Authors: Aida Brassington
“Uh uh. We really didn’t have the money for that.” His father’s garage had barely broken even most months, and he could remember his mom and dad having hushed discussions about finances. He’d never even asked his parents about college, figuring it would only make things worse. He hadn’t wanted to be a drain on the family or cause problems.
“Couldn’t you have gotten a scholarship?”
“My high school didn’t exactly attract scouts.”
“Okay, but you strike me as a smart guy.”
Something about hearing Sara say that made Patrick’s chest puff out with pride.
“Yeah, I was smart enough. I just never tried to get into college.” He didn’t really want to rehash all that, though. They’d talked about Vietnam before; she knew he’d been a day away from reporting for his Army physical when he’d died. It blew his mind that the war had lasted another five years. Sara didn’t know all that much about it, but she’d researched it for him. Over 58,000 U.S. s oldiers dead, and he might have ended up as one of them. Sara promised to get him a book about the war sometime. In a lot of ways, he didn’t want to know exactly what happened –sometimes ignorance was bliss. “What about you? Who were you?”
Sara snickered after taking a sip from her mug. “I was just a girl. I don’t know. I guess I was sort of arty… not one of the popular kids.”
“How could you not be popular? You’re so foxy.”
Her quiet laugh sounded in the room. “Uh, thanks. Was Ginny in your crowd of friends in high school?”
“Yeah. She was friends with everybody, though. She went to college right away when she graduated, but it was around here, so I still saw her all the time. We used to go drinking sometimes with my buddies.”
Sara looked at her telephone and then back up at Patrick. “She should be here soon.”
“What are you going to say to her?”
“Not sure. I guess I’ll just tell her the truth and hope she believes me.”
“If she doesn’t, tell her… well, she went to my bedroom during my wake and stood at the window. She recited some Walt Whitman. I don’t really know poetry that well, but she was a freak for him. I’ll never forget it –I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles . I don’t know if she remembers it, but I do.”
He could still picture her there, the brown dress hanging around her knees and the way she twisted her long, straight hair around her finger.
“I’ll tell her.” Sara touched his hand and smiled up at him. “I’ll make her believe.”
* * * * *
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ginny settled at the kitchen table, folding hands in front of her. “So, what’s all this about?”
Sara glanced at Patrick, backed up against the counter. The shadow of a smile flitted over his face, and she returned her gaze to Ginny. “I, uh, need to talk to you about something that’s been happening here.”
“Oh.” Ginny’s eyebrows drew up. “Okay.”
“Do you remember the break up scene I wrote? The one you said sounded just like when you and Patrick broke up?”
“Please tell me you really didn’t find Patrick’s journal. You know the group has a policy about plag–”
“No, nothing like that,” Sara quickly interrupted.
Ginny visibly relaxed, although she likely wouldn’t stay that way for long. Patrick wished he could participate in this conversation; it seemed so cowardly to let Sara deal with all of this by herself. Not that he had any other options. He could sing and dance around the kitchen, and it wouldn’t do anything other than make Sara crack up. Probably not overly helpful right now.
“But it was about your break up,” Sara added. “I got the information –unknowingly –direct from the source.”
Ginny straightened in her chair, staring hard at Sara as though she could figure out what she was really saying just by staring at her long enough. Eventually Ginny said, “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
A small smile on her face, Sara perched across the table from Ginny and sighed. “That first night you were here for writers’ group, you felt him.”
“Felt who?”
“Patrick.”
“Are you feeling okay? I heard there’s an early flu going around. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
Sara laughed. “Yeah. No hospital. I’m being completely serious here, Ginny.”
“Patrick.” Ginny’s face pinched in a frown, and Patrick groaned. He knew her suspicious look.
“Just spill it, Sara,” he said. “The sooner you tell her, the sooner this is over. Don’t try to break it to her gently.”
“Okay,” Sara murmured, nodding her head. “All right, so I’m just going to give you the straight up story. And yeah, I know I sound nuts. Just hear me out.” Ginny’s forehead wrinkled, and she crossed her arms over her stomach. “You know Patrick died, but what you don’t know is that he didn’t go anywhere. He’s… well, his spirit or his soul or whatever… he’s been trapped in this house since it happened. I can see him. We’re… we talk.” She darted her eyes to Patrick and grinned.
Ginny’s hand fluttered to her lips, pressing fingertips against her mouth, and Patrick couldn’t tell if she was going to laugh, cry, or scream. She surprised him by saying, “How do you know it’s him?”
“Well, he introduced himself to me, for starters.” Sara laughed, and Ginny looked as though she fought the giggles. That had to be a good sign, he thought. Maybe, maybe not. Sara had busted out into hysterical laughter the first time they’d really communicated –maybe Ginny would too. “Uh, maybe I should just start at the beginning.”
Ginny nodded, light glinting off her white hair. “Yeah, this sounds… like an interesting story.”
Sara shrugged and laid her palms flat on the table. “All right. So… I’d be writing, and these scenes would come to me. Just pop into my brain, and I’d write them down and be all impressed with myself. I just thought being here –you know, in a new environment –was making me more creative.”
“The pieces you read at group?”
“Yeah, almost all of them. So anyway, I joked with my sister that I didn’t feel alone in the house, and that was true. There was always this… I don’t know, it was like there was someone with me, but it wasn’t creepy or anything. I just felt like someone was keeping me company. And Patrick told me you reacted to him that night you were here. I guess he touched you or something.”
Ginny’s face paled, and her hand was back at her mouth. “He… well, okay. Really?”
Sara nodded and cut her eyes at Patrick. “She was in my old bedroom,” he said, “and she crossed herself before going to your room… my parents’ old room. She walked right through me.”
“Apparently you visited his old bedroom, and then his parents’ old room.” Sara waved her hand toward him as Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “And you, uh, well, he said you walked through him.”
“Oh my God,” Ginny whispered through her fingers.
“And he wanted me to tell you he heard you reciting Walt Whitman in his bedroom during the wake.”
Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes. “Oh my God,” she repeated.
“I think she believes you,” Patrick said, grinning. Sara returned his smile, an excited light in her eyes.
“Anyway, I ended up seeing him one night in the bathroom mirror, and I was pretty upset. You don’t know anything about my personal history, but let’s just say I had reason to question my sanity. I thought maybe I was just imagining it, though –I mean, you had told me about him, and I knew what he looked like because of that photo. But then I started hearing him… you know, not in my head, and then one day I could see him and, well, touch him.” Sara snorted. “It certainly threw me for a loop.”
Ginny’s mouth widened while Sara rambled. “He’s really… here? Like right now?”
“Uh huh. He’s right over there.” Sara gestured toward the kitchen counter.
Ginny’s face fell slightly. “Why can’t I see him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know why I can see him.”
“Does Patrick have something he needs to tell me? Is that why you –”
Sara shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I… well… this is awkward.”
“What is?”
It occurred to Patrick that Sara was trying to avoid telling her about their relationship. “Hey, it’s not going to be a big deal for her, Sara. Neither one of us wanted to stay together, and we stayed friends after. Seriously, she’ll go with the flow here, I think.”
“Um, Patrick and I are… together.”
“In the house. I know… you said so.”
“No, I mean, we’re…”
“Dating,” Patrick said, a silly grin on his face. It was entirely inappropriate for the gravity of the moment and the potential for looming disaster , but the weirdness of the situation was making him react oddly. It seemed to make everyone respond in strange ways.
“Dating,” Sara echoed. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Ginny’s hands came to rest in her lap, and she and Sara watched each other.
Patrick likened it to a showdown, each waiting to see how the other would react, and he had to admit he was curious too. The whistle of a Western stand-off shrieked in his head. Ginny definitely wouldn’t give a crap that he’d met someone else. She’d encouraged him to go out with her cousin that one time, and it had been forty years since then. She’d gotten married herself. But Sara didn’t know her the way Patrick did, so he could only imagine what Sara was thinking.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Sara muttered.
“Just give her a minute. Oh, wait. Hang on.” Patrick rushed out to the living room and grabbed the sea glass from the bowl, returning to the kitchen. He moved closer, sidling up behind Ginny’s chair and placing his hand gently at her shoulder , the glass clutched in his other fist .
She shivered, her head turning toward where Patrick’s hand lay. “He’s… that’s him, right?”
He reached around and placed the glass on the table, and her sharp intake of breath reverberated through the otherwise silent room. “Oh… God.”
Sara smiled. “It’s pretty weird, huh?”
Ginny huffed out a low, “Wow. Hey, Patrick.”
“Hey, Ginny.” Patrick grinned at Sara over Ginny’s head, and her answering smile was small but hopeful.
“The real reason I’m telling you this,” Sara said, “is because my sister and neighbor think I’m making all this up. Jules –my sister –wants me to check myself into a mental institution.”
“Well, what can I do about that?” Ginny couldn’t take her eyes off the glass, and she poked at it with her finger.
“I don’t know that you can do anything, but it may help to have someone who believes me. Maybe it’ll make a difference.”
“Or maybe she’ll just think I need professional help too. And really, why don’t you just float the glass in front of her, Patrick? That’s a seeing is believing type of thing – pretty convincing.”
“Yeah, why don’t I?” Patrick asked.
Sara twisted her lips into a grimace. “I don’t know Megan well enough to understand what she’d think about that, but I can almost guarantee Jules would just think we’d hypnotized her or something. She doesn’t need proof to believe what she wants.”
“She sounds…” Ginny trailed off, her face confused.
“I don’t know if having you here will help. And, believe me, I can understand if you don’t want to get involved with this, but will you stay? My sister is supposed to be coming back… probably to discuss my broken brain.” The corner of Sara’s mouth twitched. “I just want someone on my side.”
“Hey, I’m on your side,” Patrick protested.
“Someone they can see and hear,” Sara said, her voice teasing.
The front door opening and slamming ricocheted into the room, and Sara jumped out of her chair. “Guess it’s time to do this.”
Patrick released Ginny, and she slowly stood. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. Sara grasped Patrick’s hand and squeezed. “Not this –I mean, this business with your sister. That’s … well. I just… Patrick! This is huge.”
“Yeah, it’s something else. He’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Love you,” Patrick whispered into Sara’s ear. Her smile was blinding in its happiness. Her fingers threaded through his.
“… this works,” Jules said, stopping short in the doorway. Her eyes rested on Ginny. “Who’s this?”
Megan stuck her head into the kitchen from behind her and smiled. “Oh, you have company.”
“Ginny Burns, this is my sister, Julie Mullins. Do you know Megan Lonergan? She lives next door.”
Ginny extended her hand to Megan. “No, I don’t believe I do. Nice to meet you,” she offered her hand next to Jules, who shook it and released quickly as through Ginny had a disease , “and you.”
“Right. From the writers’ group.” Jules looked from Ginny to Sara, scowling.
Patrick half stepped in front of Sara, wishing he could pull Ginny behind him too . H didn’t like the way Jules was looking at either of them. It was suspicious and vaguely malicious.
“We, uh, need to speak to you privately, Sara.”
“Whatever you have to say, just say it. Ginny can stay.”
“This really is a matter better discussed without an audience,” Megan reasoned, flashing Sara a small, sincere smile.
Sara nodded at Ginny confidently. “She stays.”
“Oh, quit being so stubborn.” Jules’ fists clenched, her face turning pink, and Patrick returned to Sara’s side, gripping her shoulder .
“Give it a rest,” Sara said. “I already know you think I’m crazy and want me to move back to Portland to check myself into the nut house. It’s not going to happen, so you might as well save your breath.”
“We just want what’s best for you,” Megan said, her voice soothing. “And getting round-the-clock care might be your best option at this point if you’re thinking about hurting yourself . You don’t have to go back to Oregon. There are several facilities right here in the area.”
“What’s best for me is to stay here. I’m not going anywhere. I need you to butt out.”
Patrick smiled, proud of her for sticking up for herself. Despite all that Sara’d been through, she was so much stronger than anyone thought. She was smart and funny, talented and full of love. He hated that her sister had turned on her; family was a big deal, and while he could understand it on some level –Jules’ concern –he just wanted her to leave them alone.
“I’m afraid we can’t… butt out. I really like you, Sara, and I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. I have my little girl to think about, though – if you really went through with something, you could not only hurt yourself, you could hurt my family.”