Wraith (20 page)

“We’re just going about this the wrong way,” he said. So stubborn.

I turned my face back into his shoulder and inhaled his scent. Sweat and boy. His fingers were still on my arm, but the touch was lighter, extending from my shoulder to my fingertips. My stomach tensed every time his skin came in contact with mine. Everything about Connor was so right and also so very, very wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to right myself, but his hands held me to his chest.

“About what?”

“This. Whatever
this
is.” I said the words to his chest, pressing my ear so I could hear his heartbeat. “I know you want to help with Evan and I won’t deny you that, but the rest of it—whatever it is between us? You didn’t ask for the drama.”

Connor laughed and the noise echoed through his chest. I was shocked at the response and sat up in surprise. His blue eyes were dark and tight. “I know you’re having a hard time accepting this, but I’m not going anywhere.” He ran his thumb over the side of my neck. “Trust me.”

I shivered and twisted my neck away from him. “I want to. I just don’t understand why you want to get involved with all this. I mean, normally…” I rolled my eyes, “I don’t cry nearly this much. Or get in this much trouble. Or need saving. It’s not really my thing.”

The boy underneath me pressed his head back into the chair and raised an eyebrow high enough that I couldn’t see it under his too-long hair. “Normally, I get into way more trouble, and smoke and drink too much and fight with my parents, skip school and would never, ever, invite a girl up to my room.” He shrugged, daring me to challenge him. “People change and go through stuff. Right now, I want to go through stuff with you.”

I sifted through his words. “Right now?”

“Today and tomorrow and any day after that.” He pressed his lips to mine as though to seal it.

Such a player.

He leaned back. “I know you think I’m full of crap, Jane, but it’s true. I was in this from the beginning.” He lowered his voice. “Way before you were.”

“What do you mean?”

“It took me a minute to get past Evan and the idea you could see ghosts, too—I admit, it drew me to you in the first place, but that day you told me off in the hallway during art, and every encounter we had after that? I knew.”

I swallowed, needing him to spell it out. “Knew what?”

He focused on my mouth. “That I wanted you to tell me off like that all the time. Everyone is scared of me, but not you. The kids at school either want to be my friend or run in the opposite direction. You were different. And hot. So I pursued you.”

“You were acting like a stalker!”

“Whatever. I knew you would get me and maybe not judge me for all the garbage in my past.”

“I may have judged you a little.” Or a lot.

“Most of all, I knew that we’re not like everyone else.” His forehead pressed into mine. So close, but not close enough.

“Obviously.” I said. “So you knew that day? In the hall? I thought it was New Year’s Eve.”

He scratched his chin. “Nope. Way before that.”

I wanted to hide my face—he was so bold.

He wove his fingers into mine. “Plus, I think this is bigger than the two of us. Stop over thinking it.”

I stared at this weird boy. Troublesome and poetic—a deadly mix. He had his baggage and wanted mine, too. I had no reason to deny him or resist him any further, so when he placed a hand behind my neck and leaned in, I let him kiss me. And when he pressed his lips harder, with less hesitation, more determination, I closed my eyes and sunk into it, letting him distract me from the day and the pain, for now just being in the moment.

T
HAT NIGHT, I SKIPPED
homework to shower and fall into bed. My entire body ached with exhaustion. The surprise and upset of the shelter was bad enough, but the fallout with Evan set the entire day on a tailspin. Not to mention, John following us and Connor’s declaration in his room.

This was more than a girl could handle.

Even though my body was worn out, my head whirled with information. I arranged my blankets and picked up my book from the bedside table. I allowed myself to sink into the words on the page until my eyes drooped. A tap on the door and an immediate twist of the knob woke me up. 

“You’re in bed kind of early,” my mom said, emerging from the dark hallway.

“It was a long day.” I shifted my legs, making space.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Did something happen at the shelter?”

“Kind of.”

My mother patted my knee, with one of those touches that made me feel eight years old again. Right now I wished I was eight years old. “Tell me.”

“There was a woman there and she had been badly beaten. It was just hard to see.” I waited for the tears to start, but nothing came. I was dry.

“Oh, honey.”

“It was horrible. Her neck…”

“I can only imagine. It’s hard to see people in pain like that.”

“It was.” I kept my eyes low.

She ran her hands over the blanket. I made a quick decision before I could change my mind. “I need to tell you something.”

“Anything.”

“But I need to trust you.”

“Trust me how?” She sounded nervous.

“Just let me tell you this—and just support me, okay? No judgments. No freaking out.”

She paused and I studied her face. She mulled it over. Eventually she said, ”I can’t promise that. I tend to freak. You know that. But I won’t judge.”

It took me a second to get started, my mouth opened and closed more than once. “I’ve still been seeing the…um…ghost.” Her face became ashen. “He never left.”

“So you lied before to the doctors and the counselors?”

I stiffened. A liar. One way or the other it was exactly what I was. “Yes, I did, because I knew that I wasn’t crazy.” The word hung in the air. “I’m not crazy.”

She sighed and rubbed my leg. “I know, honey. It’s just—”

“No! I’m not. I know crazy people never think they’re crazy, but I’m not. I don’t know why I can see him, but I can. I’ve accepted it. I need you to, also.”

Worry lines tugged at her mouth and it made her seem older than she was. I hated that I caused her stress. “I know, Jane. You’re not crazy.” She sighed and smoothed my hair. “I hoped it would go away. I didn’t want this for you.”

“Want what?”

“This. All of it. Jeannie thinks it’s a blessing. I don’t know, though. It always seemed more like a curse.”

I was confused. “Jeannie?”

Conflict showed on her face, primarily in the crease in her forehead. “When we were kids, I thought it was all a game. Pretend and make-believe. Like cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians. Jeannie and I played Gypsies. We would tie our hair back in bright colored scarves and steal Mama’s costume jewelry and tell each other’s fortunes. It was fun.”

My mother sat on the edge of my bed and in that moment, I wasn’t sure if she had turned into a stranger or if everything had just become epically clear. Whichever, I was riveted.

“Jeannie would play the fortune teller and I would round up all the kids in the neighborhood to your grandmother’s house, where we would be set up with a small table and two chairs on the porch. For a nickel she would read their palms and look for their future in her crystal ball. Her ‘ball’ was a small upside down vase she found at the five and dime that had a shimmery blue glaze on the glass.” She smiled briefly at the memory. “Jeannie was a professional, even then. She could convince anyone of anything.”

I imagined them sitting on my grandmother’s porch telling fortunes. It was like an image out of a book.

“Typically, she would tell the girls they were getting married or going to have two girls and no boys. Occasionally she would tell them a tale of adventure or fantasy. She had Catherine Blake convinced she was going to marry Prince Charles. But, one day I recruited Tommy Johnson to come over. His father was in the war—Vietnam,” she clarified. “Tommy was this small kid, really cute. I brought him over to Jeannie. Even before he sat down she started acting strange. Just staring him down. But Jeannie was always dramatic, so again, I thought she was just playing her part. She reached for his hand, but didn’t really look at it, her eyes were glued to Tommy—or around Tommy I should say.”

I was so enthralled by her story I had to force myself to interrupt. “What was she doing?”

“She saw his aura. She told me later that Tommy was surrounded by a haze of black. She knew nothing about reading auras then. She didn’t even know that was what it was called. But she saw the darkness radiating off of Tommy and she knew what it was. On instinct, I suppose.”

“Death?” I asked, remembering her own words to me and how she saw—or felt—Evan’s presence at Thanksgiving.

My mother nodded. “She gave Tommy his nickel back and never read his palm. She never read any of the kids’ palms again in the neighborhood. Everything clicked for her, though, when days later a man from the army came to Tommy’s house and told them his father was killed in action. She was convinced this was the darkness that had surrounded him.”

I shifted in the bed. “So you’re saying she can read auras and all that, for real.”

My mother grimaced. “Yes, I think she can.”

Butterflies filled my stomach. “And me? What does this have to do with me?”

My mother turned and bent one leg up on the bed, getting comfortable. “I know you know this—because you’ve asked, but Jeannie came to live with us because her mother was sick. That’s what they called it. ‘Sick.’”

My breath caught. “What kind of sick?” 

“Mentally, I guess? But she wasn’t. I know that now. Jeannie knew it, too. Her mother heard things—saw things. Like you, I suppose.”

“Wait, so you knew this? You knew this was a possibility? Seeing ghosts and talking to them is some crazy family trait but you sent me to the doctor anyway?” The realization of what she said hit me full force. “You made me think I was insane when you knew better?”

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry, I just—” she searched for a justification I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear, “I was scared. I was scared for you and for our family. I’d seen it tear apart our own. This
thing
, I saw how it broke Jeannie away from her mother and even now, my aunt isn’t a well person. I didn’t want that for you.”

Her hand was on my arm and I yanked it away. “I’m not sure if we have a choice.”

“The ghost you see, it’s the same one? Are there any others?”

I shook my head, unwilling to speak yet. She had betrayed me. She
knew
—all along, and never told me.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” she said. Her fingers grazed my hair and I twisted a little to get out of her reach. Maybe if I had known, things wouldn’t be like this. Evan was gone. Ellen was hurt. John was stalking me and Connor…

I took a deep breath and leaned over to the lamp on the bedside table, pulling the cord to turn the light off. In the dark I sought the courage to fix the mess we’d gotten into. I had no idea if we could, but I knew I would try.

I
SHIVERED AND PUSHED
my hands deeper into my coat pockets. I was more than ready for winter to be over, but we were weeks away from even the earliest signs of a Southern spring. I wouldn’t deny the fact I was nervous walking to school alone—Evan’s shadowy presence would have made me feel more comfortable. Images of John’s truck following us through the street yesterday filled my mind, and I was jumpy. The familiar rumble and whine of Connor’s car echoed down the street and he pulled next to me and stopped. 

The door flung open, blasting music into the air. “Get in.”

His tone was harsh and impatient, which normally would have made me stubborn, but I was cold and spooked, so I did as I was told. I did add an eye roll and heavy sigh once I sat down, and slammed the door for good measure.

Connor shifted into gear and rushed down the street. “You can’t walk to school alone right now. You know that.” His voice had taken on a gentler tone, although the tendons in his neck were taut.

Guilt. I was growing used to this feeling. He was only being protective and I was being a brat. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll pick you up from now on, okay? And take you home.” His eyes flashed to mine. “Unless you have another ride.”

“No, I’ll meet you by the car after school. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The tension evaporated and I adjusted the volume on the stereo. “You won’t believe what my mom told me last night.”

“What?”

“This ghost thing? It runs in the family.”

Connor blinked twice before he spoke. “What do you mean ‘runs in the family?’”

“I have a great aunt who’s been mentally ill her whole life. She sees things. People. Dead people. Like me and you.”

The car slowed and Connor entered the parking lot, securing a spot in the junior section. He killed the engine. “So they knew this? They knew you weren’t lying or crazy?”

“Apparently,” I said.

His head dropped against the seat. “Wow.”

“I know. I’m pissed.”

“I can imagine.” He laced his fingers through mine. “How did it come up?”

I told Connor the conversation I had with my mom last night. I was still angry at her for not telling me the truth when it first happened. I felt betrayed. I spent hours with doctors and counselors trying to keep up a facade of sanity when all along my mother knew the truth. It stung.

“Maybe you should talk to your aunt.”

“Maybe.” All this new information definitely put things with Aunt Jeannie in a different perspective. “She knows; between the conversation we had at Thanksgiving and the painting she sent me, it seems pretty obvious.”

“I agree, it does.”

Connor grabbed his school bag, unhooking his iPod from the cord before tucking it inside. His door was halfway open when he leaned back in and grazed my cheek with his lips. “Ready?”

We were going public. Right now. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Ghosts, I could handle. Walking into school with my boyfriend? Not so much. I took a final breath and opened the door. Connor must have run around the car because he was at my side by the time I shut the door. He was just so…
so
(perfect, charming, endearing?)
and I was so in over my head.

“Let’s do this,” he said and nudged me along a little.

I kept my hands firmly around my stack of books. No dangling appendages. We could walk in together, but I couldn’t quite make myself get to touching yet. Every time Connor’s elbow grazed mine or his hip bumped against my own, I got the feeling he would be pushing my unspoken no-touching rule before the day was over.

We filed up the stairs, mingled with the other students and I hoped my fears were for nothing. Why would anyone notice? Who cared? Maybe it looked like I walked into school near him.