“Wait,” I said. “What?”
“I have no idea where the K came from,” Mom said, shrugging. “It kind of fits, though. It makes the name seem . . . oh, I don’t know . . . mystical?”
“That’s not what we were going for,” I said, looking at Kristina in shock. She looked a bit dazed herself, actually. Charlie, standing behind her, had his fist over his mouth, stifling his laughter. “I think . . . it just made more sense with a K when I was younger!”
Charlie burst into laughter.
“The O’Briens aren’t the smartest men around, I’ll give you that much,” he said through his giggles, slapping his knee. “I’ll give you that much.”
“Shut up, Charlie!” I said, feeling horrible. “Sorry, Kristina. I had no idea.”
Jack, who’d been standing next to me, suddenly lunged away, realizing ghosts were nearby.
She shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter. I never write my name anyway.”
“Who’s Charlie?” Mom asked.
“Don’t ask,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest. “It’s freezing. Let’s go back inside.”
Charlie, through his laughter, sputtered, “Y-you’d never know it was freezing, based on those—those burning cheeks of yours, kiddo!”
Once we’d resettled inside the house, we somehow still had another hour to kill before dinner was served at four. Gillie turned the TV on and started flipping through the channels while Jack and I lazily watched it. Oli and Ella had moved on to coloring, which really meant that Oli had to repeatedly pluck crayons out of her mouth as she tried to suck on each one. Meanwhile, the adults had opened the first bottle of red wine and were sitting around the table catching up.
It was pretty boring for a while until Gillie flipped to a random news channel, and Jack, Gillie, and I gasped at the same time. A big photo of me was staring back at us from the screen.
“What is it?” Mom said, standing up and running over to look at the TV, wineglass still in hand.
“. . . the young man from Keene, New Hampshire, who claims to have the ability to talk to dead people. He’s made headlines in recent weeks for his involvement in the disappearance of Rosalie Timmons, and he’s making headlines again for his involvement in the missing persons case of Helena Papadopoulos and Archie Perceval, the teenagers from Florida who are believed to be missing at sea for several days now . . .”
“No!” Mom shrieked, spilling wine down her hand and across the hardwood floor. “Off! Off! Off!” Gillie fumbled with the remote, desperately trying to find the power button after her aunt had yelled at her for the first time ever. Meanwhile, I was sitting in shock after seeing my face pop up on TV—on a national news channel, no less.
Aunt Cathy rushed to the room with a roll of paper towels. She wiped off Mom’s hand first before crouching to mop up the liquid on the floor. Mom was also in shock, trying to make sense of not only seeing her son on the national news (again), but also having a son who possessed a gift so beyond her ability to comprehend that she was paralyzed altogether.
I turned to Dad. “You should refill Mom’s glass,” I said, my voice colder than ice.
He seemed confused, not having seen or heard the news report, but he grasped my tone and quickly got up, wine bottle in hand, to replenish the glass and guide her back to the kitchen. Uncle Horty stared at me, his expression pleasant but curious, while Aunt Cathy and Uncle Glenn pretended nothing had happened at all.
Jack, his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, was staring at me like I was a ghost, while Gillie was smirking at me with a mix of admiration and jealousy. Oli had ignored the whole scene thanks to Ella’s Crayola craving.
Thankfully, Grandma Renee and Grandpa By decided to show up with Aunt Hilda not a moment too late. The ring of the doorbell cut through the silence, and I hopped up.
“I’ll get it,” I yelped.
I ran to the door and threw it open to find the three of them staring at me happily.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” Grandma Renee said, holding a crumbly apple pie in her hands. “Are you ready to eat?”
I shook my head. “I think everyone’s ready to throw up, actually.”
TIP
14
Be thankful you’re not in my family.
GRANDMA FROWNED AT ME. “WHAT’S wrong?”
“It’s kind of a long story, but some woman’s been writing nasty articles about me, and then my face was just on the national news and Mom made a scene out of it, and Uncle Horty’s a weirdo, and Gillie’s being a jerk because she’s in high school,” I said in one breath.
Grandpa By surged past his wife and enveloped me in a gigantic bear hug.
“It’s not an easy thing, being this talented, but the O’Briens have been talented for generations, Baylor. Generations! That’s centuries and centuries of talent, talent of all different shades and colors, and it’s a burden to bear at times, yes, it’s a burden.” He nodded vigorously. “Believe me, I get it, but we persevere! We keep going, and we push past the problem, and we face it head on, because we are O’Briens and that is just what we do.”
“Yes!” yelped Charlie, entering the foyer from the kitchen and clapping loudly. “Now this is a true O’Brien!” He reached up to his head and motioned, yet again, as though he were tipping a hat. “Byron O’Brien, my great-grandson. I’d recognize an aura like that anywhere.”
“Grandpa,” I said, as he let me go, “do you know who Charlie O’Brien is?”
Grandpa narrowed his eyes. “Charlie O’Brien? My great-great-grandpa? Of course I do. Never met him; he died before I was born, but I know he was a sailor and once remember hearing he was something of a keen crook. Pick-pocketing anyone he could get within a foot of. Apparently everyone called him One-Buck Chuck because he’d steal even one buck if he could get his grubby hands on it.”
“Oy!” Charlie said. “First things first, tha’s just a bit rude, innit? My hands aren’t grubby.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Secondly, tha’s all a lie! Generations of reputation mismanagement! I told ya the truth before. They called me Ten-Buck Chuck, because I was daring enough to do anything for ten bucks.”
“I thought you said it was because you were always up for a bet,” Kristina said.
“Tomato, tomahto!” he said. “I’m not a crook. Look at me!”
He somehow seemed dirtier and more lopsided than before, and Kristina and I exchanged uncertain glances.
“Maybe it’d be best to keep your head down for a bit, Charlie,” the colonel suggested.
Aunt Hilda looked me up and down as she hobbled through the doorway, shaking her head.
“It’s that pesky ghost business, isn’t it?” she said. “I had a dream about my friend Marge the other day”—she glanced at me pointedly—“I’m sure you remember her. We were playing bunco, and she mentioned you, funny enough. Told me to be nicer to you! As if I’m not nice to you already!” She laughed and started hacking into a handkerchief. “Anyway,” she said after she stopped coughing, “it was nice to see her, even if it was only a dream.”
Grandma Renee was staring at me funny as her sister was speaking. “I had a dream about you, too, Baylor,” she said, shaking her head. “It was nothing. Just some dumb dream. But . . . it was just . . . so . . .” She extended her hand and touched my face. “So realistic.”
As she studied my face, my mom came into the foyer, a very full wineglass in her hand, and said, “Mom! Dad! Auntie! Happy Thanksgiving!”
Grandpa By chuckled. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, my doll,” he said. “Thank you for hosting us once again.”
“Of course,” she said, and when she spoke next, her voice was lowered slightly, her smile thin. “Uncle Horty has joined us this year.”
Grandma Renee straightened her back. “Yes, Glenn let us know,” she said icily. “I’m sure Doug was thrilled to find out.”
“What did he do?” I asked quickly before I could stop myself.
The four of them stared at me, thei
r eyebrows raised, their mouths slightly open, before glancing at one another.
“Never you mind, dear, it’s ancient history,” Grandma Renee said, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and guiding me forward. “Now where are my other grandchildren? We need to get a picture of the five of you together! Grandma needs a new profile picture!”
* * *
After everyone had greeted and hugged and kissed one another, it was time to set out the casseroles, carve the turkey, and shovel food into our mouths for dinner.
“Baylor,” Mom said over the buzz of the electric knife as she separated a drumstick from the turkey, “want to get the candles?”
“I’m on it!” I said, grabbing the matches to light the candlesticks placed along the tables. Mom made sure to always have candles at every party she threw because they added both ambience and protections. No offense to potpourri or flowers or those weird tea doily things, but if you can’t look nice and ward off evil spirits, then what’s the point, really?
The adults popped a bottle of champagne while the kids, who had sparkling apple cider and grape juice to sip on, went first to get food.
“It’s so good to see everyone,” said Uncle Glenn, holding up his glass to toast with the others.
“It sure is,” Aunt Hilda said, before turning directly to Horty. “Even you, Horty.” She was seated directly across from him, on the side furthest from the kids’ table that Dad and I had assembled earlier in the day. It jutted out as an extension of the main kitchen table, and the whole thing resembled something like a giant lollipop. She tilted her glass in his direction, and he raised an eyebrow, reaching across the table with his glass. Clink.
A brief, intense silence followed as Horty and Hilda stared at each other and sipped from their glasses.
“You youngsters!” Grandpa By said, trying to laugh it off.
“You might think me insane,” whispered the colonel, “but I have a feeling they don’t like each other.” There wasn’t enough room for the ghosts at the tables if they’d been human, but somehow they managed to squeeze in with plenty of room right at the gaps where the kids’ table met the adults’ table.
“The British guy’s smart,” Charlie said across from me, rolling his eyes. “He must have talked to, what, more than four people in his lifetime to have the people skills to put that together?”
The adults got their food next, and once they’d settled down, everyone began to eat in silence. I wished Dad had put some music on.
“So,” Aunt Cathy said after a few minutes, “it’s one of my favorite times of the year! Let’s all go around the table and say what we’re thankful for.”
My mom clapped rapidly. “Yes! Good idea, Cathy. Who wants to go first?”
“I’ll go,” Oli said instantly. “I’m so thankful to be here with my family, eating this delicious food, and I feel so blessed to be surrounded by such loving people. I pray for all of you every day, and I know God is smiling down on us tonight.”
“Aw!” my mom said, filling up her champagne glass. “You’re so sweet, little Oliver!” He blushed, and she looked at Jack, who was seated next to him. “Your turn, honey!”
He pursed his lips and thought for a few seconds. “I’m also thankful for my family”—his eyes flashed to me for a split second—“and I’m glad we’re here together.”
My mom blinked for a few seconds and finally said, “Aw, that was sweet too. Gillie?”
Gillie was seated at the head of the kids’ table, my brother and sister on either side of her, and she looked like she wanted to squash all of us with a giant rolled-up magazine.
“I’m thankful for best friends, and for R.G.”—she began to giggle furiously, but no one else reacted—“oh, sorry, inside joke, I guess. And, uh, I guess my family, too.”
It was technically Ella’s turn next, but unless she was especially grateful for explosions of mashed potatoes and peas, it didn’t look like we were going to get anything substantial out of her.
“Baylor?” Grandpa By said.
“Right,” I said, looking around the table at everyone watching me. “Well, I’d hate to sound unoriginal, but I’m also thankful for all of my family, including everyone here tonight, and I know I’m sort of a weirdo with what I can do and everything, but . . . yeah, I’m also thankful I have the opportunity to help so many people all the time. It’s really nice to pass on these healing messages to people who, whether or not they realize it, need some help.”
Most of the adults looked at me with tears shimmering in their eyes. Aunt Hilda and Uncle Horty, however, seemed quite unmoved.
“Oh!” Kristina said excitedly. “My turn!”
“Glenn, you’re next.” My mom sniffled.
“Actually,” I interjected, “Kristina would like to say something.”
Everyone was silent as I looked directly to my left and nodded to Kristina to continue. She seemed stumped for a moment. “I . . . I hate that you’re the one who’s saying my words for them to hear,” she said. “It’s going to come out all wrong.”
“She’s saying she’s really grateful to have a loving, understanding brother like myself to pass along her messages to you all,” I said. “Aw, Kristina, stop! That’s too nice.”
“Demon dung,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Just tell them I’m thankful I have the opportunity to be their guardian angel, and that I look forward to meeting them all one day—but not too soon.”
I repeated her words verbatim, and all the adults had tears streaming down their cheeks. Everyone, that is, except Uncle Horty and Aunt Hilda. I’d totally been right about them converging into a hurricane of unpleasantness. It was a category five ice storm coming from them.
No one else seemed to notice, though, as they popped open another bottle of champagne and refilled their glasses.
“Well,” Uncle Glenn said, “it’s been truly beautiful to see my children”—and he choked up for a second as he turned to glance at my mom—“and my sister’s children . . . express themselves so eloquently this evening . . . .” Sniff. “And I feel so lucky and blessed to be a part of such a wonderful family. We don’t get to spend nearly enough time together, and I dearly treasure moments like these.”
“Oh, cheers!” my mom said, raising her glass across the table from him. “I don’t even have to go, honestly. Glenn took every single word right out of my mouth.” She clanged her glass against her brother’s and took a deep sip.
Grandma Renee was next to go, and she talked for a solid five minutes about her grandkids, dedicating nearly a minute to each of us. When she addressed me, though, she mentioned something odd.
“And Baylor, you’re so gifted. So gifted. Sometimes I think back through all my decades on earth and I literally don’t know anyone more gifted than you. But you carry a heavy burden. You have to deal with things other kids don’t have to deal with, not until they’re much older. And, I don’t know, maybe you have to see way more than you’d like, too, whether it’s through visions or dreams, and I just want you to know, even if you do already know this, that people do learn, and they do change. They do their best with what they have at the time.”
She smiled at me, except it looked much more like a frown. A bucket of ice had splashed through my guts at her mention of dreams. There was no way for her to know I could peer into dreams, but part of me felt both guilty and suspicious—guilty because my intrusion into her dream was clearly weighing on her, but suspicious because . . . well, she seemed to know too much. Could she have really known I entered into her dreams? No. There was no way. She couldn’t know. Aiden couldn’t know. Bobby definitely couldn’t know. No one could know. It was beyond all reason.
Aunt Hilda was next.
“I’m grateful for a family who knows what family is all about.” She spoke more loudly than usual and looked at my mom and Glenn for a bit as she spoke. Then she focused her attention on Uncle Horty. “Most of us, anyway.”
She tilted her glass in his direction and took a sip. An icy chill pas
sed between them.
I looked at Gillie and raised my eyebrows, but she looked just as confused.
My dad was at the other head of the table, directly across from Gillie.
“Not sure I have much new ground to cover,” he said quickly. “Family, friends, happiness, the usual sort of stuff. Cheers to all of us being together.” He raised his glass of champagne and took a swig.
Uncle Horty was next. My dad was nervously chewing on his bottom lip as though it were the most scrumptious part of the feast.
“I’m thankful,” he said very slowly, “to have been blessed with such a loving family. My sweet daughter, her caring husband, my wonderful grandkids. You’ve got to be some of the best people I’ve ever met.” Aunt Cathy’s shoulders slumped back, a light smile on her face, visibly relieved.
“Truly,” he continued, “it’s an honor to know such a forward-thinking group of people who’re able to look beyond the familial problems of the past and focus on the good.”
My dad’s jaw clenched, and Uncle Glenn glanced at Uncle Horty with a dangerous look in his eyes.
“There are no problems here, Horty,” Grandma Renee said with forced sweetness. “Not real ones, anyway.”
“Please, Renee,” he said, holding his hand up in front of her face. “I just have to say it. I may have said other things in the past, but I’ve changed. I think it’s great you accept Baylor so outright and unconditionally. Kudos to you all.” He raised his glass and took a sip.
The icy chill that initially passed between Horty and Hilda had taken the opportunity to slither down my throat and freeze my insides.
My dad was the one to speak first. “Horty, I swear to God,” he said, pointing his finger at his face, nearly jabbing his eye, “if you say one more word, I’m going to . . .” He stopped talking, chewing his lips violently, holding his glass right against his lips.
“You know I don’t say this from a mean-spirited place!” he said, his voice light, laughter brimming. “But we can all admit it’s extremely unnatural.”
My heart pounded in my chest. I looked at Kristina, whose mouth was wide open as she gaped back at me.
Baylor's Guide to Dreadful Dreams Page 10