by Karen Jones
He takes it and looks at the address. “Where’d you get this?”
“It was in my box. By mistake,” I say. My voice sounds strange to me. I can’t get over hearing it again.
“Well, thank you for bringing it to me. I’ve been expecting it,” he says.
His eyes are the brightest blue I think I’ve ever seen. I realize I’m staring and I should probably say something. But what?
Finally, I say, “Well, okay then.” I turn to leave but he grabs my sleeve with two fingers to stop me.
“I’m Mason,” he says. “Do you want to come in?”
I turn, scared out of my wits. He lets go of my sleeve but continues to stand there all handsome and expecting me to speak.
“I’m,” I say, then realize I haven’t told anyone my name in so long I don’t remember it. What was it? How can someone forget their own name? He’s staring at me, waiting. Eleanor. That’s it. It’s Eleanor. That’s so old-fashioned. “Ellie,” I finish. “It’s Ellie. Short for Eleanor. An old family name.”
Chapter 12
“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Would you like to come in?” he asks.
Should I? I haven’t done something like this before. What are the risks? He can see me. He can touch me. Oh, how I wish he’d touch me again. It felt so wonderful. So alive. But the risks. What could go wrong? There might be someone else in the house. Someone who can’t see me. I shouldn’t risk it. I mustn’t.
“I’d love to,” I say.
Mason steps back and gestures for me to pass. I step over the threshold into his home. The scent of apples and cinnamon reaches me. Is someone baking a pie? Would I be able to eat a piece of pie? Wouldn’t that be exciting? To eat. I haven’t even tried such a thing. But here I am, being seen, being spoken to, being touched. Who’s to say I can’t eat a slice of apple pie.
“This way,” Mason says, and leads me toward the front of the house. The walls are covered in photos. Some black and white, some full color. There are portraits, landscapes, flowers, and animals.
“Is your mother a photographer?” I ask.
“No. I am.”
This startles me. Mason seems so young. And he goes to school. When would he have the time to take all of these beautiful images?
“There’s so many,” I say.
“I love photography. It’s what I enjoy more than anything,” he tells me.
His home is open and inviting with bright colors. He wanders into the living room and I follow. The kitchen is visible on the other side of a marble breakfast bar. Mason offers me a soda. I take a risk and accept. He hands me a Coke in a can. I’m completely unsure how to open it. I must look ridiculous standing there, soda in hand, staring at it.
“I can open that for you,” he says. He takes the soda out of my hand and pulls back on a small tab of metal. There’s a small popping sound and the soda hisses. Mason hands it back and smiles at me. A big, bright smile. I smile back.
Chapter 13
Yesterday turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Or death. Maybe both.
Mason and I talked for over an hour. I know this because there’s a giant wall clock in his living room. We talked about photography and what he thinks of Santa Monica. He told me he didn’t go to school each day, he went out to shoot photos. He must be older than I thought. I told him I was home schooled. I’m not sure why. He didn’t ask.
Home schooling has made a huge comeback in the last couple of decades. When I was growing up it was all there really was. Sure, there were some finishing schools and things like that, but mostly a nanny or hired instructor taught you all you needed. Besides, back then, girls were raised to run the home of their husband. Nothing more.
It was so nice to talk to someone. I eventually got used to hearing my own voice again. It no longer sounded strange to me by the time I left. I suppose Mason never thought it sounded strange. I worried the first few minutes that his mother would come home, but she never did. The fear eventually subsided and I was able to relax.
Mason has a deep voice. His laugh goes up a little and sounds somewhat musical. He scrunches his nose when he laughs and his hair falls into his eyes constantly. He was barefoot, wearing cutoffs and a surfing t-shirt. I could have looked at him for hours. But I didn’t want it to be creepy. And I didn’t want his mother to come home. So I stayed only as long as I dared.
I’ve been considering the idea that maybe he and his whole family are able to see ghosts. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. If Mason can see me, then maybe his mother can see me. I like the idea, but I have no basis for thinking it can be true. Still… wouldn’t it be lovely to meet his mother and spend more time with him?
Chapter 14
I see Mason in his front yard. He’s lying in the hammock he and his mother put up yesterday. He’s shirtless today and that reminds me of his hand on my elbow. The warmth returns for a moment and then disappears like it was my imagination.
I haven’t been back to his house again. I want to. But first, I’m going to do a test to see if his mother can see me. I’m just waiting for a time when she’s alone in the yard. I’ll go out and walk right up to her. If she doesn’t see me, no harm done. If she does see me, I’ll say I want to introduce myself. She might even realize who I am because Mason has talked about me. He would talk about me, right? Of course he would. Why wouldn’t he?
The redheaded boy is coming into Mason’s yard. He’s carrying his surfboard. I bet they plan on going surfing. Mason is going inside now. The redhead waits on the hammock, swinging his feet and rocking back and forth. Mason comes out with his surfboard and they head for the beach. I’ll miss him while he’s gone. Sometimes they surf for hours.
There’s his mother. She’s going to water her flowers. This is my chance.
Chapter 15
I’m standing right behind her. I’m so nervous I can feel myself quaking all over. If ghosts sweat, I bet I’d be drenched. She isn’t turning around. She didn’t hear me approach. That doesn’t mean anything though.
I clear my throat and say, “Hello.” She twirls around and a hand reflexively reaches to her throat.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you walk up,” she says. To me. She says it to me. She can see me.
I extend my hand and say, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ellie. I live next door.” Live is a bit of a stretch, but it’s what she’ll understand.
“Well, hello, Ellie,” she says. She reaches out and shakes my hand. The contact doesn’t have the same impact as when Mason touched me, but I like it nearly as much.
“I’m Margaret,” she says. “Mason mentioned you. Thank you for getting that letter to us. Did he tell you his sister is in Africa?”
Mason was so concerned over the letter because his sister is working with orphans in Africa. He told me it wasn’t always safe there and if he doesn’t get a letter every week, he gets worried.
“He did tell me,” I say.
Chapter 16
The talk with Mason’s mother, Margaret, has left me feeling bold. That’s the only way to describe it. Mason and Margaret can see me, they can hear me, they have spoken to me. And I drank a Coke.
I have the insatiable urge to do something. Anything. But, I’m not sure what. Maybe, visit Mason again. Definitely, visit Mason again. Or surf. Wouldn’t that be wild? Me, surfing. The salt water, the fresh air, the sunshine. And since I’m dead, I don’t have to worry about getting sunburnt.
My mind is racing with the possibilities. So many things to do, to say, to try. And I want to eat something. I’m never hungry, but after tasting that soda, I want to try all the things I’ve seen on TV and heard about. I want to taste a milkshake. Yes, a milkshake. I want to go get a milkshake with Mason.
Speaking of Mason, there he is. He’s wet from surfing and his feet are all sandy from walking up the beach. His redheaded friend must have gone home. He’s almost at the gate to his yard. I dart down the stairs to try to catch him before he goes inside.
When I come out of my hou
se, he’s in his yard toweling off his hair. His surfboard is leaning up against the railing of his deck. When he looks up, I wave. I’m trying to be nonchalant, but I can feel the ridiculous smile spreading across my face.
But Mason’s smile spreads ridiculously too.
Chapter 17
I’m sitting with Mason in his hammock. We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. He doesn’t think it’s odd that I don’t go anywhere. He doesn’t mind that he hasn’t met my parents. He doesn’t question every little thing that would seem abnormal to most people. He’s perfect.
“I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks,” I say to Mason. He’s holding my hand and squeezes it.
“Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad I met you.”
“I’m so happy right now,” I tell him.
“Me too,” he says. “And we’ll be happy forever.”
His comment is sweet. But I don’t understand it. We haven’t sworn our undying love for one another. It’s not like I can swear an undying anything to anyone. So where does he get the idea we’ll be happy forever? Does he just mean we will both find a forever-kind of happiness? Or does he mean actually happy together? Forever?
“Forever?” I ask. I don’t know what else to say. I need more information. I need to know what he’s thinking.
“Yes, forever, Ellie. We’ll have an eternity together.” He pauses a moment and a strange look crosses his normally sunny face. “Unless you don’t love me.”
Love him? It seems a little soon to be talking of love. And how could I let myself love a living person? I can’t allow this. I can’t fall in love with him. And I can’t let him love me. I’m a ghost. He’s alive. It would be deceitful. To let this go on would be the worst form of cruelty. To him and to me.
I don’t want to love someone and watch them grow old and die. He won’t want to love someone who can’t be a real, living, part of his life. He’ll want children. He’ll want to go places. I can’t do any of that.
“Love you?” I question.
Chapter 18
“Yes. Love me, Ellie. Don’t you love me?” he asks.
I jump up from the hammock. I’m shaking and confused. I’m angry for getting myself into this situation. I’m angry at myself for putting Mason in this situation. Why did I do this? I’ve spent forever hiding away, keeping to myself, avoiding the living. Why did I take this risk? And with Mason?
Because I do love him. If I’m being truthful, I started falling the moment I set eyes on him. And when I realized he saw me, actually saw me, there was no preventing it. I simply couldn’t help myself. So, I’d waved and smiled and eventually talked to him.
Now here I am in love with a living person and about to break his heart. Do I simply tell him I don’t love him? Tell him I will never feel that way? Then go somewhere else? Disappear?
Or do I confess my love but tell him that I’m dead? Tell him we can’t be together because I’m a ghost? Will he hate me for it? For putting him in the position of getting hurt.
Mason stands up beside me and takes my hand. His movements are slow as if he’s afraid of startling a frightened cat.
He repeats his question, “Don’t you love me?”
I can’t help it. I have to say it. “Yes,” I tell him, “I do love you.”
He pulls me to him. His blue eyes bore into mine and he reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face. He tucks it behind my ear. Then he leans in to kiss me. His breath reaches me first, a whisper across my lips. Then his mouth covers mine in a tender, warm kiss. I’ve never been kissed before and I’m realizing the terrible loss in putting it off so long. His lips are smooth and inviting. He deepens the kiss and my knees want to give out on me.
Oh, what am I going to do now?
Chapter 19
My head is still swimming as we walk along the beach, holding hands. He talks of the things we’ll do, the places we’ll go, and the things we’ll see. I’m not following what he’s saying. I feel a deep sense of loss growing inside me.
Mason loves me. He wants to be with me and make a life together. As happy as that makes me, it also makes me extremely sad. I can’t have those things. I can’t go places. I can’t do things. I can’t see things. I have to tell him. I have to let him know I’m a ghost. Let him know I can’t be with him forever. Because I may be around forever, but Mason won’t. He’ll grow old and die.
“What’s on your mind?” Mason asks.
“Oh, I’m, uh…”
Mason stops and turns toward me. I can’t look him in the eye. I’m ashamed that I’ll soon be breaking his heart. I knew better than to let this get so far. I shouldn’t have fallen for him and made him fall for me. Mason lifts my chin with his finger and searches my face. I can’t help myself. I’m drawn to his eyes. I look into his face and I start to cry.
“Hey, Ellie. What’s wrong?” he asks. He pulls me to him and holds me, comforts me.
“I’m, I’m…” I can’t bring myself to say the words. I stammer a few more times and then finally pull away from Mason’s embrace and burst out with, “I’m a ghost!”
Mason laughs.
Chapter 20
He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m making this up. How do I prove it to him? How do I make him see we have no future because my future is always the same. Day in, day out, I exist, but don’t live.
Mason pulls me to him again. I resist at first, but then allow him to press me against him and wrap his arms around my waist. He tilts my face up toward his and kisses me. Tenderly and sweetly. My tears are still rolling down my cheeks.
Mason pulls back and whispers, “I know.”
What does that mean? He knows what? That I’m dead? That I’m a ghost? That we have no future together? Has he been toying with me? My face must be showing my confusion because Mason tries to explain.
“I know you’re a ghost. I’ve always known. Why do you think I can see you, Ellie?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I just thought maybe it was a fluke,” I answer.
“Has anyone ever seen you before?” he asks.
“My mother saw me right after I died,” I told him. It was a painful memory. The sight of my mother screaming bloody murder and pointing her finger at me as if I’d done something horribly unforgivable. I ran and never saw her again.
“Well, family can sometimes see us. But has anyone else ever seen you?” he asks.
“No,” I answer. Then what he said begins to dawn on me. “Us?” I ask.
Mason chuckles. “Us,” he says.
Chapter 21
“I don’t understand. Are you dead?” I ask Mason.
“Yes, sweetheart. I died about ten years ago.”
Then it dawns on me, “What about your mother? Is she dead too?”
“No,” Mason explains, “She’s alive. But, after I died in a car wreck, I went home. I didn’t know what else to do. She was able to see me, understood I was a ghost, and accepted me anyway. Since she accepts that ghosts exists, she can see others. Like you.”
“What about the redheaded boy?” I ask.
“That’s Charlie. He died just last year. Drown,” he says.
“And your mother sees Charlie?” I’m beginning to catch on.
“Yes, she sees Charlie. I’m sure you have a million questions. But we have lots of time.”
We walk again. Hand in hand with the sand squishing up between the toes of our bare feet. My mind is fractured from all of this new information. Mason is a ghost. Charlie, the redhead, is a ghost. Mason’s mother, Margaret, is alive but aware of ghosts. I’ve been dead for so many years but Mason knows so much more than I do about the whole ghost thing.
He’s right. I do have a million questions. But, I also have lots of time.
About the Author
Karen began her writing career creating poems for handmade birthday cards at work. Later she started a story as part of a 1,000 word homeschool contest. Being rather chatty, she found it difficult to stay anywhere near 1,000 words an
d gave up. A few years later, she finished that story and it became her first children’s book.
She would love to say that her children’s stories come from a finely-honed understanding of the hearts and minds of children. But in actuality, they bubble up out of a childish imagination she never grew out of. Her short stories and novels also come from that imagination with a little bit of life experience thrown in. Karen often writes about events directly from her life but not before she has pounded and twisted them almost beyond recognition.
Karen lives with her husband, teenaged daughter, mean Chihuahua, and a cat named Fitch, in a rural area of Indiana. They long for the beach and plan to move to Santa Monica one day. Especially the Chihuahua, who finds the winters in Indiana far too cold.
I’m at KarenJones.us, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads & Amazon.