Page 78 of Ghosted
Mr. Chase claps his hands heartily. “Okay! That’s all I have for the Thanksgiving parade. Miss Alderwood, let’s hear about your Night Before All Hallows Eve Ball.” He gestures for me to come to the front of the semi-circle of chairs.
I stand on shaky legs, clutching my index cards tightly. Anytime one of us hosts an event, we’re asked to debrief, especially when the others chip in like they did for our auction table. I lean back against the checkout desk and face the thirty or so people staring back at me.
I look past the first row of faces and concentrate on my sister and Dean, who both give me an obnoxious thumbs-up. I take a deep breath and begin reading from my notecards, detailing what went well and what could have been changed. I thank each business that provided us with a donation, and then I’m finally done.
My armpits are absolutely gushing sweat by the time I finish reading my last notecard. I give the audience a tight smile and turn to walk back to my seat. “Any questions?” Mr. Chase asks, holding a staying hand out to me. I stop in my tracks like a rabbit sensing a predator and turn a hesitant eye out to the crowd. My stomach bottoms out when half of the hands shoot up.
“Uh, yeah, Carlos?” I say, gesturing to the owner of The Cracked Spine.
He stands from his seat and says, “Is it true you’re the medium who’s been helping people the last few months?”
And now the dam breaks.
My eyes sting, but I will not cry.
“Um, yeah. I am,” I say shortly. I hear a snort and find Misha sitting next to Julian in the back row of chairs.
“Have you always been able to see ghosts?” someone else asks from the crowd.
Okay, time to wake up now! Am I naked?
I tilt my head down to check. Nope, still clothed, so this must not be a nightmare. Great.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and nod. “Yes, my whole life.”
“This isn’t a scam, correct? We can’t have false mysticism on Main Street. We’re better than that,” Mr. Chase says.
I clench my teeth. “No.”
“Then why haven’t you told anyone?” Sarah, the owner of the diner, asks skeptically, crossing her arms over her ample chest.
My anger kicks up from a simmer into a full boil. “Maybe because you all would think I was crazy?” I ask incredulously. “But you know what? I’vehelpedsome of you in this room talk to your grandmas and your fathers and your loved ones. I’m sorry if it feels like I deceived you, but I had a right to my privacy.”
“She did help me talk to my gram,” Declan, the owner of the frozen yogurt shop, pipes up. “She told me things only my gram would have known. And she was right about the jewelry hidden behind my grandparents’ framed wedding picture. There’s just no way Rae could have made that up on her own.”
“Yeah, and I was able to feel the presence of my dad,” the manager of the corner pharmacy says. “See? I get goosebumps just thinking about it,” he states, holding his freckled arm up for everyone to look at. My heart warms the tiniest bit at these people jumping to my defense.
“I’m not scamming anyone,” I reiterate. “And if I am unable to make contact, the person doesn’t have to pay me a dime.”
Mr. Chase can’t seem to help himself though. “Miss Alderwood, if I may ask, why now? If this has been a skill you’ve had your whole life, why are you just now charging for it?” Mr. Chase asks.
I shift on my feet, but they already know we’re struggling, so I say, “Because the store needed the extra income, okay? I thought I could help people and help The Veil. You all are aware of our financial situation.” I cross my arms, further crumpling my index cards.
There. It feels good to finally own it. All of it. I see ghosts, and The Veil is struggling.
Mr. Chase nods amiably, completely unruffled by my prickly attitude.
“You aren’t going to start doing ghost tours?” the pharmacy manager asks.
Despite myself, I laugh a bit. “No. Ghosts usually don’t just hang around one place. And once they see me, they start haunting me. I only offer my services as a medium to people who need it. It’s not a gimmick. I’ve been helping spirits and their loved ones my whole life.”
I start to unclench my muscles when I see the crowd ahead of me nod amongst themselves. I can feel the metaphorical pitchforks lowering and thank whatever deity is listening that I wasn’t born three hundred years ago. A rope around the neck doesn’t sound like a good time.
“Anything else?” I ask tiredly. Multiple eager hands shoot up. “Anything else that’s not about my seeing ghosts?” I clarify. Every single hand lowers, so I say, “You’re welcome to come find me in the store if you have any more questions aboutthis. But this is my private life, not a public spectacle. So please respect that.” I pause for a moment and then, sensing my freedom, speed walk out of the center of the semi-circle and head back to my chair.
“Proud of you,” Wren says in my ear, her cinnamon-scented breath fanning over my face.
I nudge her shoulder with mine, and feel the tension slowly draining from my body. It’s actually kind of nice having everyone know. At least I’ll be less on edge when a spirit shows up in public now.
