The Ghost of You

by Tori Fox

“Was,” I correct him.

  “No shit,” Mason says in awe. “I’ve heard of The Sparrows. I actually idolize those songwriters. You are AM Cooper?”

  AM Cooper was my songwriting name. I always used it back in the day because I thought it sounded cooler than Anna May. Even the small fan base we gained only knew me as AM. “In the flesh,” I sigh in reply to Mason.

  “Fucking hell, man. Living legend.”

  I grip my hands in front of me and study them. “I am far from a living legend.”

  “To me you are.”

  I look up at Mason and his smile could melt off panties. He is just as handsome as his brother but with a few less lines around the eyes. I force a closed-lip grin. I’ve never been one to take compliments well.

  “So why aren’t you burning up the charts Anna May?” Darnell asks me.

  I bite my lip trying to find some reason I stopped playing music besides the real reason. Darnell only knows about the accident like everyone else. He was one of the first people to stop talking to me when I quit. He said it was a waste of true talent. By the way he is treating me, I guess he forgot all that. “I—I didn’t want to be on stage anymore.”

  Darnell gives me a strange look and then he must figure it out because a look of understanding crosses his features. “I’m sorry, Anna. About the way I treated you after the accident. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.”

  My fingers go to the rings around my neck out of habit. I glance toward Mason and he looks more confused than before. I need to end this conversation now. Or else I might run out of this studio or even the city.

  “It was a long time ago. All is forgiven. How about we write some songs?” I say quickly, picking up my guitar to change the subject. I strum the first few notes of one of The Sparrows fan favorites. Mason scrambles to pick up a guitar and join in with me. I find it endearing he knows the song. Before I know it I am singing the words to a song that used to be my soul song and Mason is harmonizing with me. I glance over at Darnell and he has a goofy grin on his face.

  When we finish the song, Mason flips out and acts like he just sang with Adele or Alicia Keys. It helps me relax and get comfortable. I hum a melody I’ve had in my head for a few days and Darnell picks up a pen and paper to start writing down words. Mason rushes out of the room and comes back with a notebook full of half-written songs and one-liners.

  We spend the next four hours playing music. And where I thought I was going to be scared, anxious, and sick over playing in front of others again. It brought a sense of hope back into my life I hadn’t felt it a long time.

  By the time I leave and head home, I feel happier than I have felt in the longest time.

  10

  Noah

  I crack my neck as I climb up off my knees on the front deck. I am almost done. A few more feet of boards and then it will be finished. Of course then I need to do the railings and sand and stain the entire thing.

  I grab a Gatorade off the table in the front yard where the table saw is and chug half of it down. It’s a nice day, perfect weather for working outside, but the physical labor is making me sweat. I grab the bottom of my shirt and wipe my face off just as Anna pulls into her drive.

  My phone beeps with a text.

  Mason: Dude you didn’t tell me you were living next to the Anna May Cooper!

  Me: You met her the other night.

  Mason: But I didn’t know who she was!

  Who she was? What is he talking about?

  Me: You are going to need to clarify.

  Mason: One of my favorite indie musicians from the beginning of the decade.

  Me: Great clarity there.

  I watch her get out of her car and grab her guitar. I forgot she was meeting up with Mason today. The fact that she is home means he didn’t seduce her. That’s a win for me.

  Mason: If you listened to something other than soft rock you might know, asshole.

  Anna sets her guitar on her porch but then turns around and starts walking toward me.

  Me: Great convo bro. TTYL

  Mason: No one uses that anymore

  I shake my head and put my phone back in my pocket.

  “Howdy there neighbor,” Anna says as her cheeks flame.

  “Ugh howdy?”

  She jams her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Sorry I’m just—ugh, it’s weird. Never mind.”

  “What?” I ask as Brutus jumps on her and she scratches behind his ears.

  “I’m just like on a high right now and I get weird sometimes. I’m just going to go back to my house.”

  She’s high? What did my brother give her? And why would she be telling a cop?

  She must sense my confusion because she goes back to stuttering. “Sorry, oh my god I’m a mess,” she says putting her face in her hands. “I just haven’t played like that in years and it gives me this adrenaline rush and it’s almost like a high and gosh now I am babbling. I am just gonna go.”

  I smile as she starts to leave. This babbling woman is adorable right now and even though I shouldn’t want her, I do, nothing is going to change that. But I won’t act on it.

  I grab her arm and turn her around. “You don’t have to go. It’s cute.” I let go of her arm and run my hand through her hair. “So you had a good day?”

  “Amazing! Thank you so much for introducing me to your brother. I haven’t played or written or had as much fun as I did today in over seven years.”

  “I’m glad I introduced you then.”

  She grabs my hand and pulls me closer to her. I can count the freckles running across her nose and smattering her cheeks. “I mean it, Noah. Thank you. I needed that so bad. And I’ve denied myself for years the pleasure of playing so freely. If it wasn’t for you, I would still be cooped up in my sunroom playing for just myself. So thank you.”

  I don’t know what to say to her. I didn’t think it would mean that much to her. I thought she would just like to play some music, maybe record a bit. I don’t know how long I stand there, searching her hazel eyes for some deeper truth behind her words. It’s not until she clears her throat and pulls away I realize how close we were standing. The loss of her body heat near mine shocks my system and I find words again.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad it meant something.”

  She smiles at me as she starts to walk backward toward her house. “What’s your favorite food?”

  I scratch the back of my neck as I look at her. “That’s an odd question.”

  “I can be an odd person sometimes.”

  Her goofiness does something to my chest. It makes me want to reach out and touch her. Tell her not to go back home. Instead, I just answer her question. “Lasagna.”

  “Okay Detective.”

  I shake my head, smiling as she walks away. We only shared a few words but for some reason it makes me feel better about the shit day I was having since I woke up.

  The sun is starting to set just as I finish the last board on the porch. I am glad I got something done today. Feel like I accomplished one thing.

  I put my tools inside the garage before heading inside. Brutus follows me into the kitchen and I walk into the pantry to grab him food. I open my fridge and find a whole lot of nothing. The only thing inside is half a six-pack of beer and leftovers from dinner at my parents yesterday. I grab the leftovers and throw them in the microwave, foregoing a plate.

  I need to start cooking for myself. Of course, that would mean finishing up my kitchen so I could actually use it. My hand goes to the drawer where the picture of Claire and I sit. I grip my neck as I let go of the handle, but my misery gets the best of me and I open it up.

  I grab the picture and stare at her. She was so beautiful that day. Her strawberry blonde hair braided to one side. Her brown eyes smiling bigger than the smile on her face. We promised each other forever. She cried that day. Happy tears. She said she never thought she would find someone that would accept her for all her flaws and that she would love me until her last breath.


  My hand starts to crumple around the picture.

  She lied to me.

  She left me.

  She destroyed me.

  I see the tear hit the picture before I feel them on my face. Fuck. I need to get over her. I need to let her go the way she let me go. But I know her and I know she would never intentionally hurt me. I know she needed time to figure things out. And that’s what I’ve given her.

  Time.

  Five fucking years.

  Maybe my brothers are right. Maybe it is time to move on. But that smile on her face at the wedding is enough to make me wait.

  There is a knock on my door. My head snaps up wondering who it could be. The thoughts of Claire give me hope. Until I realize I was lost in my head again.

  I drop the picture back in its safe place and slam the drawer. If it’s one of my brothers, I am slamming the door in his face. I can’t deal with them right now. Not after last night’s family dinner.

  I open the door and see Anna standing on the other side of the screen. She has a casserole dish covered in foil in her oven-mitted hands. I push open the screen and she steps aside.

  “What are you doing here?” I say, harsher than I intend to.

  She bites her lip and looks down before meeting my gaze. “I just wanted to bring you dinner. As a thank you.”

  “You didn’t have to. I already have food cooking.” Not a total lie.

  “Well then, you can save it for later,” she says as she barges past me. “This pan is hot I need to put it down.”

  I close the door behind her and follow her into my half-finished kitchen. I don’t have any countertops, just a piece of plywood covering the hole over the new cabinets. She walks to my small kitchen table and uses her elbow to push aside the piles of mail sitting on the table and sets the dish down.

  I should be embarrassed about the look of my home. If you can even call it that. But I don’t care what others think. I am trying so hard to make it better, to make it feel like a home. But the pain it causes sometimes is too much to bear.

  My mom used to come around every couple weeks to help clean up. But she stopped last year. It’s embarrassing to think a mother needs to tidy up after her thirty-four-year-old son but she did it anyway. It wasn’t until I yelled at her when she almost went in the drawer where the picture of Claire and I rests that she stopped coming.

  I thought that would be the end of it. The end of the harassment over me and my inability to get over the fact my wife left me. But it wasn’t. And last night’s family dinner was the first time in a few months it was brought up. It’s what caused my shitty mood today.

  I look back at Anna. Half expecting her to be gone after dropping off whatever is in the dish but instead she is picking up my mail and moving it.

  No, she is going through it. Throwing away magazines and whatever junk is sitting there.

  I walk up to her and grab her arm. “Stop.”

  She looks up at me, “I am just cleaning up a bit Noah. You can let others help you out sometimes.”

  I stumble back as she says it. Not sure what she means. Well, I know what she means but how she knows. Mason wasn’t at family dinner last night so I know it wasn’t him.

  I glance back at her, and she is staring at me. “Look, Noah, I don’t know anything about you. But I was here that night I used your shower. I might have snooped around a bit.”

  My eyes go immediately to the drawer where Claire’s picture is and I know I’ve turned into a ghost. But she continues like she doesn’t even notice.

  “There were empty beer cans and dirty plates out. There are no pictures out. No décor, nothing to make this feel like a home. Hell, you live in a half-finished house. I know you aren’t some eternal bachelor. I think you’re just lonely.”

  Well if she didn’t hit the nail on the head.

  My microwave beeps reminding me that it went off earlier.

  “That your dinner?”

  For the first time in a while I am embarrassed. I am a thirty-five-year-old man who is eating leftovers from his parents. I walk to the fridge and grab a beer, slamming it before grabbing another.

  Anna watches me cautiously but continues to clean off the table. When she is done she picks up a giant bag from the floor I hadn’t noticed she was carrying earlier and pulls out a glass bowl filled with salad and unwraps garlic bread from a towel.

  The smell of homemade food has me salivating. The only homemade food I’ve been eating besides sandwiches is from my mom.

  Anna scoots past me and opens the microwave, setting the dish on the plywood. She then goes about opening cabinets until she finds plates and glasses. I just stand here dumbfounded while she tries to find silverware. I finally point to the pantry where it’s currently sitting until I finish the cabinets.

  She sets the table and pulls out a bottle of red wine. “Do you like wine? It’s okay if you don’t. You can drink beer.”

  “Uhh—yeah wine is fine,” I say as I set my half-full beer down. “I don’t think I have a corkscrew though. Maybe with the other serving utensils.”

  She pulls one out of her bag. “It’s okay. I came prepared.”

  She opens the bottle and pours wine into two pint glasses.

  “Sorry I don’t have better glasses.”

  “We’re just going to drink it anyway,” she says with a shrug.

  This woman is like no one I ever met before.

  She finally pulls the aluminum off the casserole dish and it proves my nose wasn’t lying to me.

  She made me lasagna.

  I could kiss her. It is my favorite food. And I only ever eat it when Mom makes it for my birthday.

  “Take a seat, Noah.”

  I feel like I’m dreaming. Why on earth is this woman doing this for me? I don’t deserve any of this.

  I guess I said that last part aloud.

  “You made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years. I may never be able to communicate that feeling, make you really understand it, but I need to thank you somehow.” She pauses as she’s about to cut into the lasagna. “I needed to thank you for everything, Noah. The water, the shower, the music. You made me feel a—you made me feel happy.”

  I don’t think that’s what she was going to say judging by the color in her cheeks. But I am happy I put it there. I guess it’s time I try to find words again. “I’m glad, Anna. We all deserve to be happy.”

  She looks up at me as she sets a serving of lasagna on my plate. “So do you Noah.”

  She’s right. But it’s hard to think I do. I’m the one that made my wife leave.

  We sit in silence as we eat, and I devour the food in front of me. I can’t remember the last time I sat down at this table and ate a proper meal. I’m not sure I ever have. I bought it when I moved into this place to give me the feeling of home but I think I have eaten every meal on the couch.

  “You made a lot of progress on the porch,” she says, breaking the silence between us.

  I look up at her but don’t answer.

  “I remember seeing you take it apart last week. It looks good.”

  I grab my wine and take a sip. “I still need to stain it and do the railings.”

  “What color are you staining it?”

  I take a bite of lasagna, willing myself to engage. She is a distraction, remember? Get it together. “Not sure yet. Deciding if I’ll go with walnut or keep the pine color.”

  “Are you going to keep your house blue?”

  I nod. “It was one of the reasons I bought the place besides the cheap price. I loved the navy color.”

  She studies me as I talk and I finally don’t feel like our conversations are awkward. She seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.

  She sips her wine and sets her fork down. “I like the navy too. Better than the shit mint green on my duplex. I think you should keep the pine. It would go nice with the navy. But I’m no designer, so my opinion might be crap.”

  I eat the last bite of lasagna on my plate. “I think
you’re right. It would look nice.” I pause as I take another sip of the rich red wine. “Thank you for dinner. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal here in a long time.”

  She smiles and finishes her wine. “You’re welcome, Noah. And anytime you want home-cooked food, you are welcome to come over. I hate making meals just for myself. I never seem to finish the leftovers.”

  I pour more wine into her glass. “Why don’t you hang out on the couch? I’ll clean up.”

  “I can help you,” she says, standing and picking up her plate.

  “Nah. You cooked. I got this,” I say as I take her plate out of her hand.

  She reluctantly walks to the living room as I clean up the couple dishes we used and set them in the drying rack on the plywood.

  I grab my half glass of wine and walk into the living room. She is sitting on the couch with her feet curled under her, the oversized sweatshirt she is wearing is slipping off her shoulder, causing the flowers tattooed on her arm to peek out. A colorful mix of roses, orchids, and dahlias, and a few I don’t know the names of. Brutus is lying next to her, his head on her lap as she pets him.

  I sit on the other end of the couch, Brutus between us. “What’s with the flower tattoos?”

  She looks up at me and a ghost of sadness sweeps over her hazel eyes so briefly I wonder if I imagined it. “I like flowers. My mom has always had a garden. And I loved helping her as a kid tend to the soil, plant new flowers every spring. I love tattoos and always wanted them, just never knew what to get. Ky—my friend told me it should be flowers.”

  I don’t miss her misstep once again. Changing words she planned on saying. I go to ask her another question but she beats me to it.

  “Why the house remodel? Why not buy a house that was finished? You seem too busy to work on it.”

  “Honestly, I thought it would be easier to remodel. It’s not. It’s tough fucking work. I needed to get out of my old house. I loved this neighborhood. I don’t make a ton of money as a cop so I couldn’t buy a new home. Decided it was the perfect solution.”

  She tilts her head as I say it, no doubt trying to decipher between the lines. “Perfect solution to what?”