by Anne B. Cole
Gretta’s father died.
What will happen next?
Despite the curse, Sam had to be near her. He climbed the stairs and sat on the floor in the hall outside the bathroom door. He stretched his legs across, touching the opposite wall. After several minutes, a little white and gray cat walked out of his bedroom and sniffed his bare feet. He let it rub its pink nose against his fingers.
“Roxana?”
The cat jumped over his legs, stretched her front paws, and began to groom herself. Sam leaned against the wall. He wondered when Roxana’s spirit would return. The remains of two mice and half a chipmunk had been proudly displayed on the welcome mat over the last few days. True cat behavior, definitely not influenced by Roxana.
Sam watched the cat clean its face, paws, and fur. After a long time, she stared at him as if he needed a bath, too.
“Roxy, how about I name you Roxy?”
“Talking to the cat?” Ruby stood at the top of the stairs.
“Do you think it’s strange?” Sam asked as she took green towels out of a shopping bag.
“Only if you expect it to talk back.” Ruby’s voice sang as she rapped loudly on the bathroom door and cracked it open. “Here’s some towels, Gretta. Save one for Sam.” She shut the door and held a hand out to him.
“Another shower?” Sam didn’t mean for it to come out like an eight year-old boy who despised soap and water.
Ruby helped him to his feet. “I have to work a double tomorrow. Won’t see you again until after your surgery.” She stared at him. “I’m here now, Sam.”
Together they walked into the kitchen.
Throughout the day, Ruby cooked and baked enough food for an army. She packed everything in plastic containers with notes taped to the top, listing contents and heating instructions. Sam had never seen so much food.
“Lunch is almost ready. Here’s a list of Sam’s pre-surgery instructions.” She handed the paper to Gretta. “Tim and I both have to work tomorrow so you’ll need to keep him in line.”
Sam heard the two discussing the dos and don’ts prior to his operation, yet his mind registered one thing.
Alone time with Gretta.
Gretta scrutinized the list. “What about this one?”
“Never mind,” Ruby chortled.
Gretta walked over to the kitchen and opened a drawer. Finding it empty, she smiled at Ruby. “I could have cleaned the drawers.”
“What did you say?” Ruby lifted a square of gooey lasagna from the pan.
“You crossed ‘clean drawers’ off my list.” Gretta pointed to the paper.
“No, no dear. I meant—”
“Ruby?” Sam wasn’t sure how he knew what she was going to say, but he definitely didn’t want her to continue.
“I crossed it off, Sam. After I caught you two on the couch, I wrote a list for Tim. He will make certain you have on clean—”
“Ruby!”
“Oh, hush yourself and eat.” She handed them two heaping plates.
Gretta and Sam slid into the chairs at the table. He dug into the steaming layers of pasta, cheese, and sausage. After a minute of silence, Gretta’s grin caught his eye.
“Batman or Spiderman?”
Sam laughed before answering, “Hanes. Plain, white Hanes.” He peered sideways to Ruby and lowered his voice. “Fifteen years ago, Spiderman.”
Gretta smirked, forking a hunk of pasta dripping with cheese. “Spiderman?”
“Spiderman. What about you? Cinderella or Snow White?” He watched her savor her food.
She wiped cheese and sauce off her lips with one finger and licked it clean. “Cinderella.”
His heart jolted with the memory of telling her about his childhood crush on the blonde princess during their time travels as spirits. He needed to talk to her, alone.
“What do you remember?”
“Upstairs, Sam. Time to pack a few things for your hospital stay,” Ruby interrupted.
“Go on. I’ll clean these up.” Gretta scooped the dishes off the table while Ruby ushered him to the steps. When he came back downstairs, he found Gretta sleeping peacefully on the couch.
Ruby lectured him on the list of pre and post-surgery dos and don’ts. He’d have to wait to talk to Gretta about her memories. While she slept, the afternoon passed, and Sam was fairly sure Katarina’s spirit was no longer entwined within Ruby.
Around four, Pop came home to chicken and dumplings on the table. Sam grinned as he scraped the last spoonful from his bowl. Gretta stood, offering her chair to Ruby. Sam followed her to the stove where she dished out a bowl for Pop. He stood at the counter so Pop could also sit at the table. Sam watched his dad savor bite after bite.
“Pop, can I take the truck tonight?” Sam slipped in the question as Ruby stuck oven-mitted hands into the oven and removed a hot apple pie. His father rubbed his hands together with anticipation.
“Not much gas in the tank.” Pop eagerly pushed his bowl aside, homing in on the pastry.
“Absolutely not.” Ruby glared at Pop as she cut a generous piece. Fork in hand, ready to dig in, Pop would agree to anything Ruby suggested.
“I’m not taking any medication. It’ll be good for Gretta to get out.” Sam glanced at Gretta, who plopped a generous scoop of ice cream on Pop’s slice.
Ruby cut an even bigger piece. Gretta added ice cream and handed it to him.
He stared at the pie. Ready to apologize, he opened his mouth to tell Ruby how stupid it was for him to suggest going out. Golden crust held mounds of apples together, allowing the sweet, thick filling to ooze out the sides.
“It’s illegal to drive the truck without a seatbelt and you cannot wear one on your bad shoulder.” Ruby’s voice was firm, sweet and, as usual, absolutely right.
In between mouthfuls, Pop glanced up. A trickle of melted ice cream dripped from the left corner of his mouth.
“Where would you be going?” Pop shoveled an enormous bite into his mouth and broke into a grin, one Sam hadn’t seen in what seemed to be a lifetime.
Ruby huffed over to the table with her slice, shaking her head.
Sam knew his chance was slim, especially since the supplier of the pie was dead set against it. He took another scrumptious bite before answering his father. “Tony’s racing tonight at VMS.” He hoped Ruby wasn’t a race fan and wouldn’t know the track was over seventy miles away. Crossing his fingers, he held them for only Gretta to see.
Pop played the parent role as if he were interrogating a criminal. “When does the race start?” Another forkful of gooey apples, flakey crust, and melted ice cream disappeared.
“Hot laps are at six thirty. Tony has a good chance to race in the feature. There will be four divisions tonight. We should be home by midnight.” Sam felt like a teenager going out on his first car date, begging for consent. At this point, he considered settling for a movie on the couch with Gretta and another piece of pie.
Gretta touched Sam’s chin, wiping ice cream off with her fingers. He grabbed her by the wrist and licked them clean. Her giggles increased with each finger. When he pulled her into his arms, her gaze snapped to peer at the grown-ups.
Ruby’s back faced them and thankfully, Pop’s eyes were blissfully closed. Sam grabbed her plate of pie and edged her to the living room. He raised a forkful of pie to her lips. After he fed her two bites, she took her fork back and fed him the rest.
When Sam returned the empty plate to the sink, he watched Pop slide the last bite of ice cream-soaked pie crust into his mouth. His father appeared to resist the temptation to lick his plate clean.
“Ever been to the races, Ruby?” Pop asked as if the two had been old friends having an everyday conversation over pie.
Ruby shifted her attention from Pop to Sam and back. “Been a
while.” A southern drawl tinged her voice. Gretta served coffee and fetched milk from the fridge. “Thank you, dear.” Ruby poured milk into her mug until it overflowed.
Sam caught Pop grinning at Gretta when she cut him another slice. Smart girl. Ruby might have baked the pie but Gretta took control and gave Pop seconds.
After inhaling two forkfuls, Pop made a marked effort to savor the rest. “Ruby, this is the best meal I’ve had in years and this pie, better than my mother’s.” He shoveled in yet another bite.
“Why thank you, Tim. I think I may have gone to school with your mother. Did she live in Virginia?” Ruby blew on her coffee before taking a sip.
“No, upstate New York. I don’t suppose you’d care to tag along with us for a little ride in the country this evening?”
Sam held his breath, uneasy about the direction his father’s conversation was taking.
Ruby curled her fingers around her mug. “Would love to. It’s been years since I’ve been to the racetrack.” She laughed and leaned closer to Pop to continue their conversation.
Pop’s eyes connected with Sam’s. “Commonwealth Law doesn’t require seat belts in the back seat. We leave at five.”
Sam opened his mouth to protest when Gretta pulled him into the living room.
“I don’t mind.” She reached on her tiptoes and kissed him.
He sighed and accepted the fact his father and Ruby were going to chaperone his first date with Gretta.
Chapter 5
Porta-Potty
Gretta
“Sam, sit in the back seat. Gretta, you and I will squeeze in the front,” Ruby announced.
“Not necessary,” Sam grunted.
Gretta admired the view as he wedged himself into the truck’s back seat.
“Plenty of room,” he added and patted the cushion beside him.
Before Ruby had the opportunity to protest, Gretta scrambled in, careful not to jar Sam’s shoulder. The cramped space felt cozy, comforting. When Sam shifted his knee, it grazed hers. Instead of giving him more room, she soaked up his warmth.
She watched Sam text Tony, announcing they were on their way to the racetrack. His phone beeped seconds later.
“Four tickets will be waiting at the gate for us along with two pit passes,” Sam announced.
Gretta noted the part of the text he didn’t read aloud. ‘One pit pass is for Purple Shorts.’
“Purple Shorts?” she asked inquisitively.
Sam grinned. “When we initially saw you jogging in the park, we nicknamed you by the color of your shorts.”
A tiny giggle escaped her lips. ‘Purple Shorts’ seemed better than ‘Emily’s little sister’ or ‘Bobby’s older sister.’
Sam tossed his phone in a cup holder and rested his good arm on top of the seat behind her head. Shivering, she timed sliding closer to him with Tim’s next turn. When his arm dropped around her shoulder, she snuggled into his side.
“Do you have any plans for this fall?” Sam asked as he ran a finger along the edge of the sleeve of her William and Mary t-shirt.
“Emily goes to William and Mary. Mom wants me to go there, but I have no idea what I want to study. Dad’s on my side, in favor of a gap year and volunteering at his—” Gretta fought back the forming tears. When she tried to continue, she found her left hand clutching Sam’s thigh. “Sorry, I’m—”
“You’re good.” His arm tightened, nestling her head against his worn t-shirt. “I’m coming off a gap year myself.”
“NYU?” she sniffed, reading the letters on his chest.
He nodded. “Pre Med. I finished one year of studies.”
“Dad would’ve liked you.” Her words weren’t intended to be spoken. She didn’t realize she’d said them out loud until she felt him tighten his hold and kiss the top of her head.
Gretta pressed even closer and relaxed into the crook of his good arm.
A bump in the road brought her out of a foggy sleep. Shrinking away from Sam’s comforting arms, a chill surged within her. Twisted thoughts spiraled through her head.
“Hey, we’re here. You slept the whole way.” Sam rubbed her back beneath the tangled curls of her ponytail.
Gretta’s heart pounded wildly.
Safe.
She knew she should feel safe with Sam. Pull yourself together. She swiped the corner of her mouth where drool had collected. Her fingers darted to his shirt.
Dry. At least she hadn’t slobbered all over him when she dozed off. She patted his chest before folding her hands in her lap. Her focus narrowed on the stitches alongside her knee.
He probably thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am.
“You okay?” Sam’s voice echoed like a beacon in the darkness.
Lost in thought, she didn’t answer.
Why doesn’t Sam have curly hair? It should be dark and curly, not sandy brown and straight.
She felt safe next to Sam but couldn’t rid her mind of the real image of safety—tall, dark, and curly. She blocked everything out and concentrated so hard it hurt.
Safe.
The safety image reappeared.
“Gretta?”
Gone.
As quickly as ‘safety’ resurfaced, it disappeared. Sam noticed and rubbed her upper arm. Somehow, something was seriously wrong.
I must be going crazy. Gretta forced herself to relax.
Within minutes, they entered the gates of the track on foot. The four paired off. Tim and Ruby left to find their seats in the stands and Sam guided Gretta to the infield.
She spotted Tony leaning under the hood of his race car. Sam grinned at his friend who wiped grease off his hands with a red shop towel. Gretta smiled shyly in Tony’s presence. His ebony curls grazed the collar of his racing fire suit. Warm, dark eyes held hers.
“Purple Shorts.” Tony beamed a killer smile.
Sam’s grip on her hand tightened as he made introductions.
Bang!
Gretta’s gaze hit the floor. A metal mallet flew from underneath the race car, landing inches from her sneakers. Two wrenches skittered out, along with a roll of duct tape and an assortment of colorful cuss words. She peered at a pair of scuffed black boots protruding from the wheel well of the driver’s side.
“This is Butch. Fine tuning an aero issue.” Tony pointed to the front of the car and the conversation quickly turned mechanical, allowing Gretta’s mind to wander.
Dark, curly, safe.
She watched as Tony discussed race strategy with Sam. His hair, an unruly mass of dark curls, caught light rays of the setting sun.
Safe.
Sam had told her Tony worked with him in the park when the tree fell. He had helped free them. She didn’t remember talking to either Tony or Sam when she was trapped. But she must have because Sam had known her name.
‘Dark and curly’ feels safe because Tony rescued us. Finally, things were starting to make sense.
Gretta relaxed a bit and sidled closer to Sam. He slipped one arm around her waist, fingers grazing the small of her back above her low cut jeans. Wriggling closer, she eased her hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The casualness of his touch and her immediate response confused her. She had known Sam for barely a week.
“Tony.”
All heads turned to the booming voice behind them.
Gretta tripped over Sam’s sneakers. He caught her with his good arm. Immediately, she felt stupid for falling over his feet, again. She remembered him telling her he would catch her the next time she fell. An ‘I told you so’ grin spread across his face.
Embarrassment melted into frustration.
I haven’t fallen recently, not since a week ago in the park. And not over Sam’s feet. How can I remember something that didn’t happen?
“Sorry, darlin’, didn’t mean to scare you.” A bald man with bulging biceps in a tight flannel shirt approached them.
Tony wiped his hands again and brushed past her. “This is Kenny, my spotter. Don’t worry, Purple Shorts. He doesn’t bite.”
Gretta shrank further into Sam’s side. Kenny towered over her, covered in tattoos and piercings in his ears, upper lip, and eyebrows. She fixated on Kenny’s massive hands. Huge ringed fingers held a small black box. Her heart began to race. She knew it wasn’t a bomb but, for some unknown reason, terror gripped her entire being.
“I gotta go.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
Sam must have heard. “Good luck, Tony. We’ll catch up with you after the race.”
Gretta didn’t wait for a response. She pulled Sam through the garage area, not knowing where she was going, not caring. She heard a pained gasp as his shoulder brushed against a stack of tires.
“Wait.”
Gretta didn’t know when they separated. She wanted to get back to Sam, but her need to escape spurred her forward. Her head spun and her stomach violently lurched. A pink porta-potty stood about fifty feet ahead. She ran to it, ripped the door open, and fell to her knees. She gripped the edges of the seat as she eliminated the contents of her stomach.