Chapter 4
Sawyer
“I went. Happy?”
I ask the question under my breath seemingly to no one. I don’t feel Kennedy right now, but she has to be nearby. Of course, I get no reply. Only a car honking at someone blocking the intersection.
It’s too hot out here. I hurry to my car, eager to get home.
This whole outing was a waste of time. I don’t know what Kennedy expected me to get out of it, but all I’m leaving with is a coupon to a restaurant I’ll never go to.
Maybe I can give it to the next delivery person who I scare with my yard.
“Sawyer! Hey, Sawyer, hold up for a second!”
I’m reaching for my keys when I hear my name called behind me. Maybe I left my phone or my wallet inside or something.
Except when I turn, I find the woman from the meeting who also seems to be genuinely haunted—although our similarities definitely end there.
She’s dressed for the summer heat in overall shorts and scuffed sneakers.
Her nails are dark blue, and her earrings are studs in the shape of Arizona.
Since coming outside, she’s pulled her brown hair back into a messy bun.
She rushes up to me, her expression a mix of frantic and eager. “Can we talk?” she asks. “You, um…Well, you’re the only one in there who seems to be actually haunted.”
I wish I had pretended I hadn’t heard her over the car honking.
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask stiffly, hoping the gruffness of my tone will communicate how little I want to discuss anything with her.
Either Morgan doesn’t pick up on social cues or she just ignores them.
She steps closer to me like I’ve just agreed to hang out in front of the driver’s side door of my car on the edge of the road.
She’s carrying a tote bag covered in artful drawings of plants with sexual-sounding Latin names.
Clitoria. Bifora testiculata. Inside, I can see a shopping bag from Gwyneth’s Crystals on top, presumably full of crystals.
“I just think that if we share more of our haunting experiences with each other, we might be able to figure out how to get rid of our ghosts. Like, exorcise them,” she says.
She must notice how entirely uninterested I am in the suggestion, because she starts in again.
“Or maybe we can…help them?” she amends hopefully.
“You want to help your ghost,” I repeat flatly.
“No.” She looks to the side like she’s seeing someone who isn’t there. “I mean, I want to help Zach move on.”
I know when I look at where she’s looking, I won’t see Zach, but I look anyway. Still, I’m not in any position to doubt this woman, as much as I desperately wish I could.
It doesn’t matter if Zach is real, I remind myself. There’s nothing Morgan and I can offer each other.
“I don’t need help,” I tell her, then open my car door.
She puts her hand on the door’s top, making her intention of not leaving clear. I wish I were in my haunted house. People are less chatty in haunted houses. I’ve lost my touch for extricating myself from unwanted conversations.
Morgan smiles, unabashed. “You must have come to this meeting for something.”
Her words halt me. I’m not about to explain to Morgan with her plant sex puns and invisible Zach that I came to this meeting because my ghost fiancée wants to try to get me to accept I’m unhappy in our relationship.
But what if the distance I’m feeling from Kennedy has nothing to do with our un-living conditions and is because she’s distant? Not emotionally but metaphysically? Kennedy has been distracted and absent more. I thought it was because of me, but what if…?
“Do you think ghosts can fade away?” I ask Morgan softly.
Her eyes widen. “Do they?” Her voice is gratingly hopeful. “I’ve only been haunted for a couple months, and Zach seems as present as ever, but you said you’ve been haunted for five years, right?”
I nod. I’ve completely abandoned getting into my car, invested in this conversation against my better judgment.
“Maybe with enough time…” she muses, her gaze turning thoughtfully to the road.
“But five years? I’m sorry. I cannot waste my thirties waiting for Zach to fade away.
” She meets my eyes again, sympathy entering her expression.
“You don’t want your ghost to leave and they’ve started fading. That must be really hard.”
The muscles of my jaw clench. I’m used to pity. Doesn’t mean I like it, though. It’s the invisible specter hanging over every conversation I’ve had with loved ones and strangers over the years, haunting me worse than any ghost.
This Morgan with her crystals and her desire to be free of the dead doesn’t know anything about me.
“Look,” I say, my tone pickax-sharp once more. “I don’t think we can help each other. I wish you luck with your…Zach problem. But I have to go. I’m late for a meeting.”
I climb into my front seat, no longer caring if Morgan wants to hold my door open. I’ll drive away with it open if I have to.
Except the second I bring my key to the ignition, I hear a loud pop. The car rocks violently, then sags distinctly forward and to the left. Morgan shrieks and jumps back—right into the street.
On instinct, I leap out of the car and yank her forward, out of oncoming traffic. Her eyes widen in stunned gratitude.
I hold on to her forearm until I’m confident she’s found her footing again, then I release her. The indent of my fingers on her pale arm shocks me. My eyes linger on the streaks of pink and white quickly fading to flesh as her blood pumps through her veins. I forgot skin does that.
Pulling myself from my trance, I peer around the corner of my car to find—yes, my driver’s side tire is somehow completely, spontaneously, shredded.
No, not somehow.
I can feel Kennedy nearby, her presence a comforting chill on this summer’s day. I pull my sleeves down. Finally she’s returned, only to destroy my tire. I fight the annoyance that surges in me. Why is she doing this to me?
Of course, I know the answer. She wants me to keep talking to Morgan. There’s no other reason. She wouldn’t just torture me with unwanted conversation otherwise. Kennedy isn’t spiteful or malicious. Her spirit is only kindness and love.
She must think there’s something Morgan can do for us. For her.
“Tough luck,” Morgan says when she’s caught her breath. “Well, it looks like you’re going to be waiting around for Triple A. Want to grab some food?”
She pulls out the coupon for Serving Spirits and grins.