Red Heather

by Aly Noble

  There was still something off about him though. I didn’t feel right about the fact that he hadn’t warned me about the ghost before nor that I didn’t know why he’d neglected to warn me. There were moments that his presence seemed ominous rather than brooding. He dodged too much and said too little. There was also the fact that his accent had been fading in and out lately.

  I jumped when the tear of plastic interrupted my thoughts. For once, it wasn’t something sinister—the window repair guys had come out to replace my makeshift covers.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the one taking off the sheet said when he saw the coffee I’d sloshed dripping down my forearm. “You really sealed these on well.”

  “Yeah, well, duct tape is a wonder,” I joked half-heartedly. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We’ll have these installed by late this afternoon, I imagine,” he said.

  I nodded and set my mug down, putting my arm under the faucet to get the coffee off. I felt someone step next to me and knew before I looked up that it was Jonah.

  “There isn’t a mister around here, is there?”

  I blinked, glancing up at the repairman. I saw Jonah in my peripheral as expected, but it was something else to see someone looking our way and only see me. “Oh, um, no.”

  He smiled, and it was a little too toothy. “Well, if you want to go get coffee some time, let me know.”

  “I’m not really looking right now, but thanks,” I said with a polite smile.

  The repairman nodded and went back to work. “Sure. Figured I’d try. We’ll get you fixed up here,” he said easily. I had to admit he was kind of a looker—and his maturity in the face of rejection was definitely refreshing. Unfortunately, I was still hung up over a big city asshole and in the final stages of grief over a broken engagement. Maybe in a few months, I’d re-break a window and take him up on that coffee offer.

  I hadn’t noticed that the repairman had worked his way to another window until Jonah spoke. “Kids gone?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Rose came and picked them up this morning.”

  He mimicked the nod and paused a beat before breaking the silence again, his eyes following the retreating repairman. “That happen often?”

  “Not really,” I replied. “Happens here way more than it ever did back home or in the city. Pickings are slimmer here, I suppose.”

  “Maybe he has a Barney fetish,” he murmured, glancing at my purple locks.

  “Shut up,” I laughed into my mug as I took a sip, glad none of my other beverages lately had turned into blood—or whatever that had been.

  He smirked. “Very into grapes.”

  “I’ll exorcise you,” I warned him.

  “I bet you’ll do a plum job of it, too,” he tossed back in a butchered Midwestern accent, which was what wrecked me. I flicked a tear from my eye once I stopped laughing, wondering if the repairman outside was hearing me talking to myself—at least from his perspective—and feeling relieved that I’d turned him down. My phone started ringing in my back pocket, and I murmured a curse until I saw it was my mother calling.

  I picked up. “Hey, Mom.”

  “You’re finally using your caller ID, I see,” she chuckled warmly. “Hi, baby girl.”

  “It was an accident—won’t happen again,” I joked, wincing as more plastic tore in my wake. I moved from the kitchen to the living room to get away from the noise. “What’s up?”

  “What’s all that?”

  “The noise?" I clarified. “Window repair guys showed up today.”

  “Oh, good!” she said with relief. “What did you say happened again? A storm?”

  I couldn’t quite remember the details of what I’d told her, so I just agreed with what she pulled from the ether. “Yeah. One helluva storm, too.”

  “It must have been,” she fretted quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want to come south?”

  “You have storms there, too,” I reminded her with a smirk. “Besides, I may as well finish the lease here and then decide what to do.”

  “Do you really like it there so much?”

  I grimaced softly and glanced at a few boxes stacked near the TV stand, still taped shut. They were just knickknacks, but I supposed it was a good metaphor. “It’s nice. Do I want to live here forever?” Hell no. “Of course not. But it was a good way to reboot.”

  “Hm... Well, okay,” she mumbled. “Why did you get rid of Ed?”

  I groaned. “Mom, don’t even say that. I didn’t ‘get rid’ of Ed. He just wasn’t coping well, and I didn’t want him to stress out for the whole three months I'm sticking around.”

  “All right, all right.”

  “Did you call to make me relive all my crappy choices of the past month or did you actually have something to tell me?”

  I could literally sense her frowning. I shifted in my seat and set my mug on the coffee table. When she was quiet for a few seconds too long, I inquired, “Mom?”

  “I don’t know why you need to have that attitude with me, Miri,” she finally sighed. Whenever she took that particular tone, she always reminded me of Daisy Buchanan in the Redford rendition of The Great Gatsby. I could picture my mom in a diaphanous white summer dress sprawling across a chaise lounge with her hand propped against her forehead, pitying the beautiful fool she'd raised and finding it difficult to have enough energy or fortitude to make it to noontime tea.

  “Miriam, are you ignoring me?”

  “Sorry. Zoned out,” I said reflexively, doing so again as she spent precisely two full minutes complaining about how often I “zoned out” and how it may be a neurological anomaly. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep the grimace out of my voice, so I stayed quiet.

  “Anyway,” she finally conceded, “I’m calling to let you know that your brother is going abroad over Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh? Where to?” I asked curiously, watching repairmen traipse around my yard from the comfort of the couch. “For work?”

  “Yes, for work,” she said. “Well, first he’s heading to Vienna and then to Berlin. He may go a few more places before returning to the States, but those are his work destinations. I just wanted to let you know, so you didn't come down to an empty house.”

  It took a moment before it clicked. “Oh. You’re going with him?”

  “Well, of course, dear,” she said as if she were repeating herself. I often wondered if she did this specifically to make me feel stupid. I also wondered why I still wondered if that was the reason. It happened often enough, and she’d become crafty enough with the delivery that there was no question—I just really hated that she would do that to me. “You understand, don’t you?”

  Oh, I understand. “Sure. Have a great time.”

  “Of course. And you enjoy yourself, too. Maybe see if any of your neighbors are cooking so you won’t be by yourself.”

  “Right,” I murmured. “Talk soon, Mom.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  I hung up the phone and sighed. “Asshole.”

  “Did you just call your mom an asshole?”

  Jonah was lurking by the doorframe, much like I’d been for a minute or two the night before. I threw him a look. “You heard me.”

  “I was just asking,” he pointed out. “I've never heard you talk about your mom.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk about your mom. Or your anything.”

  “Fair.” Jonah paused. “But still.”

  “But still nothing,” I retorted. “Mind your own business.”

  “What'd she say?”

  “Do you comprehend English or do you just word salad enough that it falls into place?”

  He blinked. “‘Word salad’?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s nothing,” I deflected. Jonah the Ghost remained unconvinced but quiet. Now he was just waiting. “You’re going to be disappointed,” I pointed out when he didn’t stop staring. “Now, piss off.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

  After he finally skulked off, I set my phone
down and ran my hands down my face. Fuck. My phone went off again, and I grimaced against the heels of my palms before picking it up and answering it. “Hello?”

  I waited a beat before hanging up—another scammer. Typical.

  Again, it rang.

  I snatched it up. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop calling me!”

  “Shit, dude,” Graham murmured, stifling a laugh. “I’m not sure if you think I’m someone else or you know exactly who I am.”

  “Oh—sorry, Graham,” I sighed. “I’ve been having issues with scam calls lately. Unless you’ve been calling me at random and staying indefinitely quiet.”

  “I don’t have time for that, honestly,” he said. “But that’s weird. Not unusual though—my mom and dad both get those all the time. Hell, I’ve even started getting them, but not as often as you apparently.”

  “They only just started like a week or so ago. Probably five times?”

  “And no one talked any of those times? Was there a number?”

  “No,” I murmured. “Just ‘Unknown Caller’.”

  “Spooky.”

  “Shut up,” I laughed despite the chill that crept down my spine. Everything was suspicious when you'd seen evidence of the unknown. “How’s my baby?”

  “Oh, I’m fine—thanks for asking,” he replied. Graham paused a beat before adding, “Oh, you mean Ed. He’s fine, too.”

  “Idiot,” I laughed. “Let me talk to him.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No... But he’s really doing okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s great. No worries,” Graham assured me.

  “Good,” I murmured. “How are you and Daph?”

  “The usual,” he said lightly, “which is good. Are you coming down for Thanksgiving?”

  “Apparently not. I just got a call from Mom and they’re going with Warren on his worldly business travels over the holiday,” I sighed.

  “Seriously?” Graham asked. “Why aren’t you going?”

  “I wasn’t invited,” I said. “I can’t afford to go, and she didn’t offer to help, so…”

  “That’s bitchy. Not like they can’t afford it.”

  “I know. Don’t get me wrong, they don’t owe it to me, but it would’ve been nice to have the opportunity to gratefully refuse a kind offer, I guess. Instead, I’m going to have to figure out something to do here.”

  “Can’t you still come down?”

  “I can’t afford that either. When I was still driving out, they were going to help with gas. They’d probably still help with that since they already agreed to, but I don’t want to ask. And Mom probably knows I don’t want to ask.”

  “Fair,” he sighed. “We’re tight on money right now, too, or I’d just fork some over.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to, but I appreciate the thought,” I said, glancing at the kitchen as the repair guys jostled the new panes around outside. “I’ll figure out a way to come see you guys soon. I should have a Patch check in a couple of weeks after I send in the illustrations, so maybe that would do it.”

  “Oh, yeah, how’s your real job going?” Graham asked with a smirk in his voice.

  “God, you sound like my mother,” I remarked, knowing that was his intent. “It’s fine. I wasn't getting hours for a while, but that’ll hopefully change tomorrow. My boss and I have a meeting in the morning, and she told me to anticipate an assignment update being part of that meeting.”

  “Good stuff,” he said.

  “Indeed.” I walked to the kitchen to scout out some food while we talked.

  “What's that noise?”

  “Window repairmen,” I replied. “Which, come to think of it, is maybe why my parents are hesitant to keep giving me handouts. They gave me a chunk to get the windows fixed.”

  “Still shouldn’t faze their accounts,” he noted, “but that makes sense, I guess.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not going to keep thinking about it though. There’s no point. Instead, I’m going to think about where I keep going wrong in the world of adulting.” Ironically, I’d just opened my fridge and was left grimacing at the nearly empty shelves. “Starting with the science of forethought—looks like I’m going to the grocery store before breakfast.”

  “You suck at this.”

  “I didn’t always,” I persisted weakly. “I used to be at least halfway decent at keeping my shit together.”

  “Eh, kind of.”

  “What do you mean, ‘eh, kind of’?” I demanded.

  He laughed. “Miri, you’re a fake adult. And that’s fine, but it’s true.”

  “I’m still in progress,” I grumbled. “Way to sound old as hell. Or like my brother.”

  “Warren is a pansy and nothing like my impeccable self,” he recited like he’d developed the phrase into a chant, which he probably had. They'd never been overly fond of each other. “Anyway, I’ll let you go so you can commence with your hunter-gatherer activities.”

  “ ‘preciate it,” I yawned as I straightened up and set my empty mug in the sink. “Tell Daphne that I said ‘hi.’ And have a good holiday, too. Oh, and give Ed a squeeze.”

  “Will do,” he said. “Happy Thanksgiving, Miri.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Graham. Talk soon.”

  • • •

  It was stupid of me to neglect grocery shopping long enough for the holiday season to hit. Even in itty bitty Grendling, Michigan, the store was packed and people were idiots. I ran into almost everyone I'd met since moving in, which was fine—there wasn’t really anyone I’d met and gotten to know here so far that I didn’t like. I’d just begun to wonder when I was going to run into Estelle when we almost crashed carts in the frozen dinners section.

  She reared up for half a second until she saw who I was. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, yourself,” I greeted her, shifting my cart to the side so I could roll it past her. “That looks… Interesting.”

  “Shut up,” she mumbled, glancing down at her glittery snowflake-adorned sweater. “So my aunt—who I swear is actually my great-aunt, but she skewers me with her eyes every time I say something about it—buys me holiday sweaters every year and I keep whatever the newest one is and wear it to appease her to eventually gain her moderate inheritance over my two fuckwit brothers.”

  “That sounds like a reasonable excuse to wear…whatever that is,” I smirked. “I have a fuckwit brother, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Estelle said as she glared at a box of General Tso’s chicken over my shoulder. “Maybe we should schedule a playdate for them so we can holiday in peace.”

  “Mine won’t be up here for the holiday, but that would’ve been a good plan.”

  One of her woe-is-me eye-rolls was flawlessly executed. “Well, shit. Oh, well, that’s fine. Why isn’t he joining in?”

  “There’s not really a ‘joining in’—he has some business trip taking him to Austria and Germany, and my parents are going with him because he’ll be gone through Thanksgiving.”

  She blinked. “And you’re not going?”

  “Can’t. Wasn’t invited. Well... Both of those things actually.”

  “Bitches.”

  I laughed at that. “I know, right? Anyway, it’s fine. It would've been a headache anyway.”

  “It sounds like your family and mine have a lot in common,” she said, glancing at her cart. “C’mon, I have stuff melting—walk and talk?”

  “Definitely. To both,” I said as we started rolling forward again.

  “That sucks that you’re missing a trip to Europe. What the actual hell?” Estelle mumbled, absorbed in my loss. “So are you just flying solo for Thanksgiving then?”

  “That’s what it looks like,” I replied, picking out a couple of frozen dinners as I spoke.

  “Lucky,” she remarked. “But you’re welcome to throw shade with me at my family—if you want to.”

  “I think I’m good to fly solo, honestly,” I admitted.

  “I would be, too. No hard feelings,” she replied. “Say… D
ifferent proposition.”

  “Should I be—oh, excuse me,” I mumbled as I bumped arms with someone passing by.

  “No problem,” the passerby said and, when I turned around, he winked at me.

  “Well, look at you,” Estelle smirked in her Cheshire way. “He was kind of cute.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at him,” I smirked. “But I'll take your word for it. That’s been happening a weird amount lately—one of the repairmen working on my house asked me out.”

  “Maybe you’re ovulating,” she chuckled softly. “They can smell it on you.”

  “Don’t be weird,” I pleaded, though I couldn't help but laugh.

  “Wait, was it the same guy that was working on your house?”

  I looked back just in time to catch a glimpse of the guy I’d bumped into from the back as he turned the corner, which was enough to give me an answer. “No, he’s taller than the repairguy.”

  “Tall is good,” Estelle pointed out. “So, what I was going to ask was if you’d want to go out with the office posse Friday night. Carla’s been super pushy to go do something for like two weeks and I finally caved when I was in this morning. You have to come. I’m not asking anymore—I’ve just decided.”

  “It’s not my fault you agreed to go cavorting with Carla and Steven,” I laughed. “Where can you even ‘go out’ in Grendling?”

  “Oh, there’s no going out in Grendling,” she smirked. “We’d probably make the drive to Traverse City. Or maybe I’ll take the small townies to Chicago on a bender and they'll never ask me out again.”

  My stomach clenched with the immediacy of my laughter. “I’d pay to see that.”

  “So… You’re in?” Estelle—who was apparently back to asking me if I’d like to go rather than telling me I would—inquired hopefully.

  I gave it a moment's thought before relenting. “Fine.”

  “Awesome. We can suffer together,” she said triumphantly.

  “You’re going to make me change my mind.”

  “Oh, no—if you stand me up now, we’re nemeses. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Fine. Sheesh,” I groused, contemplating the ice cream aisle. “I need something in here.”