by C. C. Hunter
“Yeah,” I answer and look back at the photo. “I lost my mom.”
• • •
An hour later, still a little shaken, but now more curious than ever, I decide to get some answers.
I grab my laptop, sit on my bed, and pull up Canton’s Funeral Home. Clicking on the obituaries link, a new page pops up. Pictures of the recently deceased appear with text giving tribute to their lives. Sometimes I think it’s sad that it only takes a few paragraphs to sum up someone’s life.
I see Bessie’s smiling face. She’s in a garden, wearing a sun hat, looking happy. My thoughts go to Kelsey again.
Next is the woman with blond hair. Abby Howard. Her picture shows her standing on a mountain top. I read the obituary.
She was only twenty-six. It claims she was a joyful person, a hiking enthusiast, happiest when she was surrounded by nature. She’s left behind by her parents and a younger sister. Her funeral isn’t scheduled yet. It doesn’t list her cause of death.
I open a new window and Google her name for any other news relating to her death. I find it.
Young woman accidentally falls to her death in Lake Canyon State Park.
My heart aches. I think I even saw something about it on the news. It states she was found alive after falling the day before, but died of her injuries before they could get her to a hospital. I swallow the lump of hurt I feel for her. I can only imagine how awful it would be to be injured, in pain, and be alone to suffer. No wonder she was so scared.
I start to close the computer, but then realize what I didn’t see. I go back to the funeral home’s obituary page. I scan it, up and down, looking for a picture of Hayden.
It isn’t there.
Maybe Hayden is from my dad’s old funeral home and just followed him here. I Google Heart Wind Funeral Home in Banker, Texas. I go to their obituary page. Two faces that appear are spirits I came in contact with while I lived there. I smile remembering Sylvania, such a sweet old man who kept trying to do magic tricks. He was like the grandfather I never had.
But Hayden’s picture isn’t there either.
That’s really odd. I’ve never had a spirit that wasn’t somehow connected to my dad. It’s as if they need that link to me.
Then I realize that if Hayden died more recently, his obituary might not be up yet.
I close my computer, lie back, check the time. It’s still an hour before Dad should be home. I watch my ceiling fan. Pumpkin crawls up on my chest and purrs.
I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, I realize Pumpkin isn’t on my chest anymore. I hear him purring though. I lift my head and immediately scoot back when I see Hayden sitting on the end of the bed with Pumpkin rubbing his face against his arm.
Hayden looks over at me.
“Hi.” He’s still bright, still hot, sporting a tight black tee and jeans, but that’s not what has me gawking.
It’s the fact that Pumpkin’s okay with him being here. Or more than okay, the cat’s practically drooling. He only drools on me. Never, not once, has he befriended a spirit. Sylvania tried everything to get him to come to him. He adored cats, and it was because of his own cat that he wouldn’t move on. I had to go collect the gray tabby and find it a new, loving home. Only then did the sweet old man pass over.
I sit up, bend my knees, and wrap my arms around them. “Pumpkin likes you.”
He grins. “That’s because I’m charming.” He continues to stare at me. “Did you know you kinda snore, kinda purr when you’re asleep.”
I frown.
“It’s cute. Not loud or anything.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I had to get really close to hear it.”
Really close? I sit there imagining him really close to me in bed and I get tingles, and not the kind I normally get from spirits. I open my mouth to say something, but there are no words waiting to come out. I’m never tongue-tied with spirits. It’s as if instinctively I know it’s my job to help them.
“And I also noticed you only put polka dots on one of your toes. What’s with that?”
I hug my knees tighter. I wonder how long he’s been here checking me out. “Maybe I just wanted one polka-dotted toe.”
His smile deepens. “It’s odd, but I’ll buy it.”
“How nice of you.” I sound annoyed and I am, not so much at him, but at my response to him. I glance at the clock. Dad should be home anytime.
“Your dad texted. He’s going to be late.”
I gasp a little. Can he read my mind? None of the other ghosts could. But I’ve already concluded that he’s different. Oh, please don’t let him read my mind.
“How did you know I was thinking about my dad?”
“I didn’t. I just . . . you looked at the time.”
“And you read my texts.”
“Not intentionally. I was lying in bed beside you, and the phone on the bedside table flashed.”
“Remember those rules I mentioned?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Well, add this one. You don’t get in bed with me. And don’t watch me sleep. It’s creepy.”
He stands up, but his gaze stays on me. “I didn’t touch you.” His smile turns mischievous. “It was tempting, but I behaved.”
“And you don’t pop in unannounced,” I spout out.
He rubs his chin. “How do I do that? I can pop and then announce, but I don’t think I can announce and then pop.”
I’m trying to understand what he means, then I think I get it. It’s true, I’ve never really heard a spirit that I couldn’t see.
“How about I pop in with my hands over my eyes.” He puts his palms over his eyes, then separates his fingers and peers at me. “Then I’ll announce and you can tell me if it’s safe to look.”
I frown. “And I’m supposed to trust that you won’t peek?”
He drops his hands and grins. “Please. Do I look like the guy who would peek?”
“You did more than peek last night.” Crap, did I just say that? My face grows hot.
“Purely an accident.” There’s the twinkle in his eyes again and I suddenly feel giddy. I’m flirting. I’m flirting with a dead guy. This is so not good.
“I wasn’t aware you were only wearing a towel.” He pauses. “Any other rules?”
“No reading my texts,” I say.
Right then my phone dings with a new one. I reach for it, but nothing comes through.
I stare at the screen and am about to put it down when it dings again. And again. But there’s nothing.
Hayden laughs.
I look up. “Are you . . . are you doing that?”
“Yeah, cool, huh?”
“How . . . ?”
“Don’t really know. Just kind of discovered it one day. Got a lot of time on my hands these days.”
I recall watching a ghost investigation—which seemed absurd at the time—that claimed some spirits have energy and are able to interrupt electrical devices. Maybe it wasn’t so absurd after all.
“Well, don’t be messing with my phone. Or reading my texts. I mean it.”
“Got it,” he says and for what it’s worth, he sounds sincere.
I look at him and remember not finding him on the obituary lists. “What’s your full name?”
“Hayden . . . Parker,” he says, and moves in to pet Pumpkin again. “Yours?”
“Riley Smith. But you should know my last name, right?”
He sticks his hands in his pockets and I remember him doing that this morning. “Why would I know your last name?”
“Don’t you know my dad?” I ask, hoping to confirm he’s from the funeral home.
“No.”
“You didn’t . . . uh, follow him here?”
“No.”
“Then . . . how did you find me?”
“A black lady, uh, I think her name was Bessie. I ran across her. She mentioned you.”
I nod. “So you know . . . ?”
“Know what?” he asks.
I hesitate.
“That . . . you’re not really here.”
He blinks and looks away. “Yeah, I know that.” There’s a somber tone in his answer and it resonates in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Me too.”
“So what can I do for you?”
He faces me. He’s half smiling again, but I see the shadow of unhappiness in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Do you just need to talk things through or . . . do you need something.”
“Talking sounds nice.”
I nod. “So what’s bothering you?”
He looks confused. “Other than being here like this, not much.”
My heart hurts for him. He’s too young to die. For a girl who got stuck being able to talk to ghosts, I hate death. I inhale and focus on him. “Then let’s talk about you being here.”
His brows pinch. “I’d rather talk about you.”
I’ve found that rushing them usually doesn’t work. “That’s a dull subject.”
“I doubt that. Any girl who goes around with only one polka-dotted toe isn’t dull.”
“Okay, I confess, I was going to paint the rest of them, I just . . . got distracted.”
He laughs. It’s such a nice sound. I find myself smiling. Yup, I’m flirting alright.
“Fine, but you’re still not dull. You’re extremely hot. And I know that for certain.”
I roll my eyes at him. “We will not talk about--”
“I’m talking about the hot car you drive. The fact that you are taking auto tech? Oh, and you’ve got a killer smile.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m an expert on killer smiles.”
“No, I mean about me taking auto tech.”
“You left your list of classes on your desk.”
“You know that’s snooping,” I say and pop up and turn my paperwork over.
“Sorry. I was curious.” He pauses. “So, it’s true.”
“Yeah. And no jokes about how girls can’t work on cars.”
“I think girls can do anything they want. Before my mom married my stepdad, she and I completely restored our house. If my mom can put in a toilet, I think you can change oil.” He moves to the window and looks out. “Do you work on your car?”
“Of course. And I do more than change oil. I helped my dad put the motor in.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s like your thing?” He takes a step closer.
Again, I’m amazed I don’t feel the cold. “No, spending time with my dad was my thing. But money’s tight, so if I can fix my own car, it’ll be cheaper to keep it going.”
He nods. “Where’s your mom?”
“She passed away.”
He glances over to my bedside table and takes another step. “Is that her feet and yours?”
“Yeah.”
He looks back at me. “You miss her.”
It wasn’t a question. He said it as if he understands. “Yeah.”
“How long ago did she die?”
I hate when people ask that, because I know it will make me look crazy for not shaking off the fact that she’s gone. “A very long time ago.” I stiffen my shoulders. “Not that it matters. I still . . . I barely remember her, but there’s a part of me that knows I’m without her. I know that sounds crazy. But it’s true.” A bubble of emotion lodges in my throat.
“It doesn’t sound crazy. Not even a little bit.”
There’s a softness to his tone that implies honesty and understanding. And it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anyone understands. It hits me then that I’m actually confiding in a spirit. It’s usually the other way around.
“I lost my dad when I was eight. It’s hard. I still miss him.”
“Maybe you’ll see him again.”
He looks at me as if the idea isn’t a good one. “Maybe.”
“I would give anything if I could talk to my mom again. As a matter of fact, her name is Ashley Smith, and if you . . . run into her, I’d appreciate it if you told her I want to see her.”
He looks at me, confusion tightening his dark brows. He moves closer. My skin starts tingling, as if I can almost feel him. Not the cold, just his . . . presence.
A strand of hair slips from behind my ear. I feel it whisper across my cheek. He reaches up as if to brush it away, but pulls his hand back. His gaze shifts to my mouth. And bam! I remember what it feels like to want to be kissed. To like a boy that much. To feel the ripple of excitement. I lift up my chin.
If he tries to kiss me, I’m going to let him.
Chapter Five
“I’d help if I could,” he says. “But the only ones I’ve spoken to are Bessie and you.”
Disappointed that his lips are busy talking and not doing other things, I take a step back to gather my wits. But holy smokes, I honestly would have let him kiss me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“If I see anyone else, I’ll ask. I promise,” he says.
I look down and force myself to concentrate on the conversation. “Thanks,” I tell him. “But don’t worry too much. I just thought . . . I’d ask.”
Frankly, I don’t know how it all works. The spirits don’t really know what to expect either. I mean, I’m told when they see the light it feels like a good place and every time I see one cross over, it’s like . . . like receiving a gift. Truthfully, I don’t even know if it’s possible for my mom to drop by. But it’s the favor I ask every spirit I see.
Pumpkin starts hissing. I look around. Abby is standing there. “Are you going to do it. Are you going to find my ring?”
I rub my hands on the side of my jeans. When I’m nervous my palms itch. And I’m plenty nervous. I hate telling her no. “I . . . don’t know if I can drive that far.”
“It’s not that far,” she pleads and I feel her sorrow again, deep emotional pain that feels too big in my chest. Instantly, I want to cry. I want so badly to help her. But seriously, Dad would kill me if I took off that far.
“What?” Hayden says.
I glance back at him. “I’m talking to Abby.”
“Abby?” he says.
I look back at the woman, then back at him. “You can’t see or hear her?”
“See or hear who?”
I bite down on my lip. “That’s weird.”
“What’s weird?” He runs a hand up his arm as if he’s cold.
Can he feel Abby but not see her? “Wait. You saw Bessie, but you can’t see her?”
He takes a step back. “You mean someone’s here. Someone that’s . . .”
When he doesn’t finish, I look back at Abby. “Can you see Hayden?”
“See who?” she replies. “Please, I’m begging you to help me.”
“Riley?” I hear my father call from downstairs. “I brought pizza. Let’s eat while it’s warm.”
I look from the spirit who I almost kissed, to the one who might be the first I let down.
“I should go,” I say, happy I don’t have to deal with this right now, even if it’s just a temporary reprieve.
Abby fades. Hayden, looking nervous, just nods. I leave to go face my dad. My dad, who may or may not be an alcoholic.
Can my life get any more screwed up?
• • •
The pizza was good. Ten times better than the lunchroom’s imitation kind. I eat three slices, big ones, before I make myself stop. And it’s not because I don’t want more. But eating over a hundred carbs in one sitting is too much, even for me.
Dad’s chatty and I listen to him talk about the car show this weekend. About Ms. Duarte, his assistant at the funeral home and how she’s the best assistant he’s ever had.
Dad mentioned when he first got there that she was divorced and about his age. Dare I hope that . . .
“So how was your day?” he turns the conversation to me.
“Fine,” I say.
“You like it here, don’t you?”
I pull my bottled
water closer. “It’s not Dallas.” The second I see his expression, I wish I could pull back the words. One time in Banker, Texas, I threw a hissy fit and begged him to move back to Dallas. It hurt him. “But it’s not bad. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”
He stares at me as if he knows I’m lying. “I’m sorry I uprooted your life, baby.”
“You lost your job, Dad. It wasn’t your fault.” Well, unless you lost it because of the drinking. But right now he seems so normal that I’m inclined to think I’ve been worrying for nothing.
He goes back to his pizza. I take a bite of my salad. When my fork sinks into the cherry tomato, I recall Kelsey and the bombshell she dropped at lunch.
“You had a funeral today,” I say.
“Yeah. How do you know?”
“A girl at school. It’s her grandmother.”
“Yeah, Bessie Kelly.”
I set my fork down. “Did you tell her granddaughter about me?”
“About you? What do you mean?” he asks.
“She knew I was your daughter.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t . . . Wait. I have your picture on my desk. And she came in with her mother several times. She probably saw your picture.”
I nod. It makes sense. Complete sense. Maybe my worry about Kelsey figuring things out is another thing I’m blowing out of proportion. I need to learn to chill.
“Is she a possible friend?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer and remember her sitting next to me.
We clean up the kitchen together. I don’t want to call it a night. “How about we watch the movie that came in from Netflix?”
“What is it?” he asks.
I make a face, realizing it was a bad idea. “It’s a romantic comedy.” Considering I almost kissed a dead guy, I probably shouldn’t be watching romance. “Or we could see what’s on the DVR.” I grin. “Something a little violent, with some gore to interest you.”
He laughs. “No, let’s watch that movie.”
“You won’t enjoy it.” I put the leftover salad in the fridge. I don’t know why I don’t just toss it. In two days, it’ll be wilted mush and I’ll feed it to the garbage disposal. But hey, maybe I’ll suddenly decide to be healthy, and have it tomorrow as my after-school snack instead of a carb-laden treat. It could happen.