by Spear, Terry
“How’s your job?” she asked, hoping to deter the inevitable. She grabbed a handful of books from the couch and crossed the floor to the wall-to-wall bookshelves. Though she was glad to see her dad, she secretly hoped he would have gone to bed, despite the fact it was only seven in the evening.
“Great. So I hear you’ve made a friend.”
The way he said the word friend made her think he was not too happy the friend was a guy and not a girl. She glanced at her father. His brows furrowed. Yeah, he was anxious. Wasn’t it enough she had a mother who was an excessive worrier? Her father was supposed to be the balance in their lives.
She heard noises in the kitchen and assumed her mother was cleaning up dinner dishes, or unpacking more.
“Yeah, I made a friend. Isn’t that great?” Emily shelved the books and returned for another armload. She planned on taking the job seriously, cataloguing them the way she preferred, alphabetically by authors’ names, just like in the library. But her nerves were on edge because of the way her father eyed her as if she had made the worst mistake in the world. Now, Emily wanted to pile the books on the shelves, neatly, in any order just to get away from her father’s inquisition, and then bury herself in her room.
Hot room, until the air conditioner could work its way through her vent and displace the stuffy heat.
“Your mother said he lives next door.”
Her father’s words sounded a shade dark, as if he feared the worst. She’d sneak out of her bedroom at night and join Michael, or vice versa. Hmm, could he climb the cabbage palm next to her northern-facing window?
“Yes, next door.” She hoped her father wouldn’t ask much more. Though she knew she needed to tell her parents Michael and his grandmother had special abilities like her. But would this cause her father to be more concerned? She was afraid so.
When her father didn’t say anything, she prayed he was reading his book again. She took a deep breath, turned to get some more books, and found him studying her. The period of questioning wasn’t over.
“He’s from California,” her father said.
“Yes, isn’t that nice? And we even have a couple of classes together.” She grabbed books and whipped around, hoping her words would appease her father. Then she thought, she didn’t have to tell them about Michael’s second sight. “Oh, and he’s a genius.” She glanced at her father, hoping her words would lessen his concern. Wouldn’t being friends with a smart guy be good?
Her father’s shoulders relaxed, and the tension in his blue eyes seemed to soften. “A genius.”
“Yeah, really super smart. He’ll make a great study partner.”
She figured that would earn Brownie points.
“You know this from having just met him?” Her father wasn’t convinced.
Maybe she could share with her father a little bit of Michael’s abilities to appease him. “He…well, he has a photographic memory,” she said cheerfully and deposited the books, sorting as she went along.
“Photographic memory.”
She hadn’t remembered her father being such a parrot. Was he tired after the move and the stress from the new job?
“Yes, isn’t that neat?”
“A photographic memory?” her mother asked, walking into the living room.
Oh, no, now the two of them would gang up on her.
“Yeah, I sure wish I had that,” Emily said, wishing she was already done. She glanced at the seventy or so books left to shelve. But she had promised.
“What about the girls at school?” her father asked.
“None of them were friendly.” She hadn’t meant to clip her words short, but it just came out that way.
Her father and mother’s expressions looked perturbed.
“But, you know how it is. It was only my first day at school. There’s plenty of time to make some girlfriends.” Not if the girls continued to treat her coolly. Besides, what did she need them for when she had Michael, who could understand her better than anyone else? “Oh, and Michael said he’d drive me to school and back every day, if that’s okay with you both.” She’d nearly forgotten to get permission.
Her father rubbed his chin. “I don’t know.” He didn’t say it like he didn’t know, but more like he did…and the answer was no.
He couldn’t say no. She hadn’t wanted to mention anything about the bullies, but if he forced her…
“Yes, I’d feel safer if you rode the school bus,” her mother agreed.
Ack! She had the perfect set-up, a really sweet guy friend, who would take her to school in his grand automobile fit for a queen. Ride the school bus with the deranged driver and bullies bent on revenge?
She took a ragged breath and leaned against the bookcase. “I really want to ride with Michael.”
Her father’s features expressed the word no without having to say it.
“Okay, I didn’t want to worry you, but I had trouble on the bus today.” She hated the way her mother’s green eyes shimmered when a flutter of anxiousness appeared in them.
“What kind of trouble?” her father said, rising from the chair. He rested his hand on her mother’s shoulder.
“No big deal, really, but, well, there were three boys on the bus, none of whom would let me sit down. After I made one of them move, I…I used my abilities to keep him from shoving me off the seat. When we reached the school, the one…” She stopped speaking when she saw how red-faced and angry her father was. He’d call the school for certain, first thing in the morning. “Well, anyway, Michael had a premonition…”
That did it. She needed to get a big roll of duct tape and secure her mouth shut for the duration of the school year.
Her parents’ eyes couldn’t have gotten any rounder, and her mother’s mouth gaped wide.
Her father had her mother sit in his chair.
“Premonition, like he can see into the future, or he just had a gut feeling?” her father asked, his voice stern.
Emily cleared her suddenly gravel throat. “Like has second sight, visions of the future.”
“And he’s seen…?” he asked.
Emily shifted uneasily. “He’s not sure. All he knows is the bullies get off at my stop. He can’t see anything else, but he wants to take me to school and keep me safe.”
Suddenly, her parents’ alarmed composure changed. Her mother glanced up at her father. He returned the look as if some secret communiqué was being passed between them. And she knew they didn’t have any such abilities. At least not like Michael and Emily had.
“All right,” her father said.
She wanted to sigh with relief, but she held her breath, waiting for him to finish setting up the rules.
He rubbed his forehead, as if trying to wipe away the tension. “If he can see some danger...”
She interrupted, knowing she shouldn’t, but she thought if knowing Michael had premonitions changed their view of him, what if they knew about his grandmother? Surely, they would be thrilled Emily would have someone to confide in who had the same abilities. “And his grandmother—the one he lives with—she can read minds like me.”
Her father moved books off the couch and sat down hard.
* * *
After explaining to her parents about Granny’s abilities and how happy Emily felt meeting Michael and his grandmother, her parents finally relaxed. They even seemed relieved Michael wanted to serve as her protector. Though now, she was ready to go to bed and have it out with her nightly ghostly visitor.
Emotionally and physically drained, Emily retired early.
If she could sleep the night through without the ghost visiting her dreams, everything would be perfect. On the other hand, Emily was so keyed up she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to fall asleep. She couldn’t help but think about her new found friendship with Michael also. Peeking out the window, she considered the palm tree. Nope, it was too far away from the window for Michael to climb. And it had no branches. Just a single trunk. Not that he’d ever rendezvous with her like tha
t. And not that she wanted him to, but it was just a fun notion.
She considered her room for a minute before shutting off the light. While other girls were trying to be cool, she still clung to her pink ruffled bedspread and heart-shaped pillows from when she was a little girl. Though Victorian touches gave it a more grownup feel. Rose tapestry pillows pictured young men and ladies seated in arbors in their Victorian finery. An overstuffed wide-winged chair was covered in rose chintz. Even her desk chair sported a tapestry seat, picturing a rose garden surrounding a fishpond. And antique pictures of women wearing nineteenth century finery, their hair coiled on top of their heads, hung on her walls, compliments of her grandmother from when she was a young girl. There was something about being different that made Emily hang onto something that was the same.
Emily crawled into bed, worn out from the day’s experiences. Hugging a spare pillow tight against her body, she wished it were Michael. She closed her eyes, trying to visualize his warm lips kissing hers.
For an hour, she attempted to clear her mind of the day’s events, slipping into the realm of unconsciousness. But when the clock chimed quarter past midnight, cold fingers touched Emily’s cheek, leaving an icy imprint on her skin.
She bolted upright. “Who’s there?”
A whisper of light floated near her window, standing wide open. Emily stared at the sight, jaw agape, speechless. Was it the ghost who sneaked into her dreams the first three evenings?
“Who are you?” Emily asked. “How can I help you?”
The light flickered, then vanished.
Emily dashed for the window. There was no sign of anything outside. She quickly closed the window and locked the sash. Yanking the white curtains closed, she wondered how anything like a ghost could have unlocked the sash.
She shuddered at the idea. The air, hot and sultry, quickly changed her air-conditioned room into a sauna. Would she ever get used to the muggy heat here? Never. She climbed back into bed and pulled the covers tight underneath her chin.
For another hour, Emily watched the drapes, expecting the ghostly apparition to open her window and pull the linen cloth aside.
But then, explorations of the swamp drifted in and out of Emily’s consciousness.
A snake slithered in the water. Another coiled around a tree branch, basking in the sun.
What if the snake fell off the tree and landed on her head? She glanced down at the other, its body winding back and forth in the water, parting the scum.
A sparkle, shiny metal, golden, shimmered in the sunlight, grabbing her attention, pulling her toward it. Gold bullion and coins rested in a weathered wooden chest, the leather straps nearly disintegrated in the harsh conditions.
Water lapping at the edge of a reed-covered bank, comforting in its rhythmic susurration, putting her back into deep sleep when she concentrated on the sound.
Suddenly, darkness fell.
She squirmed under her cover, afraid of the deathly quiet dark.
The sights and sounds returned. The odor of fishy swamp water hanging in the air, thick with heat and alive with buzzing mosquitoes, waking her into semi-awareness. Mango trees vigilant, like old soldiers protecting the land, shuddered in the slight breeze. Shadows stretching into the moon-streaked darkness, and the ghost girl, very nearly Emily’s age, floating over the whole dream landscape, captured Emily’s attention.
Jarring her awake, Emily’s alarm clock rang. If she didn’t get a good night’s sleep soon, she’d be one of the living dead herself.
She sighed deeply. Another day at school, only this time she had a ride. No fighting for a seat on the bus, no trying to start up a finicky old car...she had it made.
Struggling to get out of the covers tangled into a twisted cocoon around her legs, she imagined she must have fought unseen demons all night long. When she extricated herself from the comforter, she tumbled to the floor.
At least this morning she woke when the alarm first sounded. She rose and stared at the wide-winged chair where she laid her clothes for school every day. In the place of the green shirt she selected was another blue one. Written across the front was, “I will not talk to boys.” The message repeated four more times, like a schoolgirl’s handwriting scrawled on the chalkboard in an attempt to learn an important message. By the fifth and sixth lines, the words faded as if the wearer forgot to maintain the vigilance against speaking to boys.
Emily touched the words. Was the ghost choosing her clothes for her? If so, was it another warning of sorts? Was she not to speak with Michael? Or, was it the bullies she needed to avoid? She wrinkled her brow and pulled off her nightgown.
After dressing, she joined her mother in the kitchen. The floor was finally visible, no more packing boxes. Her mom greeted her much more cheerfully, not half so harried. “Good morning, Emily. Glad to see you down here earlier. Not such a rush to eat breakfast this time.”
No, there didn’t need to be, but she was dying to see Michael. Did he have any more premonitions of her? If so, why would he have them of her? Why not of something or someone else? She had to find out.
Emily choked down an English muffin and glass of orange juice, then glanced up and found her mother watching her.
“Your father and I talked last night.”
Emily held her breath. They couldn’t have changed their minds about Michael.
Her mother sighed deeply. “We think things couldn’t have worked out any better.”
Emily breathed again, relieved to the nth degree. “I totally agree. Got to run, Mom, but I’ll help you later, and we can hang the pictures in the living room, if you like.”
“Sure. That way I won’t get them so crooked this time. Oh, and I’ll be job hunting this afternoon.”
Emily grabbed her book bag and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Good luck, Mom. I know they’ll love you. Later!”
Dashing outside and across the lawns, she caught sight of the school bus approaching. The driver barreled down the road, full speed ahead. No way would he consider stopping for her. She wanted to stick out her tongue. That would show him. After all, her knight would convey her to school on his shining red steed. She didn’t need some old grouchy bus driver driving an old rickety, noisy school bus with three demon seed bullies waiting to pounce on her.
Before she knocked on Michael’s door, he pulled it open. A red shirt fitted over his broad shoulders, complementing his dark hair. He wore blue jeans like her, but sneakers instead of sandals. His cheeks dimpled in greeting. Totally cute.
“Did you have a premonition I was on my way?” she asked.
“I knew you were coming, so I was watching out the window for you.”
She’d never known anyone as attentive as Michael. It made her day.
Grabbing her hand, he led her toward the car. She glanced back at the house; she hadn’t even told Granny goodbye.
As if reading Emily’s mind, Michael said, “She’s not awake yet. She stays up late into the night, but sleeps in, in the morning.”
“Oh.” She hesitated when he opened his car door for her. “Except for yesterday morning…when she cleaned the boat deck?”
The edges of Michael’s ears turned a little red. Had she caught him in another fabrication? First about his father not working at the Cape, now this?
His eyes weren’t focused on hers, however. They stared at her shirt and its message. His mouth curved up a hint.
“I will not talk to boys,” Michael mouthed and winked at her. “Somehow, I don’t believe it.” After closing her door, he climbed into the driver’s seat. Looking back at her shirt, he shook his head. “Good advice for the other guys, though.”
Did he want her exclusively? She was all his, as far as she was concerned. No other guy interested her in the least.
Still, Emily wondered about his comment concerning his grandmother and her sleep patterns. “Uhm, you said your grandmother rises late, but yesterday she was cleaning her boat early in the morning.”
“Yeah, sometimes she can
’t sleep because she misses Granddad. They’d been married close to forty-seven years. Anyway, Granny decided to clean the boat deck because it makes her feel close to him. I think she fell off the sailboat half asleep.”
“Or a ghost gave her a little push.” Emily didn’t know why she said it. But the words slipped out before she could stop them. She wasn’t sure if Michael was just concentrating on his driving, or avoiding the topic, but he didn’t comment. He must think she was some kind of nut.
Halfway to school, Michael finally spoke. “You read her mind.”
Her heart pounding, she stared at him, his eyes still focused on the road. She read whose mind? The ghost’s? Granny’s?
Then the realization crashed down on her. Granny had been pushed off the deck by a ghost? No wonder Michael was worried for her and reluctant to speak about it. But how in the world had Emily known? Granny wouldn’t let her see into her thoughts.
Was it the ghost girl who told her? Emily couldn’t remember. It must have been a flicker of memory in her fog-filled mind that slipped onto her tongue. Yet, she couldn’t sense anything of the ghost who might have done the deed.
Was the ghost girl Emily’s guardian angel? Or, as Michael suggested, a demonic spirit bent on her destruction?
“So, when did you think a ghost pushed Granny off the deck, Emily?”
“Just now.”
He pulled into the school’s parking lot. “But you haven’t seen my grandmother since last night. I thought you had to be in sight of the person before you could read their mind.”
“The ghost girl told me.”
He stared at her, and she wasn’t certain he believed her.
“Oh,” he finally said.
“Listen, Michael, she keeps me awake for a good part of the night and has every evening since I moved into the house. I can’t recall what she says, but I remembered wandering through the swamps through her eyes last night. At least, I think that’s what happened. Anyway, I didn’t read your grandmother’s mind, but the notion just slipped onto my tongue, as if the ghost girl put it there.”