Chapter 16
Fifteen Years Earlier
Since our day at the beach, Lincoln and I had texted constantly for a week. By then an actual official date was a foregone
conclusion. I’d told him, in detail, about my grand plan to go to college and launch my career, prove to my mama and everyone
else back home that I could succeed my own way.
I’d wondered aloud to him if that still left room for a little summer fun.
He’d enthusiastically agreed.
The next Friday evening I stood at the entrance to the harbor, where Lincoln had told me to meet him. I hadn’t pinned him
for the sailing type—he seemed more of a full-time artist trapped by a boring desk job required to pay the bills.
I walked down the slatted dock, pops of the wood marking my steps toward him. My dress fluttered in the crosswind, and he
stood at the edge of the dock facing the water. I cleared my throat, and he turned to me, lighting up.
“Hey, sailor,” I said.
He laughed. “Ahoy there!” He saluted me, looking adorably goofy. He was still wearing his work clothes, slacks and a button-up, now loosened at the neck, sleeves rolled up; he looked so different from when I saw him at the beach.
I glanced around the marina, impressed. “How’d you swing this?”
“I have a buddy at the college who let me in.” He grinned like he knew it was trouble.
I raised an impressed brow.
Lincoln strode to the sailboat, stepped down into it, and extended a hand back to me. I hopped down beside him. I hadn’t been
on a sailboat but once before, very long ago, when Magnolia sent me to a wildly unsuccessful sailing camp.
A picnic basket sat stashed on the deck, and a bottle of champagne peeked out from the wicker flap. It seemed like it might
easily flip overboard at the rock of a wave, but I was no sailing expert. As I watched Lincoln fumble around the boat in front
of me, I wondered if perhaps he was no expert either.
“You know how to drive this thing?” I asked after a solid fifteen minutes of him poking around.
“ Obviously . Could you just point me to where the keys go?” He grinned, then got back to his rooting around.
I sat, and watched, and waited.
After a little while longer he stopped and slouched against the mast. “Ok, I’ll be honest—”
A laugh spilled from me.
“I thought it’d be a little bit more, I don’t know... straightforward?”
I wiped a tear that slipped from my eye.
“I figured I could work it out on the fly,” he said.
“Just like that, huh?” I looked up at him from under my lashes.
Lincoln dropped onto the seat beside me.
“Sailing is serious business,” I said. “I should know, seeing as I’m a sailing camp dropout myself.”
Lincoln glanced up at the ropes and loops and knots. “I did learn some knots at Boy Scouts... before I was kicked out for diverting the nature hike to the convenience store for chips and soda.”
“A booted Boy Scout? Seems I’ve got a real bad boy on my hands.” I kicked off my sandals and pulled the picnic basket toward
us.
“A toast to a first date flop?” he asked.
“Well, let’s not call it quite yet,” I said, sliding out the bottle. “The night is young. But I have to ask. Why on earth
did you pick sailing, you know, considering ?”
Lincoln pulled a fifth of whiskey from a side compartment and took a sip. “Isn’t that what girls like you like? Sailing, fencing,
croquet—cricket, if you were British.”
“And what about me, exactly, screams rich-people sporting?”
His eyes searched me. “It’s more of an overall feeling. A fancy vibe, I guess.”
“Ok, fine.” I’d let him have it because, in all honesty, I knew what he meant. I did come from that crowd even if I didn’t
feel at home among them. “Imagine I lost the fancy vibe. What would you pick?”
His face brightened, like he’d been waiting for a chance to mention this. “Well, if you’re asking for classic LK, it would—without
reservation—be a traditional Charleston ghost tour. Not a spooky spot left behind.”
My stomach dropped. I was handing this guy a lifeline, but haunted and spooky and ghosty were most certainly not my thing.
In fact, I’d probably categorize them as a phobia. “You’re one of those,” I said sorrowfully.
“ Those up for thrill and adventure?” He grinned like we’d already agreed to this endeavor. “Interested in the beyond? It gets no
better.”
“With all due respect, Lincoln—or do I call you ‘LK’ now?—there’s already a lot of very terrifying things about my real life, and it just feels greedy to pile on from the past.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I promise it’s mostly all made up.”
“Ok, so if it’s not even—”
He swatted a hand to wave me off—I suspected because he knew any argument he made wouldn’t hold up.
“My family’s been doing these for years,” he said. “My parents and my sister and I would drive into town from North Charleston
and do all kinds of tours. Mom would make us little ghost-protector bracelets and promise us they were made out of love and
would scare away the bad ghosts.”
“Cute,” I said. Something shifted in me at hearing him talk about his family, the example of a complete and loving family
so unlike my own.
“I know it’s a bit cheesy,” he said. “But I don’t know, the ghost tours are just a good memory. We didn’t have a lot growing
up. Actually, my parents really struggled; my dad was a musician and played in bars around town. One of his friends was an
actor who worked the tours, and he’d get us free tickets. My mom was a teacher, but then when my grandmother got sick, she
had to quit to take care of her.” Lincoln’s usual playfulness faded as he talked, his eyes dropping to his feet. When he looked
back up, his eyes swam with uncertainty. “We ended up living in my grandmother’s house with her for quite a while. Nothing
like what you grew up with.”
I paused. “We may have had money, but it was far from perfect.” I knew it sounded hollow, even if it was true.
“Money does give you options,” Lincoln said, sipping his drink again. “If it weren’t an issue for me, I’d be doing photography
full-time, leave the desk job behind.”
“In my mother’s world, her money means she gets to pick my life,” I said.
“I guess we just make do with what we get handed,” Lincoln said. He reached over and squeezed my hand. “So what do you say
about that ghost tour?”
He was so eager, like his offer was irresistible. I didn’t want to do the ghost tour, that was certain. I’d been sleepless
anytime ghost stories were swapped at sleepovers, and Magnolia wasn’t exactly the comforting and doting mother I suspected
Lincoln’s was. But it seemed like a window into him, and I wanted more of that. Honestly, what was the worst that could happen?
If I found myself sleepless, I’d pop a bottle of wine and binge-watch something trashy on TV.
“I’m going to need one of those bracelets,” I said.
***
We stood on a narrow side street off Market, in line at a kiosk manned by a person dressed as a ghoul. I was the kind of nervous
where it felt like my throat was closing in on itself, and I kept swallowing to clear it.
Lincoln reached down and took my hand. He lifted it and slid a blue rope bracelet onto my wrist. “For protection,” he said.
My palm was slick with sweat. “As you can tell, I need it,” I said.
He whispered in my ear, “The bad ghosts hate sweaty palms, so count it as extra protection.”
My chest released with the injection of relief, and I squeezed a tight smile his way.
Lincoln bought our tickets, and soon we were directed to a horse-drawn carriage. I climbed up into an open row, and Lincoln
followed. I sat, and he squeezed in beside me.
He caught my eye and said, “Seeing as I’m your resident ghoul defender, I figured I should make sure to stay close.”
“Just a man heeding the call of duty,” I said.
He shrugged in mock humility.
With that, the horse took its first steps and the carriage jerked to life. As if by reflex, Lincoln threw an arm around me
to brace the jolt. I crept a hand up and set it on top of his. I wiggled back into him, and he bent down to whisper, “You
are stunning, by the way.”
I turned to look at him, and our faces were barely inches apart. Every bit of my insides fluttered as I held my breath hoping
it would happen, that maybe I did deserve something real like him.
And then, like a set of magnets, our lips drew together and landed in a pillowy knot. The rest of the world went dark, like
the cord had been cut. And inside me was a supernova, warmed in brilliant light, and I knew I’d never again be the same; he’d
introduced me to real magic.
Then the carriage hit a bump.
“Damn carriage,” I whispered as we broke apart.
He let out a pained groan. “I could say so many worse things.”
He squeezed my hand, and I shot him a look like to be continued .
Fortunately, we both turned back to looking straight forward, because I couldn’t wipe the dorky smile off my face.
The speaker system clicked on as the tour guide, a scruffy man dressed as a half-dead pirate, began his routine. He wasn’t
nearly as scary as the devastation-promising Ouija boards of my youth or the fates my so-called friends had promised were
bound my way when we’d played.
“Is this guy a zombie or a ghost?” I whispered to Lincoln.
“Unfortunately, he’s 100 percent zombie,” Lincoln said.
“What happened to these being ‘true’ stories?”
He squinted. “The tour guides are allowed some artistic license.” Lincoln smiled like it was the best part, then pointed to the horse. “But old Pirate Horsey up there seems fed up with the routine.”
I nodded intently. “Not a single whinny yet.”
I kept waiting to feel the terror I’d planned for, but it never came. Not one part of one story was even partially scary,
and I wasn’t complaining. Instead, the tour was more like a low-budget parody of a ghost tour. Painfully embarrassing throughout.
They must’ve stayed in business because of those coming for the laughs and the cringe-worthy content rather than any actual
frights.
Thanks to the smile I couldn’t wipe from my face and the company beside me, I was comfortable and warm for the entire wobbly
ride.
Maybe I did like ghost tours after all.