“Girl, I would have Roger’s, uh, feet on a platter if he did that to me.”
Patrick found himself liking Megan quite a bit more in that moment. He hoped that if she ever had the opportunity to meet this Scott, she’d do his dirty work for him.
Sara snorted. “My parents wanted to rip him apart.”
“I bet. That’s, uh… that’s quite a betrayal.”
“Yeah, but it’s over. I moved here to get away from all of that, and I’m doing… fine.”
“Really? How long ago did all of this happen?”
“Well, I’ve been here, what, almost two months?”
Megan nodded and leaned forward.
“The divorce was finalized about three months ago.”
“I still can’t believe how… amazing you’re doing for all that. I would have never known.”
“Sorry about dumping that on you. I had no intention of rehashing it like that.”
“Really, it’s all good. Anytime you need to talk… or if you need professional help, Roger’s always available to you.”
Sara changed the subject, talking about tomato plants and asking Megan if she gardened, while Patrick stalked off, finding refuge in her office. The anger coursed through him as he paced back and forth, muttering under his breath. He wanted to touch her, hug her… tell her how sorry he was, express to her that she was so much better than all of that. She seemed okay with what she’d been through. Sad but not devastated. Maybe she really had made her peace with the whole, sordid story, although Patrick couldn’t understand how she wasn’t as pissed off as he was.
A creak sounded on the stairs, ripping his attention away from Sara’s story. It was her – she walked into the room barefoot, toes painted bright red; he’d sat with her the night before while she did it, the smell of the polish reminding him of his mother.
She dug around in a desk drawer, pulling out a small stack of paper. Patrick moved closer, realizing they were photos. The one on top showed a laughing Sara with a man’s arm around her waist. He was blond, tall and stocky.
“Scott, you suck,” she said, tossing the whole pile in the garbage can. Resting her palms against the desk, she seemed to sag, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Shit.”
Patrick walked behind her as she shuffled to the bathroom, and he leaned against the door frame, watching her eyes in the mirror while she washed her face.
He liked the two of them together – his reflection shone next to hers. They would have made a good-looking couple. Her hair was lighter than his and only slightly longer, and her delicate features made a good contrast to his squared jaw. And, of course, she was shorter , although not by a huge margin . He moved closer and stared at the image in the mirror. Her head would just bump him in the nose if he was solid. The curve of her waist would feel soft in his hands.
His feelings for her changed every day. They grew and deepened, and now… well, he knew he shouldn’t, but he felt like he was falling in love with her .
Sara dabbed at her face with a hand towel and closed her eyes, the movement behind her eyelids making Patrick wonder what she was thinking. His hand coasted down the plane of her arm, tracing the contour of her hip, wishing he could feel it.
“Shit,” she repeated, shivering again and slowly opening her eyes. For a moment – just a fraction of a second –she froze, her entire body tensing before she gasped and whirled around.
Patrick took a step back in surprise, shocked at how quick she’d moved.
She threw back the shower curtain with more force than he thought she possessed, the metal chain sliding noisily over the bar across the top of the bathtub. Her head jerked back and forth into the space.
“Holy fu…” she trailed off. “I’m losing my shit. I did not just see what I thought… no.”
What did she think she saw? He knew it wasn’t him; he’d stood behind her in that mirror a hundred times, and she’d never even caught a glimpse of his shadow there. No one could see him –it was one of the fundamental things he knew about being dead.
She threw down the towel and sprinted from the room, nearly tripping on the stairs – Patrick’s heart was in his throat when she stumbled –as she ran into the living room to fumble with her telephone. Patrick raced after her , not quite sure what was happening.
“Mom!” she shouted into it. “Thank God you’re there… uh, I don’t know. I think I may be hallucinating.” She grabbed a handful of her hair and tugged fiercely, face panicked. “Okay, okay. I was in the bathroom and saw someone behind me in the mirror.”
“No shittin’ way,” Patrick muttered, lowering himself onto the bottom step. What the Hell was this?
“No, I checked. There was no one in the bathroom with me, and there was no way anyone could have run fast enough to get away without me seeing him… yeah, it was a him . No, yeah… no, Mom , I’m trying to tell you.”
Sara took a deep breath and threw herself backward onto the couch, the springs groaning at the force. “I think it was the guy who died in this house.”
Patrick jumped to his feet. “What? That’s not possible!”
“Yeah, I know what I said. And yeah, I don’t believe in that… how?” She groaned. “You remember that woman, Ginny, from my writer’s group that I mentioned? Yeah, her. Look, I didn’t tell you this before , but a boy died on the stairs… I have a photo… yeah, found it in a… just… believe me, I know. No, Jules doesn’t know… she would have insisted on an exorcism or something.”
He paced the room, never taking his eyes off Sara’s face. She was agitated but probably no more than Patrick. This was seriously screwed up –how had she seen him? It was impossible.
“Do you… do you think I need to call someone? No, Mom, I don’t think Jules… I’m talking about a doctor . I mean, this is crazy, right?”
“Damn right, it’s crazy,” Patrick muttered. “This whole situation is crazy.”
“My neighbor is a shrink. Maybe I should call… really? Do you think so? Well, maybe I was just seeing things.”
Sara’s breathing calmed, but Patrick was still freaked out. There was no question now she had seen him; he just didn’t know how or why or if this was some screwed up evolution in his life as a dead guy. Maybe he was becoming an angel. Maybe this was just the way it worked – it was entirely possible that Sara needed help of some sort, and this was all part of the plan. As soon as he fixed her problem, he’d sprout some wings and fly off to Heaven . It could happen. Maybe.
“Yeah… yeah, okay. I’m just… I’ll take a nap or something. Maybe I’m just tired. No, don’t tell Jules –she’ll just say something stupid … yeah, fine. Okay, thanks, Mom . Bye.”
She closed her phone and tossed it onto the coffee table, craning her neck to look toward the stairs and then taking in every inch of the living room. Patrick still paced, unable to make any sense of what had happened.
“Shit, I have to go to the bathroom,” Sara muttered, saying something else Patrick didn’t quite catch. He did hear the end of it, which sounded like, “pee my pants.”
She lay back on the couch, feet curling just below the cushion as she bunched a pillow under her head and pulled a black throw over her hips. Her jaw tense d, eyes screwed shut, but he wasn’t sure if it was because she’d seen him –maybe –or because she was too scared to go back in the bathroom. Maybe both. Patrick stopped moving and stared.
Moments later she let out an exasperated huff and flipped onto her back, glaring at the ceiling.
“Patrick!” she called out, sounding pissed off. “If that’s you… I mean, if you’re really here… Jesus, I am going nuts,” she said in a quieter voice. “Talking to ghosts.”
He laughed ruefully. “You’ve been talking to me for months.”
Louder, she said, “Look, I know you’re a good guy. Ginny said so. Just… I don’t mind sharing the house with you, but don’t scare the Hell out of me like that, okay? My mental state isn’t that stable.”
“You’re stronger than you know. Take
a nap, okay? I’m sure it was just a fluke. Maybe you didn’t see me at all… maybe you really did imagine it. I mean, maybe you’ve just seen my photo one too many times .”
As much as he didn’t want to believe that, he couldn’t fully accept she’d really seen his reflection. Even daring to think she actually caught a glimpse of him had filled him with the kind of hope he couldn’t afford to allow himself .
Sara avoided the bathroom for the next twenty-four hours. Patrick wasn’t sure where she went to take care of her business, but it wasn’t at the house. She was gone for hours at a time, returning in silence and almost seeming to tiptoe around the house.
Patrick followed her into the kitchen, scared she might see his reflection in something and freak out again. She poured a glass of orange juice and sat at the kitchen table.
“I’m afraid,” she said, her tone quiet. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I told Jules I didn’t feel alone in this house, and now I wonder if I am. I don’t… believe in God or the afterlife or whatever… but maybe you really are here.”
“I am.” Patrick stood behind her chair, staring at the top of her head. “I am here. I’m sorry to be so… spooky.”
She left again, and Patrick retreated to her office. An uneasy burn seared his chest –maybe it was the feelings he had for her pulling at him again, but part of it was guilt. He was responsible for making her uncomfortable in her own home. There was nothing he could do, though. It wasn’t as though he could go on vacation to Disneyland for spooks for a week and give her some breathing room. The most he could do was avoid her… leave the room when she came in.
He could spend time in the attic, he supposed. She rarely went up there. It was his least favorite area of the house, though. It was a place that held no good memories for him, and there were no windows where he could watch whatever was going on outside. It was just plywood floors, pink insulation , and exposed beams.
He chuckled without humor. He was finally able to do something the ghosts he’d seen in movies could do: haunt the attic. Classic. Haunt and brood... it would be his new life. Well, maybe not so new; it was what he’d been doing for the last forty years. He supposed he could add yearn for the love of his life… or afterlife... to the mix.
For the next few days, he did just that. It was torture. If Sara was in the house, he hid himself away in the attic, quietly reading his books. He only ventured downstairs when she was gone, but he was getting antsy. He missed her … the sound of her voice, seeing what she wore each day, watching as she ate. Not seeing her was worse than the years he’d spent in the house alone.
Eventually he gave in, and he felt horrible about it, but he couldn’t deny himself anymore. Being away from her roiled his guts . He descended the attic stairs, braced himself for the feeling of the wood as he passed through the door, and ended up stumbling through Sara’s shoulder as she rounded the corner from her bedroom to the hallway.
She shivered again and murmured, “There you are.”
He quickly stepped away from her and took in a deep breath, savoring the warm aroma of her skin. He wanted to wrap himself around her and absorb every bit of her into his body. He was an idiot to think he could be away from her. They navigated the hall together, Patrick taking the stairs just behind her. Now that he’d given up the agony of hiding, everything seemed brighter and better.
He wanted to be her man, pure and simple. Even standing next to her, the longing in his chest making him feel gross , which was weird enough considering he hadn’t experienced anything like it in so long it took him a week to realize nothing was wrong except he was heartsick. With a start, Patrick thought maybe he really was in Hell , and Sara was his punishment. Not really Sara herself, but the emotions he held for her –it was torture to be in this house with her every day and not be able to wrap his arms around her or talk to her. The only thing that made it bearable was the strange connection they had. Every minute of every day he wished he’d discover some other thing they could share.
There was something different about Sara. The corners of Patrick’s mouth tugged into a frown as he studied her. It took him a few moments to figure it out –it was the way she smelled. Her normal scent of soap had been replaced by something floral and spicy. He assumed it was perfume, although it was better-smelling than anything his mother had ever worn. She had preferred Avon Topaze, which he knew because he had dutifully bought her a bottle every Christmas from Mrs. Stout, the neighborhood Avon Lady.
She was more dressed up than normal, too. She looked really good, wearing some kind of tight, purple dress with a see-through dark red thing covering her shoulders and arms. It made her skin glow.
“You look really pretty, Sara.”
She straightened the pillows on the couch, touching a pile of books on the coffee table – his copy of The Turn of the Screw lay on top. She now used the photograph of him and his parents as a bookmark, something that never failed to make him smile.
The doorbell rang, and Sara abruptly turned toward the door while muttering, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Doing what?” Her stride across the room was determined, a straight line to the front door. She took a deep breath and yanked it open. Patrick crept up behind her, peering around her head.
That Kevin guy from her writers’ group. With flowers.
What the Hell was this?
“Hey, Sara. Wow, don’t you clean up nice? You look great.”
Patrick’s mouth puckered. Was he saying Sara looked like shit in a pair of jeans? Because that was just bull… she looked choice all the time. She’d looked great even back when she was too skinny and too pale.
“Oh, uh, thanks. Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said, smirking. He pushed past Sara, nearly walking into Patrick, before he turned and thrust a bouquet of red roses at her. “These are for you.”
“Roses. Oh, you shouldn’t have.” She carefully slid her fingers around the stems and brought them up to her face, taking a sniff. “They’re pretty. Thanks.”
“No problem. So are you ready to go? I made reservations at Lotus for seven.”
“Uh huh. Just let me put these in some water and grab my purse.”
Sara disappeared into the kitchen, but Patrick remained where he was, glaring at Kevin as the man very clearly stared at Sara’s behind. This could not be what it looked like. There was no way Sara would go out on a date with this jerk. Patrick snickered as the guy checked out himself out in the reflection of one of the photographs on the mantle, smoothing his eyebrows with his index finger and pinky. What an ass.
Patrick considered heading into the kitchen to see if he could get Sara to see his reflection in the toaster or something… anything to freak her out so much she couldn’t go out with that guy , but he didn’t want to upset her. The week since he’d allowed himself to be around her again had been… well, he was careful.
“Okay, let’s go.” Sara smiled, her lips pressed tightly together, and they left, making small talk about the weather.
All the air in the room seemed to be sucked out with the closing of the door behind them. Patrick grimaced, chewing on the inside of his mouth in agitation.
“Crap!”
He stalked around the living room, fingers twitching. Kevin was a shitty writer, and his hair was stupid-looking. How could she like that guy? Patrick was hotter; he was sure of it.
With a groan that seemed to pull out of him from the tips of his toes, he sank onto the bottom step of the stairs and buried his face in hands, poking the tips of his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. This whole situation was so stupid. He was a ghost. That was all. Yeah, Sara had seen him in the mirror, and she could sense when he was around –or wasn’t around, as the case may have been –but so what? It didn’t change a thing. He loved her, and he wanted her… but there was nothing he could do to have her.
He was jealous of Kevin, a man who drove a car the color of dog shit. He’d seen it parked along the street the night of th
e writers’ group meeting. And now Sara was in his awful car, going out to a restaurant, doing something he could never give her.
Well, he could give her something. He didn’t have much. She’d already found most of the books and his record player, but there were other things still hidden away.
The cigar box was still tucked away under the insulation. He used his book on religion to pry up the pink foam since he couldn’t actually touch the stuff, carefully lifting the ragged cardboard case out its space. He’d looked through these treasures in it more ti mes than he could count over his time in the house , recounting the memories each stone held. The brownish rock with the rough texture was something he’d picked up on his first day of junior high. There was a smooth, flat stone that looked almost pale pink that he’d found before his first date with Ginny.
He supposed it wasn’t the most manly thing he could have collected – Andy’d had a coffee can full of beer and soda can caps –but Patrick just had a habit of picking up random stuff when he was little… and then it just became his thing . He dug through the box, luxuriating in the feeling of something physical touching his skin as he passed over other odds and ends to find the stone he wanted.
It really wasn’t a stone; it was beach glass. Every time he went to Sea Isle with his parents, he’d keep an eye out for it… sometimes he’d find some and sometimes he wouldn’t. This one vacation he’d found a piece of green glass that sort of resembled a heart . It was slightly bigger than the other small, polished bits he’d picked up, and no w he wanted to give it to Sara.
Sure, it was silly. He wanted to give her so much more that. He wanted to make her smile, take her out… kiss her. If he tried to come anywhere near those lips, he was pretty sure she’d be scarred for life. She’d probably sell the house immediately and nev er look back .
The glass fit perfectly into his palm, although it no longer warmed up under his touch like it used to. He chuckled as he descended the stairs into the living room, side-stepping the spot where he’d died – still his ha bit. If anyone looked through the front window, they’d see the st rangest sight ever: a piece of glass floating through the air and landing on top of a book on the end table. His book. Too bad he couldn’t write a note to go with it.
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