Giving Up the Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  “Thanks.” Nick waited until she’d made a few marks on John’s chart and left the room before he sat up and leaned forward, reaching out to touch John’s arm, which was reassuringly warm. “How are you feeling?”

  “Well, I’ve felt better,” John said cautiously. Nick watched John wriggle his toes and generally test that everything was working. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much wrong with me, barring the fact that I’m starving.” He reached out and captured Nick’s hand, his fingers curling around it with a comforting pressure. “How about you? You were the one doing all the hard work last night, after all.”

  “I’m fine,” Nick said. He was. The night before had been unbearably taxing, but other than a slight crick in his neck from sleeping in a chair, he felt rested. And, as John had said, hungry. “I’ll have to call Melissa and tell her what happened.” He stroked the back of John’s hand with his free one. “I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters, really. When I thought you were ‑‑ you really were, weren’t you.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word “dead” out loud.

  “Dead?” John asked with a certain relish. “Aye, I was, or as close as I want to get for another fifty or sixty years, anyway.” Nick’s expression must have told John how much he didn’t want to hear that, because John’s face twisted and he gave Nick a contrite smile. “Right here,” he said gently, squeezing Nick’s hand hard for a moment. “See?”

  “I know.” Still, Nick had to lean in and kiss John’s hand, press his forehead to it, and John rested his other hand on the back of Nick’s head, comforting him. “But we can’t put you in a position like that again. We have to find a way to prevent it.” Melissa’s tea had worked wonders ‑‑ there had to be something else, something stronger that would work against more powerful ghosts.

  “It’s not likely to happen again.” John paused. “Is it? Because you’ve managed just fine up to now and, hell, you won last night, didn’t you?” His hand slid up to the back of Nick’s neck, possessive and comforting. “I knew you would. Never a doubt about it.” His thumb found the perfect place to rub against and his voice was rich with pride and satisfaction. “You kicked his arse, lad.”

  “I think it was more like I tripped him and got lucky and he hit his head,” Nick said, even though that was a poor analogy at best. His voice was muffled against the thin cotton blanket draped over John, so he rolled his head to the side. “But I have no idea how I did it. I want to know. I’ve been going along on instinct for too long, thinking it would be okay ‑‑ and you’re right, it has been, mostly ‑‑ but now I need to know what works, and why.”

  “It’s not like you can send off for an instruction manual,” John pointed out. “And you said once that those of you who can do it aren’t even all that connected with each other.” He frowned. “You don’t have a webpage, or anything?”

  The idea was enough to make Nick grin. “No. No webpage.”

  “No one you’ve heard of who’s like the top man or woman? Someone who could give you a few pointers?” John persisted. “What you do, it’s a skill. A talent. But you’re not the only one, and like my dad used to say, cream rises; if there’s someone out there who’s really good at this, it stands to reason you’d find him if you looked.” He made a face but there was no real heat in it. “You could always ask Greg. Assuming he didn’t take off after last night.”

  “He was here,” Nick said, surprised. “Don’t you remember?” He thought back, but the night was kind of a blur of doctors and nurses and moving from the emergency room up to the room they were in now. “I guess you were a little busy with the six thousand medical professionals who had their hands all over you. He followed the ambulance in his car and hung around until after they brought you up here. I’m supposed to call him today, actually; let him know how you are.” Glancing at the clock showed that it was still too early to call. “He wouldn’t know, anyway. There are some people I can check in with; people I know, like Isabel. We’ll figure it out.”

  John nodded. “Aye, we will.” He yawned, knuckling the sleep out of his eyes, and Nick was hit with a surge of homesickness for Traighshee, where he could wake up beside John in their bed, with the clear air, salted and clean, blowing through the window John kept open unless it was actually snowing or Nick protested enough. John’s lips would be warm and sleepy as they kissed, missing each other’s mouths because their eyes were still shut and not caring, his hands finding Nick under the covers, pulling him closer because they usually woke up at opposite ends of the bed, no matter how tangled up they’d been when they’d fallen asleep. “But maybe not today.”

  “No,” Nick agreed, standing up and leaning to kiss John’s forehead. “Now, I’m going to go down to the cafeteria and get you something to eat. Knowing hospitals, it’ll be a couple of hours until they get around to delivering breakfast, and I think you’d feel better if you had something before then.”

  “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” John told him, lying back and closing his eyes. “You could maybe ask for waffles?”

  “Anything you want,” Nick said, and went to get food.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Did I mention I’m nervous?” Nick wrung his hands; he’d been doing it for the past half hour, to the point where his knuckles were starting to ache.

  “Aye,” John said, putting the car in park and shutting it off. “A dozen times or so.”

  “Only that many?” Nick caught John’s hand before he could get out. “It felt more like a hundred.” Then he asked the real question. “What if he doesn’t like us?”

  John was silent, the reassuring answer Nick had expected not coming immediately. “I’d like to say it doesn’t matter,” John said finally, his thumb moving in a deliberate caress over the back of Nick’s hand. “That a week ago you didn’t know he existed, so what difference does it make if this doesn’t go well?” His hand tightened. “But we both know it does matter.” His face broke into a slow smile. “And I know there’s no one who doesn’t like you once you turn on the charm, so…”

  “Apart from the minister,” Nick said a little shakily, because John’s belief in him was so absolute it sometimes felt impossible to live up to.

  “Well, he liked you before he found out you were hell-bent on seducing me,” John pointed out. “And I think he’d have forgiven you in time, if you’d picked someone else, mind. We’ve never got on. Englishman,” he added as an explanatory afterthought. “What can you expect?”

  “Josh isn’t.” Nick sighed and slouched down in his seat, giving himself permission to postpone the meeting for another minute or two. “He’s American, and so am I. That has to count for something.” He shook his head, grateful for the touch of John’s hand. “Who am I kidding? He’s just a kid. He wouldn’t care if we were from Timbuktu as long as we brought him candy and toys.”

  “Like the ones you insisted we shop for, you mean?” John reached into the back and dragged the shopping bag forward between the seats.

  Nick grinned ruefully. “Yeah, well…hopefully they won’t hurt.” He looked at the house ‑‑ it was bigger than he’d expected, with a well-cared-for lawn and two fairly new cars in the driveway.

  “She sounded nice, did she? His mum?” John asked tentatively. “Not like Alicia?”

  “Much better than Alicia,” Nick confirmed. He thought about it a little bit more. “Sort of between my mom and Alicia, actually. Not that I talked to her that long, but…yeah. She sounded nice.”

  “Well, that’s…good.” John sighed and shook his head. “Get out of the car, will you, Nick? Because there’s someone watching us from behind a curtain and I’m thinking you’re not the only nervous one. He’s meeting a brother he never thought to see, as well, you know.”

  Startled, Nick looked toward the house again just in time to see the curtain closing. “Oh geez. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

  They got out of the car, John holding the bag of toys and things, and walked up to the front door. Ni
ck knocked, his heart pounding in his chest, echoing the sound of his knuckles against the solid wooden door.

  A moment later, the door opened, and he was presented with the sight of a wide-eyed boy with sharp green eyes and a tousle of brown hair streaked with blond. “You’re my brother,” Josh said. He wasn’t smiling; John was right, he looked almost as nervous as Nick felt.

  “I’m Nick. And you’re Josh.” Nick hesitated, then held out his hand as Josh’s mother appeared behind him. Josh shook Nick’s hand solemnly. “Hi,” he said to Josh’s mother, shaking her hand, too. “I’m Nick Kelley.”

  She nodded, smiling, opening her mouth to say something Nick guessed would have been a conventional greeting, and then her face crumpled. “Oh, God. God, this is ‑‑”

  John cleared his throat. “Awkward? Aye, it is. And I’m John, by the way. John McIntyre. Pleased to meet you both.” He was so matter-of-fact about it that Nick felt a bubble of amusement, inappropriate, unexpected, and welcome, rise up. John clearly didn’t want to have to deal with another of Brian’s girlfriends becoming hysterical.

  She blinked, what might have been a sob catching in her throat. “I’m Stacy. And, yes. Yes, it is.” She swallowed hard and took a step toward Nick, hugging him. “You look so much like him,” she murmured into his shoulder. The light, floral scent she wore surrounded him and he realized as his arms came up automatically to hold her that she was shaking. “Your eyes…”

  He wasn’t sure if she was talking about Josh or Brian, but it probably didn’t matter. Nick let go as soon as she started to pull away. “I know you probably never expected to hear from me,” he said awkwardly. “And you probably wouldn’t have, if…” He glanced at Josh, who still looked solemn.

  “Our father died,” Josh said. “In a plane crash. I cried. Did you?”

  “No.” Nick wanted to be honest. “But I’m sad. I never really knew him. Maybe I would have gotten to know him, later, if he was still alive.”

  “Why didn’t you know him?” Josh stared at him, wide-eyed. “I didn’t think anyone couldn’t know their daddy.”

  He glanced at his mother for support and she tousled his hair. “You ask too many questions,” she murmured. She gave Nick and John a smile that seemed more relaxed now, as if Nick’s own nervousness had been reassuring. “Please; both of you, come in, sit down ‑‑”

  She ushered them, not into a formal room, visible through an archway, all white and pale green, but the kitchen at the back of the house, sunny and welcoming, with a refrigerator serving as a memo board and gallery for Josh’s artwork.

  “Coffee? Or iced tea?” Stacy asked, hovering between the coffee pot on the countertop and the fridge.

  “Iced tea sounds great,” Nick said. Stacy opened the fridge and took out a tall glass pitcher and a small lidded glass container that proved to have sliced lemons in it.

  Josh was watching from the doorway. “I got to stay home from school today,” he offered.

  “I guess you did.” Nick hadn’t realized until then that it was mid-week; he’d lost all track of time, really. “Do you like school?”

  “Sometimes.” Josh shrugged, fingers worrying at the bottom hem of his T-shirt, which had a cartoon drawing of a skateboarder on it. “I like math. But not reading.” He brightened. “I like recess best.”

  Stacy gestured at Nick and John to sit at the table and set their glasses of tea down. John looked at Nick and widened his eyes slightly, jostling the bag he was still holding into Nick’s thigh until Nick took it.

  “We brought you some things,” he said, glancing at Stacy for permission.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she said automatically, her eyes softening. “He has so much ‑‑”

  “Mom!” Josh came forward eagerly but hesitated, good manners preventing him from grabbing. Nick smiled and handed him the bag, Josh’s smile blinding.

  “Oh, cool.” He began to stack his loot on the table. “Mom! It’s that new Gameboy game; the limited edition racing one! And, look, a whole set of Pokemon cards and…” He investigated the bottom of the bag and pulled out the soccer ball John had tossed in. “Neat.”

  “It felt wrong not to bring something,” Nick said to Stacy, apologizing.

  “It was very nice of you,” Stacy said. Josh brought out a handful of candy that’d been for sale in the cash register aisle of the toy store ‑‑ mostly sour and in vividly bright artificial colors. “Josh?”

  “Thank you,” Josh said, glancing up at Nick and then John. “A lot. This is so cool. I’m gonna get my Gameboy.” He darted out of the room, and Nick could hear the sound of his footsteps as he pounded up the stairs.

  “That isn’t all we brought,” Nick said, slightly distracted by John at his side, who had taken a polite sip of his iced tea and was now manfully swallowing it without grimacing. He’d forgotten John’s views on tea that was cold and milkless and far too sweet.

  He took the envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “Brian won some money before he died. Some of it he had with him when he ‑‑ when the plane crashed, but most of it was back at his apartment.” He could see the questioning look on Stacy’s face and he hurried on, wanting to get this over with. “His, uh, his girlfriend collected it and, well ‑‑ this is Josh’s half.” He placed his fingers on the envelope and pushed it closer to her. “I know this is probably one of those things where everything should be done through legal channels, but John and I just ‑‑ we want to go home. I gave my share to Alicia and ‑‑”

  “You did what?” Stacy rolled her eyes, her Southern accent deepening. It seemed clear she knew Alicia well enough to dislike her. Which could mean they’d met once in passing; Alicia tended to have an impact. “Now, I’m guessing that was her idea, right?”

  “Aye, but it’s what Nick wanted,” John put in. “And it’s what Brian would have wanted, too.”

  “How do you know that?” Stacy’s eyes were wary now, fixed on Nick. “I thought you hadn’t spoken to him for years. What’s going on here?”

  Nick listened for the sound of Josh returning. “You don’t have to believe me ‑‑ you probably won’t, and I’m not sure I blame you ‑‑ but…I can talk to people. After they’ve died.”

  Blinking, Stacy appeared to try to absorb that information. “You see dead people,” she offered.

  “Exactly.” It wasn’t the first time Nick had heard it put that way, not since that movie had come out. “But I don’t just see them ‑‑ I talk to them. They tell me things; stuff they’ve left unfinished. And I try to pass that on to the people who knew them. Family, friends, whatever.” Stacy was watching him a little bit blankly, like she wasn’t sure what to believe. That was better, Nick thought, than her thinking automatically that he was some kind of crazy. “Josh should have this. Save it for when he’s older ‑‑ for school, or for when he wants a car or something.”

  Stacy stared at the envelope, clearly pushing aside what Nick had told her as being irrelevant right then or too much to deal with. “That much?” She raked her fingers through soft brown curls, rumpling the careful styling. “God, poor Brian! He was always saying one day he’d hit the jackpot, and then when he does he dies before he has time to enjoy it. It’s just ‑‑ it’s just him, you know?” She blinked. “No, you don’t know, do you? I can’t ‑‑ I don’t know why he didn’t keep in touch with you. He was never all that good with kids, although Josh adored him because he always showed up with presents ‑‑” She smiled wryly. “Like you. But once you’d grown up…”

  “I didn’t know where he was, even if I’d wanted to find him,” Nick said. “Which I didn’t. The last time I saw him was when I was…I don’t know, twelve or thirteen. Let’s just say I wasn’t impressed.”

  Slowly, Stacy’s hand stole out and touched the envelope, her fingertips just brushing it like she was afraid it might bite. Then there was the sound of Josh’s footsteps on the stairs, and she picked up the envelope and slipped it into her purse, which was sitting nearby. She gave
Nick an apologetic look which he completely understood. “He had his charms,” she said. “I’m sorry you never had a chance to know about them.”

  “Me, too.”

  Nick smiled at Josh as the boy came back into the kitchen holding something that seemed too small to be a video game player. “It needs batteries, Mom.”

  “They always do,” John said. “You should have a charger, though, that came with it. Leave it plugged in overnight, and ‑‑”

  Josh looked sheepish. “Yeah. I lost it when I took my Gameboy to the park, and Mom said ‑‑”

  “You couldn’t have a new one for six months,” Stacy put in firmly, sounding, for all the magnolia in her accent, remarkably like Sheila. “And that the new batteries would have to come out of your allowance.”

  John screwed up his face in sympathy. “And do you have any allowance left, lad?”

  Josh sighed. “Yeah, I do.” He gave Nick a speculative look. “Want to walk to the store with me? I’m not allowed to go there alone and I really want to play my new game.”

  Nick hesitated, not sure how Stacy would react to that, but she smiled tolerantly. “Would you? It’s only a few blocks away and he’ll keep on and on about it until I’m ready to scream.” She turned to John. “And maybe you’d like to keep me company? I’d love to hear about where you live. Scotland! So romantic. Castles and heather and kilts. Do you wear…?”

  “No, I do not,” John said with feeling. “And there’s no castle on Traighshee, but, aye, we’ve plenty of heather.”

  Somehow, Nick found himself walking down the sidewalk with Josh bouncing along next to him. The boy was so full of energy it was almost astounding, he thought, trying to keep up with Josh’s rambling conversation about video games and the X-Box and something called, almost disturbingly, “butt bounces.”

  “My mom wasn’t sure if you’d be nice,” Josh said suddenly.