Susannah’s face scrunches up, like she’s concentrating too hard. “I don’t know. I never got the feeling that Jaxon was intentionally mean.”
Mary leans in. “Okay, I know we’re talking about Jaxon. And I want to hear every detail of that story. But what is Elijah like?”
“We’re in the middle of a crisis and you want to talk about boys? Unbelievable,” Alice says.
Mary ignores her. “Just for a minute. Come on, Sam, dish.”
I half smile at her. “What do you mean?”
“Details,” Mary says. “All of them.”
Even though Alice objected, I can tell by her look that she’s curious, too. They all wear the same expectant expression.
“Um…well…he has an accent. A slight one. Kinda British-sounding.”
“How old?” Mary asks.
“Eighteen when he died,” I say. “He’s formal, like in a seventeenth-century way. Super stubborn.”
“Looks?” Alice asks.
“Tall, about a head taller than me. Dark wavy hair, gray eyes, high cheekbones. Sometimes when he stands near a fireplace or looks out the window, he looks more like a portrait than real.”
Mary squeals. “So basically, he’s beautiful.”
My face gets hot. Susannah grins at me. They all do.
“You’ve kissed him, haven’t you?” Mary says.
“Uh…” I laugh awkwardly. “I…”
Alice looks mischievous. “That good, huh?”
I’m sure my cheeks have transcended red and moved on to purple. “You know what? I think I hear my dad calling,” I say, and head up my driveway.
“Uh-huh,” Mary says, and they all laugh again.
I wave goodbye, but I don’t feel like laughing. I shouldn’t be talking about Elijah like this. I know better than to get attached to people who leave. I never want to make that mistake again.
“Sam,” my dad’s voice calls from his office the second I close the door. “Come on in here a minute.”
He sits behind his desk, which is covered with papers and books. I take the seat across from him. I always like visiting my dad in his office, getting a glimpse into his business world.
“I got a call back from our Haxtun relative,” he says.
I stiffen. “You did?”
“I did…and I decided to do a little digging. Funny thing is, she said that no one in our family has been named Myra since Myra Haxtun Harper, who survived the Titanic, and who is obviously dead.” He stares at me, like he’s gauging my reaction.
My heart pounds wildly. “What? That’s so weird. Why would someone send us packages that say they’re from her, then?”
He continues talking like I didn’t ask a question. “And it occurred to me that you thought something strange had happened with the painting in the hallway. So I went and looked through some of Mom’s historical ledgers, and wouldn’t you know it, that painting is actually of Myra.”
I sit perfectly still, nervous that if I even gesture wrong, he’ll see right through me. “So what does that mean? Do you think it was a prank or some twisted history fanatic?”
“What I do know is that you already figured out who Myra was, Sam. And what I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me.”
So much for sitting still. “I didn’t. I—”
“Think carefully before you continue that sentence. Every night, you’ve been poring over Titanic history, which I find hard to believe didn’t include the Harpers. And I’ve never known you in your entire life to walk away from an unanswered question. I thought it was strange when you told me not to look into it. Now I’m positive that there’s something going on you’re not telling me about.”
My stomach drops fast and hard. “I…” I can’t think of a possible out from this situation. “I didn’t want to upset you after…well, after everything that happened.”
“After Vivian, you mean.”
I cringe. “Yeah.”
“And why would this upset me?” He’s not mad, but he’s completely serious and focused, like he’s searching out a weak spot in one of his business deals.
“You don’t like anything like that.”
“Anything like what?”
“Magic.” The word sticks in my mouth like peanut butter.
He’s quiet for a second. “And you think whatever is going on involves magic?”
“Yes.”
My dad moves slightly backward, like he’s pulling away from my words. “And the other day at breakfast?”
I hesitate. “I saw something.”
“And you lied about it?”
This hole is getting perilously deep. “Yes.”
“I see,” he says matter-of-factly. He rolls a pen on his desk for no apparent reason and frowns at it. “Do you know why I moved away from Salem, Sam?”
“Because of Mom?”
“Yes, but because of magic, too. It brings about bad things, things I’ve taken a lot of care not to have in my life. Things I don’t want in yours.”
Maybe I should just explain to him what’s going on and why I haven’t been telling the truth. “I get it, Dad. I really do. I’m more familiar than you know.”
His face shows pain. “Familiar? Do you mean Vivian?”
“Well, yes, but…” It’s not likely I’ll have another opening like this to ask for the potion. I brace the chair I’m sitting on. “I have these…Well, see, the thing is, I…I’ve actually done a few spells myself.”
“You’re telling me you’ve done magic?” His tone has gone from upset to almost frantic. “No, Sam. No. That can’t happen. You can’t do magic. It’s too dangerous.”
“But I—”
“No.”
I feel like I’m shrinking, like my dad loves me less than he did an hour ago and in the absence of his love I’ve somehow become physically smaller.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself. I’ve never seen him this worked up.
“Take care of what?”
“Moving us back to New York City.”
“What?” I can’t find my words. I can’t find my logic. I can’t find my breath. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”
“Not from where I sit.”
“But the Meriwethers…”
“They can come visit.”
“My friends…”
“They can also visit.”
“And this house?” Full of our family history and all my memories of Elijah.
“We’ll rent it or sell it.”
I knew he would react badly, but I never expected this. “Wait. I’ll stop. I won’t do magic.”
He shakes his head.
“I just said I’d stop.” My voice is getting louder.
“You’ve been lying to me, Sam. You look like you’re barely sleeping. I should have guessed that magic was involved. It always is in Salem. I just thought because you were so happy here…I’m sorry, but I think it’s best we leave.”
“Be mad at me. Fine. But look at all the good things that have come out of living in Salem. Mrs. Meriwether is certifiably one of the best humans on the planet. We have this amazing house. I’ve made friends. Me, your daughter, the perpetual loner.” I’m waving my hands. “And Mom. Mom came from Salem.”
His eyes are two iron gates shutting me out. “You’ll understand in time that I’m doing this for you.”
“I don’t want you to do this for me!”
If possible, he looks more upset than I feel.
I stand up and my chin trembles. “I’m not leaving.” The first tear falls, and I hit it away so violently that my hand smacks against my cheek.
He stands now, too. “Sam…,” he says in his consoling voice.
“No.” I move away from my chair. “Don’t try to convince me this is better. It’s not better.”
He moves toward me, like he doesn’t fully believe I’m pushing him away. I can’t really believe it, either.
“You’re young still. You don’t know
what I know about this place.”
“What I don’t know, or what you think I can’t handle? Because I’m the one who got hanged by Vivian, not you.” My voice is quavering. “So don’t tell me what I know.”
He takes a step backward, like I hit him. I walk out of his office, tears on my cheeks.
I run up the stairs, down the hall, and into my room. I slam the door behind me and stop. Elijah stands by my window.
He looks at my wet cheeks. “Samantha.” For a brief second his expression softens. “I will return later.”
I wipe at my face with my sleeve. “No. Just tell me what you came to tell me.”
Elijah frowns. “It does not seem like the time to be discussing research.”
“It’s the perfect time to discuss research,” I say stubbornly, and sniffle.
Elijah raises an eyebrow at me. I can tell he disagrees. He waits for a second, then sighs. “I found a good deal of information on Bruce Ismay.”
“Good. That’s good,” I say, and wipe my eyes.
“Samantha, are you absolutely certain—”
“Yes,” I say before he can finish his sentence. I sit down on my bed, which is strewn with Titanic note cards and books. “I already know”—I clear my throat—“that the newspapers in his day tore Ismay apart for saving himself, but that’s as far as I read about him.”
Elijah nods. “There was a great deal of controversy about his decision. Captain Smith went down with the ship, even though it was his last voyage before retirement. And so did the chief designer, Thomas Andrews, without hesitation. It was discovered that Thomas Andrews’s architectural plans had included additional lifeboats, but the owners had declined. This colored the way people viewed Ismay’s decision to jump into a lifeboat to save himself; many did not forgive him for it.”
“People thought he should have sacrificed himself?”
“People thought he should have taken responsibility for his own ship and not taken a spot on a lifeboat that could have gone to someone else. His reputation never recovered,” he says.
“You think he has a reason to want to erase the memory of the ship sinking?” I ask, straightening a stack of note cards about Titanic passengers, most of which have “Body not found” written on the back.
“I think it is possible.”
I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them.
“There is also the drowned man you saw in the restaurant to consider,” Elijah says. “And the Collector Redd warned you about.”
“Man, you really listen to everything the girls and I say, don’t you?”
Elijah hesitates. “When something is important, I give it my full attention.”
I can’t help but think about what Mrs. Brown said about love and time. I swallow. “What about my history teacher, Mr. Wardwell? Did you find any information that might tell us more about him?”
“He has an inexhaustible amount of historical research. His house looks more like a reference room than a home. It will take me some time to go through it all.”
“From being a museum director?”
“Yes, certainly. But also from his decade of teaching history and his lifetime of interest in it. I have not found any spell-related items, though.”
“What about Mollie Mullin or Ada Mullin? Have you seen anything about them?”
“Not as of yet. I will continue looking.” Only, he doesn’t blink out like he usually does when our practical conversations are over. He just stands there.
I look up at him, and for a split second I see the old Elijah, the one I used to tell everything to. “My dad wants to move back to New York.”
“Move?” He shakes his head. “I just cannot imagine it. You belong here.”
My breath catches in my throat. I nod. I do belong here. “This is the first place I’ve ever felt like myself. And I’m scared that if we go back to New York, I’ll lose something, you know? That I won’t be me anymore. Have you ever felt that way?”
For a fraction of a second he looks so sad. “Yes.”
“With Abigail?”
“And with my parents when they were alive.”
I know I should stop the conversation, go back to discussing Ismay or Wardwell. That after everything that’s happened between us, getting attached to Elijah again is a terrible idea. But right now I don’t care. “Were you close to your parents?”
“Very.” He looks out the window. “My mother was someone who embodied joy so absolutely that she made everyone around her brighter. We always told her that if she did not have a body, she would burst into the sky like the sun and light the world.”
“And your dad?”
“Serious. Quiet. I have often thought my mother was the only person who could make him laugh. Abigail and I used to try, and he loved us, but his face was never as it was when he was watching my mother.”
I wait for him to continue, but he stays silent.
“I must go now,” he says. “But I will return before you sleep.” And he blinks out.
I close my eyes and hug my knees. Just tonight. This is a one-time deal. No more personal conversations. It will only make things harder.
I sip my coffee and take a small bite of pancake topped with glazed walnuts and whipped cream. My eyes are on my plate. I can’t even look at my dad or Jaxon. Mrs. Meriwether tries to start a few conversations, but they mostly consist of polite answers and some mumbling before they peter out. Another minute of silence goes by.
Mrs. Meriwether dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Okay. Enough. This sulking has to stop. It’s Monday, and you’re eating hand-whipped cream sprinkled with freshly ground vanilla and cinnamon. I simply will not have it.”
The three of us look at her, but no one says a word.
She scans our faces.
“I have to go. I have to pick up Niki—” Jaxon says.
“Well, it will have to wait a minute.” Mrs. Meriwether’s voice is stern. “We are practically family, the group of us. And there is clearly something going on, and I want to know what.”
Jaxon shrugs like he’s totally unconcerned.
We all stare at him.
Mrs. Meriwether tilts her head. “What’s the thing here, Jax? You haven’t been acting like yourself in days. None of your sweetness or laughter, just endless obsessing over Niki, a girl I’ve never heard you say particularly nice things about before now. And, Sam, you’ve got circles the size of Cadillacs under your eyes. I haven’t seen you this quiet in ages.”
My mouth opens but no sound comes out. My dad frowns.
I put down my fork and study my pancake.
“Sam and I are moving back to New York,” my dad says.
“Hold on a second.” Mrs. Meriwether’s eyes widen, and she waves her hands in the air. “Charlie, you’re moving and you didn’t tell me? Has the whole world gone mad in the past forty-eight hours?”
My dad flinches, but his expression remains stubborn. “It was only decided last night.”
I push my chair away from the table. “Time to go to school.”
“Sam,” my dad says, clearly upset.
“I’ll be late,” I say.
Jaxon gets up, too. “Same.”
We walk in silence to our bags and exit the house.
Jaxon stops just as he opens his truck door. “Sam?”
I turn around.
“Want a ride?”
I hesitate. “Bad mood” doesn’t begin to describe my state of being right now. But I need to talk to him, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had in days.
I nod and get in his passenger door.
“So you’re moving, huh?” Jaxon says. He turns the key in the ignition and backs out of his driveway.
“I really hope not,” I say.
“Might not be all bad.” His tone is distant.
I glare at him. “Yes. It will.”
“If you say so.”
How can he be so casual about all of this? Does he not care at all? “I know you’re mad at me.
And I know you’re dating Niki, but you’re also acting like we’re not even friends.”
He watches the road with a calm expression. “We’re friends.”
“Look, I know you think I’ve been closed off. And you were right. I was so hell-bent on being normal that I kept pretending certain things didn’t exist. I should have told you what was going on with me. Then we had our honesty talk and it ended badly. Can we just call a truce? I really don’t want to fight with you.”
“We’re not fighting.”
“But we’re also not really talking.”
Jaxon shrugs. “So?”
“See, that’s what I mean, right there.” I point at him.
Jaxon frowns. “What?”
“You’re acting like we’re not friends.” I turn so that I’m facing him. “If you’re mad at me, just say so. Yell at me. Or…I don’t know what, but something other than telling our parents our personal business over breakfast and then pretending like nothing weird is happening.”
“But nothing is happening.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Did he get swapped out for his evil twin? Where is Jaxon the talker, the one who always wants to get to the bottom of a problem?
The truck slows.
I look out the window. We’re not in the school parking lot; we’re by a curb in a residential neighborhood.
My pulse quickens as I recognize the brick house. “You brought me to pick up Niki?”
He opens his truck door and jumps out.
I jump out, too. He walks right past me and heads for her door. I grab his arm.
“Sam, stop.”
“No, you stop. Have you become completely insensitive?”
A door closes, and we both turn to see Niki walking toward us.
She frowns so deeply I wonder if her face will ever recover. “Sam?”
Jaxon pulls away from me.
Niki walks straight to him and wraps her arms around his chest.
“You know what?” I say. “I think I’ll walk.”
Niki smirks. “Jealous much?”
I tense. “I so don’t have the patience for you right now. Don’t push me.”
Whatever Niki sees in my expression must be convincing, because she breaks eye contact and pulls on Jaxon. “Let’s go.”
Haunting the Deep Page 18