Echoes Between Us
Page 8
My cheeks burn that the entire family would rearrange their schedule to let me sleep.
“How was school?” she asks.
“Okay. I think I found someone to work on my senior project with me.”
“Who?” Jesse asks.
“Sawyer Sutherland.”
Except for Ziva’s baby babble, Greer’s scissors clipping away at the dead ends of Nazareth’s longer hair on the top of his head and my scooping a spoon into my soup, there’s silence. I look up to catch Nazareth and Jesse staring at each other in that pensive way of theirs that means they don’t agree with my decisions.
“I don’t remember asking your opinion,” I say to them.
“What am I missing?” Greer asks.
“Sawyer Sutherland…” Jesse starts but then flicks a glance at me. “He’s one of those rich, popular guys at school.”
“Uh-huh.” Greer flips Nazareth’s longer hair from one side to another. She stares at it as if in contemplation, then obviously satisfied with the results, she pats Nazareth’s shoulder to let him know she’s done. “Why is this a problem for the two of you?”
Greer has a stern stare for Nazareth as he stands. His only response is a shrug as he rolls his strong shoulders back. The body language is clear—there is a decent reason, but he’s not telling. She then throws the same expression in Jesse’s direction, and he yanks his baseball cap on as if to hide.
“Sawyer and his crew talk crap about me,” I say to save my friends from the third degree.
“This boy talks bad about you, yet you want to work with him and he’s agreed to work with you?” Greer asks.
“It’s complicated.”
“Can you handle him if he gets out of line?”
“Are you asking if I can kick him in the balls?”
Greer grins. “Yes, and can you handle it if he continues to talk badly about you?”
I’ve been handling people talking trash about me since moving here. It hurts, but I can deal with it so I nod.
“Then you boys need to trust her judgment.” Greer grabs three open notebooks and pens. She tosses one in front of me, one to Jesse and the other to the spot next to me and gestures for Nazareth to sit. “The three of you—you’re seventeen and you act as if you’re forty. This is your last year before the world forces you to be adults, and I want you to write down all your hopes and dreams for the year. Then we’re going to head out to the bonfire, talk about them and then place them in the fire to be freed into the universe so it can help.”
Nazareth’s head drops as we all walk into his family’s weekly feelings bonfire. He hates it, but I think it’s fun. Jesse starts to stand. “Scarlett is going to be calling soon, and I need to get some work done on the farm before she calls so I’ll—”
“Sit, Jesse,” Greer demands, and he sits.
“I’m eighteen already, and I graduated. I’m adulting. Daily.”
“True, but you’re still doing this.”
I smile, Jesse scowls and Nazareth places the baby rabbit in a box cushioned with towels then pulls a T-shirt over his head before taking a seat at the picnic table. Jesse will write something about his farm and spending time with his girlfriend, Scarlett. Nazareth will either write down the preamble to the Constitution or write out a bunch of the numbers to pi, but I embrace the moment for what it is.
Dad’s correct—my migraines are getting worse and there’s a sinking in my stomach that the next MRI will mean a fight between me and him. If I only have a few more months of living, I need to live it right.
I write the number one on my paper and make a list of everything I need to do as soon as I possibly can.
SAWYER
The required health class I took my freshman year talked about this meeting when we went over the unit on addictions, and I’m here on a Hail Mary pass. Or I’m here because I’ve officially lost my mind. Both. I’m here for both reasons.
With my arms crossed and my legs stretched out, I’m slumped in the seat that’s the farthest from the podium of an AA meeting in a town thirty minutes from mine. People stand and talk about alcohol, drinking and being thirsty. I don’t have the same problems they have. There’s no substance I crave in my veins to keep my motor running, but I do have this itch to jump. Ten miles down the road from this place is a nice drop into a pool of water. I was heading in that direction, but then guilt got the better of me. So here I am, in a room I don’t belong in because if I leave, I will literally jump off a cliff.
If anything, I’m hoping the meeting will last long enough that it will be too dark for me to jump and that will force me home. But I still want to jump …
School sucked. Miguel and Sylvia didn’t act shocked to see me in English, which makes me think I’m on the losing end of discussions about me. Swim practice went well, but then Coach started talking about his hopes for me and that sucked. Mom’s work meeting ran late and she forgot to pick Lucy up from school and then Lucy called me in tears. That definitely sucked.
My muscles under my skin tighten, and I shift uncomfortably in the chair. I should have gone to the cliff. It’s not a bad jump. One I’ve done before. The high dive at the Y is taller than the cliff. The jump is safe even. Not a big deal. Yeah, there’re rocks everywhere and there’re unseen ones under the surface, but—
“Hey.”
I glance up, startled to find a guy about the same age as me, maybe a few years older. He’s in jeans that sag, a white T-shirt that’s too big, and there are blue Converse on his feet. His blond shaggy hair makes me think he’s a surfer from California. “Hey.”
“First time?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I scan the room and people are standing around, chatting in groups. I must have missed the ending of the meeting.
He takes the seat next to me. “Do you have any questions?”
How do I ignore the urge to jump from cliffs? Even better, can you tell me how to kill the urge altogether? “No.”
“You sure?”
I clear my throat then rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t think I belong here.”
He tilts his head like he hears what I’m not saying. “Yet you’re here.”
Yet I am.
“I’m Knox.”
“Sawyer.”
“Nice to meet you, brother.” He even has a slow way of talking that reminds me of a stereotypical surfer, but considering we’re hundreds of miles away from an ocean I find that unlikely. “I had about a dozen first meetings before I had the balls to actually talk to someone. Even after that, I needed time to sit in the back and soak in everyone else’s words. If you need this to be one of those first meetings or if you need time, I’ll let you have your space, but if you need to talk to someone, I’m here.”
About a dozen first meetings sounds good. A hundred sound even better, but … “What if I don’t belong here?”
“I haven’t met anyone yet who doesn’t belong here. I started coming when I was sixteen, and I’ve been sober for five years. When I first started coming I didn’t think I belonged, either. All these people coming in and talking about broken hearts, loss of control and mistakes? I remember thinking that I wasn’t one of those fools, until one day I realized I wasn’t one of them—I was worse.”
That I get. I’m hesitant, but why not? It’s not like I’m coming back, and it’s not like I’ll ever see him again. “How do you stop doing what you crave when it’s all you think about?”
“I come here. I work the program. I call my sponsor when the craving hits, and I take it one day at a time.”
Sounds stupid. “I really don’t think this is for me.”
My response doesn’t ruffle him in the slightest. “Fair enough, but I do think you’re wrong. If you change your mind, I hope to catch you here again.”
We both stand. He turns away, but then says over his shoulder, “Don’t answer me this, but to yourself. I hear what you’re saying about this place not being your thing, but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing right now?”
If I wasn’t here, I’d be jumping.
VERONICA
Leo: What the hell are you doing? Sawyer Sutherland?
It’s Friday night—my favorite day of the week. Dad will be home later tonight, and tomorrow we’ll have waffles. I should be riding the impending waffle high, but I’m having to deal with an angry Leo. He hasn’t texted me once since leaving for college and when he does reach out, it’s because he’s pissed. Lovely.
I don’t have to ask Leo how he knows about Sawyer. The next time I see Jesse and Nazareth I’m going to deep fry them both. Me: Why is this a problem?
The irony of the situation is that I’m riding shotgun in Sawyer’s Lexus. Lexus. The check for his rent bounced, yet he drives a Lexus. How does that quite work?
Anyhow, we’re on the way to our first interview for the project, and I can’t decide if I prefer a ticked-off Leo or the stoic silence of Sawyer.
Leo: The guy is a jackass. He ignores you for years and his friends talk crap about you. I know these types of guys, V, and he’s no good for you.
I stretch my fingers as I want to throttle him. Me: I’m doing great. Thanks for asking. How’s college?
It takes him longer to respond, and I can’t decide if I like that I threw him off or if I’m uneasy that I might have pushed him over the edge. I glance over at Sawyer, and he quickly looks away, playing it off like he wasn’t watching. “Where do I turn?”
“Right on Cedar Avenue. The house we want is the third one on the left.”
Sawyer drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “And who is this guy again?”
“A ghost hunter.” If I was going to grow up, I think that would be a fascinating job.
“You told me, but how do you know him?”
“He’s a family friend.”
“Of course he is,” Sawyer mumbles, and I choose to ignore his sarcasm.
Leo: I just got done texting with Jesse and he said you needed a partner for the senior paper. I’ll call Jenna and Marie. You can work with them.
Like I need someone making playdates on my behalf, and those two were whispering about me in math. Me: Do it and I’ll drop kick you into next week.
Leo: They’re better than Sutherland.
Me: My life, Leo. Not yours. If you were honestly so concerned, I would think you would have contacted me before now.
I drop my phone into my lap and ignore it when it chimes. Then when it chimes again. Two stop signs later, there’s another chime. Sawyer peeks at me from the corner of his eye. My cell then rings, and as much as I want to hear Leo’s voice, I really do not want to have this conversation with him.
After five rings, there’s silence and then my cell starts ringing again. Annoyance rushes through me, and I angrily accept the call. “What?”
“Don’t be mad.”
My eyes close at the sound of Leo’s voice, and there’s an ache inside me with how much I miss him. “I’m not.”
“You are. I know I’m a bastard for not keeping in touch, but things have been busy between classes, working a job and then getting to know people. College is different from high school. By the time I have a moment to text, I know it’s too late and I don’t want to wake you. I promise I’ll do better.”
Nothing from me.
“This whole Sawyer thing has made me realize how much of a jerk I’m being. I’m concerned about you. I don’t want you getting screwed over by some guy because I wasn’t there to help. I care about you, V, and I’m worried.”
Sawyer looks straight ahead, but there’s no way he’s not listening. One, I’m right beside him. Two, I totally would eavesdrop. “I know.”
“Short answers. Does that mean you’re at work?”
No. “Yeah.”
“I’ll call later and we can talk.”
“Not about this.”
Tense silence on his end. “Fine, but I’m calling.” More silence. “I miss you, V. Life’s weird without you.”
I soften, and a bit overwhelmed, I fiddle with the hem of my skirt. “Okay. Thanksgiving is September twenty-ninth. You’re still coming, right?” It’s the day Leo picked before he left.
“I told you before I left I would. I’d never break a promise to you.”
“Okay.”
“I miss you.”
I miss him more. “Same. I’ll talk to you later tonight.”
“Later.” He hangs up.
Sawyer takes the right onto Cedar. “Everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugs one of his massive shoulders. “I don’t know. You sounded off.”
“You know me well enough to figure out when I sound off?”
“I guess not.” Another drum of his fingers against the steering wheel. “You celebrate Thanksgiving in September?”
“Yep.”
Sawyer doesn’t call me strange, but it’s painted all over his face. He turns into the driveway of the correct house and cuts the engine. The house is one of those brick ranches with two huge trees in the front yard. I dig my notebook and a pen out of my backpack as well as the folder that has the thick packet of information for the project. “You ready?”
“Sure.” I wonder if he eats sarcasm for breakfast so he can vomit so much of it during the day.
We leave the car, walk up to the stoop and after only one ring of the bell, Max opens the door. He has a welcoming smile when he sees me, and I hug him. “Max, this is Sawyer. Sawyer this is Max. He’s a good friend of my dad’s. Max is a ghost hunter.”
Dad and Max have beers together on Fridays and play poker together once a month.
“I’m actually an accountant, but I like doing some ghost hunting on the side.” Max shakes Sawyer’s hand, and anxiety twists my muscles. Max needs to say the words, he needs to invite me in and I breathe out in relief when he says, “Come in, come in.”
Needing to be invited into someone’s home is one of my many quirks.
The only place to sit is the couch built for two and a recliner. Max takes the recliner so that leaves the couch for me and Sawyer. I sit, Sawyer drops beside me and I have to scramble to keep from falling into him. Even though I do keep myself upright, our knees bump. The touch surprises me and it must surprise him as well. He jerks away, as do I, but there’s really nowhere for either of us to go.
Good thing I’m small otherwise I’d be on the floor.
“So which one of you is possessed and needs me to exorcise them?” Max asks then adds as he chuckles, “Just kidding. What can I do for you today, V?”
Sawyer’s head shoots in my direction at the mention of V. That’s what my friends call me, and Sawyer’s not a friend so he probably hasn’t heard this before.
“We’re going to do a project on whether or not ghosts are real, and I was hoping you could tell us how to prove they exist.”
Max readjusts glasses that seem to be permanently lopsided on his face. “I did a vinegar and baking soda volcano when I was in school.”
“That sounds boring. Now tell us what to do.”
Max goes to the closet and returns with a crate and a duffel bag. He explains about how before we do an investigation of a place that we need to do some research about the possible spirits that could be there and how that will help us connect with the ghosts. “You need to understand the difference between local legend and fact. If ghosts are there, they might be there for a purpose. Be willing to listen to them with an open mind instead of approaching them with a mind-set of what everyone else has to say.”
I lean forward, enchanted with the idea of connecting with a spirit, at least one who isn’t my mom. Sawyer, on the other hand, keeps crossing and uncrossing his legs and looks as comfortable as a lobster about to be put in a boiling pot.
“Did you know that Thomas Edison once said in an interview that he tried to build a ghost phone?” Max says. Sawyer shakes his head, and I
’m writing in my notebook.
“Most spirits don’t have enough energy to create audible sounds like we do, but some can muster enough energy to leave a sound on a recording,” Max continues. “Some people believe that a ghost can’t talk, but can gain enough energy to alter the static near the coil of the microphone to create a voice to communicate with, which is why you can’t hear the voice with your own ears. This type of communication takes a great deal of energy, which is why most EVPs—or electronic voice phenomena—are very short.”
“But there are ghosts that people can see and hear,” I say. “How’s that possible?”
“Full-bodied apparitions are rare events, but it can happen. Those ghosts are very strong.” Max opens his duffel bag and takes out a recorder. “I like using digital recorders so I can run the recordings through the computer. Ghosts are in another dimension than ours, which means that they communicate on a different frequency than we do. They could be communicating faster than us or slower. We can use the computer to find those different frequencies.”
Sawyer’s lips flatten in disbelief, and Max notices. “What’s on your mind?”
Sawyer’s fingers move like that’s an answer, but then he says, “It sounds like you’re creating evidence for what doesn’t exist.”
“Wait until you hear the direct response to a specific question on an EVP. You’ll be a believer then.” Max then goes on to explain how to capture an EVP and then shows us different types of what he calls ghost boxes. Skepticism seems to be a hardwired DNA trait for Sawyer, and a part of me sinks as I realize this isn’t reeling him in like I need.
“What I hear you saying is that we have to spend money to do this project,” Sawyer says.
Crap. The boy who drives a Lexus and couldn’t pay his rent won’t be interested in a project that will cost him anything. Fan-freaking-tastic.
“Typically, yes,” Max answers. “But in the case of the two of you, no.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows rise, and I’ll admit to being stumped. “How’s that possible?”