Page 11 of Giving Up The Ghost
“Charming.”
“I learned it from watching you.” He winked, a small smile teasing at his lips. “Besides, this is a holiday, isn’t it? Time to get out and about. I haven’t been home—well, for certain values of home—in over a year now. It’ll be good to do… I don’t know. Something painfully English.”
“Mushy peas and… what, cricket or something?”
“Very much so. And if it gets Oscar out and about too, so much the better.” He suddenly boosted to his feet, the faint buzz of his phone telling me just what brought on his boost of energy. “If we’re going walkies tomorrow, I’d better get some rest. So should you, if you expect to make it about with your game leg.”
Supremely conscious of said game leg, and how difficult it was going to be to haul myself up the stairs just then, I shook my head. “I think I’ll just hang out here a little bit longer. I have some things to mull over.”
He raised a brow. “Right. Mull away then, Doctor Weems. Mull away.”
“Hey,” I called out, making him stop mid-step before he reached the door. “I wanted to run something by you. It’s possible this is just a case of confirmation bias on my part.” Ezra came back to lean against one of the chairs while I filled him in on my discovery about the dead mediums, his expression thoughtful and interested as I laid out the details I’d managed to collect.
“Itispossible it’s just a lot of very hairy coincidences,” Ezra allowed. “But it does look, sound, and walk like a duck.”
“Quack quack.”
“Exactly.” He pushed back up, seemingly caught by surprise with his yawn. “Christ. I need some sleep after all, but I’ll start poking about tomorrow. Maybe we should keep this between us, though?”
I nodded. “I don’t want to freak Oscar out. It’s one thing to have Heinrich… Well…”
“We know the guy,” Ezra said with a small smirk. “Dramatic doesn’t begin to cover him. And he does love a good story from time to time. But this makes it a bit more real than Heinrich having a diva attack.”
“Yeah… Ugh. I hope it’s just a bad run of luck. But if it’s not…”
“Yeah.”
He yawned again, this time with a back-cracking stretch, and muttered something about bed, giving me a wave as he headed out of the room, his steps creaking on the staircase a moment later.When I was sure he was up the stairs and would not be witness to my efforts, I hefted myself to my feet and made my way to the stairs, thankful they had a carpeted runner. Ever since my fall, I’d developed a very definiteuneasinessabout staircases, especially wooden or stone ones. The feeling of falling, of hitting those steps, and the certainty I was about to die was acid-bitter in the back of my throat every time I so much as glanced at a set of stairs. My attempts at hiding it were poor, something I didn’t realize until CeCe suddenly had the stairs in her townhouse carpeted seemingly out of the blue. She never said that’swhyshe did it, but I knew. And I was embarrassed but relieved. Stairs were still a bitch with the cane, but the feeling of something with more grip under my feet tempered that anxiety a bit.
I reached the bottom of the steps and paused to gather myself before starting the awkward, painful trek up, glancing back at the sitting room where I knew Oscar to be. The light inside was still on, shining through a crack in the door. With a sigh, I started up in my slow and thumping gait. The light behind me brightened, setting a slice of golden orange across the steps. Carefully, I grasped the railing and shifted to look back over my shoulder.
“Hey,” Oscar called softly, standing in the open sitting room doorway. “Turning in?” My surprise must have shown because he tucked his lips over his teeth in that chagrined way he had and trotted up the intervening steps to lay a hand on my arm. “Charlotte’s gone to bed already, and… Well, frankly, I’m a bit tired myself.”
I hesitated, glancing back at the open door before meeting his gaze again. “If she’s not around to complain about it, we could?—”
He shrugged. “Yeah but also, I really am tired. Not sleepy.” He sighed, curling his fingers loosely around my wrist, leaning in a bit closer. “I’m just worn out. If that makes sense?” He glanced away again, a tinge of guilt in his expression.
Ah.He didn’t want me seeing the boxes after all. Respecting Charlotte’s demand, or was this his own choice? He met my eyes with a small shrug and a lift of his brows. “It’s been a long few days of travel and, well…”
He wasn’t lying about being tired—there we dark circles under his eyes and I knew him well enough to recognize the signs of Oscar teetering on the edge of exhaustion. The urge—desire, really—to insist on checking out the artifacts Charlotte had provided for his research was powerful. Practically an itch under my skin. Oscar followed the direction of my gaze towards the sitting room and tried again.
Oscar licked his lips, eyes searching my expression and finally meeting mine, uncertain. “I was thinking maybe we could watch a movie or something? I’d suggest a walk but it’s so late.”
My resolve broke—Oscar was tired, I was tired, and more than that, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I made him upset just to get my way, or possibly ruined his chance at digging into his history. I nodded. “Yeah. A movie might be nice.” I held out my hand and he took it without hesitation. I exhaled softly, unaware I’d been holding my breath, worried he might refuse for some reason. Instead, he gave my fingers a squeeze and tugged my arm gently, leading me up the rest of the stairs.
Our room was cozier than I’d have liked but I had no real complaints. It was obviously meant for one person but, when Oscar gave me a small, sharp smile as he opened the door, The bed was a double, smaller than my California king back home, but I was kind of liking it, to be honest. It meant we’d have to be close to one another.
“I think,” he murmured, shutting the door behind us and turning the lock, “I might not want to watch a film after all.”
“What were you thinking instead? Turning in?” I asked innocently.
He huffed a small laugh. “I’m thinking that maybe we need to spend some time being us, hm? And not butting heads or being ‘on’ or whatever else keeps getting in the way of just enjoying some time together.”
“I think that—”I pulled him close, close enough for us to touch chest to hip“—is a marvelous idea.”
Oscar led the way to the bed, a narrow thing that wasn’t really meant for two people but would definitely do for now. In fact, it would probably help. Oscar pulled me down beside him, letting my good hip take the weight of my collapse onto the bed. “Hello,” he whispered. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
