by Kay Shostak
“At least it’s not that far off. We just need to make it as nice as possible and get through it.”
We nod in agreement, and then I tip my head towards the upstairs. “You got folks working on Sunday night?”
He looks up the stairs, too.
“Sounds like they’re trying to be quiet. Probably afraid they’ll get pulled into whatever mess is going on down here.” I laugh and then realize Peter isn’t agreeing with me and is still staring up the staircase.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I touch his sleeve. “Work not going right up there? I guess it’s a good sign they’re willing to work on Sunday night, though. Right?”
He finally turns to me and frowns. “Carolina, there’s nobody up there.”
“But, I hear…”
He nods and lays his hand on top of mine. He draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“I think I might have a ghost.”
Chapter 24
When I came down at 6:30 and put on a pot of coffee, the house was quiet. Open windows pulled in a soft breeze and a muffled quietness from the lingering fog coming off the river. The only sounds were those of the coffee brewing and the few clanks I made setting the muffins out of the freezer to defrost. Beside them on the kitchen table, I laid out butter, cream cheese, juice glasses, and knives. Then stealing a cup of coffee before the pot was done, I pulled my robe around me and went back upstairs to get dressed.
This trip down the stairs is completely different. The sun is no longer creeping up the backside of the mountain across the river, it’s burned off all the fog and now toasts the back of our house. The windows let in heat, and ah, there it is, humidity. It’s getting to that time where the windows have to stay closed, and the air conditioning runs 24/7. Even when it feels a little cool outside, the humidity fools you and fills your house with stickiness. Wood furniture feels sticky, the back of your neck feels sticky, and suddenly everybody is getting on everyone else’s nerves. See? Stickiness.
Also different from my last trip? The noise level. Closing windows along my path from the living room into the dining room, I find a table full of folks in various stages of dress, eating what looks like a full breakfast (where are the muffins I so lovingly put out?), and drinking coffee.
Will has on his dress shirt and dark slacks for a day at the car lot. Anna has on jeans and an old tee shirt. Gertie is still in her night clothes, which I’ve become familiar with as she has no problem wearing them whenever and wherever around the house. She has on what must be her favorite, a Hawaiian print caftan. Big red and purple flowers. It’s huge and bright and a little scary. We have a couple of railfans coming later this week. I’ll try talking to her again about dressing for breakfast, but it won’t do any good. I think she’s confused that when I say “dressing” I mean not naked. So, maybe I’ll just settle for not naked.
“Good morning. Everyone good?” I ask.
Gertie holds up her empty cup of coffee towards me. “Since you’re standing.”
Taking her cup and mine into the kitchen, the mess hits me in the stomach. Looks like Will and Anna made their lunches to take with them, but then put nothing back into the refrigerator. And someone cooked something, as the sink is full of dirty dishes. When I made coffee just an hour ago, none of this was here. And why is every single cabinet door standing open? Before I can get back to the dining room with my questions (and accusations), Gertie meets me.
“Thanks for the coffee. Speaking of which, you look to be running out, unless I just couldn’t find your stash. Kids were wanting some eggs, and since you seemed to be just putting out those day old muffins, I made ‘em a real breakfast. Don’t worry, I won’t put it on your bill.” She laughs and nudges me with her elbow. “Get it? Like you should pay me for working here.” She laughs at her joke and turns back toward the B&B rooms. “I enjoy staying here. Doing a little work is no big deal for me. I just see what needs to be done and I do it.” She waves her hand at me. “No need to worry about it. I’m just glad to help out.” Passing the dining room table she takes a small piece of toast she left on her plate and takes a bite of it. Toast, not muffins, which are still arranged on the plate like I sat them out. So if they all had toast that means we no longer have any bread. Guess I have to go to the store.
Before Gertie enters the B&B’s hallway, she looks back at me. “Besides, we make a good team. I do the cooking and you do the cleanup. Everybody helping out!”
Anna and Will stand up and take their dishes to the kitchen, but by time I follow them with other dirty dishes from the table, they are already headed through the living room.
“I’m dropping Will off at work and then going on to school.” Anna says as she slips on her tennis shoes. She adds, “Savannah ate with us and told us to remind you she had work early this morning.” Will is stuffing their lunch bags into their backpacks on the back of the couch.
“And Mom, when Anna picks me up we’re going down to the mall to look at some nursery furniture and have dinner. So don’t worry about cooking for us.” They hustle out the door with their arms and bellies loaded.
Then the house is quiet again. The air conditioner is cooling the sunny downstairs and everyone’s been fed. Except for Bryan upstairs sleeping, who will make another round of mess for me to clean up when I get home from meeting Susan at Ruby’s.
What did being bored feel like?
“You let them walk all over you,” Susan says when I finish telling her about my morning. We’re sitting in a booth at Ruby’s. “Gertie is staying so long that it’s like she’s not a real guest. Crazy her cooking breakfast, and then expecting you to clean it up.”
“Right? I mean, who cooks breakfast for their kids anyway?”
Susan just takes another sip of her coffee.
“You do. Should’ve known. You cook breakfast for your kids every morning?”
She shrugs and smiles at me, scrunching her nose in acknowledgement. “They really like breakfast, and I just use the same pan I cooked Griffin’s eggs in earlier. Not so much work.”
I drop my head for my chin to rest on my chest. “Oh, Lord, you fix eggs for Griffin each morning before work?”
“Well, sometimes it’s just oatmeal or toast. Believe me, he’d think Ruby’s muffins were a treat.”
“No, he wouldn’t. You make oatmeal on the stove and just toast is your homemade bread with your homemade jam on it.”
She blinks at me, and I can hear the confusing thoughts running through her head. Wait, how else can oatmeal be made? People eat bread they bought? What kind of containers would jam come in from a store? Wouldn’t labels on jars be kind of tacky?
Lifting my head, I give it a little shake. “I am the worst person on the face of the earth to run a bed and breakfast.”
“But people still enjoy coming up to your house, so you must do something right.”
“Yeah, like open the door. Laney’s place will put us out of business in a month.”
Susan laughs and then straightens her shoulders. She has on a button-down, yellow dress shirt tucked into khaki pants. Her belt is this cute, striped ribbon, like I wore in college. With her hair back in its usual ponytail, she looks like she’s still on the coed quad. As she clears her throat and lifts her chin, she reminds me of a kid playing at being an adult. “About Laney,” she says and her voice is firm. Maybe a bit too firm…
“Is something wrong with Laney? What’s going on?”
Susan sighs. “Something’s going on, but I’m not sure she told me the whole truth.” She lifts her hand to wave at Libby for a coffee refill. “I went over to the house around five yesterday, and she was cleaning out her freezer down in the basement. You know how beautiful it was outside yesterday and, besides, she doesn’t even keep much in that big old freezer. Shaw’s daddy was a hunter so when he was alive they had meat in it, but now it stays half empty. Except it sure wasn’t empty yesterday. Thanks, Libby.”
I drain my cup so Libby can fill it, too. “Thanks, Libby,” I get i
n before she scurries off to the next table. Good to see MoonShots hasn’t hurt Ruby’s business. “So, what was it full of?”
“Normal stuff. Nothing stood out. But she just seemed distracted. I asked her about the flats, tried to make it a joke, but she teared up. My sister, Laney, teared up.”
“Do you think she’s sick or something?”
Susan blows a bit on her coffee while shaking her head. “Honestly, I have no idea. Called Mama this morning, but she was headed out to a senior citizens’ trip with the church so she couldn’t talk. But the only thing Laney would say was that the idea of the girls going off to college had her rethinking things. She wouldn’t say what things or even talk about the girls. All she would talk about was the B&B job over in Collinsville and how busy she’s going to be.”
We both sit and think about it and finally I say, “Maybe she’s just growing up.”
Susan nods. “Guess so. Griffin said about the same thing, except he added, ‘About time.’ So, how was Missus? Did you tell her about the wedding?”
“Oh, yeah, Missus. She took it all okay. Not at first, but then Anna cried, hugged her, and begged her to come to the wedding. So it’s all good…” I can’t help but bite my lip because that’s not at all what I want to really talk about.
“Well. That was easier than I thought.” Susan has her head tilted now, and she’s watching me. Watching me chew on my lip, squirm in my seat, and shift my eyes back and forth across the tables around us.
“And, uh, Peter? He’s good with it, too?”
She’s fishing.
“Yep, Peter says its fine with him.” Gathering my purse, I pick up my bill to take to the counter to pay. “Well, I guess I better get back up to the house. I kind of left the kitchen a mess,” I explain as I stand up. Even looking down, I can feel that Susan’s not moved a muscle. She’s staring straight ahead and thinking.
Then she blurts out. “Oh, no! Peter started flirting with you again? Please tell me you didn’t let anything happen between you two.”
I drop back into my seat. “No! No, he wasn’t flirting. He just, well, he just…”
Susan leans across the table and grabs my wrist. “You and Jackson are good. You’ve got to stop this thing with Peter.”
“There is no thing with Peter and me. It’s his ghost.”
Susan lets go of me and sits back. “His what?”
“He has a ghost in his new house. I heard it. Upstairs.”
“Another trick of Missus’?”
“No, she couldn’t even hear it. She nor FM.” Leaning closer, I whisper, “I heard it the whole time I was there. Something moving around upstairs. I mentioned it to the others after Peter told me he thought it was a ghost. Of course I didn’t mention a ghost, just asked if they heard something upstairs. Will, Missus, and FM all said no. Anna just looked at Peter and kept her mouth closed. But I think she heard it. You know, she lived there this winter right after he moved in.” Leaning back in my seat, I feel so much better. Just saying it makes it not so crazy. “But how funny it is that the guy who played my ghost would have one of his own.” I laugh, but Susan just looks at me.
“You know it’s not a real ghost, right?”
“Well, but maybe it is.”
“Or maybe it’s just squirrels living in the attic. That place sat empty for a long time, you know.”
“But wouldn’t it be fun if it were a ghost? Right here in downtown. There was Missus making up a ghost and she lives just a couple doors down from a real one.” Again, Susan doesn’t join in on the laughing. She does however roll her eyes.
Picking up her bill, she stands up, and I realize she’s angry. “Did it dawn on you that since a ghost got you and Peter close once, he’s manufacturing one to get close to you again? Let me guess, he told you not to tell anyone, to keep it just between the two of you?”
“Yeah, but, well, that’s understandable.”
“Have you told Jackson?”
“Well, no. He’s out of town, and well, Peter asked….”
With an arched eyebrow and one hand on her hip, she nods. “Exactly.”
She steps nearer to me and puts her hand from her hip onto my shoulder. “Honey, stay away from Peter Bedwell for the sake of your marriage. There’s just too much natural attraction between you two.” She’s sincere, and I nod at her words as I stand up.
Walking to the counter, we switch to talking about the Memorial Day weekend coming up with the opening of the waterfront park.
At the front door we go our separate ways—Susan to her car across the street and me to my van parked on the corner beside Ruby’s. I watch her pull away from the square while I fumble with my phone like I’m checking messages or something. When she’s gone I tuck my phone away and get back out of my car. Walking fast, I pass in front of Ruby’s and walk to the far corner where I turn right and walk along the plain brick wall of the last storefront building. In the center of the short block, I cross the street and notice even in the morning this part of the street seems dark. Up the steps, I enter the porch hidden by the overgrown bushes which block out the light and warmth of the early sun.
It makes perfect sense. We couldn’t talk last night about the ghost with everyone here so of course meeting this morning makes perfect sense. And why wouldn’t we meet where the ghost actually is?
When I raise my hand to knock, the door opens.
Peter smiles. “Good morning. Hope you’re not coffee’d out from Ruby’s. And I made us a bite of breakfast. Our friend upstairs has been active already this morning.”
See? Makes perfect sense.
Chapter 25
“What is wrong with you two?” Shrieking from the back deck makes both boys look at me, but that’s about it. Bryan hauls off and throws the clump of clay-laced dirt at Grant and laughs as he dodges the clump coming his way.
Grant has the good manners to wipe his dirty hands down his shirt, adding streaks to the stains already there. He smiles at me, but leaves any explaining to my son. Who just throws another clod straight up and laughs when it breaks apart and rains dirt on him.
Yeah, my vegetable garden. Can’t believe Griffin listened to me when I told him to make it bigger. Then, bigger still. He started by rototilling about a six foot by six foot area on Susan’s direction. (Apparently I’ve not impressed my friend with my stick-to-itivness.) But this time I was serious. So, he did another row or two. But I wanted more. Bigger. Lots and lots of vegetables.
Now I have a dug-up rectangle in my backyard about half-a-mile by half-a-mile. Probably not that big, but it looks it. And it’s full of clods of clay and rocks, and that’s all. Heard of red Georgia clay? Well, if there was a market for it, I’d have it cornered. But you know, there is no market for it.
“I never did like gardening. Don’t take you for a gardener, either. Your husband do that?” Gertie moseys out of the kitchen to stand beside me on the deck and joins me looking at the dirt.
Grant and Bryan have moved on around the house and out of shrieking distance.
I sigh. “No, it was my idea.”
“You musta been half crazy, or starving to death, to think you wanted to plant something that big.”
“I was bored.”
Gertie huffs. “What is it with folks thinking they’re bored these days? People think they’ve constantly got to have something going on. Gardens are a real good idea, but you gotta be mighty hungry or really love messing around in the dirt.”
“Maybe I’d really love it.”
“Naw. You don’t have a living plant in the whole house. You got artificial plants around like you’re fooling folks. You don’t care for being dirty or sweaty. And you don’t get that look in your eye when you see plowed-up dirt. Real gardeners get all hepped up about tilled-up soil, kinda like you in a bookstore.”
“How are things going with the bookstore?” I ask.
Gertie twists her mouth from one side to the other. “Guess okay. You might need to come back and deal with it. Andy has a junkin�
� gene, looks like. He keeps bringing in junk to sell. And he sells it, but really making that Shannon girl upset. It is a little, well, junky looking.”
“I’ve got my hands full here with the B&B and my garden.”
She grins and lumbers around to go back inside. “I better go. Meeting Missus at the church tonight to do some wedding planning. Figured we’d get some things ironed out before the young’uns get involved.” She turns around at the door. “And ‘fore you say something about it being their wedding, they ain’t paying.”
I raise my hands in concession. “I’m sure you and Missus will figure everything out just fine.”
“You want to come?”
“No, thank you. Maybe me and Bryan will go down to Calhoun to get dinner and then to Walmart and get some vegetables to plant. I have leftover soup in the fridge if you and Patty want it for dinner.”
“Sounds good. I’ll let her know.”
Instead of shrieking, this time I just yell for Bryan, and he comes jogging from the driveway side of the house. “Want to go get dinner and then go to Walmart for some plants?”
“Sure. Can Grant come?” he asks as he bounds up the steps to the deck, closely followed by Grant.
“Good with me. We’ll run by his house and ask his mom. You guys go wash your face and hands.”
Passing by me, heat radiates off their skin. Fresh boy sweat plasters down their hair and beads up on their foreheads. Their cheeks look thinner than they did just yesterday. The red circles on Bryan’s face remind me of kissing that sweet skin, so soft and warm from a toddler’s hard play. But the smell that wafts off him isn’t that mix of soap and powder and baby shampoo with an earthiness of baby sweat. No, they stink. Actually stink and as they clod by, the deck shakes. “Put on clean shirts while you’re at it,” I add. “And deodorant.”
Just have to find a place where we can eat outside.
Who knew late May is a little late to start a garden in Georgia? Well, I’m supposing some people know. I got so confused in the garden center at the Walmart, all those little plants look too tender to make it with my clods of clay and then all those pictures of little suns and drops of water on all those little sticks in each plant. Exhausting. And looking at the dirt in the little containers, it’s so dark and moist and fine. Finally, I ended up grabbing a bunch of stuff from the discount rack. Figured if it’s already going to die, it can come home and die with me.