Page 7 of Ghostlighted
“And other things, too. Oregon property taxes are no joke, and an old house like this needs constant upkeep, not to mention the grounds. Ricky did it for years for nocompensation, but he’s not allowed to do that anymore. If he does the work, he takes the cash.” He folded his arms. “Tell him that.”
I held up my hands, palms out. “Nope. Not a chance. Hitting him with a cease-and-desist for future work would go over just as well as offering him payment for services already rendered.” After my failed attempt to pay Ricky for his work, I’d figured out that his love language was acts of service. Offering him something as impersonal as cash in exchange was the equivalent of rejecting his care and affection. “I’d prefer not to scuttle our friendship over a battle I already lost.”
“Friendship?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want… more?”
“Whether I do or not is immaterial.”
“I disagree. It’s very material.” His gaze swept from my worn sneakers, up my faded jeans and over my faded Talking Heads T-shirt. “As inthosematerials. The new tea stain might actually be an improvement. Perhaps you should invest in some new clothes.”
“Hey!” I plucked at the T’s hem. “This is sheer practicality. Since I’m helping Ricky with Sofia’s garden today, I fully expect to be covered in dirt and sweat by the end of the afternoon. I didn’t want to ruin my nicer clothes.”
Leaning forward, he clasped his hands behind his back—which was really weird because I could see through him to his hands, but also see through his hands. “So you do have nicer clothes?”
“I have perfectly serviceable clothes.”
“Maz. Please. You can hardly expect to woo Ricky when you look more raggedy than the scarecrow in Sofia’s garden.”
“That’s not hard. Sofia’s scarecrow has serious style.”
He chuckled and stopped looming over me. “That it does.”
I cocked my head. “You’ve seen it? It doesn’t look old enough to have been around ten years ago.”
“It wasn’t. Since I can’t go outside, I’ve only seen it from above, but I’ve got a good view from the attic window.”
I heaved a relieved sigh. The scarecrow was a near perfect representation of Carson in effigy, and Avi didn’t need the reminder. Maybe I could ask Ricky to replace it with something less identifiable.
“Have you tried it? Going out into the backyard since I got here? I mean, that’s part of this… this domain.”
“Domain?” Avi lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
I flung my arms out. “I don’t know. But it’s part of what you owned, you and Oren. You, um, died in the backyard.”
Avi’s gaze drifted to the window. “And maybe that’s why I can’t go there again.”
“Ah.” For a moment, I watched Avi gazing out the window. “Do you… Is that a choice? I mean, do youwantto go outside, go somewhere other than here in the house, and you’re just not able to?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Then he gave me a sidelong glance. “On the other hand, Idogo somewhere else. I just don’t know where that somewhere is. Like I said. Elsewhere. Maybe it’s nowhere.” He held his hands out, studying them as he turned them palm up, palm down, palm up again. “Maybe someday, I’ll be elsewhere all the time.”
My belly clenched, and I bunched my fists on my knees. “You mean you might die?”
He gave me a look. “Don’t make me state the obvious.”
I winced. “Sorry.”
“I do have another question.” When I nodded and made a go-ahead motion with one hand, he said, “When I speak to you, if your other friends are present, you tell them I’ve spoken, and often what I’ve said, verbatim. Why?”
“Because you’re their dream come true.” I held my palms out to him. “An honest to goodness ghost here in town, something they’ve been waiting for their entire lives.”
“Yes, but if what I say embarrasses you, why tell them exactly what I say? They can’t hear me, so they’d never know the difference.”
“No. But you would.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” He gave me a sly, tightlipped smile. “I might haunt you, Maz, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“You don’thauntme. We share a house. As far as… as translating for you?” I inhaled slowly and then let out my breath in a rush. “I guess it’s the same way I approach my job. As a ghostwriter, my duty is to convey the author’s story in the way that best delivers their intent, not to alter it based on what Ithinktheir story should be or skew it for my own benefit.”
He leaned forward with that laser-intent gaze again. “What he said bothered you, didn’t it? Carson. When he said you stole from other writers.”
