by Maria Quick
I was so irate thinking about her that I crashed into Mr. Randle, one of the few neighbors I knew by name, knocking him to the ground. Sheepishly helping him up, I realized that his red-rimmed eyes had tears in and he should’ve been in work at this time. He shakily accepted my hand and attempted to smile, but it vanished as quickly as it had arisen.
‘Mr. Randle? Are you alright?’ I asked him all the same.
‘No, I’m not. I don’t think I’ll be right ever again.’
It was then that I belatedly remembered he’d recently lost his child. Yeah, another dead person. It feels like I’m surrounded by dead guys. Or maybe I just take more notice than most people.
I tried to cover my awkwardness by offering to walk him home. He was a kindly man, who worked in the city at an insurance firm. He always wore cardigans over a check shirt, and today was no different, even if neither were buttoned correctly. He seemed to be on the brink of simply collapsing but he held on, just. I took a firm but caring hold of his arm and led him home, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t. Possibly that was due to my reputation, shall we say. “Sorry for your loss,” however bland, is usually preferred over “he’s actually right behind you.” Some things aren’t meant for people to know.
Emotionally whacked, I waved him goodbye and headed home. I was too preoccupied with the drama I’d suddenly found myself in to use the back entrance as usual, and I managed to catch Stacy in the hallway. This was turning out to be a fabulous day.
‘Hey, Bree!’ she trilled, her misshapen maw trying to act out a smile. I shuddered.
‘It’s Ann, Stacy,’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Sorry! I know you said that, but I just think it’s a really old name.’
‘More suited to you?’
Her smile faltered and settled into the usual grimace she reserved for me. Her eyebrows struggled against their jailor to show anxiety, but she only looked like she really needed to use the bathroom.
‘Look, I know we’ve kinda gotten off on the wrong foot, but I want us to be friends. Shaun and I have set a date for June 21st-’
‘That’s next month,’ I interrupted. She nodded. Oh hell no, this was not happening on my watch. ‘That’s fast. You’re not...’
My eyes drifted down to her perfectly-tanned stomach. Really, a crop top at her age? God, she made it so difficult to like her.
‘Oh no, oh no! God, no. No, I am not pregnant,’ she cried, gasping for breath.
‘Oh, wow. I really thought you were ready to pop,’ I grinned, eyes lingering on her torso. It had the intended effect and I distinctly saw her abs tense.
‘Maybe I’ve been a little lax on my diet- look, I’m not pregnant,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t want to fight, Ann. I really do want to get to know you properly. I love your father, and he loves me. We want to make a go of it.’
‘Sure you do. Is that a diamond?’ I gasped, looking at the boulder on her engagement ring. She covered it, embarrassed. I was pleased to see her flush. Good to know she had some humility left in her. I made a move to skip past her but she blocked my path, exasperated.
‘I know your dad has had girlfriends in the past who only wanted money, but I’m not like that. We’ve known each other for years. I know Shaun has told you this before, but you don’t seem to want to listen. I love him, Ann. Nothing will change that.’
Okay, I was definitely in the midst of a soap opera. I half-expected her to fall to her knees and scream at the top of her lungs. Now, that would be a sight.
Unfortunately, she seemed deadly serious. She’d dug her manicured talons right into my dad’s heart and wallet and she wasn’t letting go.
‘Can we be honest?’ she pleaded.
I nodded, not expecting her to be.
‘You’ve had issues. I know that. I know this will be difficult. But I’m here for you. I’m not going to be your mom, honey. Nobody can replace her. But I can be a friend. You can talk to me, about anything. Anything at all.’
I could almost picture it. I’d dye my hair the same cigarette-stain yellow, and I’d rub Cheetos on my skin to match her tan, and we’d stop eating gluten and whatever other ingredient was totally gross right now. And my IQ would drop steadily until I was a burbling bimbo like her.
At least my dad would be happy.
‘I don’t think that’s gonna happen,’ I told her.
‘Why not?’ she pouted. Wow, I really wanted to slap her.
‘Still being honest?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ she grinned.
‘You don’t know the least of my issues. And you never will, because I don’t like or trust you. You’re only with my dad for his money, and I will not let you marry him. Not in this life or any other.’
‘I heard you talking last night,’ she blurted out. ‘I know what you’re going through.’
‘Really?’ I chuckled. ‘Then, you’ll know I’m being serious when I say I will do whatever it takes to get rid of you.’
Finally, some movement on her face. A crack, maybe.
‘Are you alright?’ I asked, concerned.
‘Excuse me. I have to make a phone call,’ she said icily.
I watched her stiffly make her way to the lounge, pulling out her cell as she did. There were tears before she even closed the door. Botox Barbie was gone.
I felt nothing but relief. I wanted to dance my way up the stairs but I met George, frowning down at me.
‘What?’ I asked innocently.
‘She seemed sincere,’ he told me. Ugh, not another one fooled. What was it with men and a pair of overblown breasts?
‘She seems a lot of things, but she’s not any of them. One thing I will say is she’s a good actress. Maybe if she’d moved to LA, her life could’ve been different.’
But instead, she’d given up on a life of work to steal my father’s hard-earned cash. Try to, anyway.
‘Your dad seems happy,’ George went on, gesturing to a corny photo shoot they’d done. I hadn’t been invited, of course. Wouldn’t want to ruin the photographs now, would I?
‘My dad has been looking for a mother-figure ever since I was born. I’ve tried telling him that he’s the only parent I want, but he doesn’t listen.’
‘So, you’re worried your dad will leave you or something if he gets close to someone?’
‘Uh, no. I’m worried that my dad will lose his head over a bunch of silicone with bleached blond hair.’
The door to the lounge opened below and I looked up in time to see her take her engagement ring off and leave it in the key bowl in the hallway. She sniffled as she walked out of my home, closing the door gently behind her.
‘Bye, Stacy,’ I called after her, immediately turning back to George. He had an unreadable expression on his face.
‘What?’
He only shook his head.
‘This has been going on for years. You caught the tail end of the saga, believe me. Now are you coming upstairs, or what?’
Stupid question, since he had no other option. He begrudgingly followed me up the winding staircase, grimacing at the amount of cheesy photographs my dad and Stacy had taken together. See, I knew he’d see reason eventually. I let him peer at them a while longer as I went to my bedroom, switching on my TV. Taking a deep breath, I readied myself to ask him the most important question on my mind. He stiffened as he walked into my room.
‘What is it?’ he asked, beginning to panic.
I picked up a couple of Blu-rays and showed him the covers.
‘Do you like Steven Seagal?’
3
My parents were childhood sweethearts, back when that was still a thing. Mom was a cheerleader and Dad was the quarterback, with a promising career ahead. They had a GPA of 3.8 and were beautiful and popular. You know the type. Actually popular, not in an I-hate-you-you’re-popular way. They named me Brianna Destiny Mendes, possibly with the hope of my following in their footsteps. Unfortunately, that didn’t really work out. I’m kinda plain looking, I have no friends an
d I see ghosts. Sorry Mom and Pop.
Not that I ever met her, anyway. She left the hospital as soon as I was born. Post-natal depression. She couldn’t handle it, so she walked out on the both of us. Moved to Fiji, as you do. Over the years she’d tried to get in touch, but I wanted nothing to do with her. I never needed her, and I didn’t really want to know. I knew all I wanted to from my dad. The main thing was she never saw ghosts, so that’d be another parent who wouldn’t understand. I already had one, didn’t need another.
Dad never made the big leagues. He tried his hardest, but it was pretty clear. He was a good player, not great. He never would be, but like I said, he was smart. After an injury, he gave up playing and took up coaching instead. Turned out to be a sweet move. He was a lot better at the tactical side of football than he was the physical, and he got a job at one of the best college football teams in the whole of the US. Makes a pretty good pay-packet, too. Hence our nineteen-room home and a long line of gold diggers.
I don’t know when the whole ghost-seeing thing began, but I must’ve been young. It’s what I’ve always known. Translucent people would come over to me, confused and afraid, and scream at me about their murder. Pretty weird for a seven-year-old with her dad buying toys at the mall, but I got used to it. They couldn’t hurt me, and didn’t want to. They only needed help.
So, I helped. I talked to them whenever they appeared, wherever that may be. Dad thought it was a phase and let me get on with it. Kids in school quickly thought me insane and abandoned me. Within months, I had no friends and my dad began to realize this wasn’t going away. He took me to psychiatrists, psychologists, psychotherapists – basically, anyone with the word “psych” in their job description. They couldn’t do anything. I mean, I know what I was seeing and I knew stuff about the ghosts that I’d never otherwise know. I wasn’t hurting anyone, and I wasn’t going crazy. I was still me, with a side effect. They didn’t really want to give me pills for it since I was only a kid. And not a single one of them ever believed me, so I quit them all. Since then, my dad decided to ignore every word I say about ghosts. He doesn’t do a very good job, bless his heart.
At least I’m mostly independent, though. I learned to get along fine on my own. No living person would talk to me anyway, so there was nothing stopping me having conversations with ghosts whenever they popped up. It would actually be funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.
The only person I can legitimately call a friend is Michael Davis, nicknamed Mickey D. As in fast food. He’s fat, so it was inevitable. Poor guy. He really doesn’t like school. It’d be fine if he was smart, but he’s distinctly average in everything except gym class, where he fails exponentially. Out of the two of us, he definitely gets the bum deal. Fat is safe to deal with and mock. Seeing ghosts, especially murder victims, tends to frighten people. Now that is fun. I usually wait until the main asshole Brandon’s on a roll, calling me Casper about a million times and then I look right behind him, mouth wide open. I nod my head, listening intently to what the “ghost” is saying and then give Brandon a grave look.
‘Don’t drive home tonight,’ I’ll tell him, or I’ll ask if his mom works in that big insurance building downtown. I know she does, and it totally freaks him out. After doing that a couple of times, most kids in school avoided me like the plague. Brandon’s stupid, so he still throws the odd insult my way but nothing I can’t handle.
That’s pretty much it. I’m a weirdo, nobody understands me and I hate everybody.
And that brings me to today. Bypassing the life stories of about a hundred morons my dad dated, anyway. Same old, same old. It’s felt like there’s been a never-ending train of them since I was a little girl. A vicious cycle. My dad introduces some mannequin, I don’t like her, she leaves. And lather, rinse, repeat.
‘Oh my God, I cannot believe I sat through that whole damn movie,’ George moaned. He stretched, for some reason, and gave me a look of complete and utter loathing.
‘What, you didn’t like it?’
‘I thought you were kidding. I did not have you down as an action girl. Your name’s Bree, right?’
‘Ann,’ I corrected.
He guffawed, catching me off-guard. I grimaced.
‘What’s so funny about that?’ I snapped.
‘I’ll tell you another time,’ he said after a moment, still shaking with laughter. Pursing my lips, I watched him wander over to my movie collection.
‘You seriously have every action movie ever. This is terrible, you know that, don’t you?’ he critiqued, groaning. ‘Don’t you have anything else? Anything at all? I’d even settle for a chick flick- wait, no. I take that back.’
‘I thought guys liked fights and explosions?’
He shrugged, taking a trip around my room with disgust written all over his face. I already regretted inviting him in.
‘It’s alright. I’ve never really gotten into it,’ he sniffed. Now it was my turn to groan.
‘Don’t tell me. It’s not a movie unless it’s in another language? I bet you’re into arthouse and indie.’
He’d been starting to grow a hipster beard. I should’ve seen the signs.
‘Are they the only two genres for you? Action or arthouse? Please. I like thrillers. Crime dramas. A good adventure.’
‘You’re part of one now,’ I helpfully pointed out. He smirked.
‘Ain’t that the truth.’
‘So, what else? Music, TV?’
‘I don’t watch TV,’ he replied ponderously, looking at my book collection with interest. ‘I did not have you down for a reader.’
He sounded impressed with me, instead of the disappointment I was getting used to hearing. It was unfortunate that I had to prove him wrong.
‘I’m not. I had an empty shelf and nothing to put there,’ I explained, sounding stupid.
‘Oh. I thought we had something in common there for a second.’
Color me intrigued. My bookshelf was full of coffee table books, ones that nobody in their right mind would read for fun. I shuffled off my bed and edged over to guess at what he was looking at. Looking him up and down, I quickly made the only assumption possible.
‘Is it the modern art book?’
He looked hurt.
‘Ew, you have a modern art book? No, it was the one on Mayan history.’
‘I have a Mayan history book?’
‘Yeah. Quite a few, actually. Did you randomly buy stuff that looked vaguely intellectual?’
‘Well, when you put it like that...’
It was his turn to look me up and down. Critically, of course.
‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen,’ I said, dignified. I may have snapped.
‘Wow. I thought girls were supposed to mature quicker than guys? By that logic, I thought we’d be on the same level.’
‘Oh? And how old are you?’
‘Nineteen,’ he replied. He pointed toward the history book he so desperately wanted to read. ‘I’ve actually read that as part of my studies into Ancient Civilizations. It was my major. My professor was going on a dig for a couple of weeks in the summer, close to Mansoura. Only a small dig, and he wouldn’t get to see much, but he invited me along. I’d just paid off the deposit when-’
He closed his eyes, his mind going back to the day before. Weirdly, little things like that were usually the worst part for lucies. Never seeing family or friends again, that was something big that they could get their heads around. It was when they remembered that they had concert tickets, or a vacation booked, that it hit them. They were no longer people. They could no longer do things. They’d had plans, but death got in the way instead of life.
I awkwardly decided not to break the silence so we both stood there, giving my bookshelf some much needed company. I wanted to ask where Mansoura was, but he’d probably start jibing about my age again.
‘I hope my dad gets his money back. He’s gonna need it,’ he said, voice hoarse.
Lucies couldn’t cry, but they co
uld come pretty close.
‘Hey-’ I started, reaching out a comforting hand. I never got the chance.
The front door slammed open downstairs, giving us both a fright.
‘Brianna!’ my dad yelled, sounding furious. I sighed. Guess I’d have to deal with that sooner or later.
‘Stay here,’ I whispered to George, rushing to head off my dad before he stormed upstairs trying to find me.
‘I’m here, Dad,’ I called calmly. ‘I’m coming.’
I trotted toward the sound of his voice and stopped when I saw him, almost tumbling down the few remaining steps. He looked awful. His hair was unusually disheveled, his sun-kissed face an unflattering burgundy. He’d been crying.
He reminded me of Mr. Randle.
‘I have tried to raise you on my own,’ he spoke slowly, spelling out every word but still, he faltered.
‘I know that-’
‘Let me finish!’ he bellowed. I was aware of our door being wide open, and made a move to shut it. He slammed it behind him before I got the chance. I froze. My dad had never used violence before. This wasn’t like him at all.
‘I have tried my best to raise you,’ he tried again, leaning against the banister for support. ‘I gave you everything you asked for. I’ve never asked for anything in return.’
‘I know-’
‘Please, Brianna,’ he implored. The rage died down and he only sounded exhausted now. I felt bad for him.
‘I’m sorry, Dad. Please, continue.’
He looked all of his forty-five years plus another decade on top. I couldn’t understand it. I was protecting him, and he didn’t want to know. It didn’t make any sense.
‘You don’t know what I’ve done for you. After everything, I thought I deserved a little happiness.’
‘You’re not happy with me?’ I asked, hurt.
‘Of course I am,’ he cooed, coming over to stroke my hair. It was odd, but I let him. I didn’t want to see him cry anymore.
‘I love you, Brianna. You’re all I’ve got now. But I love Stacy, too, and you haven’t been fair to her at all. She said you threatened her. She’s afraid of you, baby. She’s left me. For good. Why can’t I be happy, Bree? Why won’t you let me?’