Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4)

by Joy Elbel

  As the opening notes of the song sounded through the speakers, I knew instantly what it was. Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. Wayne’s World was one of my dad’s favorite movies and we used to watch it together when I was younger. The scene with them in the car was his favorite. He used to sing along and I begged him to teach me the words so that I could join him. My singing voice was terrible but dad never seemed to mind.

  I cranked up the volume and belted out the lyrics as we drove. After the first few lines, Zach laughed and joined in. Once we got to the chorus, I discovered that we were now a trio. A quick glance in the rear view made me giggle as I caught Clay head banging to the music. As I watched Zach tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel with his hands, I made a mental note for one other thing I wanted to discuss with him on the ride back. Drumming. I kind of thought that I knew why he stopped but that didn’t completely explain why he never went back to it. It used to be important to him so, therefore, it was now important to me.

  When we got to the part with the falsetto voice, both boys bowed out but I kicked my singing into high gear. My voice was terrible but the moment was priceless. They mimicked the lightning bolts for me and everything. When Clay popped his head between the seats and pretended to be sick just like in the movie, I totally lost it. I simply couldn’t sing while I was laughing so hard. I realized that it was another good photo opportunity so I dug out my phone one more time to get a shot of them together.

  Clay was clearly visible to me as I peered through the viewfinder but I was disappointed to see the finished photo. No Clay. It was an excellent shot of Zach, capturing in detail all of the fun he was having, but the picture made me sad. I never realized until now that once Clay moved on, I wouldn’t have anything left of him but memories. And memories tend to fade. I had already begun to forget the subtle nuances that made Lee, Lee. The only thing that refreshed that memory for me was meeting Lucas. That was something I would never find again with anyone else. Sadly, I put my phone back in my bag and did my best to recapture the lighthearted fun they were still having without me. Even eating the best burritos this side of the border at Cozumel wasn’t going to be enough to completely erase my funk.

  My mood improved significantly once we got to Pendleton, though. As we walked across the campus, it all started to feel real for me. In a few short months, Zach and I would be out on our own together and far away from Misty and her brood. Even though I wouldn’t actually be attending classes until the spring semester, I was just as excited to explore as he was. He marveled at the grandeur of Sullivan Hall, the ginormous science building where he would be spending 99% of his collegiate time. I practically drooled when I saw how big the library was. Hello, Lena C. Fenimore Memorial Library, meet your new best friend.

  We strolled around campus for several hours, talking about how different it was from high school. Unlike the halls at CGHS, there didn’t seem to be cliques of people walking around together. Even the sorority girls—presumably the college equivalent of cheerleaders—were all traveling alone. Fashion and appearance didn’t seem to be anywhere near as important here either. I saw several very pretty girls hustling to class in yoga pants and no makeup. Even though it was probably quite obvious that we were still high-schoolers, no one seemed to care. I was going to love it here.

  The day got even more exciting when we ventured slightly off campus to look at some of our housing options. Since there was no way on earth that I was going to leave Coco in Charlotte’s Grove, I had already narrowed our choices down to any places that would be available in the fall that allowed pets.

  The first place we looked at was a complete dump. It seemed more werewolf friendly than pet friendly. The exterior was in serious need of a paint job—the gray, weathered wood a sharp contrast to the other well-manicured buildings on that street. We decided that it was a definite no without even glimpsing the inside. I was weird but not weird enough to want to live in the Munsters’ gloomy abode. Not yet anyway.

  After that first potential dwelling misfire, every other building was so nice that we were hard pressed to make a final decision. Until we came to the last place on my list.

  Liberty Towers wasn’t really all that much of a tower— three floors total—yet the good vibe I was getting from it made the misnomer easy to ignore. It was the exact opposite of the first place we looked at. A well-manicured lawn and clean exterior gave it a homey appeal. The building manager even greeted us as we entered the front door. If the apartments themselves were half as clean and inviting, we had a winner here. It would be fitting for our first venture out into the world as adults to be spent in a placed named Liberty.

  As we toured the units that would become available in the fall, I noticed that Zach didn’t seem as sure of the place as I did. What could he possibly not love about an efficiency apartment with as much closet space as this one had? When we were left alone to discuss whether or not we wanted to commit to signing a lease, Zach immediately blurted out his concerns.

  “I love this place,” he said with a frown, “But if you feel any sort of paranormal vibe here, you better say so now.” Happily, I reported back to him, “Nope—nothing. I don’t see, hear, or sense anything out of the ordinary here.” I jokingly quoted a line from the movie Poltergeist in that same tiny little voice the actress used. “This house is clean.”

  Clay shook his head and laughed at my creative “no ghost” declaration but disagreed based on the fact that he—a ghost—was taking the walkthrough with us. I almost told him that he should know by now that he didn’t count but I caught myself just in time. It was getting so hard to remember that he wasn’t real. Well, he was real—just not to anyone but me.

  Zach exhaled a breath of relief and smiled. “I don’t know about you, sweetie, but I think this place is perfect! It will be just big enough for all of our stuff—unless you decide to go on another shoe shopping spree, that is.”

  Insert involuntary eye roll here. I didn’t own that many shoes, did I? I visualized my closet and began to count each pair in my head. My shoes were arranged by color which made my task easier but by the time I got to the brown ones, I realized something. He was right—I had way too many pairs of shoes. Not that that fact would stop me from buying more or anything. Admitting my problem was the only half of the battle I was willing to address. I was a proud shoe addict and unembarrassed by my addiction. Zach, on the other hand, had a hobby he wasn’t willing to talk about. So I was forced to make him do it.

  “Yeah, well, your drum set is going to take up a lot of room too, you know. At least I can store my shoes under the bed if I run out of closet space.”

  I had no intention of starting a fight and no idea that the mere mention of his drum set would cause him to flare up in anger. But that’s exactly what happened. His eyes narrowed and he balled his hands into fists instantly.

  “I’m not hauling those stupid things all the way to Ohio so that I can stare at them as they collect dust. I’ve done enough of that over the last year and a half, thank you very much. They’re staying in Charlotte’s Grove until I can find someone who will give me a decent amount of money for them.”

  I knew him well enough to know that he didn’t really mean what he was saying. Anger was only a mask for some sort of unbearable hurt that he wasn’t sharing with me. It all had to have something to do with the arguments he’d been having with his dad. Until now, I’d avoided trying to have an in depth discussion with him about what was going on beneath the surface in the hopes that they could work it out somehow. But the time had come for me to get involved and try to help fix a situation that I at least felt partially responsible for. If I hadn’t kissed Lucas on stage that night, Zach wouldn’t have wrecked his car. That wreck set off a chain of events in the Mason house that needed to come to an end before we left for college.

  The building manager returned before I could broach the subject so I chose to keep my mouth shut until we were alone in the car on the way home. Well, almost alone. Having Clay around 24/7 was
starting to get awkward in so many different ways. I didn’t want to have what should have been private conversations with Zach while my spectral BFF was lingering in the background, but for now, I had no other choice.

  We told the man that we wanted the apartment and he quickly produced a lease for us to sign. It was incredibly weird for me to look at that piece of paper now bearing both of our signatures and stating that the place was officially ours as of August 20. Where did my childhood go? It seemed like only yesterday that I was crying over a beheaded Barbie doll, yet today, I was signing the lease for my first apartment. Did everyone else my age feel this way or was it just me? It felt like I went straight from fourteen to forty practically overnight.

  Distracted by how old I suddenly felt, I let Zach drive right past an outlet mall without begging him to stop which made me feel ten times older. A few miles and half a dozen checks in the mirror in search of possible early onset of graying hair later, I was focused enough to have the much needed discussion with Zach.

  “So, you do realize that you can’t sell your drum set until after you play for me, right?” The tension level in that SUV went from non-existent to a geyser ready to blow. I knew that he didn’t want to talk about it which is exactly why he needed to talk about it.

  “No, Ruby, I—” “No, Zach, I won’t take no for an answer. You never once mentioned selling them until now. This has something to do with the fights you’ve been having with your dad, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said between clenched teeth. “Not now, not ever.” While his expression and tone of voice suggested anger, the fact that I saw a small tear drop from the corner of his eye suggested that there was something much deeper going on in his mind. I eased up on the dominatrix approach and tackled the subject from a different angle.

  “I know that you’re hurting inside but I can’t help you if you won’t tell me why. You can trust me—you know that. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I may not be able to fix the situation but I can at least try to make you feel better about it—if you let me.”

  My new tactic produced a quivering lip, another tear, and threat of the same for me. Seeing him in pain was tough for me to bear. Usually, he was the strong one, the one mopping up my emotional messes—not me his. There was no way I was going to let him drive the whole way home while trying to fight the urge to break down.

  “Get off at the next exit so we can talk, okay?” Zach nodded and maneuvered us into the right hand lane at the first opportunity he had. According to one of the signs, the next exit was only five miles away. I kept my mouth shut for fear that he would become a tearful hot mess with a single word from my mouth. They were the longest five miles of my life.

  20. Sprouting New Theories

  As we coasted down the off ramp, I tried to think of what to say to him to get him to open up. It turned out to be wasted time. He only took enough time to pull into the first parking lot we came across and put the vehicle in park before literally throwing himself into my arms. His body shook violently as he buried his head between my neck and shoulder and cried. I saw a brief flicker of motion as Clay exited the car before I closed my eyes and pulled Zach closer to me.

  His breakdown was brief but the tears fell in torrents while it lasted. When he pulled back to compose himself, I saw something that I had never noticed before. Zach had beautiful eyes—that was something even a blind woman couldn’t miss— but I’d never paid any attention to his eyelashes. Coated in a fine mist of tears, they were the lashes of an angel—like miniature halos hovering above his eyes. I was seeing a deeper part of his soul than what he had ever revealed to me before. As he dabbed at his tears, I began to weep.

  There was something about his unabashed vulnerability that I found breathtaking. I could feel his sadness creeping through my body as though his pain were my own. I’d seen him cry before but never like this. Something terrible was haunting him—something worse than anything I’d dealt with myself. I gave him a moment to collect his thoughts while I pondered over what I had just witnessed. There was an awkward beauty to sorrow, it revealed those places we all desperately tried to keep hidden. It demolished the walls built to protect the most fragile pieces of our hearts. Of course, I hated to see him so sad but I was grateful for the chance to see the exquisiteness of what he held beneath the surface.

  When he seemed ready to talk, I asked him to tell me what was wrong—everything that was wrong. Yes, quite hypocritical of me considering that I kept so much of myself hidden from him but I had to know the full severity of what was bothering him. If there was any chance that I could help him get through this situation, I needed to know exactly what I was up against.

  “Okay,” he began, “You know how I blame myself for my grandpa’s death, right? Well, my dad still holds me responsible, too. In my dad’s eyes, I’m nothing short of a murderer.”

  “No, Zach, I’m sure you’re wrong about that. I know you guys have been fighting an awful lot since your accident, but don’t you think it has more to do with the financial aspect of things? You know, unnecessary bills and all?”

  “No,” he said shaking his head with conviction, “I thought that at first but not anymore. He made the reasons for his animosity quite plain about a week ago during one of our blowups. In his eyes, I killed his father. He’s never going to let me forget that.”

  I sat there slack jawed and at a loss for words. I knew from personal experience what it was like to blame yourself for the death of someone close to you. The part I didn’t quite know how to wrap my brain around was what it must feel like to know that someone else blames you, too.

  “Zach, are you sure you understood him right?” I said, hoping it was all a matter of miscommunication that could be easily cleared up.

  “Positive. This isn’t the first time he’s said it to me—I just thought it was a momentary flash of intense grief at the time. The night of Grandpa’s funeral, Dad had a few drinks— something he rarely ever does. I was having trouble falling asleep and went to the kitchen for some hot chocolate. I found my Dad sitting at the kitchen table drunk. He started complaining about the chair making his back hurt and fell trying to get up. When I went to help him back onto his feet, he told me to get my hands off of him because he wasn’t ready to die yet.”

  “But, Zach,” I interjected, “He was drunk—you said it yourself. I’m sure you just read too much into his intoxicated ramblings.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I blew it off as just that until he totally went off on me. He told me that I was selfish, that I needed to grow up and be more responsible. He said that he was disappointed in me, that he thought that I was going to have the kind of life that he lost because of his injury but that all I cared about was girls and those stupid drums. He said now that those drums reminded him of the man that I killed and that he never wanted to hear me play them again—ever.”

  Instantly, I felt terrible. If I’d only known at the time, I never would have asked him to play for me. I always just assumed that he quit playing because he was trying to focus more on school and not because of something like this. Zach was more of a hot mess than I ever could have imagined he was. Finding no words that would comfort him, I rested my hand reassuringly on his arm instead. With us both on the verge of tears again, he pushed forward and continued his story.

  “Grandpa bought me those drums—he knew how much I loved to play. I was terrible at first and I almost gave up on ever being able to make actual music with them. The same went for my dream of being a veterinarian. I have hated math since day one because I wasn’t any good at it but he encouraged me to keep going because surviving failure was the only way to achieve my goals.” He gave a wry laugh and added, “I conquered the drums much quicker than I did calculus.”

  I smiled sympathetically. I knew just how frustrated he got at times but I admired his tenacity in that department. Still not sure of what to say, I simply said, “I know.”

  “So anyway, after that drunk
en comment I expected my dad to apologize the next day. He didn’t. He acted like nothing was wrong, like he’d never ripped my heart out and thrown it into the fire.”

  Again, Little Miss Dark Cloud herself put on her optimist shoes and tried to escort him to a much sunnier way of thinking. “You have to realize though, Zach, he probably didn’t remember a word he said to you. I know that his words hurt you but maybe if you forgave him for that one stupid mistake, they would hurt you less.”

  “Ruby, I appreciate your efforts here but you’re wrong—he remembered everything. I tried to convince myself that he didn’t but I had a nagging suspicion that I was right so I decided to test my theory. Up until that point, Dad encouraged me to play. He said that he always wished that he had musical talent but that having a son who did was just as fulfilling. I played almost every night up until then. If I went more than a few days in a row without touching them, he would always ask me to play something for him. So when I stopped completely and he never questioned it, I knew for a fact that he remembered every word of our conversation.”

  I searched my brain for an optimistic comeback for that but found nothing because Zach was right. His dad did mean every word he said to him that night. My next words were weak but heartfelt and the only ones that came to mind. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It isn’t your fault. If anything, you’re the reason why I’m not a complete hermit at this point in my life. I stopped dating all together after that—half because of the whole Misty incident, but half because of how guilty my dad made me feel because of it. In fact, I had zero intentions of dating you, either. If it hadn’t been for that weird zap I felt when I touched you that day at the diner, I never would have pursued it.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure how that comment made me feel. On one hand, I was in awe of the fact that our weird connection broke down Zach’s impenetrable dating wall. On the other, I was a bit disappointed to hear that he wouldn’t have even given me a second glance otherwise. But then again, I was kind of in the same boat that he was at the time—just for different reasons. While it still kind of bugged me, I understood exactly what he meant by it. When neither of us was looking for love, that’s when we found it in each other.