Ghost Maven

by Tony Lee Moral

  I nodded and said goodbye. I didn’t want to leave him. Reluctantly, I walked down the street back toward my house. Every so often, though, I turned to look back. When I did, I saw that he watched me go. I carried on walking for a few more steps, but when I looked around again, he had mysteriously vanished.

  The rest of the week passed painfully slow, and I could do little but think of Henry. Why does he have such a magnetic hold on me? I wondered. There was something so mysterious about him—so unlike the boys in my class, that it made me wonder who he really was and where he had come from. I didn’t mention him to Emily. I wanted to keep the memory of Henry to myself, and just like the secret island, I felt that speaking his name or mentioning him would betray my protective oath to keep him a secret.

  On Saturday, Sophie and I went to the farmers’ market to stock up on fruits and vegetables for the week. We enjoyed browsing the stalls and kiosks, chatting to the farmers, and savoring the samples. There was a fine selection of cheeses so I bought a half-pound of my favorite, Monterey Jack, for tonight’s lasagna.

  After Dad came home from work, he wanted to take Sophie and me on a drive up to Santa Cruz.

  “I, uh, have a few things I want to do today in Monterey,” I said. “Besides, I have some research to finish at the library, a project for school,” I lied, knowing that homework would be all the excuse I would need to get me out of the trip.

  “Okay, honey. You win,” said Dad.

  I waited until they left, but instead of going to the library right away, I headed for Cannery Row.

  Chapter Five: Sailing

  Passing the clam-chowder stalls, several cafés, and the Plaza Hotel, I walked to the far end, where there was a ramshackle collection of dive shops. One had a sign on the front of a large dolphin riding a wave. Intrigued by the sign, I paused to read the ads plastered on the window.

  I went into the shop and walked up to the good-looking guy behind the counter. He had blond, curly hair, freckles, and blue eyes—the typical surfer-dude, dressed in a neoprene wetsuit, revealing the muscles bulging underneath.

  “Hey,” he greeted, showing a set of movie star, perfectly white teeth.

  “Hi. I wanna learn how to sail.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said and introduced himself, “I’m Connor, and I will be your instructor. I teach sailing diving here.”

  He looked to be twenty or twenty-one, the kind of guy who wakes up every morning with a sunny disposition.

  “I do sailing lessons on Sundays, starting at eight in the morning,” Connor stated. “It’s fifty bucks an hour.”

  Fifty dollars was a lot for me, but I did have some money saved up, so I agreed.

  “Why do you wanna learn how to sail?” Connor asked.

  “Er…well, I figure since I live in Pacific Grove, I should take advantage of the bay.” The truth—I wanted to try and find the island. I knew that overcoming my fear of the ocean by learning to sail might give me some peace of mind and the answers to all the questions floating through my head since I’d seen the vanishing land mass.

  “Sounds good to me. When do you wanna start?”

  “Next Sunday would be great.”

  “Eight o’clock sharp then.” Connor beamed another sunny smile at me, looking like he’d just stepped off the set of a toothpaste commercial. “We meet by the marina, at Lovers Point. You know where that is?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Here’s the money for my first lesson. See ya then.”

  Bright and early the next day, I woke up excited about going sailing next week. Dad and Sophie were already having breakfast downstairs, and I could smell the pancakes throughout the whole house with their maple goodness. After greeting my family, I reached for some plates in the cupboard and pulled out a carton of soymilk from the refrigerator.

  “Sophie and I are going to church,” announced Dad, pouring honey on his pancake. “Mass is at eleven.”

  I sighed and offered out my plate, waiting for the pancake. “I don’t think I’m gonna go,” I said, not having forgiven God for taking Mom away from us and exactly why I hadn’t bothered to set foot in one of His houses since the funeral. I felt God had betrayed me and my family, and until He made make amends, I saw no need to waste my Sunday mornings.

  Dad nodded. “Okay, but it would be a good way to meet the neighbors, get to know people. You want to make friends, don’t you, Alice?”

  I honestly had no desire to meet anyone, and I already had friends. If it were up to me, I would gladly stay home and keep to myself, except for my quests to discover the island.

  “I just started a great book, Dad, and I wanna catch up on my reading. Besides, I’ve already made some friends and even joined a book club at school.”

  “Fine. Whatever floats your boat,” said Dad with a defeated sigh.

  The two of them left for church a short while later. I’ve never been very religious, even though my mother was. She took us to church every week and made sure we said our prayers every night. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, my dad wasn’t especially religious either, but since Mom’s death, he seemed to take some kind of comfort in the church. I couldn’t knock him for that and respected his feelings—we all have to grieve in our own way, but I want him to respect my feelings, too.

  I puttered around the empty house for a while, trying to decide what I should do first. Maybe a visit to the local library down the street where I can work my way through titles by Charlotte Brontë, starting with Jane Eyre. Would the library have a copy? I also thought about a copy of Villette.

  Oddly enough though, something changed my plans that morning, and I felt an inexplicable yearning for church after all. I found myself putting on a sweater, my running shoes, and reaching for the house keys.

  The Our Lady of the Cross church building in Pacific Grove was only a mile up the hill, and I enjoyed the morning walk in the warm sunshine. When I arrived, I stood outside the building for a few moments, contemplating the white façade. Our Lady of the Cross was a large white clapboard church with solid brown crossbeams. The first thing I noticed was how sturdy it looked. It looked strong enough to withstand a hurricane standing there steadfastly, surrounded by a green lawn, right in the middle of a neighborhood block.

  As I approached, I heard singing coming from inside. It sounded like they were nearing the end of Mass. I reached the oak double-doors, but instead of going inside, I plopped down on the marble steps and waited for the service to end and everyone to pile out.

  Silently, I watched the seagulls performing their acrobatics in the sky above. The sea sparkled in the distance and the morning sun shimmered above the water. Pacific Grove was built on a sloping hill so it was nearly impossible to be anywhere in the town without glimpsing the bay.

  The singing continued as the parishioners crooned, Amazing Grace loudly, whether they could carry a tune or not. It had always been one of my favorite hymns, even though I wasn’t so sure about the words . . .and grace will lead me home, I thought as the noise came to an end.

  Not long after that, I heard the hollow sound of people shuffling down the aisles toward the exit. I stood to wait for Dad and Sophie.

  “Alice!” shouted a voice.

  I turned around and saw Christian standing in the arched doorway of the church. He looked handsome in his chocolate-brown Sunday-morning suit, crisp, white shirt, and dark tie. The ensemble differed greatly from the casual clothes he’d been wearing at the book club, but he still had that same sunny smile, wonky nose, and the sparkle in his green eyes.

  “Hey,” I said. “What a coincidence, huh?”

  “Yeah. Good to bump into you. Did you attend Mass? I didn’t see you inside.”

  “No. I just came to meet my dad and little sister.”

  “Well, you should stop in sometime. My dad’s the minister here,” Christian said with a nod.

  Surprised, it took me a moment to digest the information. “So you’re—”

  “Yep,” he said, cutting me o
ff, “a certified preacher’s kid. Don’t hold it against me, though. That’s my dad right over there,” he said, pointing.

  The minister was a thin-faced man with graying hair, dressed in the typical high white collar and black suit. He was talking to my dad and Sophie, welcoming them to the parish, and for a moment, reminded me of the Chicago car salesman who’d sold us our Volkswagen.

  “The guy he’s talking to is my dad,” I said.

  “Hmm. Looks like a decent guy. I bet he’s proud of you,” said Christian.

  “Not always, but yeah, we get along pretty well. We’re a close family.”

  We studied our fathers and I noticed how strikingly different they were. My father was burly, with strong hands—a real son of the earth. Christian’s dad, on the other hand, was thin and delicate, and holding a thick leather-bound book in his hand—a son of God. I wondered if Christian had noticed and was thinking the same.

  “I’m glad they joined our parish. Why didn’t you come inside?” he asked gently.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t been going to church lately.”

  “Why not?” he probed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry. It’s really none of my business. Everyone’s always telling me I’m too direct.”

  “No, that’s okay. Direct is good,” I said with complete honesty. I preferred open and honest people to those with hidden agendas. “I don’t talk about this much, but—well, my mom died a few months ago, and ever since then, I haven’t been able to make peace with God, I guess.”

  “I understand,” Christian said.

  I wasn’t sure if he truly understood or not. How could he know the pain of losing a parent unless it happened to him? Now Henry…he would understand, I thought. Still, it was nice of Christian to try.

  I darted my eyes around at the happy parishioners, chatting and laughing after the service. It was a bit ridiculous, I knew, but I resented how content they seemed.

  A few moments later, I saw Heather Palmer walking down the steps wearing a pretty white dress with lace trim. Her hair done up with a headband, she looked radiant. For some reason, I was surprised to see her there. I wouldn’t have taken her for much of a churchgoer. An older woman accompanied her. She had more blond hair than gray tied up in a bun at the nape of her neck. The two of them looked like the epitome of pretention.

  Christian saw me watching Heather as she glided down the steps in almost angelic fashion. “You know her?” he asked.

  “Yeah. She’s in my biology class. I never would’ve expected to see her here, though.”

  “She comes every week with her mom, never misses a Sunday.”

  “She’s beautiful,” I said and sighed. “I wonder what it’s like to be so gorgeous.”

  “Er, she’s okay, but she really doesn’t have that much going on upstairs.” He tapped his forehead. “She’s a little too—self-involved.”

  I watched as Heather paused at the bottom of the marble steps, expertly greeting the parishioners with a radiant smile. She cocked her head in my direction but I didn’t want to be caught staring at her again, so I turned my back to her.

  Standing in the crowd, I sensed someone watching me, just as I watched Heather. Right then, I glimpsed the old lady who lived down the street. She was at the back of the crowd of parishioners, glaring at me, again with that strange look in her eyes.

  “Who’s that old lady in the green dress?” I asked, feigning I didn’t know her.

  Christian followed my gaze through the crowd. “Oh, that’s Mrs. Prescott, the local ghostbuster,” he said, with no trace of sarcasm or irony in his voice whatsoever.

  “Ghostbuster?” I repeated, puzzled.

  “Yeah. She’s convinced that Monterey and Pacific Grove are haunted, and she often takes tourists around the harbor to show them the most haunted places. Monterey is the oldest town in California with some of the oldest buildings—of course, all that history comes with a fair number of ghosts.”

  “Ghosts?” I said. “You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?” I asked, incredulous.

  “I do,” said Christian, looking me straight in the eye.

  “Have you seen any?” I asked.

  “Growing up in Pacific Grove, you see a lotta strange things, especially near the bay. Once or twice, I’ve seen lights and heard strange noises, that kind of thing.”

  Suddenly, my world seemed to be so far from metropolitan Chicago with its tall buildings and bumper-to-bumper cars. “That old lady gives me the creeps,” I said.

  “Oh, Mrs. Prescott’s harmless. She’s lived in Pacific Grove all her life. She dutifully helps the church, always pitching in on flower arrangements, local collections, and things like that.”

  “She said something strange to me the first week we moved in.”

  “What?”

  “She told me to stay away from the water.”

  “Ah, well, maybe that’s because of her kid. He drowned in the bay a long time ago.”

  “Drowned?” I shuddered, feeling aghast and sympathetic for the old lady at the same time. “That’s awful. I feel sorry for her.”

  “Yeah, well, she hasn’t been quite the same since.”

  I now looked at Mrs. Prescott from a new perspective, with new compassion and sympathy. I had heard that losing a child was worse than losing a parent, but she still gave me the creeps.

  “Why did you move to Pacific Grove if you don’t like it?”

  “I never said I don’t like it,” I countered. “My dad’s a marine biologist, so when he got a job at the aquarium, we all moved here.”

  “A marine biologist? Really? That’s so cool! Well, you’re in the right place if you love the ocean.”

  I nodded and let his remark pass. I couldn’t bear to admit to Christian that I was terrified of the ocean and didn’t want to go near it, even if my dad had no problem diving in and checking out the sea creatures.

  Christian’s face immediately turned serious. “Just watch out for the sharks.”

  “Sharks?”

  “Yeah. This town kinda feeds on new blood, like the high school jocks who stalk Heather like great-whites on a poor seal.”

  “Oh. Those sharks,” I said, almost with relief. “Don’t worry about me. When it comes to land-sharks, I can take care of myself.”

  “Good.” Christian beamed at me, as if I had passed some matriculation test. “Hey, wanna go grab a coffee? There’s a great bakery near here that makes the most amazing bagels, especially on Sundays. We can talk about the book assignment.”

  “Er, not right now. I’ve got some things to do.” Christian was sweet, but I didn’t want to send him any signals or make the wrong impression. To be honest, I just couldn’t see myself dating the son of a minister; it was a little too close to God for my comfort.

  Christian nodded. “Well, okay then. Enjoy your Sunday,” he said cordially then left me alone and went to talk to his father.

  I wanted to go sailing, knowing it would make me feel closer to Henry somehow. After a cinnamon bagel and a cup of coffee, I walked down to the small marina, near Lovers Point.

  Although it was early the following Sunday, the marina buzzed with activity. A group of divers prepared for a boat trip out in the bay, putting on their aqualungs as I approached the marina, dotted with sailing vessels readying themselves for a day cruise.

  Connor waited for me at the end of the jetty. He was onboard a small sailing boat about twenty feet long, a broad smile on his sun-kissed face.

  When I saw the boat, I immediately started sweating and couldn’t catch my breath. I heard my heart pounding in my ears.

  I hadn’t expected that we’d traverse the waters in a vessel so tiny. It was much smaller than the boats I was used to, by at least thirty feet. My experience on the kayak had made me very wary of small boats, and this one looked very insignificant floating in that giant sea.

  “Ready to go?” asked Connor, flashing a smile.

  “Uh, I didn’t think I’d be sailing in such a small boat,” I said, nervously lo
oking up and down the short length of the hull. I’d already read the manual, but the act of sailing would be something different.

  “Oh, you’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s a calm day, and I’ll be there to catch you if you fall overboard.” He smiled again, showing those white teeth.

  I couldn’t possibly back out; not without Connor thinking I was a chicken or a weirdo. I wanted to go through with it, had to, for my own sake, but when I moved toward the sailboat, my legs turned to jelly.

  “I can’t go through with this. I can’t. . . .I can’t,” I said, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry—you can keep the fifty dollars.”

  Connor paused. “I’ll tell you what, how about you take one of the small paddle boats and just stay inside the marina? It’s sheltered, and I’ll give you a life vest. That way you can acclimatize to being out in the water and if you’re good, next week we can go out sailing. Huh?”

  I nodded. Baby steps. Yes, that is a good idea.

  Connor took me to some paddleboats tied up to the jetty and selected a bright red one. I felt like a kid as he strapped on a life vest that hugged my chest, but at least I knew I wouldn’t drown.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  I nodded and breathing deeply, I waved goodbye to Connor as he returned to the surf shop.

  “Hey!” shouted an angry voice as I climbed into the paddleboat.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a figure running down the jetty at great speed toward me. I couldn’t believe my eyes—Henry? I hadn’t seen him look so angry as he paced up and down on the shore, fists clenched.

  “Do you have a death wish? I told you to stay away from the bay! Why will you not heed my warning?”

  Shocked by the venom in his voice, I couldn’t find the words to answer. Once again, he looked and sounded like he hated me. “I-I just wanna learn how to be on the water; that’s all,” I stuttered. “I don’t want to be terrified anymore,” I reasoned, sounding like a little girl being punished for stealing from the cookie jar.