by Edie Ramer
Chapter 3
Before Cassie could blink her endangered eyes, the woman’s gaze narrowed and her eyebrows slashed down. “Are you Rose’s grandson?” she demanded.
He ducked his head, like a dog caught chewing a favorite shoe. Olivia slid her hand around Donovan’s upper arm and pulled it close to her breast. Claiming ownership.
The woman turned to Rose. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine, dear, thank you.” Rose gestured to Donovan and Olivia. “This is my neighbor across the hall, Bridget O’Malley. She’s condo-sitting for Alice, who’s in London with her newest husband. Bridget, this is my grandson, Donovan, and his fiancée, Olivia.
“Grandma’s mentioned you before,” Donovan said. “You’re using her oven.”
“Only until my new oven is installed.” The color in her cheekbones heightened.
“Alice lets you do this?” Olivia’s eyebrows rose.
“She’s thrilled that I’m putting in a new oven.”
Cassie watched them as if they were figures in a play, committing every word and expression to memory so she could repeat it to Luke.
“Olivia,” Rose raised her tone and her chin, “is that your business? Alice happens to be Bridget’s aunt, and she also loves to cook.”
Now it was Olivia’s turn to flush. “I’m trying to protect you.”
The look Rose gave her was not one that Mrs. Santa would ever use. “Really? Then why do I feel like you’re trying to smother me?”
Cassie wished she had a video camera. She glanced at the ghost staring in fascination. He was closer but had floated upward again. Clearly waiting to see what was going to happen next.
Apparently even dead men loved a cat fight.
Donovan shook his head, his mouth anguished. “Grandma, don’t do this. You’re killing me.”
“No, what you’re doing to me...” The fight left Rose’s face, the spark in her eyes dulled, her shoulders drooped, and her voice lowered to a melancholy whisper. “It’s you who are killing me.”
Suddenly the air felt heavy. Thick. Poisonous. Cassie’s stomach pretzeled and she put her hands over her belly. She no longer wished for a camera. She just wanted to get the hell out of this place.
What was happening here wasn’t funny anymore. It was real and it was ugly. Too close to what she’d gone through when she lived with her father, stepmother and half-brother.
Those days were over and she didn’t want to relive them. Even with a ghost thrown into the mix.
She picked up her purse. “Excuse me, but I’m leaving. I don’t have time for this. You’re all wasting my time.”
As they stared at her—a quick glance upward told her even the ghost was staring—she realized she was ready to walk out of the job. Something she’d never done before.
Before she married Luke she’d had more patience. And less money. And nothing else better to do.
She looked at Rose. “You don’t need a ghost therapist, Mrs. Bellington. You need a good lawyer. You sound sane to me. No one should have the right to put you in a nursing home. See your lawyer. I’m sure whatever you signed, you can revoke.”
Her head up, she scooped up her purse and strode away.
No one tried to stop her. Behind her, Bridget said, “Rose, one of my friends works at the D.A.’s. She’ll tell me the names of the best lawyer around. I won’t let them harm you.”
As Cassie opened the hall door, Olivia and Donovan spoke at the same time. Donovan’s tone rough and Olivia’s sharp. Then Rose joined them, hers wobbly but growing stronger.
Cassie stepped into the hall and slammed the door shut, the thick wood shutting off the voices. Beneath her blouse, her armpits prickled with heat and her heart was racing. As if she’d walked out of a nightmare.
Rose’s nightmare. Her own with her family was over because she’d walked away from them.
The reminder of how cruel families could be made her want to run, run, run. Run until she was at the hotel in Luke’s arms.
Thank God she wouldn’t have to go back to Rose’s place. Nothing Rose said would convince her.
Chapter 4
Cassie peered at her early morning visitors and felt as if she’d climbed halfway out of hell instead of the king-sized bed she’d shared with Luke. The evening with Luke’s friends at the blues bar last night had been surprisingly fun. They’d taken her at face value as the woman who was making Luke happy. That’s all they’d needed to accept her. Especially since he wasn’t normally a happy kind of a guy.
Neither was she. Not this morning, anyway. The third tequila sunrise last night had been a mistake for someone whose usual alcoholic intake was one glass of wine. Even without the throbbing in her right eye, she didn’t think she could bring herself to smile at Rose Bellington or Rose’s young neighbor, whose name she couldn’t recall. Both of them standing in the suite’s ultra modern sitting room, looking at her as if she were their last hope.
She didn’t want to be anyone’s last hope. At least, not any live person’s.
She crossed her arms. Luke was still snoring in their bedroom, in too deep of a sleep for the ringing cell phone to have bothered him. Or the ghost girl who kept telling Cassie to wake up, someone wanted to talk to her.
Right now, Cassie wished she would’ve ignored the ghost instead of picking up the phone and finding out the two women were in the lobby.
So here she was, wearing the black jeans and black top from last night. Easy to pick up from the chair she’d thrown them on, wiggling into them while the two women took the elevator to the eighth floor.
“We woke you,” Rose said. “I’m sorry.”
Her frowning friend didn’t look sorry. “We wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”
Rose’s eyes moistened. “I didn’t tell you everything yesterday.”
Alarm slithered up Cassie’s spine, waking her fully even without coffee. “I don’t want to know everything.”
“You have to. Once you do, you’ll understand.”
Cassie didn’t want to understand. She just wanted to get rid of last night’s clothes and crawl back under the covers and spoon up to her handsome and sexy and sometimes irritating but never boring husband. A man who surprisingly loved her, with all her prickles and distrust and a boat load of faults. A man she surprisingly loved, with all his prickles and distrust and a navy destroyer load of faults.
“Why aren’t you at the lawyer’s?” she asked, and immediately knew she’d said the wrong thing. Her question implied she wanted to hear the answer.
She opened her mouth to take the question back when Rose swayed. The other woman—Bridget, Cassie thought, her brain cells crawling out of their alcoholic sludge—put her arm around Rose’s back.
“May we sit?” Bridget asked.
“Of course,” Cassie said with a lack of enthusiasm that didn’t stop Rose from tottering to a pale buttery leather sofa. Bridget sat next to her. Both of them looked at her expectantly.
She took a chair across from them, the leather soft and welcoming, making it a tiny bit easy to relax. After all, she was the lucky one. Her start in life hadn’t been the smoothest, but she’d put that behind her. She was married to a man that other women swooned over and she had the best stepdaughter ever. Life was good. She didn’t need this kind of headache.
Looking at Rose’s sad eyes, she amended that to heartache. She definitely didn’t need to share anyone else’s heartache.
No more ghost-talking gigs, she decided. She’d still talk to ghosts. That was a part of her and she couldn’t stop that any more than she could stop breathing. But she’d no longer do it for money.
“There’s a reason I can’t go to the lawyer’s,” Rose said. “I didn’t just give Donny my power of attorney. I deeded him my condo.”
Cassie closed her eyes. Coffee. Her brain needed coffee.
“What do you mean?” she asked, opening her eyes, and was immediately sorry for showing any interest.
“I
signed it over to him. My son died of lung cancer six years ago.” Her voice wobbled but her gaze remained steady. “My daughter-in-law remarried and lives in London with her second husband. Donny’s my only family left. If something happened to me, I didn’t want him to pay extra taxes.”
“Is that legal?” Bridget asked.
Rose winced. “It’s legal. Perhaps I can revoke the power of attorney, but the lawyer made sure the property transfer couldn’t be contested.”
“His lawyer.” Bridget’s eyes flashing.
Another wince crossed Rose’s face. “Mine. I have a very good lawyer. Donny doesn’t have a lawyer.”
“I’ll bet my favorite knife set that Olivia has one.”
“I suppose she does, but Donny’s an adult. It’s his choice to agree or disagree with her.” Rose’s eyes moistened. “When I did it, he said the place was mine for as long as I lived.” Her lower lip trembled. “I think maybe I lived too long.”
Bridget gave a soft cry. Cassie leaned forward.
“He’s getting married,” she said, “Do you think he wants to move in?”
“I bet she does,” Bridget said. “She’s at all the parties. The in parties. I see her all the time.”
Cassie sat back, her eyebrows raised.
“I make desserts,” Bridget said. “My specialties are cakes. I get a lot of jobs at society functions. She’s at most of them. She didn’t recognize me, but I sure recognize her.” She shrugged, but her nostrils pinched together in distaste. “To women like her, I’m one of the staff. Invisible. But they’re not invisible to us.”
She paused, and Rose leaned toward her. So did Cassie.
Though no one was there to overhear her, Bridget’s voice lowered. “I heard from a couple sources that her family lost all their money. I don’t know if her friends know. But we know.”
“I don’t know why she wants Donny,” Rose said, her voice querulous. “He doesn’t like that world. He doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“Not yet, but he’s on his way.” Bridget’s hand sliced the air, half angry, half frustrated. “She’s an interior decorator for Chicago’s rich and richer. He designs furniture. Haven’t you told me how brilliant he is?”
“He’s an artist with wood.” Grandmotherly pride brightened Rose’s features. “He’s won awards and prizes. Lately he’s been getting big commissions.”
“Didn’t you say Olivia got them?” Bridget asked.
Rose sighed, the brightness dulling. “Olivia was so sweet in the beginning. But once she had the ring on her finger, she changed. Became possessive.”
“I know women like that,” Bridget said. “And men. They start out like purring cats, then they turn into tigers ready to pounce.”
Cassie nodded. She knew live people like that. And she’d met a few dead ones, too. The ghosts were solidly in the pouncing tiger stage. Not her most pleasant subjects.
Rose’s mouth curved down. A horseshoe with luck and time running out. “Olivia has big plans for Donny. I think she wants to be his Svengali.”
“So it’s going to be that kind of marriage?” Cassie asked. Her father had a marriage like that. It worked for him and Cassie’s stepmother. It worked for a lot of people.
Not her. If she wasn’t madly, wildly in love with Luke, why bother?
“It’s not only business,” Rose said. “Olivia’s very possessive. And my grandson is very handsome.”
Bridget shifted on the sofa. “Yes, he is. He’s so...” She stopped, shaking her head.
“So what?” Rose asked.
Cassie was wishing more and more for a cup of coffee. “Hot. He’s hot.”
Rose put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Floating five feet above Rose, a girl who looked to be about eleven giggled, too.
Cassie glanced up. As soon as she had a moment, she and the girl needed to have a long talk.
The dull flush of a toilet came from the bathroom next to the suite’s bedroom. By now Luke was probably running water for his shower.
She stood, restless. Grumpy. Sorry she wasn’t showering with him. “I’m making coffee. You want some?”
Bridget followed her into the kitchenette while Rose and the ghost remained in the seating area. Cassie got the coffee maker ready and Bridget leaned against the counter.
“I don’t think Donovan is a bad man,” Bridget said. “He talked to us after you left yesterday. He really wants to do what’s best for Rose.”
“As long as he doesn’t have to take care of her.” Cassie pressed the red On button and the machine’s little motor hummed to life.
Bridget’s face flushed. “I can see his point of view. He thinks the assisted living place is good for her. A nice place. Where she can talk to real people, not ghosts. That’s why he wants her to leave.”
“Do you think he’s right?” Cassie leaned against the other counter, crossing her arms as the first drop of coffee spat into the pot.
“Absolutely not. The ghost keeps Rose...happy.” Bridget gazed down at the floor, then up at Cassie. “Now you’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I talk to ghosts for a living. You can’t get much crazier than that.”
Bridget smiled sadly. “She says the ghost loves her. And she loves him.”
As Cassie looked into Bridget’s dark brown eyes, she thought of Joe, her best friend who happened to be a ghost. Since her marriage to Luke, she’d only seen him a couple of times. She missed him.
“What does she want me to do? It sounds like Donovan’s mind is made up.”
“Talk to Herb.” Rose walked into the kitchenette. “My ghost. Talk to him.”
The coffee maker dripped steadily now. “It’s not the ghost who’s the problem,” Cassie said. “It’s the live people.”
Rose stared into her eyes and spoke in a fierce, husky whisper. “Find something that will make Donny believe.”
A chill shivered through Cassie. It wasn’t the ghost Rose wanted validated. It was their love she wanted recognized and approved of. She wanted to do anything in order to stay with him.
Words dragged out of Cassie’s mouth. “I’ll try.”
Squealing like a girl, Rose headed over to her and hugged her.
Cassie inhaled, smelling a faded flowery cologne and wondering how to make a nonbeliever believe?
In the Bible there was always a miracle to convert nonbelievers.
But she didn’t think God or an angel or even a genie was going to grant Rose this one.
Still beaming, Rose stepped back. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She put both hands over her heart. “This means the world to me.”
The throbbing in Cassie’s right eye worsened, as if tiny elves were using her cornea as a drum.
There was only one way to make this miracle.
She’d have to stage one.
Chapter 5
“Too complicated,” Luke said, walking next to her on the path around Lake Michigan, along with what seemed like half of Chicago. In their shorts and T-shirts, no one noticed that a former rock god was among the crowd.
She wanted to tell him that he was negative and it was driving her nuts. It was true. He was and he did. But they were usually negative together. Except when it came to Erin—his daughter, her stepdaughter. Then they were two of the most positive people on the planet.
“I can do complicated.”
“It won’t work. You’ll want Joe’s help and you haven’t seen him for months. You can’t call him. As far as I’m aware, ectoplasmic phones aren’t invented yet.”
“Pessimist,” she said, but put no force into the word. “We have Isabel.”
“She’s not going to leave home.”
“I’m taping her favorite TV shows. She owes me.”
“You think she’ll care? She knows what a sucker you are.”
Cassie jabbed her elbow in his ribs, and he laughed at the puny force she put into it. All show and no muscle. Not with him, anyway. With him she was a marshmallow. One with a crusty covering.
A kid skateboarded past them, then another. Laughing and talking to each other. A woman and her dog jogged by them. Coming their way, two teens walked hand-in-hand, eyes only for each other. Looking at them, Cassie felt an ache.
Luke’s hand slipped onto hers, their fingers entwining.
The ache warmed. She forgot what she was thinking of before. Oh, the ghost.
“It will work,” she said. “It has to.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you don’t. You just want a piece of ass.”
He grinned. “I love your ass.”
She stopped. “I love a different part of your anatomy. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
The return was quick. What followed was slow. And satisfying. And made her glad she was married to him.
So was cuddling with him afterward. Something she hadn’t expected before she met him. For her, it was a way to extend the lovemaking. The warmth. The joining of their two bodies.
She thought of it as dessert. Foreplay was the appetizers. Sex was the main meal. Cuddling in his arms was her tiramisu. Or key lime pie. Or anything with chocolate.
With the last thought, she reluctantly pushed away but the contentment remained. A small piece of happiness lodged in her chest, right next to her heart.
Ten minutes later, she was on her way to Rose’s place, only five minutes away by taxi but she walked. As much as she loved their home by an inland lake, with her nearest neighbors a car ride away, she felt energized by the bustling pedestrians, the constant flow of traffic and the great expanse of Lake Michigan.
Her heart beat faster, her blood flowed quicker, her feet in their low-heeled shoes ate up the sidewalk. Blending in. Becoming one of them.
That’s what she’d learned to do in the years before she met Luke. Because letting people know you were different was like a puppy showing its belly. Its vulnerable spot. And she never knew when the so-called normal people would strike her in the belly.
At the condo, Rose hugged her, as if they were friends. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered.
There was a sinking feeling in Cassie’s gut. Not a small ship either. A battleship flopping over. “They’re here, aren’t they?”