A Kiss for Emily (Emily Stokes Series)

by J. P. Galuska

  Dad grumbled, sitting down, again. “I can already tell this isn’t going to work out in my favor. To tell you the truth, I’ve really enjoyed women’s rights. Shoveling, mowing—”

  “Dad—”

  “You look beautiful!” Sam remarked. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel great, thank you. So, what were you two talking about?”

  “Men stuff,” Dad was quick to answer, shifting in his chair.

  “What kind of ‘men stuff’?” I teased.

  “Your dad wants to know if I’m capable of having sex.” Sam watched Dad’s reaction, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the squirming.

  I wanted to crawl under a rock. “How could you?”

  Sam reached out his muscular arm and hooked my belt loop. Once again, the familiar sweet, smoky taste settled upon my tongue. He pulled me in close against his side. “If I had a daughter as pretty as you, I’d be worried about the same thing.”

  “Ha!” Dad barked, slapping his hand on the table.

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. With minimal force, I broke free of Sam’s grasp and headed for a packet of blueberry oatmeal.

  “Tell me truthfully, Dad. Are all men pigs?”

  “Yes!”

  “Were you a pig before you met Mom?”

  “I reserve the right to not incriminate myself. On the other hand, your mother knew well in advance exactly what kind of a package deal she was getting.”

  I tried not to imagine parental sex as I filled the teakettle up with water when a new thought occurred to me. “Do you eat, Sam?”

  “No, Miss Emily, I do not.”

  “That ought to save you a ton of money!” Dad laughed at his own joke.

  Sam leaned back in the chair and gave his muscular body a stretch.

  Wow, he looked good. No, great.

  “I reckon that is one of things I miss the most—being able to eat. I have traveled from shore to shore, smelling the most appetizing food you could ever imagine. But that’s all I can do, is smell.”

  Hearing this, I was glad I used my best perfume.

  Dad’s reaction was quite the opposite. “That sounds horrible! A cruel form of torture no less.”

  “What foods do you miss the most?” I asked.

  “Mmm! Deep south crawdads, roasted spring sweet corn, cheese curds, ice cream, a big thick steak. I’ve seen far more styles of food than the ones I ate growing up on the farm. I’ve never tasted a pizza, for example.”

  “That’s very interesting, that you can smell,” Dad observed.

  “Actually, it’s pretty amazing,” I corrected. “Sam is very unique. Most…people…like Sam, never develop the kind of abilities he has.” My chest puffed up in pride.

  “Well, I guess that answers my question of why we don’t run into spirit life forms more often,” Dad said.

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. The conversation lulled.

  “Emily, it might be wise to take it easy today.” Pushing himself away from the table, Dad stood up. I waited for him to say something more about yesterday, or something about something. “Now, if you two will excuse me, I’m going to get started on my chores.” Dad pecked a kiss on my cheek before leaving the kitchen.

  With each step Dad took, the deeper Sam’s color turned. “Does that always happen?” I asked. “You fading and whatnot.”

  Sam shrugged again. “It’s a by-product of being dead.”

  His words made me shudder. “Call me faint of heart, but could you not describe yourself as dead? I get this image of a zombie…eww!”

  Immediately, Sam lifted his arms to a classic zombie pose. His handsome face turned to a blank stare. “Must… get… the pretty...blonde.”

  “You’re not very scary with your body intact.” Pushing away his zombie grasp, I reached for a spoon.

  Sam’s arms dropped and his eyes twinkled. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I could give you gruesome.”

  My spoon became a miniature sword. “No! I’m here to inform you that I will not find a rotting zombie man either attractive or desirable.”

  “I guess that means you’re probably not willing to engage in a little sexual horror role-playing then, darn.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Where do guys come up with this stuff? Pigs. All pigs.”

  Sam laughed. “That doesn’t seem quite fair. Last night you were calling me a gentleman. It seems to me that the only difference between you and me, is that I openly communicate my sexual desires.” After a smug expression, Sam took a relaxed pose.

  “Oink.”

  “All right then, since you don’t like my idea, what would you suggest we do today?”

  My smile suddenly felt too large for my face. “Just be with you.” I took the kettle off the stovetop and poured the steaming water over the small dried oats. “I should also visit an old friend who is ill.”

  “That’s a nice gesture.” Sam paused, and then added, “Who is he?”

  My mouth dropped open as I searched for something to say. “Who said anything about a ‘he’?”

  “If it were a female, you would have used her name.”

  “An almost boyfriend.” I fessed up.

  “What’s ailing him?” Sam seemed far more curious than jealous.

  “Drugs.” A mental picture of Alex’s creepy, glazed eyes flashed in my head and I quickly pushed aside the image. I focused on my oatmeal and stirred it until it resembled gooey paste.

  “There’s a poor soul who’s got it worse off than I. You best be careful being around the likes of him.”

  “Come on, Sam. You’d compare yourself to him?” I hopped up on the counter to eat.

  “Emily, I have roamed the streets. I’ve witnessed the spectacular and I’ve viewed the disturbing. Drug life can be very disturbing.”

  I was surprised by the depth of conviction Sam felt toward the effects of drugs. “Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think you are closer in mental age of nineteen or seventy?” I spooned another bite of hot cereal.

  A deep belly laugh rose out of Sam that seemed to shake the room. He approached the counter where I was perched and wedged himself into the intimate space between my legs. Sweet musk burned my tongue.

  “I have experienced many things in my extended lifetime, but I feel no older than a boy. And this boy happens to be smitten with the likes of you.” Sam took his index finger and softly traced the lines of my lips.

  I thought of the kiss. Would I finally get my romantic kiss? In the kitchen?

  “Miss Emily, I hope you are right.” Sam said with a sigh, as he pulled me tight against his chest. My arms wrapped around him, bowl in one hand, spoon in the other.

  “About what?” I asked. Heat began to consume my body.

  “That if your Pa has me arrested, your Ma will come and bail me out.”

  I pulled back and giggled at the thought of Sam behind bars. “All you’d have to do is disappear.”

  “I wouldn’t hide.”

  Pondering Sam behind bars, I had a new question. “If someone took a picture of you, would you show up?”

  Sam’s eyes deepened. “Why? Would you like to make a dirty movie?”

  “You wish! Actually, I was thinking more of a mug shot for your police file.” I gave him a shove that allowed him to stay wedged between my legs. “I just like to talk tough.” He flexed his muscles for added flair, and then stepped back on his own.

  I stuffed another spoonful of oatmeal in my mouth hoping to conceal the smile that might reveal my dirty thoughts.

  Sam walked the length on the counter, then turned back to face me. “But seriously, now that we’re alone, I have to talk to you.”

  I wanted mush. I was going to get…explanations, or confessions.

  “Last night, you told me of your concerns about being together. Well, a part of me is also very worried. It’s time I came clean.”

  I stiffened. His brow creased momentarily. He walked back over to me, in steps that resembled pacing.
Lifting my chin with his finger, his lips parted. “Let me start off by saying that you are beautiful, smart, fun. What I have to say is very difficult and… well, I am risking a lot to be here with you.”

  The oatmeal in my stomach suddenly turned to lead. “What kind of risks?”

  “I suppose since I’m declaring my love for you, I’d better tell you everything.”

  “What exactly do you mean?” I leaned back to see his entire face.

  Sam took a large step back. “Do you believe in Jesus?”

  I crossed my legs and nodded. “Ahh…”

  “With all the religions in the world, which one do you think is right?” He seemed embarrassed by his own words.

  “That’s a curious thing to ask. Where are you going with this?”

  “Immediately after the accident, I didn’t realize I was dead. It was confusing, and loud, and then I saw this creepy-floating-person-creature thing coming my way.” Sam shifted his weight from toe to heel, and then side to side. “That’s when I realized I had passed on, but from the looks of what was coming my way, I didn’t think it was planning on taking me to Heaven.”

  “You’re going to Hell?!” I shouted and hopped down from the counter. Bowl and spoon scattered.

  Sam took a step closer. “Shh! You don’t have to advertise it. It’s not something I’m very proud of, you know.”

  “What kind of a sicko were you to deserve Hell?” I clutched my blouse, concealing my heart.

  “Emily! Look at me. I’m not some demented ghost wreaking havoc in your house.”

  “I trusted you. I thought you were a nice guy!”

  “I am a nice guy! I’m not trying to fool you, Emily. I’m trying to be honest.”

  “So, why are you going to Hell, Sam?”

  “I don’t know, but I must have done something wrong. Maybe it was the candy I stole from Mr. Wilkins’ Mercantile when I was six, or the time I beat up Tommy Snodman when he didn’t really deserve it, or—”

  “You’re going to Hell?”

  Sam shrunk a little more. “Stop saying that.”

  “Did you actually see it?”

  “No, only the Grim Reaper. I’m pretty sure it’s him who takes people to Hell.”

  I began to understand Sam’s reality. Maybe. I leaned against the counter to think. “Can’t you say a prayer or something?”

  “I’ve been on my knees plenty of times, but nothing happens. No angels, no shining light of redemption, no nothing. I don’t know what to do except to keep running whenever I see the Gate Keeper coming my way.”

  My own measly problems seemed insignificant as I listened to Sam’s story. “Oh, Sam!” I reached out and grabbed hold of his beautiful white shirt and pulled him close. I pressed my face against his chest as hard as I dared. His touch brought immediate comfort. And the sultry taste of smoke. “I can’t stand the thought of some creepy Angel of Death stealing you away from me.”

  “I didn’t tell you this to make you fret, Miss Emily. I just thought you should know.”

  “But you just said…” I looked up to see his face.

  “I have been avoiding Hell for a very long time, and I certainly don’t plan on going there now that I have you in my life.”

  I let out a sigh. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  His hands replaced the fear that burdened my shoulders. I closed my eyes to let the peace sink in. His lips pressed down upon my forehead. In a perfect fit, his hand cradled the back of my head and he pulled me in for another hug. Although I was far from being an expert, I could tell this was not meant to be a kiss of passion, but protection.

  As he took a step back, he scooped up a lock of my hair only to let the entire length glide through his fingertips. “How about if you call the hospital to see if your friend is accepting visitors?”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “It’s obvious the kid needs a little support right now. Make the call.”

  I hopped off the counter and Sam sat back down at the table to wait patiently. It didn’t take long to look up the number in the phonebook and place the call.

  “That’s strange.” I placed the phone back into its charger.

  “What is?”

  “He’s already gone.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  SETTLING IN

  “HELLO EVERYONE.” Kat’s greeting was obviously directed more at Sam than me as she brushed past and stood directly in front of him, cranking back her neck to get a full view.

  His color softened.

  Any further discussion of Alex would have to wait for later.

  Sam tousled the top of her bed-head hairdo. “It’s about time you woke up. The sun’s been up for hours.”

  “It’s summer vacation!” Kitty defended herself. “Besides, nine o’clock is not that late.” She studied Sam’s face for a moment. “You look cooler at night,” she spoke with opinionated authority.

  “You don’t say,” Sam replied. “What do you think, Emily?”

  “I happen to like both versions of you.” I shot my little sister a snub look.

  Holding a coffee cup in her hand, Mom walked into the kitchen for a refill.

  Sam’s body faded in and out. We all stared.

  “Does that hurt?” I said.

  “Not in the least,” he said. “It’s like the moon last night; your bodies interfere with my illusion of a normal human form during the day.”

  “So your cohesion is based upon gravity?” Mom asked.

  “And the specific charge of every atom I come into contact with. Imagine forcing gravity to make molecules do something they normally wouldn’t do on their own.”

  “Sounds a bit complex,” she replied. “How about your color?”

  “That comes from the light rays I absorb from the sun. It’s not as technical as keeping form. First, I increase my density by combining my water molecules with additional oxygen molecules. The drawback of being water is that it holds a neutral charge, which translates into—”

  “Stop,” I groaned. “You’re hurting my ears.”

  Mom laughed.

  Sam placed his left hand upon his transparent chest. “Forgive me, I forgot my audience. I’ll try and speak farmer, so you’ll be able to follow me.”

  My knuckles locked on my hips. “Farmer-schmarmer. I’m familiar with the periodic table, but if you want to discuss splitting atoms, maybe you should find Sheldon Cooper.”

  “Who?”

  I was too embarrassed to tell him the smartest person I knew was actually a TV character. “My subject of choice is history, but I know enough about farming to stand on my own two feet.”

  Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Tell me then. What do you know?”

  “Okay.” I paused long enough to conceive a question. “Tell me the difference between farmer and agriculturalist?” I looked to Mom for a bit of encouragement. She zipped her lips closed with her fingers.

  “Nine letters,” Sam replied.

  Caught in my own trap. “Humph. That’s not what I meant. How about farmer and grower.” They each have five letters.

  “I like farmer,” Kat spoke up. “It reminds me of little chicks and baby cows.”

  A shady grin crossed Sam’s face. “Stand aside, Miss Kitty. Your sister’s throwing out fightin’ words, and I’d hate for anybody to get hurt in the cross fire.” Then he turned toward me. “So, you want to play rough, do you?” Sam challenged. “Let’s try cultivating occupationalist on for size.”

  “Cultivating what?” It didn’t become any clearer with my head tipped to the side.

  Mom chuckled behind me.

  “Cultivating occupationalist! I can cultivate your minds with a biology lesson!” Sam laughed loud and held his fist out to Kat for a celebration fist bop.

  “I don’t get it,” she said, instead.

  Sam’s shoulders dropped.

  “Strike one for the farmer,” I said dryly.

  “Can’t win ‘em all,” he moaned.

>   Mom raised her coffee cup in the air. “I found your lesson to be very informative and compelling. It’s been a pleasure.” Then making her exit, Mom sent me a wide-eyed gawk as she headed out the kitchen door.

  “It’s really not all that complicated,” he called out after her. His color hues brightened with her departure.

  “Where do you learn all this stuff?” I asked, somewhat bewildered.

  “At the universities. I can attend any class I want,” Sam replied.

  “Wow, no SATs or GREs.” I sighed longingly.

  “Hey!” Kat began to jump excitedly side to side. “Could I enter Sam in the Science Fair? I’d get a blue ribbon for sure!”

  “I don’t think so, Sport.” Sam’s words brought Kat to an immediate stop.

  A frown replaced her smile. “Awh, why not?”

  “Oh, my gosh!” I spouted. “Could you imagine the tabloids? We’d be overrun with reporters. Our lives would be ruined!”

  “We can’t have that,” Dad exclaimed, entering the kitchen with his own coffee cup in hand. “We need to come up with a plan to avoid all suspicion.”

  Sam’s large frame turned semi-transparent as the colors faded in and out again.

  “Where did you come from?” I asked, surprised to see him.

  “The dining room. Izzy and I are comparing paint samples. I hear you want to paint your room green.”

  “Yes,” I said, remembering the feeling the color green gives me. “It’s just so…everything. I’m totally in love with the country!”

  “Hmph!” Kat muttered beneath her breath. “I didn’t realize that Sam had changed his name.”

  Sam laughed.

  I flicked Kat on the shoulder. Ignoring her whining about child abuse, I turned to Dad. “Remember to take her with you when you leave.”

  “You can tape the samples on the walls,” Dad said to Kat. Her eyes sparkled as if he’d promised a gallon of her favorite ice-cream. I wondered if I was that gullible when I was her age. Probably.

  Drawing closer to Sam, I had a nagging question that needed to be answered. “Explain this to me. You were at the coffee shop, right?”

  Sam’s body began to flicker even more. “I saw you sitting there with your friends. I thought it’d be kind of fun to crash your party, but then, it seemed wrong, so I left.”