The ghost of you lingers, p.23
The Ghost of You Lingers, page 23
We found a store inside a resort that sold overpriced clothes to visiting golfers, and Annabelle sighed. “Finally, something that isn’t horrid.”
I walked around the shop with my hands shoved in my pockets, trying to look like I belonged there. I didn’t.
After trying on half a dozen outfits, Annabelle found one that satisfied her. I enjoyed watching her try on clothes but didn’t enjoy ponying up two hundred bucks for her final choices. She picked out a jumpsuit in a shade of cobalt blue that perfectly accented her eyes. And it was low-cut enough to perfectly accent her cleavage. I handed over my credit card and laughed as she tried on a series of increasingly ridiculous-looking pairs of sunglasses from the rack next to the counter. But the smile on her face as we left the store, her old clothes in the shopping bag on my arm, made the injury to my wallet hurt less.
With Annabelle properly outfitted, I followed her lead as we wandered the island, my hand never leaving hers.
She made friends at three fudge shops, talking with the owners and tourists alike. Annabelle smiled and laughed easily. Even while dead, she seemed to exude a natural charm that was heightened now that she was out in the world of the living. She touched everything she could, feeling the textures of knitted scarves for sale and poking her finger in her square of fudge. I touched her every chance I got, trying not to think about how short the time we’d have together in the real world would be.
“Bicycles,” she said as we passed a rack stuffed with at least twenty of them in all different sizes. “So many bicycles.”
“Do you want to ride one?” I asked. “I bet Sage would let you borrow theirs.”
We were only a block away from the small office where customers went to book Mike’s horseback rides and carriage tours.
“Oh, no.” She held up her hands and physically backed away from the row of bikes like they were snakes ready to strike. “No thanks. I’d rather ride that lovely lady.” She pointed to a woman riding a brown-and-white horse. It was bigger than Medium Sebastian but smaller than Sage’s horse Joan. “But I don’t want you anywhere near a horse.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” I grabbed her hand, shifting her shopping bag to my other arm. “This is your day.”
Her smile was as bright as the sun overhead.
We took a series of selfies at the beach, then I took a dozen photos of Annabelle posing by herself. She marveled at the giant bridge in the background while the wind whipped her hair and the sun kissed her cheeks. In the bright daylight, I noticed that she had a little cluster of pale freckles across her nose.
I offered to trudge up the hill to the fort, but she shook her head.
Shading her eyes, she scrunched her nose and regarded the imposing white building. “It looks basically the same as it did then. Let’s get lunch.”
While we walked up the hill to the Grand Hotel, Annabelle pointed out the flowers and native plants she saw. Her knowledge was a combination of experience with the island before it saw a burst of development during the Victorian era and many years afterward in which all she had for company was botany books. She was delighted by the Secret Garden and the view from the porch at the hotel. The stuffy formal atmosphere of the place made my skin crawl. But Annabelle, who was beautiful and looked gorgeous in her new clothes, fit right in, so I followed her as she admired the architecture and furnishings of the old-fashioned resort.
I nudged her in the direction of the lunch buffet, self-conscious of my casual attire. But I needn’t have worried because ahead of us in line was a group of at least twenty tourists in cargo shorts and sweat-stained shirts. What I could see of the main dining room looked fancy as fuck, and I wanted to see Annabelle’s reaction to it. She could finally sip tea in a setting that was worthy of her.
But after twenty minutes standing behind the tour group, my feet ached and my stomach growled.
Annabelle took my hand and led me back outside, past the line that had formed behind us.
“But, Marley, you wanted to have tea,” I protested.
She shook her head. “I wanted to have tea, yes, but I’d be just as happy to have it with you in the kitchen, sitting on worn-out old chairs and drinking out of cheap mugs.”
I smiled, wondering if she would ever believe me when I said I didn’t like tea.
***
We searched for it but couldn’t find where Annabelle’s father was buried in the Post Cemetery. Most of the graves from that era in the island’s history weren’t marked, and Annabelle couldn’t remember the exact location. We didn’t talk much as we wandered through the stone markers. Annabelle’s face was serious but not pained. She walked through the cemetery, lightly touching the headstones, lost in thought. I let her be.
After half an hour of wandering through the plots, Annabelle nodded and said, “Thank you for taking me here. I’m ready to go.”
I took her hand as we left through the iron cemetery gates. We passed the sign for Fort Holmes, but she didn’t react one way or the other, so I let her lead me through the island’s lush interior paths. We climbed up the steep steps to Point Lookout. Sweat stuck to my back and dripped from my elbows as we climbed. At the top of the small hill, we could see the weird rock formations that dotted the island, surrounded by dense green forest. Beyond, the water went from jewel green to stripes of brilliant blues that led up to the horizon, where the sky met it with its own shades of blue.
Annabelle breathed in deeply, turning her face to the sky. She reached for me, and I pulled her into a hug from behind, looping my arms around her neck.
“Are you ready to go home?” she asked.
“Yes.” The question was as complicated as it ever had been. The answer was simple and clear.
Chapter 28
Since Annabelle vetoed my bicycle suggestion and I didn’t dare suggest a horseback ride, we walked back to Abaddon. We made it slightly ahead of Yasmin’s six thirty deadline. I opened the gate and held it for Annabelle.
The smell of something delicious filled the house. We stepped up to the porch, but just as I opened the door and Annabelle started to walk through it, Yasmin appeared, wearing an apron that said “Witch, Please.”
“You’re early!” She pointed back out the way we came. “Out till six thirty!”
“But—” I poked my head in and sniffed, detecting the aroma of roasting vegetables.
Miranda appeared from inside the kitchen, also wearing an apron that looked like an immaculate addition to her elegant pantsuit. “We’re eating outside. Why don’t you two go around the house.” She herded us back out the door but made it seem polite somehow.
I shrugged and guided Annabelle around the side yard. She let me put my arm around her waist, and we walked side by side past the wood pile to the back garden, where a small crowd had formed.
Adam spotted us first. He raised his arms in the air and shouted, “There they are!”
Annabelle’s mouth dropped open. “What’s all this?”
In the backyard, Rebecca and Sara chatted with Pete, who looked as grumpy and strange as ever. Mike and Sage were on the lawn, setting up yard games, while Adam and Tyler watched. Nate emerged from the kitchen door with plates and utensils, which he set on the outdoor table. They had moved the kitchen table outside next to it and put every chair in the house around the two tables.
“Oh my gosh, you really are here!” Rebecca squealed. She bustled over to me and Annabelle, leaving Sara to finish her conversation with Old Pete.
I reintroduced Rebecca as the person who gave me an excellent haircut.
She was giddy at the prospect of meeting a ghost come to life. “I love ghosts. I watch those paranormal reality shows all the time. Ghost Hunters? Love it.”
Annabelle’s expression fell. “Hunters?”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that as offensive to your kind.”
“I don’t think I have a kind. I’m just me.”
As we talked, Sara extracted herself from Pete and joined us. I reintroduced her as the lead singer of the Thursday-night jam band at Helga’s. Sara peered at Annabelle, squinting. She crossed her arms and said, “Hmm.”
Rebecca stage-whispered, “She’s having a hard time with the whole ghost thing.”
“I’m not convinced this isn’t a mass hallucination,” Sara said. She got an elbow in the side from her wife and added, “But in any case, it’s nice to meet you properly. We brought brownies.” Sara pointed at a platter on the table.
Annabelle smiled. “Thank you for coming. I’ve never had a brownie.” She peered at the brown mass but didn’t seem eager to try it.
From the grass, Mike let out a shout as Sage completed a tricky frisbee catch.
“Is that—was he here? Last night?” Annabelle asked.
“Yes, that’s Mike,” I said. “He helped me get you home.”
She nodded, her expression reserved. “I see.” She approached Mike and Sage, clasping her hands behind her back nervously. They spent a few minutes talking, solemn looks on their faces, and then the mood shifted. Adam and Tyler showed Annabelle how to toss a beanbag into the hole of the cornhole board, and she joined their game, cheering everyone’s tosses regardless of who was on which team.
I stood at the railing and watched. Pete thrust a low-quality beer in my hands, mumbled something, and then wandered off.
After a few rounds of increasingly competitive cornhole games, Yasmin emerged from the house. She clapped her hands and announced, “Dinner time! Everyone, come eat!”
We all found places around the tables. Everyone made sure I sat next to Annabelle, and that she had the best seat, next to the food.
Yasmin clinked her fork on her mug. “Before we eat, I’d like to say a few words.” She launched into a witchy prayer that mentioned the earth and the moon so many times I lost count. When she got to the parts about healing energy, I zoned out. But Annabelle held my hand under the table, and my leg brushed against hers, so although my stomach growled, I was content. Finally, we ate.
The food was delicious. Yasmin and Miranda, with Nate’s help, had made roasted chicken and vegetables, mashed potatoes, pasta salad, and asparagus. Mike supplied biscuits from a can and sodas for the kids. Miranda told us her lemon bar recipe was so famous it had won awards in the 1970s. Conversation flowed freely, with Annabelle fitting in among the strange ensemble perfectly. The kids had spent time before the ritual peppering Annabelle with questions, so now it was Mike and the Johnsons’ turn. She told them stories about the island before the United States regained it, describing how people at the fort and in the small town survived the harsh winters and fondly recalling the gatherings of Anishinaabe fur traders that arrived with the seasons.
Eventually, scrutiny returned to me. Mike asked, “What about the house? I thought you got an offer on it.”
Yasmin studied her nails.
I sighed. “Seymour Anderson gave me an offer, yes. But he also . . . walked in at an awkward moment while we were bringing Annabelle back. His offer went down by a million because he says the property is cursed, and I have a feeling that’s an insult, given how much the Montclair property went for.”
Mike frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Shouldn’t he be raising his offer to get you on board? You’re the one with the house. Does he want it or not?”
“He doesn’t want the house; he wants the land. Besides, it’s a haunted dump,” Pete said.
We all looked at Pete, aghast. “It is!” The strange old man cleared his throat. “Electrical aside. And that doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”
Miranda clucked her tongue, and the rest of the group looked everywhere but me.
“Pete’s right. To make Abaddon into a home, you’d have to do so many things.” I shrugged. “I don’t even know what all you’d need to do. Decorating? Drywall? Yeesh.” I remembered my vision of the garden as a gathering place, full of people and life. The impromptu party Yasmin had thrown was close to being what I imagined, but not quite.
“Besides, no one wants to live in a haunted house,” Annabelle said. “Witches aside, of course.” She added a smile, but no one else did.
There was a moment of silence. It was broken by Adam, who spoke around a mouth full of mashed potatoes. “That’s not true! People love haunted houses. Otherwise, why would they make a whole ride at Disneyland?”
We all laughed, but what he said stuck with me. The vision of the garden hadn’t left my mind the whole night—it juxtaposed itself on top of reality in a way that was confusing but felt, strangely, comfortable.
Maybe I was just a witch late bloomer. The spells that Yasmin learned at four might come to me when I got to Miranda’s age.
I turned to Nate and asked, “Could you put up string lights? Maybe out into the garden?”
He stroked his chin. “Of course. Might take me an hour or two, though.” He craned his head back to see the electrical panel he’d worked on with Old Pete, then started mumbling to himself.
I laughed. “Not right now, man. But someday.”
***
After dinner, Sage hooked up their Bluetooth speakers, and we cleared a space on the deck large enough for a makeshift dance floor. The kids did TikTok dances to songs that were popular when I was their age, and they dissolved in giggles when Miranda and Pete tried to imitate the moves.
Sage’s playlist included a song that I instantly recognized as Call Me Kate Kane by Ivan’s bassline and Brooke’s scratchy vocals, but I didn’t know it.
“What is this?” I asked. Sage showed me their phone—it was a new single, the one they released with Stephani on guitar instead of me. “Huh.”
Sage took their phone back. “It’s not terrible, but it’s definitely not my fave.”
I expected to feel angry or jealous. But I gazed at Annabelle and the people gathered on my porch and felt nothing but contentment. “Yeah, it’s catchy. Pop. Not their usual style.”
Sara and Rebecca Johnson swayed in an approximation of dancing for three songs, looking into each other’s eyes and sighing. Then they left for the night, taking Tyler home. Soon after, Mike, Adam, and Sage departed, leaving me with Old Pete and the weird people I’d started to think of as family. Miranda, Yasmin, and Nate gathered around the table, nursing beverages. Annabelle and I joined them.
“What do you think is going to happen tomorrow? Will you go back to being a ghost?” Nate asked, his fingers intertwined with Yasmin’s on top of the table.
She kicked him.
“Sorry.”
Annabelle smiled, her usual mask back in place. “It’s a good question, Nate. When Agatha and I discussed it, she wasn’t sure if I would return to the world as I was or if I would . . . dissipate.”
“Dissipate?” Pete echoed. “You were a ghost. Now you’re not a ghost.”
Annabelle nodded.
Nate picked up the thread from there. “But it’s only for last night and today, then you’ll dissipate? Why would a ghost dissipate after being real and getting a girlfriend?”
He looked at me and Yasmin for answers. She looked away, and my vision unfocused, my mind replaying the word “girlfriend” over and over.
“I think,” Annabelle said, “that whatever happens tomorrow, I will be grateful for my time here. And grateful to all of you for summoning me.” She looked around the tables, where we’d squeezed nine adults, three kids, and a giant spread of homemade food and dessert.
“If you’re supposed to haunt this place, then wouldn’t you keep haunting it?” Nate asked. He looked at the back of the house as if he expected to see a sign, something that made it obvious Abaddon Cottage was not a normal house. “I’m new to this ghost business, but . . . why would anything have to change if your spirit is still tied to the house?”
“It wasn’t the house that brought me back to life, dears.” Annabelle folded her hands on the table. She had tucked a napkin into her jumpsuit top to avoid getting crumbs all over it. She looked ridiculous with the napkin sticking out. I loved her so much I ached with it.
Annabelle continued. “At first, being a ghost was very confusing.” She spoke as if she was telling someone else’s story, not her own. “I wandered the fort for a long time, scaring the dickens out of people. I’m not proud to admit it, but at times, I enjoyed being spooky!”
She smiled and waved her hands in the air, making “boo” sounds.
“But mostly I wandered the forest where I wouldn’t scare anyone. I also didn’t want to get attached. People used to die much earlier. This place, where this house was built, was a lovely meadow that made me happy. I felt it was where I was supposed to be, so I stayed. Eventually, a house was built here, and I found myself unable to leave it. I’m not sure why I came out of the lake when I should have moved on, but it must be part of a plan that I simply do not understand.”
“A plan?” I scoffed, then remembered to be kind. “Sorry, Marley, but I just have a hard time with the idea that everything in life is preordained.”
“What else am I to think, dear? That I’m a cosmic clerical error?”
I didn’t have an answer to that. The adults around the table examined their drinks.
Yasmin wrung her hands. “I wish I could predict what would happen tomorrow. It seems like I should be able to, but . . . Maybe my mom could—”
Annabelle put her hand on Yasmin’s shoulder. “You’ve done great, Yas.”
“You can’t know everything, dear,” Miranda said. She looked directly at Pete and said, “Life is supposed to surprise you.” To Annabelle, she said, “And death, I suppose.”
I grabbed one of the terrible beers. “I’ll drink to that.”
We toasted, then Annabelle said, “I don’t care.” She stood and took the napkin out of her shirt collar, putting it down on the table with an air of finality. “I have an hour or so left before the moon returns to its place and whatever is slated to happen happens.”
She gathered the empty plates and headed inside. I followed her.
Annabelle washed the dishes. I stood next to her and started rinsing them, trying not to cry. In the bottom of the sink, the dishes shifted and I heard a delicate crack. I carefully pulled out the angel wings mug from the bottom of the pile. The point where the wings jutted out from the mug had broken, leaving one dainty wing hanging off.
