Page 7 of Giving Up The Ghost
“InRouen?”Ezra stopped in his tracks, regarding me with a disbelieving glare. “Rouen, France? Capital of Normandy? Hundreds of thousands of residents? That Rouen is where they were isolated?”
Irritation prickled along my neck and down my arms. Soon after we’d finished the stilted, awkward meal, Julian had retreated upstairs to call CeCe back and Charlotte had gone down to the cellar area, long ago turned into storage once refrigerators had really taken off. She’d extracted a promise to come see her immediately upon my return, giving Ezra a rather wary, distrusting look before her departure.
Ezra had not taken it well, to say the least. “She’s just nervous,” I repeated for what felt like the dozenth time since we’d first stepped out onto the lane from the drive. “I don’t think she’s had much of a social life.”
“Like we do?” He huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “She’s a bit aggressive,” he added. “Makes it hard to warm up to her.”
The irritation gave way to full-on annoyance. “Just because she’s awkward doesn’t mean she’s got it out for you, Ez.”
His mouth worked mutely for a moment, jaw clenching and unclenching on words he couldn’t make come before he finally heaved a sigh and threw his hands up in frustration. “She reminds me of Kate.”
Oh. “Your mum?”
“The one and only,” he grumbled, hands back in his pockets as he trudged towards me, silently nudging me to resume our walk. We were making a loop back towards the house, having only dipped into the village on the very edge just so we could say we’d been and weren’t liars. “Kate’s like that, isn’t she? Polite on the surface, but it’s brittle-like. Charlotte’s gloss is thin, Ozzy. She’s not well pleased you’re here with us.”
“Charlotte is… reserved. Nervous. But she’s nothing like Kate.”
Ezra’s quiet was more pointed as we crunched along the dried-out grass beside the lane, keeping clear of the occasional passing car.
“You know how it can be, being a bit odd. I think we’re the first people other than her daughter she’s been able to be open about her abilities with.”
Ezra made a soft, disbelieving noise low in his throat. “People think Kate’sjust nervoustoo. And reserved. Andtraditionalgets thrown in a lot. Are you going to tell me Charlotte is one of those, too? So traditional she’s unsettled by queers in the house with her? Afraid of our cooties maybe?” Unable to keep still, he jerked his hands free of his pockets again, raking fingers through his dark red hair and sending it awry. “Or maybe she’ll just pray for us, hm? Pray for us while treating us like we’re some sort of infestation she needs to get rid of.”
“Ezra,” I groaned. “She’s nothing like that. Kate is… awful,” I said diplomatically, and his snort was epic. “Kate is a bigot. A hate-filled pastry wrapped in evangelism and smothered in conspiracy theories about how a secret cabal of gays run the defense ministry or other such shite.”
Ezra’s glum, annoyed mien took a tilt towards a more thoughtful expression. “You know, I was never sure if she was disappointed in me fornotsomehow controlling the defense ministry, or afraid that I was.”
I snorted, closing the distance between us to loop my arm through his and tug him into a half-hug that sent us both stumbling and made Ezra squawk, then cackle. And for a moment—or maybe less than a moment—we were twelve and he was lurching ahead of me in the rutted fields as we looked for a really ace hiding spot so we wouldn’t have to do tea with Grandmere’s friends. We were sixteen, planning our future because there was never any question it was just the one future, two of us intertwined.
And now it wasn’t. It was our future, yes, but also mine with Julian’s, and his with Harrison’s. And CeCe and Heinrich and, and, and…
And my head hurt, the sharp stab of pain behind my right eye a threat.Get back inside, stop stressing, and I won’t turn into a debilitating migraine. Keep this shit up, though, and you’re on your back for the next two days.
“Anyway.” I sighed, pulling away a bit so we could walk, our arms still linked as we tromped over the rippled grass and earth on the roadside. “Charlotte seems aloof and maybe a bit… socially inept… because she’s shy.” I didn’t have to see Ezra’s face to know he was pulling one at that. “Maybe that’s the wrong word. Awkward? Reserved? She and I have been talking for months, but she doesn’t know you and Julian at all.” My tone was pleading and, by the look on Ezra’s face, more than a touch wheedling. “Give her a chance, yeah?”
Ezra pressed his lips into a thin line, looking ahead of us down the lane while we tromped over dried hummocks of grass and clumps of dirt. “I think you’re giving her too much grace,” he muttered. “There’s a difference between awkward and rude—trust me, I walk the lineconstantly. But for you…” He sighed. “Fuck. Fine, I’ll suck it up. But if she gets worse, I’m not having it, do you hear?”
I nodded. The urge to snapDon’t fuck this up for mewas heavy on my tongue but I swallowed it down. Ezra knew how important this trip was for me. We’d talked about it endlessly over the past few months and he’d been the one to give me the final nudge I needed to tell Charlotte yes, I’d come over. We’d come over. The annoyance, the flare of anger I felt towards Ezra for his comments about Charlotte had to be just nerves. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that Ezra wasn’t trying to convince me Charlotte was… bad… or something.
Jet lag. This had to be jet lag. He always did get snippy after long flights. And car trips.
As we turned to head back to the house, the conversation drifted to where we wanted to go during the rest of the trip, neither of us implicitly changing the subject but just letting random comments build off one another until he was scowling less, and I was feeling a little more at ease. By the time we reached the house again, I was almost ready to believe Ezra would at least be passingly polite to Charlotte, who was waiting in the entryway with her hands clasped at her ribs, anxiously shifting from foot to foot.
“Oscar, I’m so glad you’re back! I was starting to wonder if I should send out a search party for you.” She laughed, twisting her fingers together and tucking them down at her waist, the very picture of someone trying not to look anxious.
“Just went on that walk to the village,” I said, giving Ezra a nudge and grin. “Looks different now that we’re not trying to avoid Reverend Muller or that lady with the giant poodle who always thought we’d stolen something or other from her hedgerow.”
“Usually it was flowers,” Ezra remembered. “Once it was her whole bloody mailbox. And the old Rev, he would just pop out of nowhere to tell us we were going to hell and believing in evil magic like we did was going to tarnish our souls,” he chuckled. “Ah, good times.”
Charlotte’s expression twisted into one of annoyance, her glare at Ezra obvious and sharp. “Well,” she said. “I was hoping to catch you before I started dinner, Oscar. I’ve got something to show you.”
“Oh?” I glanced at Ezra. “I think we’ve got a minute.”
Charlotte pursed her lips, giving a delicate sniff. “I thought, perhaps, he could show Julian about the house? I recall you saying Ezra used to come here with you as boys, yes? And Julian was interested in the place…” She trailed off suggestively.
“Well, we only came here a few times. Most of the time, we were at the place in London or?—”
Charlotte made a soft, dismayed sound. “Oh. Well. I suppose…”
