Page 27 of Dream Lake

“And then when I was freaking out and couldn’t breathe, he was so… gentle.” Zoë sighed and colored, remembering. “He was holding me, and talking to me in that voice… you know, sort of low and rough around the edges…”

“All the Nolans sound like that,” Justine said reflectively. “Like they’ve got a mild case of bronchitis. Totally hot.”

A curl dangled in front of Zoë’s eyes, and she puffed it away. “When was the last time a man focused on you,” she asked reflectively, “as if you were the only thing in the world? Like he was paying attention to your every heartbeat. Like he was trying to absorb the feel of you.”

“Never,” Justine admitted.

“That was how it felt,” Zoë continued. “And I couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like, with a man like that. Because whenever men have told me in the past that they wanted me, I always knew that what they really wanted was a notch on the bedpost. And with Chris, even though he was very sweet and considerate, when we were… together, in that way… it was never…”

“Intense?”

Zoë nodded. “But there’s something about Alex that makes me think…” Her voice faded as she thought better of what she had been about to say.

Justine’s velvet-brown eyes darkened with concern. “Zo. You know I’m all for having fun. And I’ve told you for months that you need to go out with someone. But Alex is not the guy to start with.”

“Do we know for certain that his drinking is a problem?”

“If you even have to ask that, it’s a problem. And when you get involved with someone like that, you’re heading into a love triangle—you, him, and the booze. You don’t need his kind of trouble, especially now that you’ve taken on the responsibility of looking after Emma. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but… never mind, I am. I’m telling you straight up, don’t get involved with Alex. There are too many nice, normal guys out there who would all love to be with you.”

“Are there?” Zoë asked dryly. “Why haven’t I ever met any of them?”

“They’re intimidated by you.”

“Oh, please. You’ve seen me on my bad hair days, and when I gained seven pounds over Thanksgiving, and later when I lost them during the most disgusting case of the flu ever… there is no reason for any man ever to be intimidated by me.”

“Zoë, even on your worst day, you are still the kind of woman that most men fantasize about having wild, crazy monkey sex with.”

“I don’t want crazy monkey sex,” Zoë protested. “I just want…” Unable to find the right words, she shook her head ruefully, and swatted back a few dangling curls. “I want solutions,” she admitted, “not more problems. And with Alex, there would be nothing but problems.”

“Yes. So let me fix you up. I know a ton of guys.”

Zoë hated blind dates nearly as much as spiders. She smiled and shook her head, and tried to forget about the feeling of safety she’d found in Alex Nolan’s arms. It was a bad habit of hers… looking for safety in places where there wasn’t any.

Nine

The attic at Rainshadow Road was filled with boxes, a battered wooden trunk, a few pieces of musty broken furniture, and decades’ worth of flotsam and jetsam abandoned by previous tenants. Alex reflected that it was a good thing he wasn’t afraid of insects or rodents, since there were bound to be a lot of them nesting in so much junk.

“I think you should start over here,” the ghost said from the far corner of the room.

“I’m not climbing across that mountain of crap,” Alex said, shaking out an industrial garbage bag.

“But the stuff I want to look at is at the back.”

“I’ll work my way over there eventually.”

“But if you—”

“Don’t push it,” Alex said. “I’m not taking orders from a spook.” He plugged his phone into a pair of portable speakers by the door. The app played songs from an Internet radio service, based on selections previously entered. Because of the ghost’s nonstop complaints, Alex had added some big band music to his playlist. And he had secretly found himself starting to like a couple of pieces by Artie Shaw and Glenn Miller, although nothing would have induced him to admit it.

Sheryl Crow’s smooth, smoky voice filled the air with a slow rendition of “Begin the Beguine.” The ghost wandered over to the speakers. “I know this one,” he said in pleasure, and began to hum along.

Alex opened a ragged cardboard box and found it packed with old VHS tapes of B movies. He shoved the box aside and pulled out a faded plaster owl statue. “Where do people get this junk?” he asked aloud. “Or a better question iswhy?”

The ghost was listening intently to the song. “Used to dance to this one,” he said distantly. “I remember a woman in my arms. She had blond hair.”

“Can you see her face?” Alex asked, intrigued.

The ghost shook his head in frustration. “It’s like the memories are hidden behind a curtain. All I can see are shadows.”

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