Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  “Some of it what?”

  Pete shoved his hands in his front pockets. He blinked into his mother’s eyes. “Something happened between me and Esme. It was different . . . worse than the loudest argument you and Pa ever had. Uglier than the Battle of Belleau Wood.”

  “That’s, um . . . that leaves quite a range, Pete. There’s a lot of ground between a verbal argument and a battlefield. Can you be more specific?” She’d need to tread carefully. “I’d like to help if you’ll let me.”

  “I don’t know how to say it.” He dropped his gaze to the unlaced Doc Martens. “I can’t. Can’t believe what I did.” His hand trembled as he dragged a sleeve across his nose, and he drew a breath that shook.

  “All right. We won’t talk about her anymore. Not right now.” As much as Aubrey wanted to know, her son’s recently stopped heart was enough to end the query. “Why don’t we go in the kitchen? Get something to drink.”

  A few minutes passed, Aubrey coaxing Pete into a bottle of Gatorade, getting him to sit at the kitchen table. Shaky breaths still moved in and out of him, the liquid sloshing about the bottle as it rose to his lips. Levi came back into the kitchen, his phone in hand. “That was Dr. Eason.”

  “And?” Aubrey said.

  He looked at his son and hesitated. “Apparently, when the lab couldn’t readily identify the strain of flu, they sent a sample off to the CDC in Atlanta.”

  “Why there, what’s that?” Pete asked.

  “It’s the Centers for Disease Control, a place for people like Dr. Eason to go when they come across things they can’t easily categorize.”

  “So what was so weird about my blood . . . or the flu I had?”

  Levi glanced at Pete but spoke to Aubrey. “They finally matched it to a sample they have there. The strain of virus Pete had, they eradicated it in 1919, after the first pandemic. There haven’t been any known cases in decades.”

  “In 1919?” As the year left her mouth, Aubrey physically inched forward.

  “That’s not all.”

  She looked between Levi and Pete.

  “He should hear, Aubrey. It’s his gift . . . his circumstance.” Levi pocketed his phone and pushed his glasses up. “When they tested your blood, Pete, they found high levels of sodium. They also found another compound. After extensive testing, they identified it as coal.”

  “Coal? Like from working in a coal mine?” he said.

  “Actually, that’s what ran through my head when Dr. Eason said it. But she did some additional research. Apparently, during World War I, there were a number of trial-and-error vaccines for the flu, all of them futile. One of the most popular was concocted by a woman from Missouri. She managed to sell it to a Major General—”

  “Bundy,” Pete said.

  Levi nodded vaguely; he and Aubrey were becoming, if not used to, more expectant about Pete’s innate knowledge. “He was in charge of a Camp Upton and—”

  “The Battle of Belleau Wood. A lot of soldiers died there—from tetanus. Muddy fields and cows.”

  “And for those who lived?” Aubrey asked.

  Pete ran his fingers over the veins in his arm where needle marks from doses of propofol were still visible. Levi answered. “They received a crude but effective tetanus shot, of which the main components were salt and coal.”

  “They found that vaccine in me too, didn’t they, Pa?”

  “They did.”

  Pete looked from his mother to his father. “I don’t know what’s possible and what isn’t. But I do know that no matter what, they don’t find your dreams running through your blood. So what do you think it means, Mom? The things they saw in my blood?”

  With a shaky landing, Aubrey placed her glass of iced tea in the sink. “Well, I think . . .” She mustered steadiness, Levi’s logical thinking. “We should look at it this way. What showed up in your blood is proof.” Her line of vision stayed on the sink. “We’ll take it as the glass half full.” She looked at Levi, who followed her lead and smiled at his son. “More proof than a box of ghost gifts or future predictions ever offered.”

  Aubrey pushed back her shoulders and made commanding use of her height. She faced her son. Acceptance would start now, today. Pete would own this gift. They would help him. It was more than Aubrey ever had.

  “So what we know, what your blood proves, is that you lived a life long before this one. Maybe all of us have.” She shifted her shoulders. “Who’s to say? But in your case, you have to factor in an inherent gift that brings an even deeper connection. The good news is we know more about it than my father did. Than I did. That will help us, Pete—tremendously.”

  “And?” Pete waited for more. Aubrey was out of immediate answers. Fortunately, fatefully, Levi picked up the slack.

  “Piece by piece, we’ll sort it out, all the parts of your gift, Pete. I may not share in your gift or your mother’s, but I’m pretty handy with order and reason. Together we’ll figure out the how, maybe the why. Why your past life has gotten tangled so tightly with the one you’re living.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  One Week Later

  Sitting on the bedroom window seat, Aubrey stared into the nature preserve. It’d been a foggy Sunday morning, rolling puffs of mist moving like ghosts across the field. In her hand was the gold necklace with a teardrop pearl. She held it up to the window. A ray of sunlight broke through, catching on the chain. It swayed like a pendulum, almost as if a fingertip set it into a time-ticking motion. Aubrey turned her attention back to the preserve, a field where low fog roamed. In the millisecond of a brilliant flash—so much like his life—an image appeared. She saw a green flannel shirt and jeans, a mischievous grin that would forever hold a piece of her heart. Then it was gone.

  She glanced fast at Levi as he came through the bedroom door. In his hands were a laptop and a screwdriver, wheels of some sort. “Hey. There you are.”

  “Here I am.” She said it softly, turning back to the window, where she pressed her fingertips to the glass. Aubrey twisted back to Levi and cleared her throat. “How’s the research coming?”

  “Good. I now know as much about World War I as an Ivy League history professor. I’m not sure what good it will do us. But it can’t hurt, having a solid knowledge of the past.”

  “I’m sure it’ll come in handy. It’s only been a week. And Pete seems better, doesn’t he? At least improved from when he came home.”

  “He does.” Levi put the laptop on the bed. “He even asked if I’d help him put new trucks on his favorite skateboard. If the fog lifts, maybe I can coax him into a ride over to the skate park.” For now, Levi placed the skateboard parts on a desk. Aubrey drew her knees to her chest, and he sat beside her. “I wanted to talk about something else.”

  “What’s that?” Life had been a whirlwind with Levi and Pete moving back home. They’d talked a great deal, mostly about Pete. But it all felt rushed, as if struggling for their footing in between conversations. The pace finally slowed as Levi rested his arm on her pulled-tight knees.

  “We’ve spent a lot of time devoted to Pete, which makes sense. But I was wondering . . .” It was unusual for Levi to hesitate. “I think we also need to talk about us.”

  Aubrey brushed her hair behind her ear, her fingers running over the traffic jam of earrings that Levi did not love. A year ago, when she said she had been thinking about getting a small tattoo, something representative of a little mysticism, he didn’t hide his objection. Maybe the months apart had highlighted their differences—the gypsy and the intellectual. She tensed; he smiled. His square jaw and dark eyes framed chiseled good looks that, if anything, were only enhanced by a touch of gray.

  A futile thought ran through her brain: Why is it women never come out on the winning side of age? She sighed and focused. Levi removed his glasses, quickly polishing the lenses and readjusting them on his face. This tactic, Aubrey knew. He was stalling. “Levi . . . what? Just say it.”

  “You’re not supposed to.”

  �
�Not supposed to what?”

  “Just say things like this.”

  “Say things like what?” She laughed, but with a touch of nervousness. “You’re being awfully cryptic for a straightforward man.”

  “Newness stirs my hesitant side.”

  “What’s so new? You just moved back to the place you’ve called home for the past dozen years.”

  “For a lot of reasons . . . some pretty obvious, others that have recently occurred to me . . .” Air filled his lungs, and apprehension filled hers. “I think we should . . .”

  She tipped her head forward, an attempt to will the words from his mouth.

  “Aubrey, would you marry me?”

  She jerked her head back, and it smacked hard into the alcove’s beadboard wall. “Oww.” She touched her hand to her head. “Would I . . .”

  “I know there should be a ring, but that’s something I’d want to give a lot of thought to.” He shook his head. “Not buying one, just what kind you’d like. Or maybe you’d like to pick it out yourself. I know this seems kind of sudden.”

  “Uh, Levi, we’ve been living together since Pete was born.”

  “I know. We’ve been busy. And I know it’s come up. Maybe not so much in recent years, but, at times, I’m aware that it’s been the elephant in the room. Anyway, with everything that’s happened recently, I’ve been thinking, and—”

  She’d never seen him in such a fluster. Not when Aubrey and her ghosts took up residence in his life, not even when he was handed a red-faced, crying infant, quietly remarking, “Huh. The book advice on crying varies greatly in terms of pacifying. I suspect we may have to try them all.”

  “Levi.” She scooted forward on the window seat, placing her hands around his unshaven Sunday-morning face. For all the turmoil of recent months, where they were only weeks ago, Aubrey had not imagined such a stunning turnaround. Oddly, she was suddenly wary of rushing into their future. “You’re back. Pete’s back. I have everything I want. I don’t need a piece of paper.”

  His hands wrapped around hers, drawing them away from his face. “I want the piece of paper. I said ‘together’ to Pete.” His wide shoulders shrugged. “I want us as together as we can be. In this life, and maybe the next one.”

  She smiled at the most faith-oriented statement she’d ever heard from Levi. “And you think being married guarantees that?”

  “I have no idea. But the concept of other lives has suddenly taken on more meaning than a redolent book title. It’s the right thing to do—for us, and for Pete.” Levi reached for her, pulling Aubrey into a long, clarifying kiss. “Please. Marry me.”

  Before she could answer, Pete called from the bottom of the stairs. It was a tone absent from the past week; now it was fearful and tense. “Mom! There’s somebody here to see you.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Aubrey came to a halt, Levi all but crashing into her.

  “Nora.” Zeke’s sister stood in their living room, her frail frame swallowed by the space and palpable loss. Her tiny face was one large blotch of red as she pressed a wad of tissue to her nose.

  “The official call came yesterday. I mean, I knew it was probable when you rang me. But the confirmation, it hit harder than I thought. Zeke, he . . .” Nora drew a trembling hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Aubrey closed the gap and threw her arms around the sobbing woman. “What . . . what am I going to do without him? Zeke, he took care of everything. Even after I married Ian, Zeke was the person who . . . helped me live life.” Gasps and tears choked her words. It didn’t matter. Aubrey didn’t need to hear them.

  After her realization that the John Doe in the coffin was Zeke, she’d phoned Nora. It was the hardest call she’d ever had to make. Gently as possible, she relayed the news to his stunned sister. In the meantime, Levi had contacted Dan, whose team collected a DNA sample from Nora. Scientific testing officially concluded what Aubrey already knew—Zeke Dublin was dead. It was surreal for Aubrey. She couldn’t imagine Nora’s reaction. Nora, who’d counted on Zeke to be her protector and even her reason for continuing on in a life that at times had been more than cruel to her.

  Minutes passed. Eventually, Nora let go of Aubrey and hurriedly brushed tears from her face. “He’d tell me stop this right now, wouldn’t he?”

  Aubrey blinked back her own tears and smiled. “Zeke wouldn’t want you to grieve for him? I don’t know about that. But he never liked to see you sad. Right now, I think both things are okay.”

  “You saw him . . . afterward. Will you tell me about it?” She didn’t wait for Aubrey to answer. “Oh, could you? Would he visit with me? Can you do that for me, Aubrey?”

  In so many ways, Nora remained the anxious, unsure girl who had followed her brother like he held her next breath. “He’d have to seek me out, Nora. You know that’s how it works.”

  “Yes, but just this once. If I could tell him how much he meant to me, how much we’ll miss him.”

  “Nora, you don’t need to tell Zeke that. He knows.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Then I should want to speak to him to tell him how sorry I am. How I wished he’d told me about the Serinos years ago, who they really were, what Jude did. As it is—”

  “As it is, thanks to Zeke, the authorities are going to take a long hard look at the circumstances surrounding your parents’ deaths. Jude Serino may end up paying for more than one murder.”

  “Well, I should hope so. But Zeke, he kept it all from me because . . . because I was weak. If I’d been stronger, able to hear such a thing.”

  “Nora,” Aubrey said with the kind of command Zeke would have. “He wouldn’t have done a single thing differently. Your happiness meant the world to him. It still does; I’m sure of it. A conversation with Zeke won’t change any of that.”

  Aubrey wanted to fulfill Nora’s request; she knew it was doubtful. Unless it suited him, you couldn’t conjure up Zeke Dublin in life. And it was more than that. As much as Nora thought she wanted contact with her dead brother, communication would only leave her with a greater sense of loss. Closure would not be the result of an ethereal encounter. Zeke knew it too. The emptiness surrounding Aubrey was dense and telling. The glimpse she saw in the field wasn’t an entity she could summon at will—it was a fleeting ghost gift.

  Like carnie summers that were gone but not forgotten, Aubrey couldn’t say if she’d ever see Zeke Dublin again. But that was the thing about a grifter’s soul—you never knew when or where it might turn up.

  After Nora caught her breath and Levi offered to make tea, she seemed to accept that there’d be no contact with her brother, at least not today. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to make demands or have a breakdown in your living room.”

  “It’s fine, Nora . . . really.”

  For the first time, she appeared to take in more than Aubrey, her gaze looping around the space. “This is your home.”

  Levi offered an odd look back, heading into the kitchen. Aubrey smiled at classic Nora behavior—not necessarily engaged with the facts in front of her. “This is our house. I’m glad you came. I wish you had called, though. I would have picked you up at the airport.”

  “It was fine. Ian, my husband, came with me.”

  “He’s here . . . now?”

  “Oh heavens, no. I left him back at the hotel with Kieran. You know boys and travel. They weren’t interested in any more sitting.”

  “And Emerald?”

  “Good gracious!” Nora flitted a hand across her tiny brow. “I left her on your front porch. Told her to have a seat on the swing. I did think ahead, suspected I’d be a mess when I saw you. She has her favorite doll with her. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “Pete.” Aubrey cocked her chin toward the door. “Would you . . .” He’d been standing in the dining room alcove since his parents came downstairs, his hands tight around the back of a chair. He didn’t move. “She’s just a little girl, Pete. She won’t bite you.”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll go get her.” He moved tow
ard the door, though his pace was a reluctant drag.

  “Pete!” Nora said. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. I’m so sorry to crash in on your Sunday like this, in such a state.”

  “It’s, um . . . it’s okay.” His steps quickened. There was something off in his reaction, like he didn’t want to be near Nora or retrieve her daughter. In the end, he stood with his unlaced Doc Martens straddling either side of the threshold, gingerly opening the door. Pete’s hand was gripped around the knob, his knuckles going white.

  “Pete?” Aubrey stepped away from Nora. Levi came back through the kitchen. A glance moved between them; it was all that was necessary to put Levi on alert. In two steps, he was next to his son. But Pete let go of the knob, his leg bracing the partially open door. He held up a hand to his father, warding him off. Levi retreated.

  Pete’s jaw slacked. It was as if he were mustering the courage to lick his lips; Aubrey could tell his throat had gone dry. “Your, um . . . your mother wants you to come inside.”

  A breeze accompanied her, enough to blow back Pete’s hair and lift his overdue homework off the coffee table. A girl brushed past—several years younger than Pete, her hands clutched around a china-faced doll.

  “Zeke gave the doll to Emerald a year or so ago. Said he bought it here, an antique shop in Boston. Such a sweet gift.” Nora said. “She fell in love with it, old as it is. Oh!” She giggled, which might have been odd for the circumstance, but not if you knew Nora. “I’m going on about a doll when you haven’t met my sweet Emerald. This is her; this my daughter—Zeke’s favorite niece.”

  She was an exquisite child. Wavy hair like her mother, but the color far more red. Her skin was as chinalike as the doll she held. Aubrey could see a little of Zeke, all of him when she smiled, saying, “Hello.” But Aubrey’s attention was drawn back to Pete, who closed the front door with a thud, his back pinned against it. Emerald turned. Her entire being appeared wildly self-possessed for a girl her age, perhaps with Nora as her mother. “You’re Phin.”