Not Quite Fixed

by Lyla Payne

  I can’t look at Leo. If I do, none of what I shoved down will stay.

  “You all know that your dad’s ghost came to visit me, and I know he also came to see you.” I eye Lindsay, who shifts in her chair and avoids my gaze. “I wasn’t sure what to make of it, because he wasn’t demanding like so many of the other spirits I’ve encountered. He didn’t try to lead me anywhere or show me anything, but I knew he wanted something because I could feel that he was devastated about something. At a loss.”

  I pause and lick my lips, wishing I had grabbed a beer on my way through the kitchen. Maybe I would have if my mind hadn’t been floating off into another dimension.

  Don’t think about that now. Later.

  “Most of the ghosts I see only appear to mediums, so the fact that he’s visited all of you stood out to me. Mel reminded me of how much you all meant to him in life, and suggested that maybe family was the reason he’d come back after all this time.” No one replies. They’re all looking at me, now, and definitely not at each other. Stubborn asses. “Long story short…”

  “Too late,” Trent mutters. He looks uncomfortable in his brother’s house, but the fact that he actually showed up speaks volumes to me. He’s listening. He must miss Leo and Lindsay as much as they miss him, and based on what he told me the other day, he’s sorry that Noah and Marcella don’t have any kind of relationship.

  Leo shoots him a look. I keep going before we can get derailed by more posturing.

  “I found out that your mom approved an autopsy. It found that your dad had a heart attack before he fell and hit his head. He was gone before his head ended up in the water, and the heart attack was so massive there’s almost certainly nothing you could have done if you had been there, Leo.” I dare to look at him, and my heart stops beating at the pain etched on his features.

  I want to go to him, want to hug him and make it all okay, but I’m more confused than ever about how to act around him.

  Instead, I keep going, since they’re all shocked into silence.

  “Your mom knows. She never told any of you about the autopsy, and I’m sure that’s going to piss you off, but just know that your dad doesn’t want more strife. He wants his estate settled, once and for all. He wants you kids, and your mom, and her grandkids, to be Boones again, like you were when you were young and he was here. The Boones united against the world. That’s the way it should be.”

  I stop talking when I notice all three of them are crying. They stop looking at me and start looking at each other. When Trent and Lindsay both move from their chairs to sit on the couch with their brother, I slip quietly off the porch and out of the house.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The last thing I expect to see on my front porch early the next morning is Leo Boone. He’s bundled up in a coat, hat, and scarf and has one hand raised to knock when I open the door in search of the morning paper.

  “Oh,” is the scintillating response that pops out of my mouth.

  “Gracie. Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” I glance down at my pajamas and wish I had on more than a tank top and pants under an open, ratty cardigan that belonged to Gramps. A suit of armor maybe.

  For one thing, there’s no way he’s going to buy an excuse about having to get to work soon. Not that he would, anyway, since he should know my schedule by heart.

  “I know you have to work in a little while, but I was hoping we could talk for a couple of minutes. And also that you have coffee.”

  “Yes to both,” I manage, leading him into the kitchen. He doesn’t sit, even after I slide two cups of steaming coffee onto the table, along with a bottle of creamer and a spoon.

  I do sit, because my knees feel untrustworthy. Leo paces, which doesn’t do a whole lot to soothe the anxiety that hasn’t abated since last night. I thought about what he said all night, and in the end, I only know one thing for sure: I don’t want to lose him.

  “Leo. Like a Band-Aid. Out with it.”

  He stops, looking startled. As if he’s forgotten where he is and why he came. Quite a pair the two of us make. Have always made. Leo and Gracie, Heron Creek’s biggest messes.

  “Thank you for everything you did. Everything you said last night. I’m sorry I acted like you were doing all of this to be nosy, or to go behind my back. I know…I know you wouldn’t do that, no matter how things are between us personally right now.” He takes a deep breath and then blows it out. Picks up his coffee. Puts it down without taking a sip. “I don’t think I even realized how much blame I’ve been heaping on myself because of Mom.”

  “It’s bullshit, what she did to you, even if Harlan’s death destroyed her.”

  He nods. “I know. But now I feel…I don’t know. Freer? Like I maybe don’t have to give up on the dreams Dad and I had together. I don’t know if I would have ever gotten here without you, Gracie. So thank you.”

  “You said that,” I say in a way that’s awkward, even for me. Like I’m trying to joke with my math teacher or I’m a frog attempting to walk on its hind legs.

  I hate that we’re like this. Weird. I’m not even sure how much of this is just me, and what I overheard last night. Probably a lot of it.

  Now, I’m noticing all sorts of things about Leo that I never have before—not sober, anyway. The way the sunlight streaming through the window brings out the chestnut streaks in his black hair. How his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. The way the muscles in his chest move under his thin hoodie as he slips out of his coat and hangs it on the back of the chair.

  The way my body very subtly, but undeniably, responds to every one of those things with a hitch in breathing, a rise in temperature, and a slight inability to remember what in the hell I was going to say next.

  Am I falling for Leo Boone? Have I already fallen for Leo Boone?

  His gaze is on my face, and when I look up to meet them, Leo goes still, reading me like a book he’s opened so many times he’s worn out the spine.

  “Gracie.” My name is a question. A warning. A wanting. All of it and more, in one low utterance.

  I lick my lips as he comes to stand in front of my chair. Pulls me to my feet so that we’re standing so close I can smell the shower he took this morning mingled with the crisp air he picked up on the way here. My hands press into his chest, steadying myself. Marveling at the feel of his body.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He laughs and his arms go around me, pulling me in tight. He buries his face in my messy hair and I feel him draw in a deep breath, one that spills shivers down the back of my neck. I hold him back, hiding my face in his neck. Hiding everything.

  When Leo pulls back, things feel different. But the same. “Are we okay?”

  I think about the question for a minute. Are we okay? I don’t know. I haven’t had time to process everything, but I do know now that none of the reasons I pulled away after he refused to take me to bed on a drunken whim still apply. Not after last night.

  So what do we do? Where do we go from here?

  “We’re okay,” I tell him, taking a step back in an attempt to breathe. “I’m sorry for my part in how we got pushed off track.”

  That hangs in the air for a minute, and then Leo takes another deep breath. I go still this time, sure of nothing except that I’m so not ready for what’s coming.

  “Gracie, I should have been honest with you before now, but I wasn’t. So here goes. I pushed you away that night because what I want from you is more than a one-night or even a couple of weeks together.” He draws in a deep breath, but his gaze is steady on my face. “I’m in love with you.”

  “Holy shit.”

  His lips tip up in a rueful smile. “I know, right? Holy shit. But here’s the thing. I want to be there for you, however you need, right now. If you’re interested in giving us a try in a different way, I want it to be when you’re in the right place to give it a shot. A real shot. Not when you’re probably still not over Drayton. Not when you’re looking for a way to just forget ho
w hard life can be. When you’re ready for something real. Not before.”

  “Leo.” I’m crying, and I don’t even know why.

  He reaches out and smudges the tears with a rough thumb, clearing them as fast as they fall. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. And you probably feel like I’m an ass for waiting so long, or maybe for telling you at all, but I promise that this is the one hundred percent truth. If you need a friend, that’s what I am, for however long you need.”

  “That’s not fair…”

  “Maybe not. But it’s my call, and I’ve already made it.” His hand trails down my cheek, one finger lingering near my mouth before he pulls it away. “I’ve got a little practice at this. Trust me. I can be your friend and love you at the same time.”

  I’m dying inside. Leo Boone is standing in front of me saying the most beautiful, sweet things anyone has ever said to me in my life. No exceptions. The idea that he’s willing to accept not only me, flaws and all, but also the fact that I might not be ready for the kind of love he’s offering, just about brings me to my knees.

  He’s standing here with his heart in his hands, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure the thing doesn’t get broken on my watch.

  “I’m not…I don’t want to hurt you, Leo.”

  “I know, Bugs. I trust you. Wouldn’t be saying any of this if I didn’t.” His hand drops to cup my jaw, then falls to grab my hand. “I know you’re blowing off steam with MacArthur. Couldn’t care less. You take your time. I’ll wait.”

  Leo leans in and brushes a kiss across my cheek. I want to turn my head so bad, want to clutch him to me and taste his mouth the way I did a couple of weeks ago. That night left no question in my mind that Leo and I have chemistry that extends beyond the bounds of mere friendship.

  But I don’t do it. Because even if I’m not ready to say it aloud, and even if I’m not ready to take a leap into a new relationship, I’m maybe in love with him, too.

  Four hours later, I’m still in such a stupor behind the reference desk that I have to listen to Glory Jean’s message three times before her words sink in. Then, I begin to freak out for a completely different reason.

  Graciela, hi. I was taking your old Honda apart this morning looking for parts to salvage, and I found something in the trunk. It’s probably nothing, but I just thought it was weird. I found a bunch of trash in your car, but I mean, how did three loose lemon drops get into the trunk? Could be nothing, but with the way things are and that policeman coming over to chat, I thought you should know. Call me if you have any questions.

  I sit behind my desk in total silence for close to an hour. Lemon drops. Mel was eating them on our way to Daria’s. I seem to remember her saying Daria got her hooked on them, that she bought them from some specialty shop in Beaufort.

  Strange.

  Scary.

  On the one hand, they’re just candy, but it’s a type of candy I do not and never have eaten…and also I never ever use my trunk. It leaks and the carpet mildews, and even I have limits on how smelly my things can get before I take action.

  I hate that something so small can make me feel so unsafe. That suddenly I don’t know who I can trust. If I can trust anyone.

  Because when Leo asked me who knew where I was the day someone planted a “rat’s nest” under my hood, I listed only people I figured would never be suspects.

  I still don’t and never could believe Will and Mel would be trying to kill me. If they had a problem with me, I’d know it, and they’re both way too busy for subterfuge.

  But Daria wasn’t on that list of suspects. For all of the times she’s been weird, or made me jumpy, or made me think about the fact that we know nothing about her, she’s never struck me as a threat.

  Now, it’s clear that maybe she could be. I’m just not sure what to do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’m not sure how Daria would have known that Amelia and I were going to Charleston to have lunch that day. It’s even less obvious how she would have known I’d be driving to Seabrook to visit with Trent the night my tire blew out, but like Travis pointed out, if the intention was merely to scare me or get my attention, they may not have intended for it to happen on the highway at night.

  Of course, there are still other people on my list, and like I told Leo, it could be basically anyone. Travis definitely knew about my trip to Charleston, and so did LeighAnn. Who knows what Cade Walters knows, the way he lurks about and makes weird comments that make my skin shrink away from my bones.

  But the lemon drops. I don’t know if you can convict someone because of candy, but it’s enough to put me on my guard, for sure. That said, when Daria leaves me a message saying that Felicia is still hanging around and could I please come talk to her, I can’t ignore the possibility that this may help resolve the whole mess with the garnets.

  Can’t ignore the thought that maybe Clete needs me out there, or that my mother’s life in Heron Creek is somehow tied to what’s happening to me, now.

  So I make sure Amelia and Mel both know where I’m going and when I expect to be home, then head to her trailer while it’s still mostly light.

  Daria’s place looks the same as it did when I was here with Mel, before her and her damned lemon drops threatened to ruin my life. She swings open the door, a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and frothy white toothpaste slipping down her lower lip.

  Daria sucks it back into her mouth and says something that sounds like “What do you want?”

  “You literally just asked me to come ‘get rid of my mother’ like an hour ago.”

  She leans out the door and looks around me, to the left and then to the right. Despite my inner turmoil, I roll my eyes. “I’m alone.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “What?”

  I whirl around, and that’s when I see her. My mother.

  Or rather, her ghost.

  I recognize Felicia even though she looks nothing like she did when she died. She was a gaunt, hairless shell of herself when she passed. Now, she looks like she must have before she shook the dust of Heron Creek off her feet and headed for the hills, taking me along in her belly.

  Her legs are long and tanned, peeking out beneath cutoff shorts with a fringe that hits several inches above her knees. She’s wearing a tank top and a pair of flip-flops, her hair tied up in a messy bun that looks like a mirror image of the one I wear more days than not. She regards me with a serious expression, her hands on her hips, before moving her gaze to Daria and opening her mouth.

  I can see her talking, but I can’t hear her.

  “What’s she saying?”

  Daria pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth and spits a wad of foam and saliva into the grass beside the porch. “That she doesn’t like your hair.”

  I only have Daria’s word for such a thing, but knowing Felicia, I also don’t doubt it. But my messy bun can’t be what brought my mother back from the dead.

  I move quickly through the outer office and into the back, noticing for the first time a big glass jar of lemon drops on the end table. A frown tugs at my lips, deepening when the ghost of my mother shows up and lingers near the bar with a look of intense longing on her face. Of course. She shows up from the dead and is more sorry she can’t drink than that she can’t give me a hug.

  Daria flops on the dusty couch. There’s a man’s jacket thrown over the arm, an expensive one that’s so out of place it makes my brow crease. “You got a new boyfriend?”

  She looks confused for a minute, then follows my gaze to the jacket and snorts. “Yes, but that ain’t his jacket. Belongs to that fancy author friend of yours. Came out here trying to pick my brain for book research. I told him to take a hike.”

  My stomach twists. Cade Walters was here? When? I don’t like it—it’s just one more place he’s followed me, as far as I’m concerned.

  The never-ending Cade Walters rabbit hole turns me loose as my mother’s ghost turns and looks right at me, the sensation of conne
cting with her again like a physical punch to the gut.

  All of a sudden, I’m angry. Angry that she came to Daria and not me, that she’s dancing around and scaring me with her weird tactics instead of just saying what she has to say, and if I’m honest, angry for the majority of our interactions my entire life.

  “You could have come to me. We could have figured this out.” She doesn’t move at all, just watches me. My fingers curl into fists of frustration. “Enough of the cryptic clues and garnets and vague messages to stay away. Tell me what you came back to say, goddammit!”

  She folds her arms over her chest, juts out her chin, and the room turns into hazy smoke around us.

  We’re no longer in Daria’s living room.

  We’re in the woods. It’s summer—I can tell by the dry heat, the stale crackle of pine needles underfoot, and the call of birds rustling in the trees. Up ahead is a small grouping of dilapidated cabins. The windows are broken in some of them. Porches sag. One’s roof has collapsed in on itself.

  A man comes up beside me, staring at the worn buildings. It takes a moment for me to realize who it is, but Cletus Raynard hasn’t changed all that much in the past thirty-ish years. He’s got more hair, his teeth are more plentiful, and he’s wearing a shirt and carrying two things: an armload of firewood and a grocery sack that contains ginger ale and lemon drops. Other than that, he’s the same scalawag I met for the first time a few months ago.

  He doesn’t see me. I’m not really here—just invited for a guest viewing, courtesy of my dead mother. Totally normal.

  I follow him to the house on the outermost edge, where a wisp of smoke curls from the chimney despite the heat. From ten feet away, I hear the argument building.

  “I’m not aborting this baby!”

  It’s my mother. I’m intimately acquainted with her yelling voice.

  “Well, you’re not having this baby. She’s mine, too, and I promise that if she had a choice she’d want to opt out of a life as my kid.”