Page 30 of Ghosted
TellingAunt Clarissa first about Dean made me feel so guilty, I immediately FaceTimed Wren after. Even though I feel emotionally wrung out, it feels cathartic to finally release what’s been on my mind. Talking to Aunt Clarissa gave me some clarity, but nothing beats talking to my sister; she knows me almost as well as she knows herself.
“I mean, Aunt C is right. You can’t control the ending, but maybe you can enjoy the time you have with him,” she says, focused on filing her thumbnail into a perfect point.
“I guess. It just seems like a way to cause more pain for both of us. I don’t want to make things harder for him. It’s supposed to be my job to make them easier.” I sit back, tossing my knotted-up yarn away from me before I can do any more damage. At this point, I should just relegate my knitting needles as chopsticks. I’d probably get more use out of them.
“How do you know what he wants? Have you asked him, or did you just decide what was best for both of you and avoid theconflict of talking it out?” She stops filing her nail for a second to look at me with a lifted brow.
I have my mouth open, ready to argue that I talked to him about it, but then I remember how it actually went. I told him what needed to happen, and he agreed. We didn’t really have a conversation. I snap my mouth closed so fast, I look like a Nutcracker chomping down on a hazelnut.
Wren purses her lips around a sly smile and says, “Thought so. So, why don’t you have an actual conversation with him about it and see where you both land?”
I wrinkle my nose. “That soundsvulnerable,and I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’d rather walk through town butt-naked in the dead of winter than be vulnerable with anyone but you. And even then, I only do it because I know you can tell if I’m lying or hiding things. Baring my soul with you is inevitable; vulnerability with anyone else is a choice I’d rather not make.”
“But you’re shutting yourself off from something potentially good to protect yourself from the possibility of bad. You approach life like a bad ending is inevitable. You’ve done it your whole life, Rae. I love you, but you need to do this for yourself. Shutting out high school mean girls is one thing, denying yourself time with someone who means something to you is another. You deserve to find happiness. Even if it’s only a sliver of what could have been a lifetime. Isn’t that all life is? Finding one pocket of happiness, relishing in it, then wading through the shit until you find the next one?”
“When did you get so wise?” I ask, tucking her words away for later so I can anxiety spiral over them from the comfort of my own bed.
Wren sighs and looks me in the eye. “I’m just sick of shyingaway from good things. And I’m sick of watching you do it, too. We’ve both been doing this in our own way for too long.” She searches my face, and I see a rare softness playing across her features.
“Okay, I’ll try it. Maybe. But only if you agree to work on it too. You hardly ever open up to me about anything. I want you to find some good in your life, too.”
“Emotions,” she says with a scowl, and then honest-to-god hisses. Like full on, alley cat protecting its dumpster territory, hisses. At my unamused look, she relaxes her face and says, “Okay. Sorry. It’s hard to open up sometimes because I’m always bombarded with everyone else’s emotions. And because we’re so close, your emotions practically scream at me when I’m in the same room. You never make me feel like this, but I always want to address your needs first because they feel so… Pressing.” She gives a half-hearted shrug.
“You’ve never told me that before,” I say gently, feeling like the worst sister ever.
“I didn’t want you to feel guilty about it, or like you couldn’t come to me. It’s not your fault.” She takes a breath. “I’ll try to share more with you, though. Promise.” The corner of her mouth kicks up, and I feel like a weight has been lifted from me.
After the store closes,I order new stock and add some finishing touches to my Medium’s Meeting Room. When I can, I scour the internet for anything about Dean and how he died. I’m hoping the more I learn about it, the better I can be at directing Dean on where to go to trigger his memory.
The fact that there’s no sign that he put up a fight is concerning. He’s a large man. Well over six-feet tall and physically fit. There’s just no way he would willingly allow someone to overpower him. It makes me think he was either drugged or knocked out in some way, although his body showed no visible bruising.
Pretty much every article I come across says the same thing: Dean went into the office for a full day on Sunday, didn’t show on Monday. There wasn’t any form of communication with his colleagues. Then, he was discovered by his father in his car, dead from seemingly self-inflicted carbon monoxide asphyxiation and hypoxia. It’s the same information regurgitated over and over. If we want to learn anything new, Dean will have to get some of his memory back. Maybe we need to go to his office since it’s the last place he was seen alive. Or back to his house?
“You rang?” his annoyingly smooth voice says from behind me. I sigh because I must have been thinking about him intensely for him to pop out of the ether like this. I was trying to allow him as much rest as possible before our next memory-seeking adventure.
I’m sitting on the fainting couch in the shop, using my phone for research. “Ah, you can’t get enough of me, can you?” Dean asks, walking through the couch and sitting next to me. He leans in so close, every hair on the left side of my body stands at attention. I look at him and see that he’s fixated on the article pulled up on my phone.
“Totally,” I deadpan. “I love researching how my date died. It’ssofun for me.”
He snorts and throws an arm over the back of the couch. It reminds me, almost painfully, of our date where he pulled the same move. Only this time, his arm feels more like an awarenessthat makes my skin prickle. “Did you learn anything new? How long have I been out?” he asks.
“A few days, and no, not really. Are you doing okay? I’m sure it was intense to see your dad again.” I turn, my knee passing through his.
He brings his hand up to rub his chin and nods. After a moment, he drops it back into his lap and says, “Yeah, it was. It was good, though. I never thought I’d be able to interact with him again. And I’m glad he didn’t shoot you. Sorry about that, by the way. I probably should have anticipated that he would put in a security system since he was always hounding me to do it.” Dean grimaces.
I nod good naturedly. “All part of the job. At least he believed me, eventually. I’ve gathered that you two have a complicated relationship, but he’s more open-minded than most.” It’s true. Most people struggle to flip their beliefs on their heads—even if the evidence is clear as day in front of them.
Dean nods and says, “He didn’t use to be. Growing up, my dad was a total hard-ass. He was never in the military, but he ran the house like a general, and each of us kids were treated like a product to be honed to perfection. It got better when I became an adult, but I think it’s because I toed the party line. He and Adam have a rough relationship. If I had struck out on my own, it would have probably been the same for me.”
Dean leans further against me like he can’t help himself. My whole arm zings in a way that I know means he’s passed through it. I don’t say anything because I don’t want him to feel self-conscious. Or move. Oddly, I find his presence more comforting than anything, even like this. I’ve never really initiatedcasual “physical” contact with a spirit before. It’s always for a specific purpose or a means to an end.
I want so badly to lean my head against his shoulder like I did in Brewed Awakening. To smell his cologne and feel his warmth. To drink hot cocoa and taste it on his tongue later.
“You deserve to find happiness. Even if it’s only a sliver of what could have been a lifetime.”
“Hey, Dean?”
“Mm?” He stops his hand’s slow perusal of the ends of my hair. I can feel the subtle shift of the strands and marvel at how good he’s getting at influencing his environment.
