Page 75 of Love At First Fright
“Why?”
“Because I thought they might help.Because,although you refuse to believe otherwise, I do want to help you.”
Juliet crossed her arms.
“Did you read any of them?” Rosemary asked. Juliet wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she hadn’t fled the room through either of the windows, a wall, or the door, so Rosemary supposed this was the ghost at least attempting to speak about this. She could understand how hard coming out would be for Juliet, who carried the burden of a whole life and hundreds ofyears in the afterlife on her shoulders.
“My favourite is the one about the duchess and the naval captain’s widow who fall in love after they discover their husbands had been carrying out an affair before their untimely deaths, did you read that one?”
Juliet scowled. “It wasn’t very historically accurate.”
“It was written by an American woman in the nineties, so that’s not very surprising.”
“It didn’t make sense,” Juliet added.
“In what way?”
“If the captain and the duke had been friends, or lovers, then it’s not feasible their wives wouldn’t have already been acquainted.”
Rosemary had been about to chime in when Juliet launched into another argument.
“And even if they hadn’t met until after their husbands died, how could they be sure they didn’t…fall in love with each other, just because they were the closest person around. How could either of them know,truly know,that the other picked them out of real desire and love, and not just proximity?”
It was abundantly clear to Rosemary that they were no longer talking about the naval captain’s widow and the duchess.
“I think,” she began, sitting down on the edge of her bed as Juliet paced silently back and forth, “that lots of people work and live in close proximity every day, and they don’t fall in love with one another. Proximity is incidental, people can fall in love with someone on the other side of the world, who they’ve only spoken to through letters. Or, someone could fall in love with the person they know the best, their closest friend. You can love someone platonically, but you don’tfallin love with everyone.”
Juliet walked over to the window and stood facing out, her edges hazing like a mirage against the dawn. She stood for awhile in quiet contemplation.
“I don’t think we can go back to how it was before.”
“No.”
Juliet rested a hand on the glass, frosting the pane.
“I don’t think I want us to.”
“What do you want, Juliet?”
The ghost turned to look at Rosemary, silver tears slipping down her cheeks. “I want to not hate myself anymore, for what I am. I want to stop imagining what my father and mother would say if they knew. I want…Cecilia. I want her to know how I feel.” She swiped the tears away with the back of her hand in a gesture that was almost unladylike.
“Will you help me?”
—
How many candles could someonesteal from the props department over the course of one day without creating a scene? Twenty-three on her own, but with a ghost accomplice, a solid forty-five. Juliet had been fussing by Rosemary’s side all day, desperate to set her grand gesture in motion. She chatted in Rosemary’s ear all through the morning filming, voicing every one of her anxieties about the plan, as well as telling her how pretty Cecilia would look in the candlelight. It seemed that now she was out of the ghostly closet, Juliet wanted to do her yearning out in the open.
As the filming day drew to a close, Juliet and Rosemary carried their squirrelled-away candles into the forest. Well, Rosemary did all the carrying, otherwise it would have appeared to any onlooker as if a bag or a bunch of candles was floating beside her—not exactly inconspicuous.
The sun had long since set, the evening was clear and crisp. They placed candles in the arched windows, bare sconces, andmoss-covered altar of the chapel. The air smelt of lit matches and the green scent of the woods. It was peaceful, working in silence around the chapel, lighting one candle after the other. The only sound was the brush of matches and the quiet rustling of a magpie that had built its nest in the rafters. The full moon hung above them, already waning.
Rosemary thought about showing this to Ellis; he had introduced her to this place, after all. But could she tell him why she was here, and why she was lighting all these candles? I’m helping a ghost perform a grand romantic gesturefelt like the sort of thing that would have Ellis running a mile.
Still, a part of her felt sour at keeping it all a secret. Time was ticking for her to tell Ellis about Hank, too, she just didn’t see a way of broaching it. The thing between them was delicate, and Rosemary’s ability might break it.
“What time is it?” Juliet fretted, pacing up and down the aisle.
“Sixp.m.”
