She realized then that she was waiting for him to answer— expecting him to answer as she strained her ears so desperately through the silence, as her thoughts groped so pleadingly in every direction. Wanting him to speak to her, but terrified as well; craving something that only he could give her—peace, closure, a gentle word of confirmation—yet, at the same time, willing him to prove her wrong.
“Miranda? Honey, let’s go home.”
Whirling around, Miranda saw her mother and Aunt Teeta in the doorway. As Teeta began to cry, Mom automatically braced her in a hug.
“I’m being silly.” Aunt Teeta tried to smile through the tears. “I just hate leaving Daddy behind like this. I hate to think of him being here, all alone in the dark.”
“But he’s not really here.” Though Mom’s voice was strong, Miranda heard a tremor below the surface. “You and I both know he’s finally at peace. He’s gone on to a better place. Where it’s never dark, and there’s Mother and lots of other people who love him.”
Aunt Teeta listened and seemed comforted. With one arm pressed firmly against Teeta’s back, Mom steered her toward the front door. “Miranda, are you coming?”
“Another minute, Mom.”
“Sure, honey, take your time. We’ll be in the car.”
Miranda waited till they’d walked away, till they’d spoken quietly with the funeral director, who glanced back at her with an understanding nod, showed the two women out, and politely disappeared. Once more she turned to the casket. Her breath was coming faster, and her heart gave a curious flutter in her chest.
“This is what you meant, isn’t it, Grandpa?” she whispered. “What Mom just said—this is what it’s all about . . .”
Images rushed back at her—vivid scenes and conversations, words and pictures overlapping and blocking out everything else.
She shut her eyes tightly to ward them off, but they grew only more insistent. Grandpa at the Falls . . . Grandpa so sick in his room . . . the Gray Soldier standing by my bed—“Listen . . . help them . . . don’t turn them away.”
“Oh, Grandpa . . .”
“Listen, Miranda . . . watch . . .”
“Grandpa?”
She knew it was him. Here in this empty viewing room, in this deserted funeral parlor, in this vast and eternal silence of death, she knew his voice, and she felt the gentleness of his smile.
“Listen, Miranda . . . watch . . .”
“I hear you,” she whispered. “And you are in a better place, aren’t you? You’re not alone, just like Mom said. But all those others—” She broke off tearfully, then drew a deep breath. “All those others who can’t find what you’ve found—peace, and someone to love them, and a place to go home to, and how to get there . . .”
How to get there . . .
The air stirred softly behind her. For a split second, Miranda could almost swear that a hand had touched her shoulder, coaxing the next solemn words from her mouth.
“It’s me, Grandpa. I’m how they’ll get there.”
20
“HONEY, you don’t have to be at the funeral tomorrow, you know.”
Back at the house again, Miranda and her mother had taken refuge in the kitchen. While her mom sorted listlessly through all the food, Miranda sat at the table, cradling her head on folded arms.
“I know. But I want to be there for you and Aunt Teeta. And Grandpa.”
Mom smiled at that. “Your aunt Teeta’s better, she really is. She just needed to get her grief out of the way.”
Get her grief out of the way. Is that even possible? Can you ever really get it out of the way, or does it just hide someplace deep inside you, ready to crawl out again when you least expect it?
“Mom, do you think Aunt Teeta would mind if I went through some of Grandpa’s things in the attic?”
Mom looked surprised. “Goodness, why in the world would you want to go through that old stuff?”
“Mrs. Wilmington at the museum said he kept really good records of everything he collected. We thought we might find something to help with our project.”
“Of course I don’t mind!” Aunt Teeta appeared in the doorway, wrapped in her chenille bathrobe, with kitty slippers on her feet. She seemed almost her jolly self again, though her face still looked tired. “You just help yourself to whatever you need up there. I’ll probably end up donating all that stuff to the museum. I don’t want anything old or depressing in this house anymore.”
Mom looked amused. “You wouldn’t be talking about Daddy, would you?”
“Well . . .” Reaching for the teakettle, Aunt Teeta couldn’t help chuckling. “He was pretty old and depressing, bless his heart. But I’m going to miss him all the same.”
Mom didn’t respond to that. Miranda reached out and touched her mother’s hand.
“All your friends are welcome here, darlin’,” Aunt Teeta asssured her niece. “It’ll be good to have young people in the house. It needs some laughter and enthusiasm and fresh ideas.”
“You’ll love Ashley, then,” Miranda told her. “I wish I had her enthusiasm.”
“I wish you had Etienne Boucher. But that Gage is awful cute, too.” Winking, Aunt Teeta picked up her mug of mint tea and started for the stairs. “I’m off to bed, dear ones. Sleep tight.”
Mom gave Miranda a teasing look. “What’s all this about Etienne Boucher? Teeta seems awfully determined to get you two together.”
“He’s just a guy at school. In my study group. It’s nothing.” Then, as Mom lifted an eyebrow, Miranda added, “He’s the guy who fixed our air conditioner.”
“I like him already. Who’s Gage?”
“His cousin. And I’m not getting together with anyone.”
“You don’t have to convince me, honey.” She pointed to the counter covered with leftovers. “Potato casserole?”
In spite of herself, Miranda couldn’t help but laugh. “No potato casserole.”
“Ham? Jell-O salad?”
“No, I just want—” I just want to talk to you about what’s going on in my life. About Grandpa. About the things he needs me to do, now that he’s gone.
But of course she couldn’t. Not now . . . probably not ever. Not after all the baggage left over from Mom’s childhood, not with all the burdens on Mom’s shoulders. For the first time it was beginning to dawn on Miranda what her grandfather had meant, how alone she would be with this gift she’d never asked for or expected.
“Baked beans?” Mom was staring at her. “Buttermilk pie?”
Again Miranda laughed. “No food. Just sleep. See you in the morning.”
Wearily she made her way to the third floor, changed into pajamas, and climbed into bed—but she couldn’t shut off her mind. Along with all the questions, there was now a new and very real sense of responsibility that she found both disturbing and comforting. What do I do? How will I know? And how should I do it? Oddly enough, when the screams came that night, they seemed more sad to her than frightening. And when she finally dozed off, it wasn’t a cry that woke her, but the soft sound of a footstep.
“Psst. You awake, cher ?”
Miranda fought her way up from sleep.“I am now.”Annoyance gave way to relief. She wondered why she wasn’t more startled; it was almost as if she’d expected Etienne to show up. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Well, you musta been wishing for me, yeah?” he teased. “’Cause here I am.”
Switching on the lamp, Miranda solemnly patted the edge of the bed. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
“Awww, don’t be mad now. I just—”
“I know. You wanted to check on me. And I’m glad—I’m glad you came.”
“Good. ’Cause I also wanted to leave you this.” Holding out his hand, he showed her the braided watch chain. “Look, I know how you feel about it, but I really think you should be keeping it with you. Just in case you pick up on something, yeah?”
Miranda instantly recoiled. But this is part of it. This is part of what I have to do.
Taking a deep breath, she pointed reluctantly to the dresser.
“Put it in the drawer. I don’t want to look at it.” As Etienne did so, her voice tightened. “Something happened tonight, Etienne. And I need to tell you.”
Pausing a moment, he scanned her face with narrowed eyes. Then he lowered himself beside her.
“Something’s changed, hasn’t it, cher ?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve changed with it.”
And then she told him. About her feelings at the funeral home, her sadness and sense of loss, her sudden and overwhelming revelation of purpose, and hearing her grandfather’s voice. Everything but having hidden and watched and eavesdropped on his own personal sorrow. When she’d gotten it all out, neither of them spoke. He’d moved closer to her, and, for the moment, it made her feel safe.
“You know what I keep wondering?” Miranda’s tone went even more serious. “I keep wondering if all those spirits think I’m the one who’s lost.”
That not-quite-smile brushed his lips. “We’re all a little lost. We’re all trying to find something.”
Miranda considered this. “I know you and Grandpa tried to tell me before. About my gift . . . and how I can do so much good with it. But tonight—for the first time—it was real to me. Like I finally got it. Like it finally all made sense.”
“Sometimes we can be hearing the same stuff over and over again, yeah? And we know it’s true, we know it there”—Etienne lightly tapped her forehead—“but what matters is when we finally know it here.” As he touched his heart, she couldn’t help giving a wan smile.
“The weird thing is . . . I’m okay with it. I mean, I’m still sort of scared . . . but I’m okay.”
“You’ve always been okay, cher. Way more than okay.”
As her cheeks flushed, she hoped he hadn’t noticed. “How am I ever going to know all the stuff I need to know? I mean, I need to learn everything.”
“Tonight?” Etienne kept a perfectly straight face. “I’m not sure I’m up to it.”
Miranda’s stare was deliberately reproachful. “This is about Nathan. He needs me. Now.”
Groaning softly, Etienne lay back, pillowing his arms beneath his head. “I can see I’m gonna have to be humoring you. So what do you wanna talk about?”
“Why spirits stay earthbound.”
“For a lotta reasons. Attachments. To certain people. Or places. Or things they can’t let go of.”
“Because they’re sad. Or angry.”
“Maybe they want revenge.”
“Or they have unfinished business. Or they’re afraid to leave, because it’s familiar and they were happy.”
“Or maybe ’cause they don’t know they’re dead.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Tucking her hair behind her ears, Miranda stared into the shadows. “Like in war. All those soldiers who never expected to die. All of them caught up in such intense emotions.”
“Fear. Grief.”
“Most of them probably died so fast, there wasn’t time to think. There wasn’t time to realize what happened to them.” Her face grew pensive. She recalled what Mom had said about Dad. “What would that be like: Here one second, and gone the next? Would you feel surprise? Shock? How long would it take you to know you’d actually died?”
“Your grand-père, he said their concept of time’s not the same as ours. Maybe to them, a century’s the same as a day. Maybe to them, time doesn’t exist at all. And they have to keep doing the same things over and over again. And nothing ever changes, nothing ever gets fixed.”
Miranda thought back. In her mind she could see Nathan’s ravaged face; she could see the hopelessness in his eyes.
“I don’t know how any of these spirits—or the people they once were—can survive the pain they’re in.”
“You’d be surprised what people can survive,” Etienne murmured. “When they have to.”
Something about the way he said it caught at her heart. She lowered her pillow and started to reach for him, but he was already off the bed, moving swiftly and silently toward the dark, open doorway to the sunporch.
“Etienne, what—”
“Ssh,” he hissed at her. “Something’s out there.”
21
MIRANDA FROZE WHERE SHE SAT. As Etienne slid into the shadows beside the door, she caught the quick movement of his left hand—the glint of something sharp.
“Well.” Parker grinned, creeping slowly across the threshold. “This is cozy!”
A stream of undecipherable words burst from Etienne’s mouth. Parker immediately looked offended.
"Hey, I don’t have a clue what you just said to me, but it wasn’t very polite.”
“Good way to get yourself killed,” Etienne muttered.
Parker stared at him, incredulous. “Is that your knife ? You were actually going to stab me?”
“Knife?” Miranda echoed. Startled, she craned her neck for a better view, but as suddenly as it had appeared, Etienne’s knife had vanished.
“I told you not to sneak up on him. You know he always has that hunting knife when he’s not in school.” Behind Parker, Roo poked her head in. “Hey, mind if we join you?”
As Parker, Roo, Ashley, and Gage crowded into the room, Etienne threw up his hands, turned his back, and continued his muttering. Miranda could only stare in disbelief. Roo was barefoot, wearing baggy pajama bottoms and a St. Yvette High jersey; Ashley had on a long robe and tennis shoes. Both girls were carrying food, and Parker and Gage held flashlights, which they’d switched off.
“Sleepover!” Ashley giggled while Parker pressed a finger to her lips.
“Ssh! This is a covert operation! You want to wake everybody up?”
Miranda didn’t know whether to laugh or be upset. For the time being, her discussion with Etienne was on hold. “What is going on?”
“Etienne told Gage he might stop by here tonight.” Parker’s grin widened. “We’re not interrupting anything, are we?”
Etienne frowned at his cousin. Gage returned it with an innocent shrug.
“That’s right,” Ashley picked up. “So we figured, why should y’all have all the fun?”
“Ashley brought chips,” Roo added, then brandished a greasy paper bag. “I made popcorn.”
Leaning toward Gage, Parker mumbled, “She can’t ruin popcorn, can she?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Gage mumbled back.
Miranda was still trying to process the intrusion. “Just tell me one thing—how do you guys get away with sneaking out at night? My mom would have a fit!”
“Right.” Parker’s grin turned scornful. “Like my mom and dad ever know if I’m there or not.”
Ashley was totally unconcerned. “Oh, we just tell them we’re going to the tree house. They never check on us there.”
“What’s the tree house?” Miranda wanted to know.
“Well, when we were little, Gage’s daddy built a tree house for the three of us in his backyard. We used to have a secret club. And we’d play over there, and hide from people, and pretend we were knights in a castle.”
“Gage and I were knights,” Roo corrected her. "You always had to be rescued.”
“Well, I liked the way Gage threw me over his shoulder and carried me down from the tower.”
“Gage did that?” Clasping his hands over his heart, Parker sighed. “My hero.”
Gage ignored him.
“We used to camp out in that tree house at night.” Ashley nibbled a potato chip. “In fact, we still like sleeping together over there.”
Parker wiggled his eyebrows and gave Miranda a stage whisper. “Very kinky.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Parker—not that kind of sleeping together.” Ashley paused for a second. “It is just Gage, after all.”
Gage stared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” Ashley plopped down on the bed next to Miranda. “Just that we love and respect you so much, we wouldn
’t dream of taking advantage of you.”
“Sometimes I dream of you two taking advantage of him,” Parker said seriously. “It’s one of my favorite fantasies.”
Gage tried unsuccessfully not to look embarrassed. “You need a life.”
“So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Ashley asked.
Miranda couldn’t keep from laughing. Although she and Marge and Joanie had done lots of spur-of-the-moment things together back in Florida, nothing could compare to the surprises from this crazy bunch. She realized she was starting to get used to—and even enjoy—these unexpected adventures.
“Popcorn, anybody?” Roo opened the paper bag and held it out.
Parker immediately backed away. “Uh . . . I pass.”
"Y’all keep it quiet,” Etienne warned.
He’d positioned himself near the door of the sunporch, while Parker sat beside Ashley, and Gage claimed the rocking chair. Roo sank cross-legged to the floor near Etienne’s feet, her back propped on a pillow that Miranda tossed down to her. They could all hear the TV blaring and Aunt Teeta snoring from the rooms below.
“Well, as long as we’re all here,” Miranda began, while Parker let out a prolonged groan.
“Uh-oh. I sense drama.”
“Impossible,” Roo said offhandedly. “You have no sense.”
“This might be a good time to talk about our project?” Miranda continued. “How’s the research going?”
“Oh! Me first!” Waving her arm, Ashley gave an excited little squirm. “You know how the museum and those shops on both sides of it are all attached to each other? Well, Parker’s mom said they all used to be just one big building!”
The others waited. When Ashley merely sat there beaming at them, Parker drew back in exaggerated surprise.
“Wow! That’s really fascinating, Ash!”
“No, that’s not the fascinating part.” Ashley looked slightly offended. “I haven’t gotten to that yet.”
“Then hurry and get to that part. The suspense is killing us.”
Walk of the Spirits Page 17