’s what you wanted?”
“No, it’s just that it doesn’t add up.”
“People do sick shit, Paulie. You have to know, I mean, when you’re at the end, when you’re in that much pain, there’s no other way out. When I was using, when it was at its worst, I could see how—it’d be easy to pull that trigger. He just couldn’t stop himself. Whatever monsters were fucking with him, they won.”
They stood together and watched Margot, then a few cars full of erstwhile vineyard hoppers that rode up the twisting road and immediately spun around when they spotted the yellow crime-scene tape drabbed across the path. They saw Christian and Zoey drive away in air-conditioned luxury. Zoey waved madly, and Christian smoothly slid on his shades.
“Bet you we get there before they do,” Simon said as he lit a cigarette, a smile creasing the side of his mouth. “Gearshift or not—he’s going to end up one lucky bastard. Where the hell did I go wrong, is what I want to know.”
“But she’s a Catholic. She even has a holy card collection. Didn’t you swear off them?”
“Holy cards? Never. You fancy a smoke?”
“Hell yes,” Andrew cried and took a savoring drag from the offered cigarette, making Simon break into a much needed laugh.
“Those things will kill you, you know.”
“What won’t?”
From behind them they heard the stoners shifting around and groaning about something and turned to see them perched on the picnic bench, finishing the last of the sandwiches, their faces raised into the blazing sun.
“You gentlemen ready to go?” Andrew asked.
“A few moments more of baking, dude,” crooned Dwayne, whose face was framed by a horrid folding, metal tanning tray that he had wrangled from who knows where and positioned for maximum roasting.
“They all look fairly baked to me,” Simon quipped. They did appear baked, or at least browner than normal, with the dirt from the caves sticking to their damp faces. “Weren’t there four of you?” he asked, counting them off. “Hell, we didn’t leave one of you in the caves did we?”
“Naw,” answered Dwayne. “Dinesh is back in Belden with the girls’ minivan. He offered to change their flat tire. We called him and told him to meet us in Mendocino.”
“Where?” Andrew asked, just now realizing the van wasn’t there.
“Mendocino.”
“I know that! Where was the van and what was the name of the town?”
“Belden. We were scouting out a future meeting site for the California Astral Liberation Coalition when we ran into them. That Belden graveyard rocks, mausoleums and shit—and all those ghosts, man…I bet they love to party. No one popping a cap in anybody’s head there, let me tell you.”
“Will you let that die?” asked Buck, who was hunched in a ball, evidently not recovered from the episode in the caves as yet.
“Did you say Belden?” Andrew asked again. Why did the name sound so familiar? He had heard it before, he was sure of it. But where? He ran his hand through his hair and was about to start interrogating them further when he looked up and saw Emily standing on the porch. His heart skipped a beat. She was smiling. He beamed back at her like an idiot.
Overcome, he went to kiss her. They missed each other’s lips, and then tried again and bashed their noses together.
“Ouch!” she cried and backed up, her hand on her face. She appeared startled and stepped away, looking at him strangely.
“What did the Detective say?”
Anxiety passed across her eyes at his words, then quickly disappeared.
“He needed to ask me some more questions about my time with Vandin. The good news is that Laura is getting better—you remember, the girl…”
“Come here.” He grabbed her and hugged as tightly as he dared. “You were so bloody brave.”
She didn’t say anything, but laid her cheek on his chest. He kissed her sundrenched head and whispered, “Tell me you’re all right.”
“I will be. The sheriff told me we could leave. He has your number, and he said he’d be in touch if he needed anything. Let’s go. I just want to collapse in the truck and get a drink.”
“About the truck…”
She peered up at Andrew with a guarded look, blocking her eyes from the sun.
“We pulled the short straw, sweet girl. We’re traveling in the van.”
She blinked once. Then again. “The Big Doobie?” she mouthed silently.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” cried Margot, “I am not getting into that thing again.”
After much argument, Andrew was the first to jump into the back of the van. He held his hand out to Emily, who met his gaze straight on.
“It’s repossessed at midnight by stoners past,” he warned her and stole an ardent but quick kiss, then pulled Margot in next as Simon pushed from behind. Dwayne, Egan, and Buck sat in the front, leaving the rest of them to the bizarre and wretchedly un-air-conditioned world of The Big Doobie.
“Fantastic!” cried Simon, immediately rummaging for beer behind a bar decorated with Dr. Who and Teletubbie merchandise. “What’s with the shovel and the pickaxe back here?”
“Um…tools of the trade,” Dwayne mumbled back self-consciously before throwing the van into gear.
Andrew settled down into a hot and sticky vinyl bean bag and waited for Emily to finish opening a window before he dragged her onto his lap. Despite the heat, she nuzzled under his chin, her lips near the hollow of his throat, making his heart hammer against hers. Their damp shirts clung together.
“You all right?”
“Fine.” He felt her lips twitch against his Adam’s apple. “You saw him, didn’t you? You saw Vandin.”
“Beer?” Simon hovered over them, his hand extended with something dripping wet and brown and cold-looking, which Andrew quickly took so he could avoid the question.
“Hey, look, we hit the coast!” Dwayne cried.
Everyone moved to the windows and pushed aside the crushed velvet curtains; the stunning beauty assaulted their senses, not to mention bringing the first gust of fresh air in miles.
There was something dangerously reminiscent about the white-capped ocean and the grand cliffs to Andrew. The large formations of rocks sprung up like living things from the surf, as if immutable against the ravages of time and tide. The sun was b
eginning its descent, its rays of orange and vermilion playing against the sinking blue of the sky, and the smell of salt and the burning wood of some distant beach bonfire sailed along the air.
Emily’s face was next to his; a few strands of her hair were still glued to her brow, the rest billowing madly about her neck. He forgot everything except her face and the growing unease in his heart until he forced himself to look out the window. They were hugging the coast now. On one side, nothing but a single guardrail protected them from the sheer drop to the rocks below, and straight ahead lay a village perched at the edge of an incredible series of ocean bluffs, a smattering of Victorian mansions nestled in among a series of salt box houses.
“I never got to thank you for the proposal,” she told him with a faint smile, her eyes still focused on the coast.
“I improvised.”
“You were quite a hit. Was there as much shrieking at the station as there was in our van?”
“I wasn’t listening. But I’m glad that—”
Just then an oncoming tractor trailer swerved into their lane. Dwayne slammed on the brakes, and the van spun sickeningly into the cliff barrier. The force sent them flying across the van.
“No!” Andrew screamed, horrified.
He threw his arms out to grab her, but the van pitched hard to the left, pinning him down and sending her crashing into Margot and Simon. They reached to catch her but missed, and she tumbled hard against the back of the van, missing the spiked end of the pickaxe by inches.
In terror he screamed out, praying the door wouldn’t blast open. With a grinding lurch they were skidding across the road, bouncing violently along the gravel.
The force launched Emily against the opposite side of the van where she collapsed, gasping. The van righted itself and slowed to a crawl. Margot and Simon lay on the floor, rubbing their elbows and heads. Andrew immediately lunged for Emily and grabbed her in his arms.
“Everybody okay?” cried Dwayne from the front. “Fucking trucks, they haul ass down these roads…” His voice sounded strained, and his hands clutched the wheel.
Andrew looked down at her, white faced. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head, unable to speak. He pulled her into his chest. “We’re fine,” he hushed her. “We’re fine.”
But as he did so, he could not shake the belief that they were going to crash over that cliff and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. The scene kept replaying itself in his mind until thankfully, by the time they passed through town and turned onto the main street that abutted the bluffs, her heart had settled to a rhythm that matched his.
He heaved a sigh of relief at the welcoming sight of the hotel with its faded yellow clapboard front and low slung front porch. The sign that hung on the façade announced, The Mendocino Hotel, established 1878. Andrew blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the light as they exited the van, and he found himself reading the words over and over again, fighting off the uncanny sense of déjà vu. Trying to focus on the here and now, he bid Dwayne and company a hasty farewell, and after promising to meet tomorrow morning, he escaped with the others into the hotel’s darkened foyer, rich with the cool sweetness of pipe smoke and old wood paneling.
“May I help you?” asked an older woman behind the counter. Her lips seemed to form one solid line as Andrew approached from out of the dim light.
The closer he came, the more startled she appeared. It wasn’t until he saw his reflection in the mirror behind the counter that he realized how truly disheveled he was. Surveying his riot of hair, the streaks of crimson and dirt along his face, and his T-shirt sticking with sweat, he knew it was best to turn on the charm. He left the other three behind, stepped gracefully forward, and met the woman’s gaze head on.
“I believe the reservations are under the name of Zoey Cohen. I’m Andrew. Andrew Hayes.” He extended his hand in greeting. “So sorry, we’ve had a bad patch of traveling. We normally look a bit less disheveled than we are at the moment.” He smiled softly and held her hand.
“Cohen. Zoey.” He leaned over the reservation book near her and trailed his finger along, stopping when he reached Zoey’s name. “There, I believe.” He smiled again and raised his eyes back to hers like a young boy bringing home a stray dog.
She was still blinking when Simon materialized at his shoulder and whispered, “Maybe you should shag her too, while you’re at it.”
Andrew kicked him under the counter, still beaming at the receptionist.
The woman roused from her stupor, went to the row of cubbies behind the desk, and retrieved a set of keys.
“Mr. Godden?” Simon nodded. “You’re in room seven, just up the stairs and at the end of the hall. It’s quite lovely and has a charming view of the gardens,” she informed him, handing over the key.
“Ms. Larson. Yours is room eight. You have a Jacuzzi tub and a balcony.”
“I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Hayes.” She turned to Andrew as though requesting forgiveness. “There weren’t enough rooms left in the main hotel, so we had to move you to the back cottage. It’s a space we’re sometimes forced to rent out from the town for such emergencies. We haven’t had a chance to air it out, however, so it may be a little musty…”
“I take it not many people stay in this cottage?” he asked through set teeth, envisioning a dilapidated shack.
“Well…some people complain that it’s haunted, but I assure you our ghosts prefer the hotel.”
“Bloody fabulous…Is there anything, anything at all you could do to swap us out?”
“Ummm. I don’t think so.”
“Sucks to be you,” laughed Simon, smirking as he tossed his key in the air. “See you at dinner.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a bath,” Margot announced and tossed her key in the air as well. Simon snatched it from under her nose.
No one said a word. He held it tight in his fist for a moment and stared at her as if asking permission to use it. Then apparently changing his mind, he opened his palm and tossed it back to her with a smile before he walked silently down the hall. Margot watched him go, clearly taken aback.
Andrew did not toss his key but turned with his best expression to face Emily.
“How bad?” she asked.
“I assume there’s running water.”
Resigned to see what awaited them, they walked back out the doors and along the garden path that led them farther and farther away from the hotel to the edge of the headlands. Outside it was still warm as they hiked through the tall grass. He was so sweaty and dirty he ached for a shower, and he prayed to God this bloody outbuilding at least had a bath so that they wouldn’t have to trek back to the hotel and share one with pensioners from New Jersey.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize Emily had walked several yards ahead of him. She moved fluidly as though knowing exactly where she was going, despite the fact that the signs leading the way had become few and far between.
“Wait,” Andrew cried, rushing to catch up with her, but she had already turned the corner of a large overgrown garden and disappeared from view. Suddenly, he heard her cry out. He ran, and rounding the corner, he stopped short.
A deserted cottage rose before him. It was old, quiet, and composed with its weathered shingles, sloping gables, and overhanging eaves. There was nothing modern or jarring about it. Time had adorned it with vines of ivy and wild bramble. They overwhelmed its façade as they twined around its mullioned windows, continuing their reach upward. Three blackened chimneys rose from the thick slate roof, which was partly obscured by the ancient pines that encircled the property and edged the roaring ocean beyond.
“It looks like…” Emily’s voice trailed off.
A most profound and disturbing sense of nostalgia gnawed at Andrew’s heart. He knew what he would find when he opened that door. He knew the shape of the fireplace, how it would take up the whole wall, how the windows would open to the sea, how the wide planked floors would creak under his feet, how the sun wo
uld warm a far corner where his chair sat waiting…
Emily took a step toward the door when he stopped her.
“No. This isn’t the way it’s done…” His mind was tumbling through a whirlwind of déjà vu. Images flashed before his eyes, and he struggled to catch one while an old song unwove its refrain through his memory. But just as quickly as it came, the song was swept away by the roar of the waves. Without another thought, he unlocked the door and took Emily’s hand because that is what he had always done. No…no…it was what he wanted to do. Now. Here in the present.
She would smile at him now because that was what she had always done. Stop. Stop it. He could not know that. He had never been here before in his life. But then why was the cottage just as he had remembered? Silent and waiting, warm shades of umber and sienna filled the room, from the worn velvet and suede window seat cushions to the faded medieval tapestry print of the drapes. Emily walked about and trailed her hands over the back of the settle that stood in front of the fireplace, dust motes rising in the last rays of the sun. A pendulum clock framed by old black and white photographs sat on the mantle and chimed the hour.
She twirled around and plopped down into the Morris chair in the corner, hoisting her feet up on the matching ottoman and letting out a long, low chuckle. “Sucks to be us.”
He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. What was happening to him? He had to hold her. His hands shook with the need of it. “Come here.”
“No. Must check out the rest.”
Down a small hall they entered a large bathroom; it was different, newer. It had a wall of showers and a clawfoot tub that stood before a set of French doors which framed the sun setting on the sea beyond. The bedroom lay quietly off to the side—of course it did. There would be an antique four poster bed there, and a sea of pillows…
“Let’s never leave this place,” she told him.
He wanted to tell her that he never had.
Unable to bear the stifling sensation any longer, his arms enfolded her body. He held her against the granite walls, trying to kiss her—her, the woman he loved, the woman he could feel in his hands. Not a ghost, not a memory. Emily.
Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story Page 44
