Page 60 of Safety Net
Lincoln shrugged and wrote something else in his notebook. "They're an amusing story device. I believe in them for that reason alone."
"But we're talking in real life," I reminded him with a gentle bump of the shoulder. I lingered a bit, blaming it on his warmth rather than the immediate calm I felt from being so close to him. "I would have bet my last dollar you, of all people, would say yes without any hesitation."
"Well…" Lincoln leaned into me too, prolonging the gentle touch for another couple of seconds. "There was a time when I thought I lived with one."
I raised a brow. “Go on. Don't leave me hanging.”
Our group started following the tour guide down the sidewalk. We'd visited a few sites on foot before heading back to the bus to our next stop, closer to the mountains, where we'd find the haunted house. Lincoln and I fell behind the others for the sake of privacy and my splintered interest in lore outside of Tinsel.
"I grew up with my grandma." Lincoln snapped his notebook closed and tucked it into his back pocket. "She has this huge house on the hill, it's called Marble Manor."
"You grew up in a manor?" I asked. "So, you're fresh out of one of those spooky books for children with black cats and uncles who murder next of kin?”
He scoffed. "If only I were so lucky. No animals of any kind because my grandma thinks they're the spawn of Satan. And no murderous uncles because my mom's an only child. And all my dad's folks live in France."
"Your parents. What are they like?" I asked, realizing I didn't know anything about Lincoln beyond what happened here at Mendell. I never considered asking about his family because of how he was with his friends. The guys' lives seemed so entwinedit was almost as if they'd been born together. A family of their own choosing since they took their first breath.
"My mom's an animal photographer." The back of Lincoln's hand brushed mine. Once. Twice. Thrice. "She's obsessed with the job."
"Your grandma must love that." I flexed my fingers, my knuckles pressed against his.
He smiled. "She loves to brag about Mom's work but hates the content, so she has bed sheets she uses to cover the photos whenever no one else is around."
"And your dad?" I asked, swallowing a sigh when his hand caught mine. The grip was loose enough to pull away if desired. When I didn't, he held on tighter, tugging me close enough I'm sure he heard every thunderous beat of my heart.
"My dad's a filmmaker. Or, at least, trying to be…for decades now. They travel all the time together."
"Is that why you lived with your grandma?" I asked.
He nodded. "And that's why I thought I lived with a ghost. My grandma runs a candy shop, which needs far more attention than one might think. So, that meant I was home alone a lot. And what does a lonely kid with a weird obsession with mystery novels do?"
"Accidentally scare yourself?"
Lincoln laughed. "You know me well."
"I'm getting there. "
We fell further behind the group now. Not that it mattered to either of us. I was here forhisstories. His dreams. His smile. Those lines around his eyes when he was genuinely amused and not just looking for a laugh. It was hard to make a person who always laughs, actually laugh. I’d learned as much from being friends with Naomi. People like Naomi and Lincoln knew how to find the funny, even in the dark spaces. If you managed to getan unplanned laugh out of them, then it felt like you could offer something new and special to them.
"Have I told you this before?" he asked. "Sometimes I tell people the same thing because I can't keep track of who knows what."
"Nope, I would have remembered if you told me about being haunted as a child," I assured.
"Good because it's my favorite story." His free hand ran across his jaw, a telltale of blooming excitement. "Picture this: You're ten years old and just dying to talk to someone your own age. You've just learned what Ouija boards are, but only through the grapevine of kids in your neighborhood. The kids who only talk to you on the weekends at your grandma's shop because they know they can get you to sneak them free reject lollipops and chocolate bars."
It was odd to imagine a young Lincoln having to grow up as isolated as I felt. If I'd been without my brothers and Naomi, I would have been more afraid of people. Isolation had had the opposite effect on Lincoln.
"You cut out the back of a cereal box and write the questions you have for a new best friend," Lincoln continued. "Because how else will the other side know what kind of friend you're looking for if you don't give them the exact criteria of who you're looking for?"
"Making sense so far," I said.
"You write down all the obvious questions first, of course."
I nodded. "Duh."
"Do you like wrestling?" Lincoln held up his fingers as he listed each one. "Which Power Ranger do you want to be? How long can you hold your breath underwater?"
"Only if it's cartoon wrestling," I answered. "I never watchedPower Rangers, so I can't give an honest answer there. But I did watchPowerpuff Girls, that's almost the same?"
