Page 37 of The Layover

“Absolutely.”

Once again, I had to interrupt the conversation with the saw, and I made my way through all of the current lumber while Raul returned, then left again with another load of trash.

“I don’t know one way or the other,” Carly said. “There are some things that are obviously not real, at least to me, and others I can’t explain. Maybe it’s ghosts, or excess psychic vibes. I didn’t get a straight answer from Raul—are there stories about this place? Lost souls? Apparitions seen in the night?”

I nodded. “A building this old has both energy and lingering ghosts. For the most part they’re quiet. It’s not the kind of activity that brings in tourists or anything. Essentially, we don’t bother them, and they won’t bother us.”

“How do you avoid bothering them when you’re tearing down the walls of their house?” Carly asked.

“I still think they should have to pay rent.” Raul was back.

Carly tossed more waste into the wheelbarrow. “I can think of at least a few partners who’d agree with you.”

I did the same as Carly. “They were here first. It doesn’t seem right to charge them because we moved into their home.”

“But we bring the positive vibes.” When Raul put it that way… I was pretty sure he was just making shit up. “We’re revitalizing their home. Making it happy. Cooking good food in it. That’s got to be worth something to these ghosts, right?”

“I don’t think you could call charging them for that rent.” Carly paused to drag her arm across her forehead, leaving a white smear of dust.

I wanted to reach up and wipe it away, capture one of those moments where her gaze met mine, our breath caught…

But in the bulky gloves I wore, I’d only make it worse.

“Can we call it a door charge?” Raul asked.

I shook my head and wheeled the next load of trash outside.

I returned to Carly saying, “Ghosts drink free on Thursdays?”

“Tuesday.” Raul was resolute. “Maybe—”

“Whoa.” Carly dropped her sledgehammer as she yelled, and pushed past us. “What the fuck?”

At the anger and panic in her voice, I whirled to follow her gaze. The backhoe doing demolition brought its bucket through a load-bearing wall.

“Stop,” I shouted at the same time as Carly. My feet were already moving, carrying me in a sprint to the site supervisor. “Shut the demolition down.” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

Marcus, the supervisor, looked at me, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”

“That’s a fucking load bearing wall, and your man just took out the main beam. Shut. It. Down.”

That spurred Marcus into action, and the room erupted in chaos as the crew worked to get a temporary support structure in place.

An hour later, the roof was stable, though our plans weren’t.

“Why were we told to tear that wall down, if we weren’t supposed to?” Marcus demanded to know.

I stared at him in disbelief. I knew the plans. I’d been involved every step of the way in their creation. “You weren’t.”

“I was.” Marcus yanked his phone from his back pocket, and scrolled to an email from Carly, that said Updated plans. “The new blueprint was attached to this.”

“No. That wasn’t me.” Carly sounded as shocked as I felt. “I didn’t send you that.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She glared at me. “Yes, I’m certain I didn’t tell the crew to destroy the building. Did you really just ask me that?”

Her offense sounded real, but I was staring at the email that said otherwise.

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