Chapter 21
Taylor: What does one pack to stay in a haunted house?
I snort, then open the other message I’ve been ignoring for a few days now.
Dad: Good.
I decide to answer Taylor first. I’m less likely to want to throw something talking to her.
Amity: The house is not haunted. Please do not encourage him.
Taylor: You’re living your own version of Casper. Why are you not embracing this? The cute boy, the house full of strange things happening…
Amity: There is nothing happening in the house. And the cute boy in Casper is dead. Theo is very much not…
Taylor: And don’t your lips know it!
I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to tell her about that kiss. Or any of the others that have followed in the past week since Theo and I visited Gravity Hill.
I move around the den, tossing everything I don’t use daily into two laundry bins.
It will still be weeks until I can think about moving anything upstairs, but this room has become a hazard zone.
Nothing seems to stay in its place. I am constantly tripping on clothes I don’t remember leaving on the floor and searching for my yarn and dolls, which are forever out of their basket.
There’s a light knock on the doorframe, and when I turn around, Theo’s standing there, twisting the doorknob in his hand. He smiles at me. “Hey.”
“Have you been moving my dolls?” I flash Rosa Parks at him.
My mother swears it isn’t her, and it mostly seems to happen at night and in the early morning.
Obviously, it doesn’t make sense that Theo would be doing it either, but I hate the idea that I have been so distracted by him that I don’t remember making my own messes.
My brain is probably the culprit, though. Between working on small projects around the house with him and all the time we’ve been spending in RC’s library in the evenings, I see him more than I see my mother. That’s not even factoring in our endless text chains.
And somehow, it’s never enough. Every second I’m not with him or talking to him, I’m thinking about him. I should probably be glad that I’ve just been messy, and I haven’t accidentally set the house on fire.
“I’m doing great, thanks.” He arches an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. They keep getting scattered around.”
“Maybe Mercy’s trying to send you a message.”
“What do you think she’s saying? Does she want me to make her a doll?” Placing Rosa back in the yarn basket where she belongs, I drop down on my bed with my phone in my hand and stare at the screen, chewing on my lip.
Theo settles down next to me. Near enough that we are hip-to-hip.
It’s been like that since our first kiss, like he can’t pull himself out of my gravity.
I love the feeling of having him close to me, but it scares me too.
At some point, the soft kisses and hand-holding are going to become more.
I don’t think I’m ready for that, and I don’t know how I tell him. Or what will happen when I do.
I know sometimes that’s a deal-breaker for guys. I want to believe that Theo isn’t like that, but how can I be sure?
“Something tells me you aren’t actually worried about your dolls?” He nudges my shoulder gently with his.
I frown, running a finger over my phone. My father’s text is still sitting there. It’s the first time I’ve heard from him in weeks, and that’s only because I reached out to update him on the renovation progress.
I think this might be my last time. It hurts too much when he doesn’t answer. And even when he does, his responses are so curt it almost hurts worse. I can’t keep begging him to care like this.
“I just…really need a space of my own here.” I’ve stopped spending every day mourning the move, but until I have a permanent spot that’s mine, this house is never going to feel like home.
And I really, really want to feel like I have a home again.
One where I don’t need my father. “I just want to feel like I fit.”
Theo covers one of my fisted hands with his warm palm.
“I know everything’s chaotic right now and it seems like nothing is ever going to be done.
But it will be finished. Sooner than you think.
And you and Arden will make those rooms awesome.
” He presses his side more deeply into mine.
“And until then, you always fit with me.”
I drop my forehead to his shoulder. “Why are you so great?” I murmur.
“You make it easy.” I feel his words in my hair and it gives me a little shiver.
My phone vibrates with a notification for a new video by Issy Will Cook Anything. Seeing it reminds me that there haven’t been any new videos from Theo’s dad in my feed lately. “Hey. Where is your next Mr. FixIt video? I’ve been waiting to watch it.”
The right side of Theo’s mouth dips into a half frown. “I need to reshoot a segment of it, and Dad hasn’t been able to make the time.”
“Does he realize he’s losing business every minute he sits on this?”
“I don’t want to bug him.” For maybe the first time since we met, Theo won’t look me in the eyes. He picks at a loose string on the pocket of his cargo shorts. “It’s fine. We’ll get to it at some point.”
I narrow my eyes. “Theo—”
“There you are. We’re not here for you to hang out with your girlfriend, T.” Jesse appears in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, and a deep frown mars his otherwise handsome face. “This is an all-hands-on-deck situation upstairs.”
Every organ in my body stops functioning at the word girlfriend (Am I his girlfriend?
How do I know?), but Theo only rolls his eyes.
“I’ve been down here for like three minutes.
” With a sigh, he pops to his feet. Then he leans in to give me a quick kiss on the mouth.
With Jesse standing right there. Like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Though the tips of his ears are as red as a fire truck.
My heart flips over as our lips touch. Is this what being with someone—being a girlfriend—is like? The world always feeling a little off-kilter?
I wonder if that will ever stop—or if I want it to.
He bumps Jesse’s shoulder hard as he passes by him. I can hear Jesse lecturing Theo for goofing off as they head upstairs.
I wish his brother would give him a break. And that his father would listen to him. No wonder he wants so badly for me to believe in ghosts. No one else around him but Matt seems to take him seriously.
Silently, I vow to tamp down a little more of my skepticism. And I take a second to go on YouTube and favorite all of Mr. FixIt’s videos.
After I finish straightening up the den, I head for the living room to do the same.
Mom has been super busy working on an article and preparing her fall courses, and her research materials have kind of blown up all over the place in here.
We’re also both terrible about remembering to pick up our empty glasses and plates, so there are dishes strewn on pretty much every solid surface.
I shuffle around the room, stacking papers, dusting off surfaces, and collecting dishes in my arms. As I bend to clear a few of her pens off the floor, my foot kicks something solid out from between the coffee table and the couch and it slides across the new floors toward the stairs.
It’s a book. The glossy dust jacket is designed in shades of red and black, with white words cutting across the cover. I stoop to grab it.
The House Isn’t Empty
One of Mom’s thrillers. And not one she brought on our cross-country trip. I’d know because I read them all when I got bored on the drive.
I peek my head into the dining room, where all our boxes of books are stacked Jenga-style in the far corner. None of them look open.
I stare down at the cover again. My mother would not have dared to visit a bookstore here without me. So where did this come from?
I’m setting it on the table to ask Mom about later when a scream erupts from upstairs.
A second later, other panicked voices fill the silence, though they are too low for me to understand what they’re saying.
I rush for the stairs. I’ve made it up two when I stagger to a stop. I’m forced to catch the railing to keep from face-planting on the next step.
There’s a shadow on the wall above me. A distinct shadow. Almost in the shape of a person in profile.
As I gape at it, it slowly rotates until it is facing me.
My stomach drops. This can’t be real. I am staring into a darkness deeper and more solid than the dimness of the stairwell.
Before I can process what I’m seeing, before I can find a rational explanation, before I can do anything at all but stare, the shadow rushes at me.
Then through me.
A chill grips every inch of my skin, and I grow dizzy. I slump down on the step before I fall over.
My blood surges against my eardrums, and I’m shaking a little. My thoughts are moving so fast I can barely catch onto any of them.
Did I…did I just see a freaking ghost?
The sensation fades almost as quickly as it came on. And when I glance behind me, in the path the shadow would have taken, there’s nothing there.