by Amanda Gray
FIVE
Jenny was still a little rattled when they left the Daulton house an hour later. It was stupid. Ben Daulton was just a guy. Or, if you wanted to get specific, a jerk. She’d just avoid him next time.
Her dad talked about the project all the way home, about its potential and the challenge of the time line and the budget. These were the projects he liked best, the ones that forced him to “think outside the box” and “be innovative.” He talked about Clare, too, and how she didn’t know anyone and needed to find a temporary job to help make ends meet until she could sell the house. Jenny tried to listen, nodding and smiling in all the right places, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of rejection from her meeting with Ben.
They reached home in time for Jenny to wrap her paintings before her shift at Books. She had to have everything to the gallery that was hosting the Central Valley Young Artists Show by seven p.m. Prepping the canvases for transport now meant that later she could just load them up and go.
She wasn’t surprised to find the paint slightly tacky where the figure had been added to each painting. Acrylics took only a few hours to dry, but longer to really set. She wrapped them carefully, hoping the paint wouldn’t smudge en route. She may not have meant for the man to be there, but now that he was, better to make it look like she’d planned it that way.
Once the canvases were wrapped, Jenny headed to Books. She took the Honda her dad had bought secondhand when she’d finally passed her road test last year and forced herself not to speed on the way to the store. Samuel was forgiving when they were late, but Jenny still liked to be on time.
She made her way through the outskirts of town and was almost to Main Street when she looked in the rearview mirror and realized the black car behind her had been following her almost since she’d pulled out of her driveway. She had a flash of paranoia as she pulled into the tiny lot behind the store, but the car passed by without stopping. She felt stupid when she saw the moon symbol on the driver’s-side door and realized it was one of the cars from the retreat center on the mountain.
She found a parking spot and scanned the lot for Tiffany’s car, not surprised when she didn’t find it, even though Jenny knew they were on the schedule to work together. Tiffany was always late.
Jenny didn’t bother locking the car door. There was virtually no crime in Stony Creek. It was a big deal if a teenager stole a nail polish from Rite Aid.
She entered the store through the back, making her way around the towers of books and miscellaneous gift items stacked in boxes in the storeroom. Samuel Thompson, the owner of the store, was unloading paperbacks onto a rolling cart. Jenny waved at him as she headed for the employee break room.
“Hey, Sam. Has it been busy?”
His brown eyes were warm as he smiled. “Not too bad today, Jenny. I missed you this morning, though.”
She laughed, knowing he was referring to all the people on their way to Saturday afternoon birthday parties who took advantage of the store’s free gift-wrapping policy. Sam was terrible at wrapping.
“I’m sure you did fine,” she said, hanging her bag on a hook in the break room.
“Don’t be so sure,” he grinned. His accent, still thoroughly Jamaican after twenty years in the US, was like warm syrup on a Saturday morning.
“Where do you want me today?” she asked.
He started breaking down the box, now empty. “I’m putting you and Tiffany in the cafe.”
“Both of us?” Usually only one of them worked the cafe at a time.
He nodded. “That local author is coming in for a signing. The one who wrote the book about the hauntings?”
“Oh, right … ” Jenny tried to remember the book and couldn’t.
“Mavis will be out for a while,” Samuel continued, “so Joe will work the register, you and Tiffany work the cafe, and I’ll work the author.” He winked. “If it gets too busy up front, I’ll move one of you from the cafe.”
“Is Mavis okay?” Jenny asked. Mavis Lupinski was nearly seventy years old and had been working at Books since before Samuel bought it in 2001.
Samuel shook his head. “Death in the family.”
“Oh, no,” Jenny said. “When will she be back?”
“I don’t know, but I may need someone to help out in the meantime.”
Jenny remembered Clare, trying not to think of her unpleasant son. “I think I might know someone. I think she wants something temporary, too, so it could be perfect.”
Sam ran a box cutter through the tape on a new box before looking up. “Have her call me, will you?”
She smiled. “Yep. I’ll go make sure the cafe’s ready.”
She pushed through the door leading to the store. The incident with Ben faded a little as she breathed in the scent of ink on paper and the vanilla candles Samuel burned whenever the store was open. She was truly comfortable, truly herself, in exactly three places: at Books and More, in front of her easel, and at the graveyard.
All of which probably made her crazier than any of the other crazy stuff about her.
Still, Books was like a second home. A first home, really, because here she could talk about her art or be moody and quiet and no one bothered her about it. No one looked at her with worried eyes.
She made her way around the shelves of books and reading tables, lifting a hand to Joe, already at the front counter. No one was working the cafe when she got there, which wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t unusual for Samuel to work the cafe, become bored when there were no customers for five minutes, and wander to the storeroom to unpack or to the office to run numbers, leaving the cafe totally unattended. No one really cared. Books was a small town store. If someone wanted coffee and no one was there, they’d give a shout and someone would show up. Eventually.
Jenny plucked a clean apron off one of the hooks on the cafe wall. She was wiping down the counters and refilling the sugar and cream containers when Tiffany rushed in.
“Oh, my God!” she said, grabbing an apron. “My mom is killing me. I told her I needed the car today, like I always do when I’m on the schedule, but she swore I didn’t. I had to wait for her to get back from Acton and then practically risk my life getting here on time.”
“You should have called me,” Jenny said, putting the bag of sugar back on the shelf. “I could have picked you up on my way in.”
“She said she’d be back at one. You know how she is.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “By the time I knew she was going to be late, I figured you’d already left.” She put her hands on her hips. “So what are we doing?”
“I’m refilling. Samuel says there’s going to be a crowd later for some signing. You want to wipe down the tables and stuff?”
“Sure.”
Tiffany picked up a rag and took it to the sink, rinsing it out before moving to the counter. She wiped it down while Jenny refilled the cream, their silence changing into one of the weird ones where Jenny knew Tiffany was trying to decide whether or not to say something. It didn’t happen very often. Tiffany was pretty much the only person Jenny considered a friend. But there were still things Tiffany didn’t know. Still things Jenny kept close and secret.
It was an improvement. Until she’d gotten to know Tiffany at Books, Jenny’s best friend had been her art. She’d been surprised to find out that she and Tiffany had that in common, though Tiffany was more into digital media than fine art. A lot of stuff had surprised her about Tiffany. The more Jenny got to know her, the more she couldn’t understand why Tiffany hung out with people like Amber and Gary. But when she finally got the guts to mention it, Tiffany just laughed nervously and said she’d known them forever.
She didn’t seem to like them much, though, and by the time spring turned into summer, Tiffany spent more time with Jenny than she did with Amber. Mostly they hung out at the mall, went to lunch in town, or watched movies at Tiffany’s house. But it was nice, having someone to call a friend.
“So … ” Tiffany finally said, wiping at the same place she’d
been wiping for the last five minutes.
“Uh-huh?” Jenny prompted, keeping her eyes on the coffee pot like it wouldn’t make coffee if she didn’t watch it.
“Last night was weird, right?”
Jenny shrugged. “It was just a game.”
“Did you read the piece of paper?”
Jenny nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well?” Tiffany had stopped moving.
“Well what?”
Tiffany sighed. “Come on, Jen. You know what. It was freaky.”
Jenny turned to her. “It was just a game.”
Tiffany’s eyes met hers. “I saw it happen. I know those guys can be jerks, but I don’t think they were fooling around. They seemed scared when the pointer started moving. Scared and shocked.”
Jenny crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say about it. Is it weird that some kind of spirit contacted you guys through the Ouija board? Yes. Do I know what it was or why it said what it did? No.”
Tiffany set the rag down. “Okay, but what happened when you … you know, when you blacked out or whatever?”
“I didn’t black out,” Jenny insisted.
“Then what was it?”
Jenny took a deep breath, pulling her eyes from Tiffany’s, looking at the wall instead as she tried to remember, to take herself back to the dark space in which she’d felt someone reaching for her, sending her a message.
“I don’t know. It’s like I was there with you guys, and then I was sort of … floating, I guess.”
“Floating?”
Jenny shook her head. “That’s not the right word. It’s like I was in another place. A dark place.”
“Could you hear us talking? Did you know a message was coming through the board?” Tiffany prompted.
“I heard Amber ask the first couple of questions. After that, it was almost like being in a dream, except I felt like someone was there, trying to tell me something.”
“Like what?”
Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t quite grab onto it.”
“Was it … threatening? Or scary?” Tiffany asked.
Jenny thought back to the darkness, to the feeling of not wanting to leave, of needing the message, which didn’t make sense since she didn’t know what the message was.
“No,” she said. “And actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I wanted to leave. It was like I wanted—needed—the message, whatever it was.” She laughed nervously, starting a pot of decaf. “Anyway, like I said, it was just a game.”
Tiffany didn’t say anything, and a few seconds later Jenny looked over at her, still wiping the same spot on the counters.
“Tiff?”
She looked up. “Yeah?”
“It was just a game.”
Tiffany nodded. “Right. I know that, Jen.”
“Good.”
Jenny went back to work, trying to ignore the voice that told her it was a lie. That the feeling she’d had when they used the Ouija board hadn’t been a game at all. That it had been just the beginning of something she couldn’t yet understand.
* * *
The signing was packed. Jenny and Tiffany worked nonstop for two hours, filling orders for coffee, tea, and the occasional muffin or pastry brought in from Bianca’s Bakery down the road. Jenny was grateful they didn’t have time to talk more about the Ouija board. Thinking about it just made it seem weirder than it already was.
Tiffany offered to go with Jenny to the gallery in Acton when their shift ended. They took Jenny’s car, stopping at her house to load up the paintings. Jenny was glad she’d wrapped them in the thick brown paper during her stop at home before work. She wasn’t ready to explain the newly added figure, and if there was one person who would notice the addition, it was Tiffany.
They listened to music, talking about the show and their plans for summer, on the way. Jenny told Tiffany about the Daulton house, leaving out any mention of Ben. By the time they got to the gallery, several other students were unloading their artwork. Jenny hadn’t liked the idea that the gallery owner planned to handle the installations himself, but now she was glad. She and Tiffany left her paintings, still wrapped, against the wall in a section marked with her name. They would be on the walls when she came to the showing tomorrow night.
By the time they got back to the parking lot at Books it was after eight o’clock. Jenny pulled up alongside Tiffany’s car and smiled at her friend.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“No problem,” Tiffany said. “It was cool, and it’s going to be awesome to see your paintings on the wall of a real art gallery.”
“Wait a minute.” Jenny did a double take. “You’re coming to the show?”
Tiffany laughed. “Well, duh!”
“You don’t have to,” Jenny said. “I mean, it’s probably going to be boring.”
Tiffany shook her head. “You’re my best friend, Jen. This is a big deal. I want to be there!”
The admission touched Jenny. “Thanks. I’d love to have you there.”
“What about your dad?” Tiffany asked. “Is he coming?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’ll make him nervous, but he’ll be supportive and everything.”
Tiffany nodded. She hesitated before speaking again. “You know, I meant what I said.”
“Which part?”
“Well, all of it, but I’m talking about the best friend thing. I just want you to know that I’m here. You know, if you want to talk or anything.”
Jenny looked down at the steering wheel. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told Tiffany about her visions. About the weird ability she’d had since she was a kid. Scratch that. She did know why. Because it was weird. Because it made her weird. It had set her apart from everyone from the beginning, even though no one but Jenny knew why.
Now, there was one person who didn’t make her feel like a freak, which was one more person than she’d had before. She wasn’t willing to risk it just to bare her soul.
She looked over at Tiffany and smiled. “Thanks, Tiff. I’m okay. I know I’m … weird and—”
“Stop saying that!” Tiffany said. “You’re not weird. I mean, okay, you’re weird sometimes, but no more than the rest of us.”
Jenny laughed. “Right. It’s just … it’s me. I can’t always say the things I want to say.”
Tiffany nodded. “That’s okay. I just want you to know you can trust me. You know, if you ever want to.”
“Thanks,” Jenny said softly.
Tiffany reached for the door handle. “So I’ll see you at the gallery tomorrow.”
“See you.”
Jenny waited for Tiffany to start her car before heading home. She thought about what Tiffany said. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to open up, take a chance that someone might accept her, weirdness and all. The idea made her stomach knot with anxiety. What if she was wrong?
But Jenny already knew the answer. If she told Tiffany everything and Tiffany thought she was crazy, Jenny would be right back where she started. Alone.
SIX
The graveyard was quiet. There was no wind, and the air held the heavy heat of Connecticut in summer. Jenny ran a hand across her brow, setting down the paper and pencil and stretching her fingers.
“How many more are there?” She turned her eyes to the dark-haired woman kneeling at a gravestone one row over.
The woman rocked back on her heels, gazing across the cemetery like she was calculating when Jenny knew that it wasn’t necessary. Morgan Frazier kept count of every tombstone and every mausoleum in the old graveyard. She could have recited the numbers by heart.
She turned her green eyes on Jenny. “Four hundred and sixty-three.”
“But who’s counting, right?” Jenny laughed.
Morgan grinned. “Right.”
It might have been wrong to feel closer to Morgan than she did to her own father, but Jenny couldn’t help it. Morgan had been her mo
ther’s best friend, and the older woman seemed to understand Jenny in ways her dad just couldn’t. Morgan accepted her without getting freaked out when Jenny felt herself slipping toward the darkness that always seemed to lurk at the edges of her consciousness. Helping in the cemetery was a bonus. Guaranteed time to think in silence or talk about her art while they worked their way through the tombstones, rubbing the epitaphs so that Morgan could add them to her study of the strange runes and markings that appeared on some of them.
“I heard your dad has a new project,” Morgan said.
Jenny picked up the pencil and paper, rubbing the marker in front of her to get an impression of the stylized “3” with swirled ends etched into the gravestone’s surface.
“Yeah. An old farmhouse outside of town.”
“You going to help?”
Jenny couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped her mouth. “Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
Jenny sighed. “If I make a big deal out of it we’ll just end up arguing about the same things all over again. He’ll tell me there’s no future in art, I’ll tell him it doesn’t matter, since it’s my future anyway, and he’ll end up worried and unhappy which will just make me worried and unhappy, too.”
“Right.” Morgan didn’t look up from her work. “But you still have a choice, and choosing what you want isn’t always easy.”
“I guess.”
Jenny had moved onto the next stone when Morgan spoke again. “I heard the client has a son your age.”
From the teasing tone in the older woman’s voice, Jenny knew right where this was going. She shook her head. “Uh-uh. Don’t even think about it.”
“Think about what?”
“Don’t try to act innocent!” Jenny said. “I know what you’re thinking!”
Morgan stood, picking up her stuff and moving on to the next gravestone. “What am I thinking?”
“That Dad’s client has a son who’s a potential boyfriend for me.”
Morgan shrugged, glancing over at Jenny. “So?”