by Meg Cabot
But, the good father had assured us, it wouldn’t be hard. "The church," he’d said, "had ways."
"Madam," Jesse said, opening the front passenger door for me.
"Why, thank you," I said, and slid in.
Jesse went around to the driver’s seat, slid into it, then reached for the ignition.
"You’re sure you know how to drive one of these things?" I asked him, just to make sure.
"Susannah." Jesse started the engine. "I did not sit idly by eating bonbons for the 150 years I was a ghost. I did make a few observations now and then. And I most definitely know—" He started backing the car out of the driveway. "—how to drive."
"Okay. Just checking. Because I could always take over if you need—"
"You will sit where you are," Jesse said, turning onto Pine Crest Road without nearly hitting the mailbox, which was something even I, a driver with an actual license, rarely managed to do, "and look pretty, as a young lady ought to."
"Wait, which century is this?"
"Humor me," he said, looking pained. "I’m doing it for you, in this monkey suit."
"Penguin."
"Susannah."
"I’m just saying. That’s what it’s called. You need to get hip with the lingo if you’re going to fit in."
"Whatever," Jesse said in such a perfect imitation of—well, me—that I was forced to mock punch him in the arm.
I sat and looked pretty for the entire rest of the two-mile ride to the Mission. When we got there, I even waited and let him come around to open the car door for me. Jesse thanked me, mentioning that his male ego had taken enough blows over the past week.
I knew what he meant and didn’t blame him a bit for feeling that way. He had basically walked out of the Carmel Hospital a man newly born, without a past, at least, not one that was going to help him in this century, without family—except for me, of course, and Father Dominic—and without a cent to his name. If it hadn’t been for Father Dominic, in fact, who knew what might have happened? Oh, I suppose my mom and Andy might have let him move in with us. . . .
But they wouldn’t have been wild about it. But Father Dominic had found Jesse a small—but clean and nice—apartment, and he was looking into a job. College would come later, after Jesse had studied for and taken the SATs. But when we ran into Father D at the entrance to the dance—it was being held in the Mission courtyard, which had been transformed for the occasion into a moonlit oasis, complete with white fairy lights twisted around every palm tree and multicolored gels over the lights in the fountain—he pretended he and Jesse were meeting for the first time, for the sake of Sister Ernestine, who was standing nearby.
"Very nice to meet you," Father Dominic said, shaking Jesse’s hand.
Jesse was unable to keep a smile from his face. "Same with you, Father," he said.
After Sister Ernestine left with a sniff at my dress—I suppose she’d been waiting for me to show up in something slit to my navel, not the very demure white Jessica McClintock number I was wearing instead—Father Dominic dropped the pretense and said to Jesse, "I have good news. The job’s come through."
Jesse looked excited. "Really? What is it? When do I start?"
"Monday morning, and though the pay won’t be much, it’s something I think you’ll be unusually well-suited for—giving talks about old Carmel at the Historical Society Museum. Do you think you can stand to do that for a while? Until we can get you into medical school, anyway?"
Jesse’s grin seemed—to me, anyway—even more brilliant than the moon.
"I think so," he said.
"Excellent." Father Dominic pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled at us. "Have a nice evening, children."
Jesse and I assured him we would, then went into the dance.
It wasn’t any mid-nineteenth-century ball or anything, but it was still very nice. There were punch and cookies and chaperones. And okay, there was also a DJ and a smoke machine, but whatever. Jesse seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when CeeCee and Adam came up to us, and he was able to shake both their hands and say, "I’ve heard a lot about you both."
Adam, who’d had no idea about Jesse’s existence, scowled.
"Can’t say I can return the compliment," he said.
But CeeCee, who’d turned pale as her dress when she heard me say Jesse’s name, was more friendly. Or at least enthusiastic.
"B-but," she stammered, looking from Jesse’s face to mine and then back again, "are—aren’t you—"
"Not anymore," I said to her and, though she still looked confused, she smiled.
"Well," she said. Then, more loudly, "Well! That’s wonderful!"
That’s when I noticed her aunt standing nearby, chatting with Mr. Walden.
"What’s she doing here?" I asked CeeCee.
Adam laughed and, before CeeCee could say a word, explained, "Mr. Walden’s chaperoning. And guess who he brought as his date?"
"They aren’t dating," CeeCee insisted. "They’re just friends."
"Right," Adam said with a grin.
"Suze." CeeCee pulled her lace shawl more tightly over her bare shoulders. "Come to the ladies’ room with me?"
"I’ll be right back," I said to Jesse.
"How—" CeeCee began as soon as she’d dragged me into the ladies.
But she couldn’t get out anything more than that, because a bunch of giggling freshmen came in and crowded around the mirror over the sink, checking their hair.
"I’ll tell you someday," I said to her with a laugh.
CeeCee screwed up her face. "Promise?"
"If you’ll tell me how it’s going with Adam."
CeeCee sighed and checked out her own reflection. "Dreamy," she said. Then looked at me. "It is for you, too. I can tell by your face."
"Dreamy’s a good word for it," I said.
"I thought so. Well, come on. No telling what Adam might be saying to him."
We turned to leave just as the bathroom door swung open, and Kelly Prescott came in. She shot me a supremely dirty look, which I didn’t understand until she was followed by Sister Ernestine, who had a measuring tape in her hand. That’s when I saw the slit in Kelly’s designer gown. It was much higher than the regulation knee-length.
CeeCee and I slipped past the nun and fell giggling into the breezeway.
At least, I was giggling until I saw Paul.
He was standing in the shadows, looking coolly handsome in his tuxedo. He was obviously waiting for Kelly to emerge with her slit adjusted. He straightened when he saw me.
"Uh, tell Jesse I’ll be right there, will you, Cee?" I said.
CeeCee nodded and went back to the dance. I walked up to where Paul was leaning against one of the stone pillars, and said, "Hi."
Paul took his hands from his pockets. "Hi," he said.
Then neither of us seemed to be able to think of anything to say.
Finally, Paul said, "I ran into Jesse out there."
I raised my eyebrows. "I ran into Kelly in there."
"Yeah," Paul said, flicking a glance at the door to the ladies’ room. Then he said, "I . . . my grandfather asked about you."
"Really?" I had heard Dr. Slaski had come home from the hospital. "Is he—"
"He’s better," Paul said. "A lot better. And . . . and you were right about him. He isn’t crazy. Well, he is, but not in the way I thought. He actually knows a lot of stuff about . . . people like us."
"Yeah," I said. "Well, tell him I said hi."
"I will." Paul looked incredibly uncomfortable. I couldn’t blame him, really. It was the first time we’d been alone together since the fire . . . and the hospital. I’d seen him in school the following week, but he’d seemed to do everything possible to avoid me. Now he looked very much like he’d have liked to run away.
But he didn’t. Because it turned out he still had something to say.
"Suze. About . . . what happened."
I smiled at him. "It’s all right, Paul," I said. "I already know."
&n
bsp; He looked confused. "Know? About what?"
"About the money," I said. "The two thousand dollars you donated anonymously to the church’s neediest fund, specially earmarked for the Gutierrezes. They got it and, according to Father Dominic, they were deeply grateful."
"Oh," Paul said. And he actually blushed. "Yeah. That. That’s not what I meant. What I meant is . . . you . . . you were right."
I blinked at him. "I was? About what?"
"My grandfather." He cleared his throat. I could tell how much it was costing him to admit this. I could also tell, however, that he needed to say it, very badly. "Well, not just about my grandfather, but about . . . well, everything."
I raised my eyebrows. This was more than I’d ever dared hope for.
"Everything?" I echoed, hoping he meant what I thought he meant.
He seemed to. "Yeah. Everything."
"Even about"—I had to be sure—"you and me?"
He nodded, but not very happily.
"I should have known it all along," he said slowly, as if the words were being forced out of him by some unseen force. "How you felt about him, I mean. You told me enough times. But it didn’t . . . it didn’t really hit me until that night in the barn, when you . . . you told him. Why we were there. The fact that you’d have rather let him live—"
"We don’t need to talk about this," I said, because just thinking about that night made my chest feel tight. "Really."
"No," Paul said, his blue-eyed gaze boring into me. "You don’t understand. I’ve got to. I’ve never—Suze, I’ve never felt that way about anybody. Not even you. Which you, uh, probably noticed. When I didn’t exactly come to your rescue. During the fire and all."
"But you were great afterward," I said, sticking up for him, because I felt like somebody should. "Helping me get Jesse to the hospital and all."
He shrugged miserably. "That was nothing. What Jesse did—jumping through those flames—and he barely even knew you—"
"It’s all right, Paul," I said. "Really."
He didn’t look convinced. "Really?"
"Really," I said, meaning it. Then I nodded toward the ladies’ room door. "Besides, I always thought you two are much better suited, anyway."
"Yeah," Paul said, following my gaze. "I guess."
Then, to my surprise, he stuck out his right hand. "No hard feelings, Simon?"
I looked down at his hand. It seemed incredible, but I really didn’t have any. Hard feelings toward him, I mean. Not now. Not anymore.
I slipped my fingers into his.
"No hard feelings," I said.
Then the bathroom door burst open and Kelly came out, her gait considerably altered because Sister Ernestine had stitched the slit in her dress to just above the knee.
Kelly had some pretty unpleasant things to say about the nun as she approached us.
"But at least she didn’t make you go home and change," I interrupted her to point out.
Kelly just blinked at me. "Who’s that guy?" she wanted to know.
I looked over my shoulder. Jesse was approaching us from down the breezeway. My heart, as always when I saw him, turned over in my chest.
"Oh, him?" I said casually. "That’s just Jesse, my boyfriend."
My boyfriend. My boyfriend.
Kelly’s eyes widened to their limits as Jesse stepped into the pool of moonlight in which we were standing, and took my hand.
"Paul," he said with a nod.
"Hey, Jesse," Paul said, looking uncomfortable. Then, remembering Kelly, he made uneasy introductions.
"Very nice to meet you," Jesse said, shaking Kelly’s hand.
She, however, seemed too stunned to reply. She was just staring up at Jesse as if she’d seen . . .
Well, not a ghost, exactly. More like something she couldn’t quite understand. I could almost hear her wondering, What’s a guy like that doing with Suze Simon?
Hey, she didn’t know what I’d been through for the guy . . . or what he’d been through for me.
Trying not to look too smug, I took Jesse’s arm and said, "Well, see you around." And led him to the dance floor.
"Things with Paul are . . . ?" Jesse raised his eyebrows questioningly as I slid my arms around his neck.
"Fine," I said.
"And you know that because . . . ?"
"He told me."
"And you believe him?"
"You know what?" I lifted my head from where I’d been resting it on Jesse’s shoulder. "I do."
"I see." Jesse stood there as I swayed to the music. "Susannah? What are you doing?"
"I’m dancing with you."
Jesse looked down at our feet, but couldn’t see them, because my long skirt was swaying above them.
"I don’t know this dance," he said.
"It’s easy," I said. I let go of his neck and took his hands and brought them around my waist. Then I put my arms back around his neck. "Now sway."
Jesse swayed.
"See?" I said. "You’re doing it."
Jesse’s voice in my ear sounded a bit strangled. "What’s this dance called?" he asked.
"Slow," I said. "It’s called a slow dance."
Jesse didn’t say anything much after that. He really was catching on fast to twenty-first-century social customs.
I don’t know how much later it was that I lifted my head and saw my dad standing there.
This time, I didn’t jump out of my skin. I’d sort of been expecting to see him.
"Hey, kiddo," he said.
I stopped dancing and said to Jesse, "Could you just excuse me a minute? There’s just somebody I have to, um, have a word with."
Jesse smiled. "Of course."
My heart swelling with adoration for him, I hurried over to the palm tree my dad was lurking behind.
"Hey," I said to him, a little breathlessly. "You came."
"Of course I came," Dad said. "My little girl’s first real dance? You think I’d miss it?"
"That’s not why I’m glad you came," I said, reaching out to take his hand. "I wanted to say thanks."
"Thanks?" Dad looked bewildered. "For what?"
"For what you did for Jesse."
"For Jesse?" Then comprehension dawned and he made as if to drop my hand, looking embarrassed. "Oh. That."
"Yes, that," I said, holding his fingers more tightly. "Dad, Jesse told me. If you hadn’t made him come to the hospital when you did, I’d have lost him forever."
"Well," he said, looking as if he wished he were someplace—anyplace—else. In fact, he looked . . . well, almost as if he already were someplace else. He was much less opaque than usual. "I mean, you were crying. And calling me. When it was Jesse you should have been calling."
"I thought Jesse was gone," I said. "So I called you. Because you’ve always been there when I really needed you. And you were there for me then, too. You saved him, Dad. And I just wanted to let you know how much that meant to me. Especially since I know you didn’t agree with my going—you know—in the first place."
My dad reached up to straighten my orchid. But for some reason, instead of being able to grab onto it, his fingers seemed to go right through the waxy petals. Suddenly, I realized what was happening. And there was nothing I could do but stand there, looking up at him, tears gathering beneath my eyelids.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Dad went on, meaning our disagreement about my going back through time to "save" Jesse. He was growing physically fainter and fainter with every word. And it wasn’t just because I was looking at him through a veil of tears. "It’s just that if you’d gone back and saved my life, it would have been like . . . well, like I’d died—and been hanging around for the past ten years for nothing."
"It wasn’t for nothing, Dad," I said, holding as tightly as I could to the hand that, even as I spoke, I could feel slipping away. "It was for Jesse. And for me. That’s why you’re finally ready to move on. See for yourself."
Dad looked down at himself and then at me, clearly stunned.
"
It’s okay, Dad," I said, reaching up with my free hand to wipe the tears from my face.
He was almost impossible to see now . . . just a shimmer of color and light, and a faint pressure on my hand. But I could tell he was grinning. Grinning and crying at the same time. Just like I was. "I’ll miss you."
"Take care of your mother for me," he said quickly, as if he were afraid of being snatched away before he could get the words out.
"I will," I promised.
"And be good," he said.
"Am I ever anything but?" I asked, my voice breaking.
Then, with a shimmer, he disappeared.
Forever.
It was a long time before I could go back to where Jesse was standing. I’d had to cry for a while behind one of the palm trees, then repair the damage those tears had done with the makeup from my bag. When I finally returned to Jesse’s side, he looked down at me, and smiled.
"He’s gone?" he asked.
"He’s gone," I said automatically. Then I gasped.
"Jesse . . ." I stared up at him. "Can you . . . did you . . . ?"
"See you talking to your father just then?" he asked, the corners of his lips twitching a little. "Yes."
"Then you can . . ." I was completely dumbfounded. "You can . . ."
"See and speak to ghosts?" Jesse grinned in the moonlight. "Apparently so. Why? Is that a problem?"
"No. Except that . . . that would mean—" I could barely believe what I was saying. "That means you’re a—"
"Querida," Jesse said, pulling me toward him. "Let’s just dance."
But I was still too stunned to think of anything else. Jesse—my Jesse—was no longer a ghost. He was a mediator.
Like me.
"The only thing I don’t understand," Jesse was saying, his breath warm in my ear, "is why it took him all this time."
I swayed in Jesse’s arms, barely registering what he was saying. Jesse is a mediator, was all I could think. Jesse’s a mediator now.
"Your father," Jesse said. "His moving on, I mean. Why now?"
I put my arms around his neck. What else could I do?
"Do you really not know?" I asked him.