Chapter 17
Seventeen
“Use your left hand,” Zoe instructed patiently, standing with Emma at the laundry closet next to the kitchen pantry. She was reading from a booklet provided by Emma’s physical therapist, describing ordinary household tasks that would strengthen muscles weakened by a minor stroke.
Emma opened the door of the washer with her left hand and looked at Zoe.
“Now reach in and grasp a piece of clothing, and drop it into the dryer. Here, hold my hand for balance—”
“I’ll hold on to the edge of the machine,” Emma said testily.
Alex paused at the doorway of Zoe’s bedroom, where he had been installing a pocket bathroom in the small space that had originally been a closet. He watched the pair of them with silent amusement, while the ghost sat atop the washing machine with his legs dangling.
“Don’t grab two things at once,” Zoe cautioned, as her grandmother dropped a couple of shirts into the dryer.
“It’ll get done faster,” Emma protested.
“The point isn’t to be efficient. The point is to make your fingers open and close as many times as possible.”
“What am I supposed to do after this?”
“Transfer the dry clothes to the laundry basket one at a time. And then we’ll do some dusting to give your wrist a workout.”
“Now I see why you wanted me to live with you,” Emma said.
“Why?” Zoe asked.
“Free maid service.”
Alex snickered.
Noticing the sound, Zoe gave him a mock frown. “Don’t encourage her. You two have spent too much time around each other—I can’t tell who’s a worse influence on who.”
“‘Whom,’” Emma said, delving into the washer for more clothes. “‘Who’ is used when it’s the subject of a verb, ‘whom’ when it’s the object.”
Zoe grinned fondly at the top of her head. “Thank you, grammar police.”
Emma’s voice resonated in the dryer. “I don’t know why I can remember that but not the name of the paper I wrote for.”
“The Bellingham Herald .” Zoe exchanged a glance with Alex as he crossed the room and went to the kitchen sink for a glass of water. He’d become used to those looks by now, the worry she couldn’t quite conceal, the need for reassurance that no one was able to provide.
During the two weeks since Emma had come to live on Dream Lake Road, she had experienced moments of forgetfulness, confusion, agitation. Some days she was alert and competent, some days she was in a fog. There was never any predicting how she would feel or what she would remember from one day to the next.
“Don’t hover, Zoe,” Emma said irritably one afternoon. “Let me watch a TV program in peace.” Apologizing, Zoe went to the kitchen, where she kept stealing concerned glances at Emma.
“You’re still hovering,” Emma said.
“How can I be hovering when I’m twenty feet away?” Zoe protested.
“Alex,” Emma asked, “would you take my granddaughter for a walk?”
“I can’t leave you alone,” Zoe said. “Jeannie isn’t here.”
Jeannie, a part-time home-care nurse, came early every morning to take care of Emma, and usually left around lunchtime. Her unflappable poise made it comfortable for Emma to accept her help with private matters like dressing, bathing, and physical therapy.
“Just for fifteen minutes,” Emma persisted. “Go outside and get some fresh air with Alex. Or go by yourself, if he won’t keep you company.”
Alex picked up Emma’s cell phone from the kitchen island and entered his number on it. “I’ll walk with Zoe, Emma, as long as you promise not to move while we’re gone.” He went to hand the phone to her. “Any problems, you call me. Got it?”
“Got it,” Emma said with satisfaction.
Observing all this, the ghost frowned. “I don’t like this idea.”
“She’ll be fine,” Alex said, and swerved his gaze to Zoe. He made his voice gentle. “Come with me. Nothing’s going to happen to Emma.”
She was still reluctant. “You’re in the middle of your work day.”
“I can take a break.” Extending his hand, Alex gave her an expectant look.
Slowly Zoe reached out and put her hand in his.
Something as casual as the feel of her fingers in his made him hot and ravenous. He savored every small, accidental contact between them, the brush of her arm, the silky tickle of her hair against his ear as she leaned to set a plate in front of him. He noticed every detail about her, the bruise on her shin where she had bumped it against something, the flowery scent of the new soap she’d bought at the farmer’s market.
There was no word for this kind of relationship, for the way she made him feel. The clasp of their hands contained something more than shared warmth, more than skin pressed to skin… it felt as if they were holding something together, keeping it safe.
Even when he made himself let go, he could still feel the clasp of their hands and the invisible imprint of that mysterious secret something between them.
***
Emma settled back into the sofa to watch TV, looking more than a little satisfied. Byron hopped up and crept into her lap.
The ghost stood over Emma. “You little schemer,” he said in soft amusement. “You want them to be together. You have rotten taste in men, you know that?”
Although he wanted badly to stay with her, he eventually felt the inevitable traction of his connection with Alex, and he was forced to go outside.
***
“I can’t help it,” Zoe said, as she and Alex walked on the side of the road beneath a canopy of big leaf maples and Pacific madrones, the forest ground padded with licorice fern and sword fern, and blackberry bramble in the places where enough sun had penetrated. “I know I’m worrying too much, and micromanaging. But I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want her to need something she’s not getting.”
“What she needs—what you both need—is an occasional break from each other. You should go out at least one night a week.”
“Do you want to go to a movie with me?” Zoe dared to ask. “Maybe this weekend?”
Alex shook his head. “My brother Mark’s getting married in Seattle.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. Lucy’s going with Sam. Are you taking anyone?”
“No.” Alex was already regretting the impulse to take a walk with Zoe. Being alone with her was the surest way to give him that giddy, intoxicating feeling he dreaded, the hundred-proof shot of exhilaration that threatened to crack his chest open.
“Lucy and Sam seem happy together,” Zoe said. “Do you think it might turn into something serious?”
“As in marriage?” Alex shook his head. “There’s no reason for them to do that.”
“There’s a great reason.”
“Joint filing on their tax return?”
“No,” Zoe said with an exasperated laugh. “ Love. People should marry because they love each other.”
“People who want to stay in love should do their best to avoid marriage.” As he saw her smile fade, Alex felt ashamed and vile. “Sorry,” he said. “I hate weddings. And this is the first one where I won’t be able to—” He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked.
Zoe understood instantly. “There’ll be an open bar at the reception?”
He gave a single nod.
Another gentle question. “You haven’t told anyone in your family that you’ve stopped drinking?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should let them help you. Give you moral support. If they knew—”
“I don’t want support. I don’t want anyone watching and waiting for me to fail.”
He felt Zoe’s arm slip through his, her fingers curving around his forearm.
“You won’t fail,” she said.
***
The day of Mark and Maggie’s wedding, held on a retired ferry on Seattle’s Lake Union, was sunny and clear. But even if it had rained, the bride and groom would have been too much in love to notice. After champagne was served and Sam made a toast, the guests filled their plates at the elaborate buffet. Alex retreated to the stern of the ferry and occupied one of the chairs by the railing. He’d never liked to make small talk, and he especially didn’t want to keep company with people who were holding champagne or cocktails. It was strange to face this situation without having alcohol as a crutch. It felt almost as if he were trying to impersonate himself. He would have to get used to it.
He noticed Sam dancing with Lucy Marinn, who still wore a leg brace from her biking injury. They swayed together, flirting and kissing. Sam looked at Lucy in a way he’d never looked at anyone before, evincing the invisible alchemy that sometimes happened to people who were busy making other plans. They had become a couple. Alex was fairly certain that Sam wasn’t even aware that it had happened. The dumbass still thought he was a single guy having a carefree relationship.
Alex lurked in the corner, drinking iced Cokes in highball glasses. The ghost lounged beside him, silent and brooding.
“What are you thinking about?” Alex eventually asked beneath his breath.
“I keep wondering if Emma loved her husband,” the ghost said.
“Do you want her to have loved him?”
The ghost struggled to answer. “Yes,” he eventually said. “But I want her to have loved me more.”
Alex smiled, swirling the ice in his drink.
The ghost stared pensively at the sunstruck water. “I did something wrong,” he said. “I hurt Emma. I’m sure of it.”
“You mean before you died?”
The ghost nodded.
“You probably pissed her off by enlisting,” Alex said.
“I think it was worse than that. I need to remember before something happens.”
Alex gave him a skeptical glance. “What do you think’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I have to spend as much time as possible with Emma. I remember more when I’m with her. The other day—” The ghost stopped. “Time to shut up. Maggie’s coming this way.”
Mark’s red-haired wife—now Alex’s sister-in-law—approached him. She was holding a white porcelain coffee cup. “Hi, Alex.” She was radiant with happiness, her brown eyes glowing. “Are you having a good time?”
“Yeah. Nice wedding.” He began to stand up from his chair.
“Don’t get up,” Maggie urged, motioning for him to remain in the chair. “I just wanted to check on you. There are a few women who are dying to meet you, by the way. Including one of my sisters. If I bring her over, would you—”
“No,” he said quickly. “Thanks, Maggie, but I’m not in the mood for small talk.”
“Can I get you something?”
He shook his head. “Go dance with your husband.”
“Husband. I like the sound of that word.” Maggie smiled and gave him the cup she was holding. It was filled with steaming black coffee. “Here. I thought you might like this.”
“Thanks, but I’m—” Alex broke off as he saw her discreetly retrieve his half-finished glass of Coke and ice from the little table next to his chair.
“She thinks you’re plastered,” the ghost said helpfully. “You’ve had about four drinks and now you’re sitting here in the corner talking to yourself.”
“They were nonalcoholic drinks,” Alex said.
“Oh, of course,” Maggie said brightly.
The ghost snorted. “She’s not buying it.”
With a self-mocking smile, Alex took a sip of bitter black coffee. Given his past, it was entirely reasonable to think that he might get drunk on such an occasion. And Maggie, being a sweetheart, was trying to handle it in a way that would spare his pride. “I’m not talking to myself, by the way,” he said. “There’s an invisible guy sitting right beside me.”
Maggie laughed. “I’m glad you told me. Otherwise I might have accidentally sat on his lap.”
“Feel free,” the ghost said without hesitation.
“He wouldn’t mind,” Alex told Maggie. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, but I’ll leave you and your friend to your conversation.” She bent to kiss his cheek. “Drink the whole cup of coffee, okay?” And she left, taking his half-finished Coke with her.