“I think both, Mrs. Blake. He’s getting old.”
“He definitely needs some lemon balm and let’s mix it with a little apple mint and some dried chamomile blossoms.” She’s already walking over to the small pantry where she keeps her jars of dried blossoms and herb leaves. After about two minutes, she returns to the table with a baggy filled with the fragrant mixture. “Tell him to measure out two tablespoons of this into a teapot, pour one cup of boiling water over it and let it sit for six minutes. Then strain it into a cup and drink it hot, with a touch of honey. He does have honey, doesn’t he? He needs local, organic honey.” She hands the baggy to Wyatt.
“Yeah, he’s a good cook. He has a lot of ingredient-type stuff around the kitchen.”
My mother looks at the clock then back at Wyatt. He picks up her nonverbal message quickly. It’s almost eleven o’clock.
“Good night, Mrs. Blake.” Wyatt walks over to our back door, with the teacup still in his hand.
“I’ll walk you out to your car.” I’m afraid to be outside in the dark, but I have so many questions still buzzing around in my mind. I’m going to need more than some of Mom’s special tea to help me sleep tonight.
Outside, in the warm night, I turn my face up and stare at the faint sprinkling of stars. The moon’s waxing near to full, a gibbous moon, and the driveway looks pale in the wash of its mild illumination. I look back over my shoulder and see my mother’s shadow outlined in the yellow rectangle of light framed by the living room window. For once I’m happy she’s watching. She twiddles her fingers in a quick wave and continues to gaze at us. Normally I’d feel annoyed by the fact that she’s spying on me, but tonight isn’t a normal night. I shiver and Wyatt strokes my arm.
“I think he’s afraid of your mother. I don’t know why, but his presence shrinks when she’s near.”
“I wish I could sleep in between her and my dad tonight like I used to when I was little and I got scared.”
“He’ll leave you alone after I drive away. All this activity has weakened him. And he doesn’t want to freak you out too much. He just wants you to know he’s around, but he doesn’t know how to go about it. This may sound weird, but I get this feeling he wants you to accept him. He doesn’t know how to do it, though, without scaring you. But he’s being careful, isn’t he? Most of the time, anyway, until tonight. You barely even knew he was here before I told you. Maybe you were in denial.”
“I knew he was here. Before, when I went to bed, I always closed the door of my room. In my nightmare, he opens the door and then when I wake up, the door’s really open. Now I leave it open all the time and I don’t have the dream as often. I mostly just have the feeling that he’s here.”
“Oh, he’s here all right. And he’s not leaving. I can tell.”
“How can you tell?”
“Remember what I said, down in the basement? I’m not like other people. I have a connection with the next world, with the dead. I didn’t ask for it. It just happened. I can see them. Sometimes I hear them. Just like you.”
“I’m not like that. This is the first time and it’ll be the only time. I’m not some kind of freak.”
“You’re not like everybody else, Annabelle.”
“I want to be. I’ve always felt different and it’s lonely. I don’t like it.”
“You can’t change the way you are and neither can I. We’re in this together now.”
“Okay but we’re not ‘together-together.’” I give the expression air quotes. “We’re not in a relationship. You can help me with the ghost, Silver, but nothing else. This is a business arrangement. Because I don’t know anyone else who can help me. It’s not personal.”
“Just relax. I’ve never met a girl who’s as hostile toward me as you are. Don’t you think you should get to know me better before you start hating all over me?”
“I don’t hate you. I’m just not interested in getting to know any boys right now. I don’t want to go out with anyone, not you, not anyone.”
“I never asked you out. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“And now we talked. Besides, you told me I was beautiful. That’s not just talking to me. So goodnight.”
“What did he do to you?”
“What did who do to me?”
“Matt Riley.”
“Nothing. He didn’t do anything. I just want to be single for senior year. Who told you about Matt Riley?”
“Ryan. He said the guy’s a douche and that he dumped you. That’s all.”
“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Ryan.”
“Did you want me to think the problem’s me? Like I’m so repulsive you can’t even look at me?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s better. That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. And you’re looking at me, too. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Look, Annabelle, you can stay single. I’m not gonna put the moves on you. Not tonight, anyway. I can’t make any long-term promises, though. But as of right now, I just want to help you. We’re most likely the only two people on this earth who’ve ever seen him. You need me. And he needs us.”
“I’m afraid. I don’t want to go up to my room. What if I have the dream again?”
“The dream doesn’t matter. He’s with you when you’re awake, too. He’s always with you.”
“How can we get him to go away?”
“We need to find out what happened to him. Who he was when he was alive. How he died. We need to get to know him.”
“How do we do that?”
“I have to think about it. Try not to worry.”
After handing me his empty teacup, Wyatt gets into his car and backs away, down our long, winding driveway. I promise myself I’ll try to be nicer to him. I need him. He’s right about that. Shivering from a cold that has nothing to do with the weather, I jog back toward the house.
Chapter 7
Getting to Know You
Monday morning Wyatt was waiting for me, next to the only empty seat in History class. As soon as I sat down, he whipped out a towel and tossed it over my head. Laughing, I rubbed my damp hair with it.
Thus began our paranormal business association slash friendship. Since that Saturday night in my basement, with the movie and the Lonesome Boy, we’ve been spending more and more time together. Between classes, in the hallways, in the cafeteria, after school. We’re constantly whispering about him. I haven’t seen the ghost since that night at Wild Wood, so I always have to ask Wyatt what he’s doing. The Lonesome Boy isn’t with me all the time anymore. He follows Wyatt, too. We share him.
In our tiny little high school world with its huge social limitations, Wyatt Silver and I become a couple. Rumors fly around faster than they can be swatted down by the truth. According to those members of the senior class who are “in-the-know,” we’ve hooked up on many occasions at many parties when, in reality, the only thing we have in common is our ghost. We’ve never gone on a date. We’ve never kissed. But at school, people have noticed that we’re always together and the gossip goes wild.
Everyone’s saying that we’re dating each other exclusively and sleeping over at each other’s houses all the time. That part’s hilarious. Over my dead body. Like my parents would ever allow it. Like I would ever do that anyway.
Lots of girls have crushes on him and some of them are mean to me, but I don’t care. The same girls were mean to me when Matt Riley and I were together. None of them have ever been my friends. None of them know anything about me.
Not everyone admires Wyatt, though. Some people believe the rumors about why he left New Hampshire and moved here. I still don’t know the truth. We’ve been hanging out constantly for a few weeks now, but I haven’t asked him yet. I’ve been trying to think of a way to bring up the subject. Maybe today after school I’ll get an opportunity.
Leaning against my locker, sipping from a bottle of red Gatorade, I scan the crowded hallway. No sign of Wyatt yet. Because of
his height he’s pretty easy to spot. Finally, I catch sight of him, jogging toward me, wearing a huge smile. He stops his momentum by slamming his hands into the lockers on either side of my head, seriously invading my personal space. Then he grabs the Gatorade out of my hand. Half of it’s gone before he stops chugging and burps; an inch away from my face.
“Wyatt! Ugh!”
A passerby yells, “Watch out! You don’t want to catch anything, Annabelle.”
“Is she a friend of yours?” Wyatt asks me.
“I don’t even know her. She’s not a senior. Maybe a sophomore or a junior.”
“Why would she say that to you? Is she talking about me?”
“You know. There are some nasty rumors about why you left your hometown. There’s one about you being a drug dealer.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard that one. I swear I’ve never been arrested.”
“There’s also one about you spreading an STD around your old school.”
“Completely false.” He holds his hands up, palms out, as if he can stop the rumors with them. His face reddens and he looks away from me. While we’re on the subject, I figure I should get the worst of the stories out there.
“Do you find that rumor more disturbing than the one about you getting a girl pregnant?”
He doesn’t even laugh. “Yes! More disturbing and more false; where do people get this crap?”
“I think they start out wondering why you would transfer here for your senior year. Then people start coming up with ideas and they say them out loud. The people who hear these lies repeat them and your legend’s born.”
“Can’t my legend be like Batman or something? Can’t I keep my really cool car in a cave and drive around fighting crime? Do they have to make me into a drug-dealing pornographer?”
“Ignore it. Your real friends will believe only the truth about you.”
He puts one big, warm hand on my shoulder and moves in so close I can smell him. He smells clean, like the first breath full of sunny air the morning after a rainstorm.
“Are you my real friend, Annabelle?”
I turn away and close my locker. “I’m late. I have to get to practice. Call me later.”
Then I pivot and run out the door, toward the big yellow bus that’ll take the team over to the Town Forest. As I run, I can feel his gaze on my back so I pick up the pace. Good thing I got voted best butt in the whole school.
At about ten o’clock, when I’m already in bed, Wyatt finally calls me. I’m practically in a coma because the coaches worked us so hard today. But I want to know why he really moved to Eastfield, so I make an effort to wake up and talk to him.
“Sorry, Annabelle. Were you sleeping?”
“Yes, but that’s okay. I asked you to call me.”
“So I did. What’s up?”
“After school today, we were talking about why you moved to Eastfield. I know none of the rumors are true, but you’ve never explained the real reason.”
“I’m not running away from anything bad. I just like living with my uncle better than living with my mom and he invited me to come to Eastfield.”
“What happened between you and your mom?”
“Nothing awful. My parents are divorced. She has a boyfriend now and we get along and all, but, you know, he’s in a relationship with my mom. It’s awkward. Besides, my uncle and I like the same things. I love History and he’s the head of the History Department and the president of the Eastfield Historical Society. He’s fun. He’s interesting. She’s boring and she’s in a relationship. Because she’s my mother that’s weird for me.”
“What about your dad?”
“My parents divorced when I was fifteen and my father moved to California, remarried and started a new family. I don’t want to live with my father and his twenty-five year old bride and their baby. I have a stepsister I’ve never met. She’s almost two years old. Besides, Dad never invited me to live with him anyway.”
Whoa, that’s awful.
I don’t know what else to say, so I change the subject.
“Is Mr. Finn your mother’s brother?”
“Yeah, but it’s hard to believe they’re from the same family. They’re so different.”
“In what way?”
“He’s less judgmental.”
“Judgmental about what?”
“I’m interested in the paranormal, you know: ghosts. Uncle Oliver thinks it’s cool. My mother gets annoyed with me because she doesn’t believe in ghosts. She wants me to get serious about something like engineering because I’m good at math. I prefer history, philosophy, stuff like that. We’re always arguing about my future.”
“When Meg and I made that movie last year, your uncle sat through two interviews with us. He was an excellent primary source, really helpful. He never acted annoyed or anything.”
“Yeah, he’s a great guy. I think he gets kind of lonely sometimes. He’s not married. He has no kids. He has tons of friends, but I’m family. He wanted me to live with him. He asked me more than once before I finally decided to come.”
I believe him, but I have a feeling he’s holding something back. I don’t think he’s told me the whole story. According to Wyatt he transferred to a new school for senior year because he wanted to try living with his uncle instead of his mother. I’m not buying it. There has to be another reason. But it’s late and I decide not to push it right now.
Wyatt starts working a little too hard to convince me he’s telling the truth. He goes on to explain that he’s never felt more accepted than when he’s with his Uncle Oliver. That part I believe because Mr. Finn really is an awesome guy but I’m still suspicious. Finally we hang up and I fall back into a deep sleep immediately.
* * * *
Saturday night Wyatt calls and wants to get together so we can talk about the ghost again. I don’t have any plans because I’ve sworn off boys and dating, so I invite him over.
He wants to know if it’s okay to bring a DVD. “Maybe we should pretend to be watching a movie, just in case your parents ask any questions about what we have planned.”
He’s right. They might ask and a movie would be a good cover. I’m not ready to explain to them that Wyatt and I are conducting a paranormal investigation.
When he arrives, we’re both starved and I’m in the mood for pizza so we decide to go out first and then come back later to supposedly watch a movie together. Even my parents think we’re dating.
Wyatt chooses a popular pizza place. We walk into the restaurant and it’s crowded with groups of high school kids. From the moment we enter the warm, garlic-scented atmosphere, the stares from dozens of gawking eyes follow us. He orders a large cheese pizza and as soon as it’s ready I grab it, along with some paper plates and a handful of napkins. Wyatt fills two big paper cups with root beer from the dispenser and we squish our way through the crowded room, looking for an empty table.
He leans down to my ear and whispers. “Shh! Listen! What do you think they’re saying about us?”
I laugh then pause to listen.
Our classmates release a whoosh of gossip. Rumors about Wyatt and me fly all around the restaurant like birds heading south for the winter, squawking and pooping on all the surfaces below. I feel like ducking and covering my head with a pizza pan.
Wyatt steers me over to a table where six boys from the soccer team are devouring multiple pizzas and large heaps of mozzarella sticks. He says hi to them and for a couple of minutes they exchange noisy opinions about Friday afternoon’s game, the yellow cards, the red cards and the blindness of the refs. Laughing, Wyatt squeezes my shoulder gently, to signal that we should move along and find our own table.
I spot an empty booth, over in a corner near the window, and sit down across from him, with only a small rectangle of shiny red and white checked table-top between us. Suddenly self-conscious, I edit the wideness of my smile down to a small grin. But then, when I look into his eyes, brilliant like a sunlit ocean, I give up and hit him with th
e real thing. Two thousand dollars worth of braces worn all through seventh and eighth grade have made my teeth even and perfect and they’re framed by shiny, strawberry-flavored lips. Wyatt tilts his head back and laughs. It’s not easy to chew and swallow pizza when you’re grinning like a couple of dumbasses, but we’re hungry and we manage.
Chapter 8
The Calm Before the Storm
When we walk through the back door into the kitchen, my mother’s rummaging through a cabinet.
“Mom, Wyatt and I are going down cellar to watch a movie,” I yell.
She pulls a box of microwave popcorn off a shelf.
“I was just about to pop some popcorn. Do you want some?”
“No thanks. We already ate. What’re you and Dad doing tonight?”
“Watching golf on TV. Your father loves that classic sports channel. I’m just going to keep him company, read my book and try not to snore too loud when I doze off.”
My parents lead such an exciting life.
“Have fun. We’re going downstairs.”
“Come on. Say hello to your father. You haven’t seen him all day.” My dad’s in construction and he’s building a huge new house for somebody rich, so he’s been working a lot, even on the weekends.
When we walk into the den, Dad’s stretched out on the couch. He puts down the remote and stands up to shake hands with Wyatt. No need to lower the volume when you’re watching golf. Even when someone sinks a putt, the clapping is quiet and reserved. My dad makes us a tempting offer. “You kids should stay up here and watch a little of this. Phil Mickelson’s about to win the 2004 Master’s. He’s the best professional left-handed golfer ever.”
“Sounds great, but no thanks. Wyatt brought over a DVD and we want to play some ping pong, too; work off some of that pizza.” My dad can be so lame sometimes. Why would I ever invite anyone over on a Saturday night to watch golf on TV with him and Mom?
“Have fun. Watch out for her, Wyatt. She’s pretty quick with that paddle, beats her brothers all the time.”
I grab Wyatt’s hand and pull him out of the room before my father can embarrass me any further.
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