Page 20 of Ghosted
I nod and say, “I know. I don’t mind helping people, but I also don’t want to attach my face to it. Aunt Clarissa suggested aWizard of Ozsituation where I wouldn’t have to be seen. I’m still thinking it through, though.”
“Can you even reach out and contact specific people?” Wren asks, eyebrows drawn. She knows that I’ve never really attempted it because I don’t particularly like being a medium. I usually only help people out of a sense of obligation because I’m the only one around who can.
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve never really tried.” Dean immediately comes to mind, so I clarify, “I think it’s possible, though.” I don’t want to lie to my family. Especially Wren, because she’ll sense it.
“Well, that should be the first thing you figure out. Because that sort of determines the rest of it, doesn’t it?” my dad says, scrubbing a hand over his salt and pepper hair.
I bounce my shoulders and say, “Yeah, I guess so. I just need a day to process everything. It’s all coming at me too fast, and I feel like I’m barely able to tread water right now.”
He reaches out his hand and sets it lightly on my shoulder. “Sounds like you need a little break. You’ve been burning thecandle at both ends for months now. Take tomorrow off. Fully off. No social media, no store, no inventory, no looking for new products, nothing to do with The Veil.”
I open my mouth to argue, but my mom speaks before I can get a word in. “He’s right. I’d wager you haven’t taken a full day off since you started there after high school. You’re always doing something for the store. Take the day off. Sleep in. Allow yourself a chance to rest, and I bet your answer will come to you.”
I mull it over for a minute before saying, “Fine. Tomorrow is a Sunday anyway. No one ever comes in.”
“That’s the spirit,” Wren chips in. I roll my eyes at her pun and go back to eating my soup. I’m excited about taking a full day off, even if the thought sort of makes my skin crawl. It feels counterintuitive to take a break right now, just days before our busiest season. But Victoria Alderwood, psychic and mother extraordinaire, is very rarely one to be argued with.
TWELVE
I slept in.And by slept in, I mean I woke up at 7:30 A.M. instead of 7:00 A.M. I made my coffee, got dressed, and now I’m staring down my empty schedule with nothing planned for the rest of the day. I pat my thighs in a bored rhythm, literally having no clue what to do with myself for a work-free day. I never considered myself a workaholic, but wow, I guess I am one. Funny how that sort of thing just sneaks up on you.
With nothing else to do, I decide to grab my car keys and go for a drive. This time of year is stunning in Massachusetts.
I drive aimlessly for a while and find myself heading towards the Berkshires. There are a few trails I like to take when I want to be out in nature, but don’t want to sweat. I pull off at the familiar turnout and hop out of my car, snagging my crossbody bag and water bottle on the way.
I crunch over fallen leaves to the trailhead and inhale the loamy scent of the mountains. Today is a gorgeous, blue-sky day; there’s nothing better than walking through the forest withthe sun shining through the changing leaves. I spend some time ambling along the trail, listening only to the sounds of my thighs swishing together, my feet crushing the leaves, and the trilling birdsong.
Eventually, I come to a small clearing that’s an obvious resting point. There’s a large fallen log to the side under the shade of a few evergreens. I take a seat on it and swig from my water bottle, relishing the quiet. The parking area was empty, so I figured I’d be alone, and my little introverted heart couldn’t be happier.
I’m watching a chipmunk scamper up a tree several feet across the clearing when I notice something about it is… off. I’m concentrating so hard on the tiny creature that I can’t help the squeak of surprise that escapes me when Dean pops into existence right where I was looking.
Dean tilts his head up at the sunshine-dappled trees and closes his eyes briefly, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. He’s the most beautiful thing out here, and I can’t help but stay put and take him in. “I can’t feel it,” he murmurs, finally turning to me.
“The sun?” I ask.
“Yeah. Well I can’t feel anything, to be honest. The rest of the world feels like I’m touching it through a thick blanket. Everything is blunted. I can’t really smell or taste anything. I have the vague impression of feeling, and that’s only if I concentrate.”
“Being dead sucks,” I say sympathetically.
He snorts a laugh and walks over, taking a seat on the mossy log beside me. I see we’ve mastered sitting. That’s a good start.
“You could say that,” he agrees. “I’m glad I was able to find you again.”
I turn toward him, feeling goosebumps prickle over my leg where I accidentally brushed through his. “I knew you would.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “So, you can see ghosts, huh?”
“Yep. And can you believe I was terrified of telling you on our date? I thought it would make you run for the hills.”
“Honestly, I probably would have,” he says with a laugh. “I told you I don’t—didn’t believe in all this. I guess seeing really is believing.” He peers at the chipmunk, who stares straight at him from its perch in the tree.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t then. It was a great first date,” I say, looking at him from the corner of my eye.
“It really was,” he echoes, a small smile tugging at his lips. We sit in companionable silence for a bit, and then he asks, “What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?” I question. Sometimes ghosts recall what happened to them and sometimes they don’t. It seems those who had a sudden death tend to have the most trouble remembering, or even realizing they’re gone.
He shakes his head. “No. I remember leaving you at your apartment and driving home. Then, I watched some TV, went to bed, and woke up the next morning. I went to work like I told you I was going to. And then—nothing. I don’t remember anything beyond turning my computer on at the start of the day.”
