Not Quite Fixed

by Lyla Payne

  “What are you doing here, Gracie?” Leo doesn’t turn around, but he doesn’t sound upset. The scratchiness in his tone speaks more to fatigue. Or resignation.

  “I’m not sure,” I confess, choosing the truth. Of course, lying to Leo was never really an option.

  That earns me an over-the-shoulder glance and a quirked eyebrow, the combination of which washes a wave of warm nostalgia—and something else that I can’t quite catch—over my entire body. The combination brings an easy smile to my lips. I shrug.

  “What are you doing here?” I echo.

  “Visiting my dad.”

  A shiver starts at my damp toes and works its way up my spine. I pull my coat tighter and glance toward the tree, suddenly uneasy, but nobody’s there. Not a ghost, not a person. Not that I can see, anyway.

  Well, Harlan, if you brought me here, now would be a good time to tell me why…

  The silent thought winds its way into the twilight, but no answer appears written in the sky. This is so typical of one of my ghosts. They drag me around and then abandon me to blunder my way into insights and answers on my own.

  Or not.

  I stare down at the headstone and bite my lower lip. The date of death is over two years ago; the third anniversary is coming up. Leo’s head falls forward for a few seconds, his eyes shut tight and his lips pressed together, before he stands up and faces me. He looks handsome in a dark coat that matches his black hair, his blue eyes startling in the gray tones of the evening.

  There’s wariness there, and curiosity. Warmth, because Leo. And something else that’s hard to pin down.

  “You saw him, didn’t you.” It’s not a question that leaves his slightly chapped lips to traverse the space between us, but a statement.

  I feel my eyes widen in surprise, my lower jaw dropping the slightest bit open. “You saw him, too?”

  Now I don’t know what to think. Harlan has shown himself to Trent, Leo, and me. Who else?

  “I thought I imagined it at first. Nearly shit myself. But yes. A couple of times, now.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He shuffles his feet, looking down at the damp grass with cheeks that might be getting pink from more than the cold.

  “Don’t you dare say because you were embarrassed to confess you saw a ghost.” My teeth chatter. I clamp them together, but Leo is out of his coat before I can open my mouth to tell him it’s fine.

  To be honest, I feel about a hundred times better wrapped up in it, and not only because of the extra layer of warmth. It smells…good. I leave it.

  “It’s not that,” he assures me. “Well, it’s not only that. More a combination of not being sure what I’d actually seen, at first. I’d been drinking. And you know. We’re not exactly chatting regularly.”

  He doesn’t remind me that I’m the one who put that wall up between us, but he doesn’t have to. It’s only been a few weeks; I haven’t forgotten. Though now that I’m here with him, it’s hard to remember why I thought it so necessary.

  Oh, right. Because I was tired of feeling like our friendship means far more to me than it does to him. The reminder makes my stomach hurt.

  “Well, I wish you would have said something. You could have saved me a couple of bruises.”

  He raises an eyebrow, amusement sparkling in his gaze. “You’d think someone who hangs out with ghosts regularly would be less jumpy.”

  “You’d think,” I say, my tone dry.

  It’s less than a second before I take a step back, at least in my head. It’s too easy to fall into our old, easy patterns. This is why I need space.

  I clear my throat. “Has he tried to tell you anything? Lead you anywhere?”

  Leo shakes his head, but his eyes are distant again, shuttered. He’s sensed the shift in my demeanor. “No. I can try talking to him if he comes back, but I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

  Maybe since he first appeared to me. I make a mental note to ask Trent when he saw Harlan last, to see if the dates seem to coincide.

  The slightest twinge of guilt tickles my gut at the thought. I should tell Leo about Trent—he deserves to know he’s not the only Boone who’s seen his father. And, as much as it pains me to consider it, he also deserves to know that I finally have some answers about his falling-out with half of his family, answers he’s gone out of his way to avoid giving me.

  Then again, he’s avoided pretty much every serious topic about his past and his life, so it’s not all that odd that I would have to go elsewhere to get information about Harlan.

  That doesn’t make it right, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind. Not one of my devils, who gives terrible advice and makes worse observations. Not my grandma’s voice, either, which sometimes reminds me to mind my manners or think before I speak.

  Wherever the voice came from, it’s not wrong. I’m not sure where Leo stands on friendship with me, but in my heart, I’m his friend. Which means not lying to him.

  If I hadn’t run into Leo tonight—or been led to him, whatever—then I could have convinced myself that staying silent wasn’t too bad of a transgression. That I was maybe even protecting Trent. But now? Looking into Leo’s keen, blue eyes as the two of us try to avoid everything we actually should be saying?

  I can’t add something else to that list.

  “Your brother’s seen him, too,” I say, my voice soft. It’s only when the silence is broken that I realize how long it has gone on.

  How long we’ve just been staring at each other in the near darkness.

  My heart throbs with an ache that spreads through my whole body, settling deep in my bones. I miss beers on the back porch and early morning runs and Marcella and even Lindsay and her smart mouth. Mostly, I miss the easy cadence of my friendship with Leo.

  I have lots of friends. Great ones. But there’s something different about what Leo brings to my life. It’s just…I don’t know. Challenging while still being familiar. Or like our trains of thought travel on converging, if not identical, paths.

  A spark lights his eyes at the mention of Trent—part pain, part resentment—but then it’s gone.

  “You talked to him?”

  I nod, biting my lower lip. “His friend called me. He was worried.”

  “His friend…”

  “Yes. I met him when I was investigating Ellen.”

  “I see.” Leo is like a talking statue. His hands are fisted at his sides and not a single muscle, other than the ones needed to form words, has moved. I’ve seen him pissed before, and this is like that. But maybe worse.

  “You dad isn’t talking to Trent, either,” I offer.

  “But I’m sure my brother had plenty to say about how he died.” He swallows, hard, but his eyes give nothing more away.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s my turn to swallow. “I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

  “You knew. And that’s why you went behind my back.” The words come out like needles, flung so hard they stick in my skin. “Tell me, Gracie, have you gotten all the juicy gossip your little heart desires?”

  My first instinct is to go on the defensive; I’ve already felt guilty for days. But a surprising burst of indignations rises straight up through the murky, bad emotions.

  “I’ve been a good friend to you, Leo. I work at a library with pretty decent local archives. I’m friends with a damned ghost hunter, and Mel’s no slouch at research, either. But all these months, I’ve never looked up Harlan’s death. I’ve never pushed. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” I suck in a deep breath, struck all at once by the way we’ve found our way back to the beginning—or end—of the same circle.

  “Until now.”

  A smile toys with my lips, but it’s done in by sorrow. “Ghosts wait for no man.”

  “This isn’t funny, Gracie. This is my dad we’re talking about. And he’s not…he’s not at rest.” There’s a break in Leo’s voice that he’s trying hard to hide.

  Maybe he could, from any
one but me.

  “I’m not laughing. You know me, Leo. I take these people seriously.” I squint at him. “Why would you think that wouldn’t go double for your dad? I mean. I liked him.”

  Leo’s shoulders fall from where they’ve been hunched around his ears. He looks as if he wants to apologize, or something like it, but stops at the last minute. His gaze avoids mine as he yanks his truck keys out of his pocket.

  “I know you did. And I know you’ll do your best to find out why he’s back.”

  “Thanks.” I pause. “Does that mean you’re willing to help me?”

  He stops toying with the keys, his entire body going still. “I have to pick up Marcie in five minutes. But sure. Treat me like you would any other family member in this situation. I’ll answer your questions.”

  He’s gone before I can really process the response or my gut reaction to it, which seems to be despair mingled with hurt. How can I treat Leo like any other anything? Why is he acting like I went out of my way to find his dad’s ghost and get him to haunt me, as though such a thing would even be possible?

  I don’t have the answers to those questions, but I’m damn sure not going to hang around in a cemetery alone, after dark. Not only is it creepy, but given my recent history with the dead, it seems like asking for trouble.

  And I’ve got enough of that.

  Chapter Ten

  By the time I get home, I’m cold all the way to my bones and can’t stop shivering. Not only that, but it’s so late there’s no time to decompress or debrief my cousin before our guests arrive. Instead of breaking down or hiding in my room, I jump into the dinner prep like a mother-effing adult.

  The doorbell rings just as I put the finishing touches on the tossed salad. Amelia’s lasagna smells delicious as it bubbles happily in the oven and she’s gone upstairs to change her clothes, so I throw the bottle of ranch dressing next to the French and thousand island, wipe my hands, and head for the door.

  It’s Travis. Of course he would be the first to arrive, and when I’m downstairs alone, to boot.

  “Hey,” I say, feeling the tightness in my own smile.

  It’s not him. Well, it’s not only him. It’s this night. It’s Leo. It’s being forced to wonder all over again if I’ve been wrong about our friendship this whole time.

  “Hi.” His return smile is easy and free from nerves, and it helps relax me. “I can hang my own coat up.”

  “Yeah, there are hangers in the closet.”

  I loiter while he takes care of that piece of business, then the two of us head toward the kitchen.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Um, you can open those two bottles of wine if you don’t mind. I’m just going to run upstairs to tell Millie you’re here and grab a sweater.”

  Two bottles is probably a stretch, considering that neither Mel or Amelia will have more than a glass, if they have anything, but it feels like a case of too much being better than not enough.

  It’s not even cold in the house. It’s warm, I’d bet, but the only way these shivers are going to shake loose is by adding another layer or two. A hot bath would be better, but that will have to wait.

  “Travis is here!” I bellow toward the end of the hall before turning into the blue-and-cream bedroom that’s become my cocoon from the world.

  I grab a thick, warm brown cardigan sweater from the closet and slip into it, pulling it tight and waiting a moment for the magic to work. I’m almost feeling normal again by the time I turn for the door, anxious to get back downstairs. It’s not that I don’t trust Travis, exactly, but he’s alone…

  My own startled gasp and the painful bang of my heart into my ribcage put an end to the brief spout of comfort—Harlan Boone is back, his hand extended toward me.

  Which would be totally normal for my recent life, except he’s not pointing. He’s handing me something. In the middle of his upturned palm is another small, red stone. A garnet, if Travis is to be believed.

  Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.

  I reach out to take the garnet, snatching my fingers back at the last minute when I remember that touching my ghosts will do nothing but make sure this chill lasts all the way into tomorrow.

  “Um, thanks? Can you just, I don’t know…leave it on the nightstand?”

  He does as I ask, which makes him by far the most polite ghost who has ever popped unannounced into my bedroom.

  “So did you leave the other ones? In the door and in my car?”

  The ghost regards me with his stupid-gorgeous Boone eyes, the same ones Leo trained on me not long ago. His expression is serious bordering on concerned, and a queasy feeling of dread wraps itself around my heart even before he shakes his head no.

  None of this makes sense. How do the garnets connect to both Harlan and someone else? Another mystery? Is it another ghost?

  I’m starting to think that might be the most likely scenario, since my car was locked the other day and so was the back door, as far as Amelia and I thought. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse, but it definitely doesn’t make their meaning any clearer.

  He’s gone before I can ask him any more questions, and a second later my cousin pops her head in the doorway. Jack is settled in the crook of her arm, sucking away on a pacifier.

  She quirks an eyebrow at me. “I thought you said Travis is here.”

  “He is.” My voice is shaking, and neither of us misses it. Her eyebrow stretches higher, its question clear. “Nothing. Just jumpy, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Grace. Come on. I’ll protect you until we get back downstairs.”

  I know she’s joking, but the words somehow make me feel better, anyway. Relieved. On the way to the kitchen I tell her about Harlan and the garnet, but she doesn’t come up with any bright ideas in the thirty-second trip.

  Mel and Will have arrived with the kids, and they’ve just about got dinner ready to eat on the table. That’s what friends who are really more like family are good for—among many other things—and finally, my body starts to feel warm again.

  We fill our plates and file around the table, chatting about our lives and the kids and what’s going on around town and how much we all want spring to arrive as early as possible. Grant is laser-focused on a page torn out of his Flash coloring book, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, and Mary and Jack both stay remarkably silent.

  It’s not until after dinner, when Amelia is walking Mel and Will and the kids to the door, talking about baby stuff, that I remember to ask Travis about the garnets. Maybe there’s no time like the present to take a step into a relationship with the brother I never really wanted.

  “So I was thinking about what you said, about the stone I found.”

  “Yeah?” He tosses the dish towel on the counter. He’d insisted on cleaning up—not that my cousin or I fought him too hard on that one.

  “Yeah. You said they’re not common in South Carolina but they could be found in North Carolina. Do you know where?”

  “I can’t give you GPS coordinates or anything, but my best guess would be that they’re probably fairly common up around the Tennessee state line. Nantahala National Forest area, like maybe near Asheville or Gatlinburg.”

  It takes concerted effort to stop my eyes from rolling at the GPS coordinate comment. It’s so Travis. But his words have sparked something for me.

  I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Nantahala National Forest is where Clete found my mother all those years ago.

  I didn’t realize until now that it wasn’t local. Wasn’t even all that close.

  And I sure never realized that my mother’s disappearance—and maybe Clete’s—could have something to do with the stones that have been popping up in my life as regularly as the dead.

  I thank Travis and walk him to the front door, too. The others haven’t left yet, so I say goodbye to everyone with my mind a million miles away. Or maybe just a few hundred, this time.

  It’s hard not to think about what Big Er
n said—about how Clete wondered if I’d come back to Heron Creek merely to haunt him.

  A strange choice of words, now that I think about it.

  An even stranger combination of facts. The garnets that come from Nantahala. My mother who went missing there, Clete who found her.

  Clete, who is missing. My mother, who is dead.

  It doesn’t tell me anything about who’s leaving the stones, but I’m starting to think the point of the stones is to lead me into the same woods that trapped my mother.

  And as much as I don’t want to entertain the possibility, the idea that maybe—just maybe—she left them herself refuses to go away.

  It’s Sunday, and I enjoy the free day by sleeping in and then inhaling the steam off my coffee for a couple of hours on the living room couch while Amelia plays with Jack. After she puts him down for a nap in her bedroom, she tiptoes around the kitchen for a few moments and reappears with a steaming mug of her own.

  My legs and arms are fidgeting of their own accord, tired of inaction, and I’m ready to talk out what happened with Leo in the cemetery. Maybe I even need to.

  “So, are you going to stop mooning around the house and tell me what happened?”

  “You know, it’s creepy the way you read my mind like that. Maybe at least pretend not to be a weirdo.”

  It seems like lately that more than one person has been guessing my thoughts. Maybe it’s not their instincts, but my lack of a poker face that’s to blame. I never could win at cards.

  She shrugs, curling up on the other end of the couch with her tea. “Why bother?”

  “Fair point.” I set my cold mug down on the table. “I felt, I don’t know. Compelled to go to the cemetery last night.”

  “I do not like where this is going. I thought we talked about you hanging around dead people, Gracie? No more ghost tours, remember? Don’t let them lead you around.”