Shadow of a Life

by Tifani Clark

  *Take out the trash if you fill it up

  Love you, Dad

  Yep. It was definitely one of Dad’s typical lists. I could have it all done in fifteen minutes. We had a couple of houseplants on a stand in the living room. I quickly watered them, pulled off a few dead leaves, and then re-filled the water of the Memorial Day flowers still on the kitchen table. I threw a load of my clothes into the washing machine, dumped some soap in, and turned it on. I slipped my feet into a pair of pink flip-flops and walked to the curb. No mail. I’m sure Dad had checked it the day before anyway. There was never anything for me so I could probably wait a few days before I needed to check it again. I went back to the kitchen and opened the garbage can lid. All that was in there was an empty yogurt container which my father must have eaten before he left. There—I was all done with chores. I looked at the clock. It was only 8:07. What am I supposed to do all day?

  All I could think about was Sophia and Nick. I convinced myself that they were in the air somewhere. I wandered back into the living room and opened the cabinet holding our television. Neither Dad nor I watched much TV, but right then it seemed like a good way to kill some time. I flipped through a few channels before I settled on a morning news show.

  Two anchors—one male and one female—were seated at the large news desk. He had black hair that was plastered to his head in such a way that I couldn’t decide if it was real or a toupee. She had a poufy hairdo and wore so much makeup that it probably took her an hour to remove it every night. I didn’t find the male anchor particularly interesting, but every time he would say something the female anchor would toss her hair back and laugh. That movement was usually followed by a dumb comment. When they got to a serious story (a car accident that killed a mother and her son) she put on a sad pouty face, as if she hadn’t been laughing just a moment before. The whole thing felt staged and I wondered if she—or they—had majored in drama instead of journalism.

  My phone beeped at me around ten. It was Peter.

  “Got any plans for today?” he texted.

  “I thought we could check out a couple of museums,” I texted back.

  “When you say ‘we,’ does that include me?”

  “Of course. LOL.”

  I hit send and immediately wished I could take it back. I usually prided myself in not using annoying teenage slang like LOL or ROFL. Oh well—it was too late.

  We agreed to meet at the Sippican Historical Society at 11:00. I threw a few things in a backpack and headed to the garage for my bike. My hand was on the doorknob before I decided to double-check the locks on the front and back doors. They were secure, not that it mattered if any ghosts decided to visit. I rode to Camille’s house and walked up the stone path to her house. She opened the door and came out before I even had a chance to ring the bell.

  “Grrr. Allison is driving me crazy this morning. Her latest boyfriend, what’s-his-name, gave her a promise ring last night and she can’t stop talking about it. What does a promise ring really mean, anyway? There’s no way she’s ever really going to marry him or even get officially engaged. I predict they break up before the 4th of July. My guess is that he just gave her the dumb ring to let other guys know to keep their hands off her until he gets bored with her. Nick is sooo cute. He and Sophia are the cutest couple ever.”

  The Camille I knew was back. She could talk up a storm without even knowing it. I often wondered how she was able to say so much without coming up for a breath of air. I think I even caught her turning blue once before she stopped talking. I wanted to tell her I’d held hands with Peter, but I didn’t know how to bring the subject up. Guys were her area of expertise—not mine. She always held guy’s hands and I’d lost track of how many she’d kissed. She’d had her first kiss in seventh grade. For me, though, it had been a new experience and one that I didn’t know how to talk about.

  The Sippican Historical Society was only a few blocks from the library and a short bike ride from Camille’s street. Peter was already there, sitting under a large shade tree, when Camille and I showed up. I appreciated his promptness, but I wondered how much of it had to do with boredom from being alone so often.

  The museum wasn’t large, but it had a treasure trove of information about Marion and the history surrounding our city. The three of us were greeted by an elderly docent the moment we stepped inside.

  “Hello and welcome,” she gushed.

  I looked around. I hadn’t been inside the museum since the fourth grade when we went there for a class trip as part of a unit on local history. Camille and Peter had been with me then, too, and I wondered if either of them had been back since. The woman introduced herself as Rebekah and offered to give us a tour. She was obviously excited to have patrons and we agreed. For the most part, the information she gave us didn’t really pertain to why we were there, but I learned some things about our town’s history that either I hadn’t known previously or I’d forgotten. Everyone perked up when we got to a small replica of the Mary Celeste.

  Rebekah was fascinated by the legend as well and her storytelling became a lot more animated. She explained what had been found on the ship and gave a little description of each of the theories that had been thrown around about the fate of the Captain and his family and crew. Some of the theories were new to me, which probably meant they weren’t widely accepted, but it didn’t really matter. I already knew the truth of what happened that day. When the docent had told all of her stories she excused herself to help someone standing in the gift shop area and invited us to continue looking around.

  I looked at the model ship and tried to picture Sophia there as a little child. She would have been two years old and just learning to talk. I wondered if her little laugh back then brought as much joy to people as her laugh did now. I bent over and looked into the windows of the ship’s miniature cabin, trying to picture her mother playing music and singing while Sophia sat on the wooden floor playing with a doll. Unfortunately, I also pictured Jeremiah and Elsa boarding the ship with a band of unruly pirates to take the crew hostage. I pictured Sophia’s reaction as she was yanked from her mother’s arms and I jumped when I heard imaginary gunshots signaling the end of her parent’s lives.

  “You okay?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I was trying to imagine what it must have been like to be in Sophia’s place back then.”

  “Do you realize that I’m old enough to have been a cabin boy on a ship back then? I guess guys my age are pretty lazy these days.”

  “Can you imagine trying to cook on a ship like that?” Camille asked. “It would have been hard enough in a house in those days without an oven or a microwave, but on a boat it had to have been so much worse. All that rocking back and forth probably made it hard to eat, too. I bet the food was super boring.”

  “I did learn something new that I don’t remember hearing before. I wonder if Sophia even knows it. Did you read the paper talking about the Brigg’s family curse?”

  Camille and Peter shook their heads.

  “A few days ago Sophia told me about all the Brigg’s family members that had died at sea, but I don’t remember her mentioning her Uncle Oliver Briggs. Apparently he died only a month after Sophia’s family disappeared. His ship got caught in a storm and sank. He survived by floating on some of the wreckage for a few days, but died shortly before the only remaining crewman was rescued. Sophia’s grandmother was still holding onto hope that Benjamin, Sarah, and Sophia would be found alive when she found out about Oliver’s death. That poor lady.”

  “That is sad,” Peter and Camille replied in unison.

  An awkward silence hung over us for a few moments. Nobody spoke because none of us knew what else to say.

  Finally, Camille cleared her throat. “Is anyone else hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” Peter replied gratefully.

  “I could definitely eat. Want to go to Grandma’s Cafe?”

  We left the museum and rode to the library where we chained our bi
cycles to their bike racks before crossing the street to the restaurant.

  “I miss Sophia. I like being friends with someone who has a car and a license,” Camille complained.

  “You better not get too attached to it. I don’t think she plans on sticking around forever.”

  “Where will her car go when she dies? I mean when she’s extricated.”

  “I honestly have no idea. Maybe Jack and Rita will do something with it. When a ghost is living in mainstream society it’s probably difficult to cover up their unexplained permanent disappearances.”

  The usual crowd of kids from school filled the café. Just as we walked through the door a couple of Peter’s good friends, Scott and Jason, walked out.

  “Peter. Where’ve you been, man? Aren’t your parents out of town? You usually hang with us when they’re gone, but you haven’t been home. I thought maybe you went with them this time,” Scott said.

  “Nope. I’ve just been . . . umm . . . busy.” Peter looked down at me.

  I blushed.

  “Oh. I see.” Scott got a silly grin on his face and nodded.

  “Well, call us sometime, bro. Don’t be a stranger.” He high-fived Peter and he and Jason walked out the door.

  We claimed a booth by leaving my bag and Peter’s gray hoodie on the table before going to the counter to place our order. While we stood in line my cell phone rang.

  “It’s Sophia,” I whispered loudly as I placed it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Jamie?” Her voice was quiet and distant.

  “Yes.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, but what about you? Did you make it to Haiti yet?”

  “Yeah . . . we’re trying to find someone to take us out to the site now.” The connection was fuzzy and I could tell I was about to lose her.

  “Okay. Call me when you can.” The call dropped before she could respond. I wondered if it would be the last time I’d hear her voice.