by Nan Higgins
I’d slept longer than I planned. “I should go soon.”
“I drove, remember? I need to take you back to your car.”
“Well, now I remember,” I said, and she laughed. I stood and held my hands down to help her. She kissed me on the forehead after she took my hand and stood.
“So you’re really not going to tell your dad about the prior?” she asked once we were in the car.
“Mrs. Braverman is so adamant that I don’t. I don’t think I can.”
“Why would she think your dad is a bad man?” she asked, frowning. “He’s a great man.”
“I think so too. I guess everyone is the bad guy to somebody.”
“I think you should tell him.”
“Why?”
“Look what happened to you this morning,” she said. “And how long it took you to recover. It could be dangerous.”
“Sloane, we’re beginning a career working with ghosts. Our entire lives from this point could be dangerous if this is what happens when they get angry. I’m sure not all priors are going to be happy about their situations.”
She paused to concentrate on changing lanes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know. I don’t think Mrs. Braverman was trying to hurt me. Neither of us knew what to expect.”
“Thank you for telling me what’s going on. I want to help.”
“I think you can,” I said. “Will you ask your mom about this stuff? My dad will be suspicious. But you’ve been having in-depth discussions about being an interpreter with your mom forever, and it won’t be out of the ordinary if you ask her under what circumstances someone might start seeing ghosts before the release, right?” I was nervous about asking her to talk to her mom under false pretenses, but I was at a loss as to what else to try. I’d been pulled into this web of lies against my will, but now that I was here, it seemed like the only thing to do was play the game the way everyone else was playing.
We pulled into the parking lot, and she put her car in park beside mine. “I can probably come up with a way to slide it under the radar in a convo.”
“Great,” I said, a sigh of relief coming out behind the word. “I really appreciate it. Thank you for the ride too.”
“You’re welcome. You’re good to drive now, right?”
“Yeah, I feel good.” I didn’t tell her that her kiss had healed me, even though that was how I felt.
“Good. Text me when you get home so I know you made it.”
I was touched at how much she had cared for me today, and even now she was concerned about me getting home. “I will,” I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
Chapter Eighteen
Friday afternoon, every sound our old house had made caused me to startle, and I found myself constantly glancing around to see if Mrs. Braverman was there. My parents finally noticed.
“Is everything all right, Aria?” Mom asked at dinner after I’d returned from Sloane’s house. “You seem jumpy.”
“Yeah. Just getting over a headache. I’ll probably go to bed early tonight.” I had a momentary shock at how easy it was becoming to lie but brushed it off as best I could. My parents had lied to me my whole life, and I suspected, continued to do so. If this was what I had to do to protect myself, I’d do it.
I went to bed early, and Saturday morning I woke with a jerk, sitting up and looking around in the gentle glow of my night-light. It wasn’t even six o’clock, hours before I’d normally wake up on a Saturday. I grabbed my cell phone and sent a text to Macy. We’d been planning to hang out in the afternoon, so I invited her over for our first slumber party since my birthday. When she texted back at seven to say she’d love to sleep over, I breathed deeply and realized how shallow my breaths had been. It was crazy to think about all the ways my life had changed since a little over a month ago, not the least of which was how relieved I was to not be sleeping alone that night.
I lay down and fell back to sleep. I didn’t wake up again until eleven, and it was time to get up and take a shower.
As I got ready to meet Macy, I thought about my conversation with Sloane the previous day, and how she said I hadn’t been released to interact with priors on my own. What could it mean that I hadn’t been released, yet Mrs. Braverman could creep up on me without warning and without a protective guardian around? I realized in that moment that I was going to have to shelve my plan to run away to Los Angeles. If I got out there and was confronted by a prior, I’d have nobody to turn to. I waited for disappointment and anguish to settle in as my plans changed once again, but those feelings didn’t come. Finally, I was making my own decisions based on what I’d learned so far. It felt like the beginning of getting solid ground under my feet again.
I met Macy at the park where we used to play. Sometimes, we would still swing side by side just like in elementary school when our moms sat on the benches. Today, we walked on the trail that circled the park, then went back through a wooded area next to a pond. We sat at a picnic table and looked into the water.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Macy asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Whatever has you looking like…” She clamped her mouth shut.
“Like?”
“I was going to say ‘like you’ve seen a ghost,’ but I realized that saying isn’t even a joke anymore.”
“No, it’s definitely not.” I bent down, picked up a smooth stone, and ran it between my thumb and index finger. I flicked my wrist and flung it into the pond, watching it skip three times before it disappeared beneath the ripples.
“Have you seen a lot of them?” Macy asked. “Ghosts, I mean.”
“I’ve seen a few. We took a tour of AfterCorps and saw a lot of them. But only one has been bothering me.”
My parents hadn’t told me not to discuss AfterCorps or being an interpreter with Macy, but it seemed like an unspoken rule. She was a reg, and regs led very different lives. She had been there the night I’d seen my first prior, so I assumed my parents knew I’d told her at least a little bit about it. I was sure they’d frown on me divulging a lot of details, though.
More than that, I’d been hesitant to talk to Macy too much about what had been happening because I didn’t know how she could possibly relate. As much as I’d give anything to be a reg whose biggest concern was trying to find a job and hanging around by the pool, that wasn’t who I was anymore. Was it even fair to trouble her with issues that were completely outside the realm of what was normal for her, stuff she should never even have to think about as long as she was alive?
I looked into her wide eyes with their furrowed brows, the way they always looked when she was concerned, and I realized how much I’d been missing her and how hard it had been to navigate all of this without my best friend. And then I was telling her everything: AfterCorps and its hierarchy, the court system with its crimes and punishments I didn’t understand, the blind man who chose to lose his vision so he could lead priors to their last destination, and how scared I was after receiving these visits from Mrs. Braverman.
“You don’t have to sleep over if you don’t want to,” I said after I told her that last part. “If it’s too scary, you don’t have to spend the night.”
Macy linked her arm through mine. “Of course I’m going to stay the night. If that ghost comes back, I want to be there with you.”
“Thank you.” If our situations were reversed, I didn’t know if I would have been so brave. Not that I would’ve let Macy go through something like that alone, but it wouldn’t have been as easy as she was making it seem.
“You know what I think?” Macy asked.
“What?”
“I think we need to go stock up on some serious snacks. Popcorn is in order, but we’re gonna need more than that. I’m talking about calling in the heavy hitters: Milk Duds, hot wings, Tahitian Treat, Doritos. Real get-down-to-business foods.”
“Let’s hit the store
. Might wanna add Tums to our list.”
Macy frowned. “What, are we amateurs now?”
* * *
Several hours later, we settled into the basement with plates, bowls, and bags of food between us.
“We’re never going to eat all this,” I said.
“The night is young.” Macy dipped a hot wing into some bleu cheese dressing and took a bite. “Don’t underestimate us.”
I pushed play on the movie we’d chosen—Slumber Party Massacre—and started laughing almost immediately at the early ’80s hair and fashion.
“Look at those short shorts.” Macy cackled. “And with the socks pulled all the way up too. Who thought that could possibly look good?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, dear. I’ve seen more than my fair share of ridiculous fashions in my day, and I’ve always found that the worst culprits think they look the best.”
I froze with my hand halfway to the bag of Milk Duds and sat staring at Clara Braverman.
“What?” Macy asked. “Aria, what is it?”
“She’s here,” I whispered.
“The ghost?”
Clara shook her head. “I don’t like that.”
“What, being called a ghost?”
“Yes. I’m a person. A deceased person but a person nonetheless.”
“What’s happening?” Macy asked.
“She doesn’t like being called a ghost. It’s Mrs. Braverman. You can probably just call her that.”
Clara nodded. “That’ll be fine.”
“What can I do for you, Clara?” My tone matched the coolness I felt in my bones at her presence.
“I came to apologize. I had no idea that my touching you would affect you so severely. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It did hurt a lot. I had a headache that felt like my brain was trying to eat itself, and it took me all day to feel better. Please make sure not to touch me from now on.”
“I will. I truly am sorry.”
“I accept your apology.”
Macy had set down her hot wing but still had sauce all over her hands and face, and she was staring at the corner where Clara stood. Clara noticed it too and gave a little wave. She laughed when Macy continued to stare with no indication that she could see.
“Your friend is probably lucky she can’t see me,” Clara said.
“I wish I couldn’t,” I muttered.
“I understand that. But you can, and I need your help, desperately.”
I sighed. “Yes, you’ve told me, but I don’t know the first thing about trying to help you, especially since you don’t want me to ask my dad, and I’m assuming that means Nick is out too. You won’t let me go to the people who actually know what to do.”
“Because they are the reason I’m still here.”
“And you’re sure that reason isn’t a good one?”
A cloud of tears formed in Clara’s eyes, and again I started to wonder about ghosts and their bodily functions. How could a ghost even make tears if she didn’t have a body?
“I loved Sol,” she said, and her voice shook. “He was my husband, and I loved him. I didn’t kill him, nobody did.”
“Okay,” I said. “But what can I do?”
“You must find a way to help me transfer,” she said. “Get me into the transfer room. I can figure out how to get to my destination from there.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Please, Aria.” Her presence began to flicker like a lightbulb whose life was at an end. “Please, you must.” And then she was gone.
* * *
“You know,” Macy said, somehow ready to dive into the Doritos after I filled her in, “it shouldn’t be too hard to find out how her husband died. I’m sure there’s an obituary, and if it doesn’t say in there, there’s sure to be a death certificate. Didn’t you tell me she had an autopsy done on him?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed one of the hot wings and bit into it. It had gotten cold, but it was still pretty good.
“So there’s paperwork that would verify his cause of death,” Macy said.
“True. But wouldn’t an autopsy be done in a hospital? Those records wouldn’t be public, would they?”
“No, I guess not. Let’s start with Google and see if we can find the obit.” She brushed her hands on a paper towel and grabbed her phone, typing and scrolling while I ate another wing and washed it down with some Tahitian Treat. Opening up to Sloane and Macy had been the right thing to do. I felt so much better now that I wasn’t trying to process and deal with all of this by myself.
“There,” she said. “Found it.” She scooted close to me so we could read it together.
“No cause of death listed. But it does ask that donations be made to the American Heart Association.”
Macy stared across the room and munched on some popcorn. “So the seed about it being a heart issue was definitely planted.”
“Right, but we don’t know for sure. I know my dad and Nick write a lot of obituaries, but they get all the information from the families.”
“Do you think your dad found out something when he was helping Mrs. Braverman plan her husband’s funeral and just held on to it until she died?”
“No way. If he found out something, he would’ve gone to the police.”
“Are you sure?” Her brown eyes had darkened so that I couldn’t distinguish between the pupils and irises.
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “if he knew he could essentially be judge and jury after Mrs. Braverman passed, your dad might have decided to bide his time and wait until a proper punishment could be given.”
“My dad’s not like that,” I said, but even as the words came out, I realized they might not be true. I’d found out a lot of new information about my dad in the last several weeks. He’d been living a double life, and I never had a clue. It hit me that I truly didn’t know what he was capable of. I hadn’t considered that Clara could be right about him. My head swam with the awful possibilities.
Macy fidgeted with some Milk Duds before popping them into her mouth. “Do you wanna go back to watching our movie?”
“Sure.” I leaned back and tried to focus on the terrible slasher instead of the endless thoughts running through my mind.
* * *
We’d watched Slumber Party Massacre parts one and two and had eaten all the hot wings, popcorn, Milk Duds, and most of the Doritos when I got a text. It was almost midnight, and usually the only person who would message me that late was right next to me.
“Who’s that?” Macy asked.
“It’s Sloane.” Just saying her name brought heat to my cheeks.
“Oh,” Macy drawled. “What does Cutie McHot Lips have to say?”
“She asked her mom about seeing priors before the release ceremony, and she needs to talk to me right away.”
“Sounds serious. We should invite her over.”
“Now?”
“She said right away, didn’t she? And as your best friend, I need to meet the girl you’ve had the biggest crush on since Kristen Stewart.”
“I didn’t crush on Kristen Stewart. I crushed on Kristen Stewart playing Joan Jett. Big difference.”
“Whatever. Are you gonna text her back, or what?”
“Fine.” I texted Sloane and told her I was hanging out with Macy, and that if it was that important, she could come over. “She’s gonna say no.”
“Why would she say no?”
“Why would she say yes?” I asked, and then my phone went off again. “She said yes.”
Macy jumped up and looked like the Tasmanian Devil if Taz had been super into cleaning. “I’ll get this room tidied up. You go get ready.”
“Get ready?”
She rolled her eyes. “Aria, get it together. Go change clothes, brush your hair. Maybe wash up a little so you don’t smell like Doritos and hot wings when your lady love gets here.”
I went upstairs and took a five-minute shower and c
hanged. I even brushed my teeth and used mouthwash and then went down to the living room to wait with Macy.
* * *
I’d told Sloane to text when she got there so Macy and I could sneak her in and shuffle her to the basement without my parents knowing there was a cute girl visiting me in the middle of the night.
Here, Sloane’s text buzzed on my phone.
I crept to the door and opened it, and Sloane tiptoed inside. I took her hand, grateful for the darkness so she couldn’t see me blush, and led her down to the basement with Macy following. I made the introductions and was pleased when Sloane hugged Macy.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sloane said.
“Oh, same here. You have no idea.”
“Oh, really?” Sloane arched an eyebrow at me. “You’ve been talking about me?”
“Only in regard to your terrible taste in music,” I said, but my blush probably told the truth. I’d never talked about a crush or someone I’d dated as much as I talked about Sloane. I’d never like anyone as much either.
“Hey, all press is good press.” She sat on the love seat with me, and Macy sat in the recliner facing us.
“Mrs. Braverman paid us a visit tonight,” I said and filled Sloane in on what had happened.
“We checked out the obituary.” Macy pulled out her phone and let Sloane take a look.
“American Heart Association,” she murmured. “Interesting.”
“I wish we could take a look at the death certificate,” I said.
“Well,” Sloane began slowly, “no, never mind.”
“What?” Macy asked and scooted to the edge of her seat.
“There would be a copy at the funeral home. I’m almost positive. When my grandma died, the coroner issued the certificate, but when we needed a copy, we had to go through the funeral home to get it.”
“It’s probably a digital file,” Macy said. “That’s my guess, anyway. Does your dad bring a laptop home?”
“No. If we go on vacation or he takes time off for the holidays, he’ll bring it with him, but the rest of the time, he leaves it at work.”