Ghost Maven

by Tony Lee Moral

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Sophie still played in the kitchen. I knew she would tell Dad if I asked Henry in, even though it wouldn’t be out of spite. The twelve-year-old mind doesn’t allow for much discretion.

  “I can’t invite you in, but we can talk outside.”

  “Alright.”

  I closed the front door quietly then stepped out to join Henry on the front porch. It was twilight, and the lights on the neighboring front porches were just beginning to turn on.

  Henry stood there with his hands in his pockets, as if he had rehearsed his speech a thousand times and was eager to get on with it. “I am unsure what hold you have on me, Alice Parker, but somehow you have managed to corrupt my soul. I cannot get you out of my mind, no matter how hard I try.”

  “I thought it was you who corrupted mine,” I whispered, looking down.

  He reached out to caress my neck with his strong hand.

  I shivered at his powerful touch and leaned my forehead against his. “What have you done to me?” I breathed.

  “I apologize for how I acted at the dance. I just cannot bear to see you with another man. Something in me just snapped.”

  “It’s okay. I overreacted, too. I’m just not used to guys fighting over me.” Never before had I felt like a heroine penned by Jane Austen.

  “I find that hard to believe,” said Henry, smiling.

  “It’s true,” I said. A strong sense of relief suddenly washed over me, and I knew in that moment that we were good, everything was going to be okay.

  “Would you like to go for a drive along the coast?” said Henry. “It is very romantic, almost mystical this time of the night, with the moon over the bay.”

  “I can’t. I have to look after Sophie.”

  Henry jerked his head back, and his eyes seemed to penetrate the front door. “Sophie!”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Without a word of explanation, Henry brushed past me and opened the door. At the speed of light, he ran into the kitchen as I hurried in behind him. I looked over his tall frame and lying on the floor struggling to breathe and convulsing wildly—my precious little sister, with her colorful crayons scattered all around her.

  “Oh my God!” I shouted, my heart missing a beat. “She’s having an asthma attack.”

  It had happened once before, when Sophie was littler. Even though we were with Mom at the time, it had scared the hell out of me. She had stopped breathing, and we had to give her CPR.

  “We’ve gotta get her to the hospital,” I cried.

  Henry picked up her limp body and carried her to his truck.

  I grabbed the front door keys and followed, my heart racing wildly.

  Henry drove through the streets like a maniac, honking his horn loudly as he snaked through the congested traffic trying to get to Monterey County Hospital, only two miles away.

  “Get out of the way,” I said, waving like a crazy person at the cars in the road. “Move!”

  On the way, I called Dad on his cell phone and told him, in a panic, to meet us at the emergency room.

  Five minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. Henry pulled his truck up to the emergency ward, opened the door, and ran in with Sophie in his arms.

  I ran ahead to open the double-doors. When I spotted a paramedic walking out, I shouted to get his attention. “Help us! Please! My little sister is having an asthma attack.”

  “Okay, Miss. Calm down, and follow me.”

  The paramedic ran to get a stretcher from the corridor and wheeled it to the front door. Henry placed Sophie on top, and they wheeled her in.

  “You’ll have to wait in reception,” said the paramedic, holding his hand out to stop me from going any farther.

  Helplessly and terrified, I stood back and watched Sophie disappear down the corridor, surrounded by doctors and nurses.

  In the waiting room, Henry did his best to console me. Memories of being in the hospital with my mother came flooding back, this was equally terrifying.

  “She can’t die. She just can’t,” I said to Henry. Despite my best efforts to conceal them, huge tears began to form in my eyes. I prayed that Dad would get here soon and hugged Henry, laying my head on his chest.

  Henry gripped my shoulders with his strong, comforting hands. “She won’t die. Alice, look at me.”

  I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

  “She will be fine,” he said, in the most certain, reassuring voice I’d ever heard.

  Nodding, I sobbed in his arms. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t be sure—especially not after what had happened with our mother. I knew through experience that hope can be a fickle friend.

  “How did you know?” I asked between tears. “That she was going to have an asthma attack?”

  Henry shrugged. “Sometimes I see things. All part of being in the fourth plane.”

  Twenty minutes later, Dad came rushing into the waiting room, smelling like the ocean. “What happened?” he demanded, half-angry, half in shock. He glared at me—then at Henry, and back at me again.

  “Asthma attack,” I said. “One minute, she was coloring, and the next. . . Well, I was talking to Henry, and—”

  “—Talking to Henry, huh?” Dad said, cutting me off. I hated the look in his eyes, as though I’d done something terribly wrong. “It seems to me you’ve been talking to him a lot lately, even when you are supposed to be looking after your sister. What’s gotten into you, Alice?”

  “Mr. Parker, Sir, with all due respect, it wasn’t Alice’s fault,” began Henry. “She was just—”

  “—Was I talking to you?” snapped my dad. “What have you done to my daughter? Alice is always so responsible, so focused—until you came along!”

  I had never seen Dad so angry, and it frightened me. Speechless, I said nothing to either of them.

  “I am sorry about what happened to your daughter, Sir,” said Henry politely.

  “You don’t have to tell me how sorry you are, young man!”

  “Dad, you’re being unreasonable. Henry drove us here; he brought Sophie to the hospital to get the help she needs. If it wasn’t for him—”

  “—I’m being unreasonable? I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, Alice. You mope around all day, and when you’re not home, you’re off with this boy who I know nothing about. You’ve been neglecting your chores, and the housework is behind.”

  My chores? The words stung, really needled me. All I had been doing lately was shopping, cooking, and housework, filling the role of a mother when I wasn’t even out of high school.

  “Just admit it, Dad. You want me to be just like Mom! Well, she’s gone, and you’ve left me to deal with all the cooking and cleaning while you’re off fooling around with sick sea animals! I get tired, too, you know!” I shouted, shocked by the venom in my own voice. I couldn’t help it, though. All those suppressed feelings came boiling to the surface, and I had to let them out, even in a hospital waiting room.

  Dad, equally caught off guard, took a step back and wiped his mouth.

  Our vicious spat was interrupted by one of the doctors coming out of Sophie’s room. “Mr. Parker, your daughter is no longer in critical condition, but we’d like to keep her overnight for observation,” the doctor announced.

  Dad’s shoulders relaxed, and he almost broke into a smile, relieved as I was. “Thank you,” he said, nodding to the doctor. “Can I see her now?”

  “In a few minutes, but only you. We need her to get some rest.”

  “Honey,” Dad said, turning to me, “I didn’t mean to come on so heavy with you. You and Sophie are my life. If anything ever happened to either of you—”

  “—I know that, Dad, and I’m sorry I worried you.”

  We hugged each other tightly, both glad to learn Sophie would be okay.

  “Well, I’m sorry I yelled at you. There’s no need for you to stay here tonight,” Dad said to me. “Go on home, and I’ll call you with any news.”

  I
shook my head. “No way. I’m staying here where I belong, with my family.”

  “You know, you are like your mother,” Dad said, nodding, “at least when it comes to the stubborn department.” He offered a sheepish half-smile and followed the doctor to Sophie’s room.

  “Your father is a fine man,” said Henry as he watched him walk away.

  “Yes, he is.” I nodded, thinking it very gracious for Henry to say that after Dad had just yelled at him. I was lucky to have both men in my life, and I wanted to hang on to both of them for as long as I could. Choices are never easy, but choosing between the two of them—that would have been nearly impossible.

  Chapter Twelve: Heather

  We took Sophie home from the hospital in the morning. Henry had stayed with me until Dad ordered him to go home. Sophie sat in the back seat, chirpy as ever, singing along with the show tunes blaring over the radio, so bright and cheery. Must have loved all the fuss and attention in the hospital—I thought, then immediately felt ashamed for such a thought.

  Dad said little to me in the car. Once or twice, I glanced over at him, hoping to catch his eye, but he remained stone-faced, his eyes fixed on the road ahead and his hands gripped on the wheel. I hated it when he gave me the silent treatment. I would much rather have heard him shouting, but he had never been good at expressing his emotions.

  When we arrived home, I opened the front door.

  Dad carried Sophie up to her room. “Off to bed, Princess,” Dad said, dropping Sophie on her bed. “Doc said you have to rest.”

  “But, Dad, I wanna play with Sally-Anne,” said Sophie, referring to her favorite toy, a porcelain doll Mom and I had bought for Sophie’s sixth birthday. Since our mother’s death, Sophie and Sally-Anne had been inseparable.

  “You can play with Sally-Anne after the two of you have a rest. She looks kind of sleepy, too,” Dad emphasized, tucking her in bed.

  I lingered at the door as Dad brushed past me. When he left, I turned to Sophie, all snuggled up under her covers. “I just want you to know that I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m always okay, Alice,” Sophie said, smiling up at me.

  “No jokes. You really scared me. You mean more to me than anything.”

  Sophie smiled. “I know, Alice. I just wish you were happier, that you would smile more. Your teeth look pretty when you smile.”

  From the mouths of babes, I thought, nodding to confirm I’d listened and turned to head downstairs.

  Dad was making coffee in the kitchen. When I walked in, he had his back turned to me, the air thick with tension.

  “How’s the research going? Any news about what’s causing the otter plague?”

  “No,” he said, stirring creamer into his coffee. “It’s got us all baffled.”

  “Maybe there’ll be a breakthrough soon,” I said, putting my hands in my jean pockets.

  “Alice, I don’t want you to see that boy anymore,” Dad blurted out, placing his mug down firmly on the table.

  “What? But I thought you said—”

  “—I just don’t like him, and I don’t want you to spend time with him.”

  “How can you say that, Dad? You don’t know anything about him.”

  “That’s precisely it. Neither do you, not really.”

  “I do, too!”

  “Tell me, then, Alice. What is it you do know about him?”

  “I know that I care for him and that he makes me happier than I’ve ever been before.”

  “Great. He makes you happy.”

  “And I don’t deserve that? Don’t you want me to be happy, Dad?”

  “Of course you deserve that! Like I told you, you and Sophie mean everything to me. I think about that girl from your school, that Heather, and I… God, what if that was one of my girls?”

  “What has that got to do with me and Henry?” I countered.

  “I just want you to be careful,” Dad said with a scary finality in his voice before he walked out of the kitchen.

  The more I thought about Dad’s words, the more I wondered if he might be right. I didn’t know much about Henry, apart from the little he told me. He was from San Francisco and a bit bohemian, sailing down to Monterey on one of the fishing boats. In a nutshell, that’s all I had. . . Aside from the fact he isn’t even alive—really.

  I also considered Heather and her disappearance. How is her mom feeling? How anxious the poor woman must be, not knowing what happened to her daughter. Then I remembered Mrs. Prescott, who lost her son in the bay, and how crazy she had become. Will Heather’s mom end up like that, too? I couldn’t even fathom how my dad would end up if anything happened to Sophie or me.

  That night, I dreamt of Heather. She wore her gold homecoming dress and called out to me. Then, Henry appeared at her side. He held her in his arms and kissed her passionately, all the while slyly looking at me.

  I woke up confused and covered in a thick coating of sweat from head to toe. Henry and Heather were becoming a bit of a problem, consuming my head day and night.

  The following Sunday morning, Dad and Sophie went to Mass. I suggested that I meet them outside the church afterward so we could go for brunch. I longed for us to be back together again, happy and getting along. I also had another agenda; I wanted to visit Heather’s mother. Dad nodded and said they would look for me once Mass was over.

  Sitting outside on the church steps, I watched a flock of black crows circle and dance in the sky above. Inside, the congregation sang the final hymn, their voices rising and falling with the verses. I knew when Mass had come to end because I heard the shuffling of dress shoes against the floor as the crowd eased up the aisle to exit.

  When the throng of parishioners came out, I searched for Mrs. Palmer among them. I saw her walking down the steps, with the minister. She looked surprisingly well, considering that there’d been no sign of her daughter. I studied her face, but it was composed and inscrutable, her gray-blonde hair immaculately tied up in a bun.

  Christian stood among some young students, chatting amiably, dressed this time in a navy-blue sweater and chinos. When he glimpsed me, his face lit up, and he sauntered over. “Loitering outside the church again? This is becoming a regular habit of yours.”

  I smiled at his attempt at humor. “Oh, maybe the devil will drag me inside one day. How was Mass?”

  “It was great. Dad said a prayer for Heather.”

  “That’s nice. I’m sure her mom appreciated it.”

  We chatted a little while longer before I started to walk away from the church. The germ of an idea began to form in my mind, and I whipped out my cell phone. “Hey, Ems, it’s me,” I said when she picked up. “Can you meet me in an hour?”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked Emily, suddenly having second thoughts, as we stood outside the blue Victorian house on the borders of Pacific Grove and Monterey.

  “Of course! If it means putting an end to your bad dreams and my visions, it has to be good, doesn’t it?” said Emily.

  The first thing that caught my attention was the manicured lawn with purple and white flowers leading up to the front porch. All the gardens in Pacific Grove were tidy, but this one seemed obsessively so.

  I cast my eyes over the clapboard house and wondered who hid behind those lace curtains. “Okay. Let’s go,” I said and walked up the garden path with Emily. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  A few seconds later, Mrs. Palmer appeared, still looking as calm and relaxed as she had that morning. I expected her to have red, puffy eyes, instead they were clear and lively.

  “Mrs. Palmer?” I asked, then introduced myself, “I’m Alice Parker.”

  “And I’m Emily Kline.”

  The woman seemed surprised to see us. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. What can I do for you young ladies?”

  “We’re from Monterey High, we were, uh—are friends of Heather’s,” I said, even though it wasn’t exactly true.

  Mrs. Palmer seemed to stiffen at the mention o
f her daughter’s name. She glanced from Emily to me and back again. After a moment, she relaxed a little and smiled at us. “I see. Well, you’d better come in.”

  I glanced at Emily, and she nodded, so we both went inside.

  Lace seemed the predominant motif in the Palmer house as it lined the curtains, doilies, and acted as bordering for the linen cushions. The scent of a sweet antiseptic filled the house, something like wood polish. Everything appeared prim and orderly.

  A framed picture with the words “Lord, Bless This House” stood in prominent display on the mantelpiece. Did Heather’s mother know she was the most popular girl in school—especially with the male students? There was no evidence in the house to suggest it; in fact, it felt like we’d traveled back in time.

  Mrs. Palmer led us into her front room and motioned to a white couch. “Please sit,” she said.

  Emily and I sat down, only inches away from each other for solidarity, our knees almost touching.

  “We’re just so worried about Heather and wondered if there’s anything we can do to help. . .” Emily began.

  “That’s very kind, but Heather’s in the Lord’s hands now. He will take care of her.”

  I couldn’t believe what I heard. The woman’s daughter is missing, yet here she is—calmly sitting in her armchair—saying the good Lord would take care of everything. I just could not relate to her perception and almost found it offensive.

  “Aren’t you worried about your daughter?” I asked bluntly.

  “Of course I am,” Mrs. Palmer replied, “but what can I, a mere mortal, do? It’s out of my hands.”

  “Have the police come up with any leads?” I queried.

  “Yes. They came around and asked me all kinds of questions about Heather, about any boys she’s been seeing, who her friends are, and where she likes to go after school. I told them Heather isn’t seeing anyone special. She’s just not that kind of girl. She’s never shown much interest in boys.”

  Emily and I looked at each other, incredulous. This didn’t even sound like we spoke of the same girl—the girl every boy wanted and every girl wanted to be. It was hard to believe that her mother could be that clueless as to her daughter’s more accurate reputation.