Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Present Day
I stand from my chair in the English Lit lecture hall with a groan, tight muscles protesting as I move for the first time in seventy-five minutes. Between Theodore and Koda, I am worn the heck out.
“Which boyfriend did that?” Tilly asks, smirking at me.
I press my lips into a flat line and roll my eyes upwards. “Stop.”
The truth is, it was both. Not together, obviously. That might be too much for me to handle. But individually, over the last few days, any sort of discussion turns to soft touches and petting, which turns to eager kisses, which turns bare skin and satisfaction.
Making every second we still have count before they move on.
I frown at the unwelcome thought, not wanting to consider what is going to happen once they wrap up whatever business they consider unfinished. Though, if I’m honest with myself, that very thought is the reason I haven’t told Theodore that I found Zeus.
Theodore Pappas.
I’d requested his last name to make my searches easier, and he’d supplied it readily enough. My search had yielded very little about him—it seemed money could you anonymity. Apparently a very wealthy businessman at his disappearance, his estate had been turned over to a non-profit animal sanctuary only last month—after almost two years of waiting for him to return, per the will he had left behind.
A family who lived in his same neighborhood of sprawling mansions had taken Zeus in a few days after Theodore was initially reported missing. And he was reported missing. With the lack of close family—and friends, it appeared—there was no one to drive the continued searches to locate him. It actually seemed that the family who had taken Zeus was one of the few proponents of additional measures taken to find Theodore after the news articles died off.
It weighs on me that I am lying to Theodore about it. Maybe not outright, but a lie by omission is still a lie. I know where Zeus is, know he is cared for by that family, and loved by two little girls who seem to think he is their best friend in the pictures I found. Yet I have still kept it to myself because…what if I tell him and he leaves? What if his unfinished business really is his dog, and not me? A pain shoots through my chest at the thought, followed by even more guilt because I’m being selfish.
“Help any other unlucky souls since the other night?” Tilly asks, leading us out of the classroom.
I glance around, making sure that no one is close enough to hear. “No, Andy is working on the last one I don’t really know—I think his name is Jeremiah.”
She side eyes me. “And the others?”
“Koda didn’t move on with the music thing,” I answer, shrugging.
“And what about Jimmy and Theodore? Those are the only three left after Andy, right?”
Her tone is so nonchalant, but it’s obvious that she’s digging. She knows I’m holding back. I might be the one who sees ghosts, but sometimes Tilly almost seems psychic.
“I’m working on it,” I answer quickly, then flash a smile at her. “You want to go get smoothies?”
Tilly stops, facing me with a knowing purse of her lips. “You don’t want them to move on.”
When she puts it like that, pure shame fills me. “I found out where Theodore’s dog is,” I admit, lowering my gaze to the ground. “I haven’t told him.”
“Nova,” she says softly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think you would agree that they deserve to move on, to not be trapped here.”
I agree, but my mouth won’t seem to work and tell her that. My mind struggles under the weight of what I know I’m doing wrong and the echoes of Dad’s screams about how every woman is selfish. His voice has been so quiet lately. I don’t know why it’s blaring in my ear now. I can almost feel his hot, putrid breath on my neck. Something inside me turns off, shutters, and there’s relief in not feeling.
Tilly tries to reroute the conversation when it is clear I have shut down, but I can’t do more than nod or shake my head. She is reluctant to leave me as her next class looms, but I finally speak, reassuring her I’m fine, and I’ll see her tomorrow.
I am fine, but I’m also disconnected. I hate it when I feel like this, but it happens occasionally when I get stressed. It is like every worry and emotion goes away for a little while, leaving me so I can organize my thoughts before I let all of the feeling back in.
I’ve disassociated so well that when I finally stop, blinking at my surroundings and trying to figure out where I am and how I got there, I’m standing in front of the bus depot I arrived at on that first day in Tucson. I completely overshot the house and walked an extra two miles.
“You look lost, missy,” a voice calls.
I glance over, noting the man perched on the bench just outside the terminal. I recognize him after a second. It’s the worker I spoke to after disembarking the bus on my trip here. I call a forced smile to my lips, feeling numb as I give a little wave of hello.
“Come,” he says, tapping the space on the bench next to him. “Sit for a while, Sunshine.”
I obey, some sort of instinctual alarm blaring at me for being so compliant with someone who is a complete stranger. But I sit anyway, my eyes darting back and forth, watching people walk by.
“I like to sit here and people watch sometimes,” the worker tells me.
“I can see why,” I reply, my eyes catching on a young woman who squeals, drops her bag, and then launches herself toward a young man climbing out of the driver’s seat of a car. They embrace and kiss passionately, like they’ve been separated for a long time. I tear my eyes away to give them privacy during their intimate moment.
“Life is short,” he murmurs, sighing. He adjusts his position, draping his arm along the back of the bench, but not touching me. “Name is Henry, by the way. Henry Mitchell.”
“I’m Nova,” I answer, glancing at him. His eyes are still fixed on the people moving around us. “How long have you worked here?”
Turning his attention to me then, Henry grins, showing me crooked, white teeth. “Far too long,” he laughs, a sparkle of humor in his eyes.
I furrow my brow. “You don’t seem to mind that,” I point out.
“What’s done is done,” he says, shrugging. “What about you? Do you work?”
“School,” I reply, shaking my head. “I go to the university.”
“Ahhh, smart girl. What’s your major?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “I’m just taking the core classes for now until I figure it out.”
Henry nods. “Nothing wrong with that. My daughter did the same. She graduated with honors, on time, with a degree in biology. Went on to veterinary school and owns her own practice now.”
I feel that ice inside me thaw and a genuine smile comes to me. “That’s awesome. Is she here in Tucson? Do you see her often?”
As I ask, a middle-aged man walks by, his nose wrinkling at me as he stares, before walking off with a shake of his head and a mutter under his breath.
Henry doesn’t pay him any mind. “She is here,” he tells me. “But I don’t see her like I used to. Things have been difficult for the last five years or so.”
“What happened?” I blanch. “I mean, it’s none of my business,” I add, babbling. “I don’t mean to pry.”
He hesitates, then nods. As he opens his mouth, a woman in a pretty sundress steps in front of me.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice warm and worried. Her eyes dart to Henry and back to me.
I frown a little, shooting a confused look at Henry, who gives me a tight lipped smile back. “I’m fine.”
She gives me a look full of pity. “Is there maybe someone I can call for you?”
I shift forward, my confusion causing my eyes to squint a little. “Why would you need to call someone for me?”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been sitting here talking to yourself.”
I freeze, even my heart seeming to halt in my chest. “I—what?”
“Come on,” she coaxes, holding out a hand. “My dad is picking me up in a few minutes. I know he would be happy to drop you off wherever you need to go. Maybe we can call your parents on the way?”
But I’m not listening to her. I turn back to Henry, whose expression is sad now. I study him, not caring that this girl clearly thinks I’m completely crazy. If she can’t see him, but I can…
“You’re dead,” I whisper. Henry gives me another nod, but this time it is laced with defeat.
The girl in front of me stiffens, stuttering out a jumble of words tinged with fear and nerves now.
I take a deep breath and face her. No point in hiding the crazy now. “I’m not talking to myself. I can see ghosts and there is one right here next to me. Thank you for your kindness, but I’m just fine. Don’t worry about me.”
She takes the out, darting back to the curb, looking relived when a car stops in front of her. She practically chucks her bag into the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat, her eyes glued to me as she slams the door. The car pulls away, but I can see the girl’s father asking her questions with a concerned face as he drives.
“Poor girl. Scared the daylights out of her,” Henry chuckles.
I can’t help it. A little laugh escapes me too, but fades quickly as I face him again. I don’t feel the pull like I have had with some of the others, to help him move on. But what I do feel is immense sadness.
“I didn’t realize you were a ghost.”
He gives me a half-smile. “I’ve had very few people see me. Animals normally react to me, and sometimes young children, but for the better part of five years, nobody noticed me. You were the first to ever speak to me.”
My mind runs over the exchange we had the day I got here, puzzle pieces clicking into place. The woman who had ignored him. The other worker who had looked at me strangely and practically run away because I’d spoken to Henry.
I bury my face in my hands. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t,” Henry says firmly, pulling my hands away.
I jump, reeling back. “You can’t touch me,” I almost yell, reeling it in at the last minute. “People will be able to see you if touch me.”
He holds up his hands, but he looks curious. “Why would touching you make me visible to others?”
I slump against the back of the bench. “I don’t know,” I groan. “It’s a whole long story how I know.”
“Well,” he says, settling into his spot. “I’ve got nothing but time, Sunshine. Let’s hear it.”
The rueful smile he gives me when I glance at him makes my lips quirk up, too. I don’t give myself time to second guess, launching into the story from the beginning—much like how I told Tilly everything. By the time, I’m done explaining how I’ve helped the ghosts move on, I have garnered more than a few wary looks from people moving around us. I don’t care. I ignore them, lowering my voice only when people stand too close to wait for their ride. They don’t stick around long once they see me talking to myself.
“That is quite the story,” Henry says when I’m done, his eyes skyward as his expression becomes contemplative. “It sounds like you’ve been given a gift to help those who would otherwise be stuck here.”
“A gift?” I scoff, fanning myself against the heat even in the shade. “I think it might be more of a curse.”
Henry shakes his head, his eyes rolling down to take me in. “I had the opportunity to move on,” he announces.
I cock my head. “But you’re still here.”
“I chose to stay.”
“But…” I stare at him. “But once everything has been taken care of from your life, wouldn’t you go? How did you choose to stay? The others just went as soon as they felt closure.”
“I felt closure,” Henry says, one side of his mouth lifting up. “I felt ready to go. But when it was time, there was a choice. I stayed because my daughter continues to come here once a year, on my birthday, to bring flowers for the memorial I have here. As time went on, she unknowingly introduced me to her husband, then my grandkids. I can still watch over them for now. At least for that one day a year.”
“You chose to stay,” I breathe. “Which means any of them could choose to stay.”
He makes a noise in his throat. “I’m not sure about that, Sunshine. I know you were concerned about me touching you because people could see if I did, but when I touched you? I felt so much peace. In an instant, I felt like it was time to go, even though I have been content to haunt this damn place. I was already snatching my hands back before you ever moved.”
I stare at my hands. “What am I?”
It’s the same question the guys have asked me, said with a sort of wonder. But now, as I utter it, the words are colored with desperation to know what sort of monster I am that I can convince dead people to move on from this life.
“An angel,” Henry murmurs. “I think you might be an angel.”
My eyes shut, his suggestion echoing in my head.
Angel of Death, maybe.
“Excuse me.”
My eyes fly open, meeting the warm brown ones of the woman in front of me. She smiles kindly when I stare at her. Two kids—maybe seven and four—peek around their mom with a curious look.
“There’s my girl,” Henry sighs happily. “I knew she wouldn’t forget.”
My brain hurts from all the puzzles I’ve put together today.
Henry’s daughter nods toward the bench. “This bench was put here as a memorial to my father. I always bring flowers here and to his grave on his birthday.”
I still haven’t found the ability to speak, but when I look around, I spy the memorial plaque that I ignored before.
In Loving Memory of Henry Mitchell
“Smile, Sunshine. Life is short.”
“He was always calling people ‘Sunshine’,” she says behind me, obviously watching me read the inscription. “He used to say that if he could convince even one person to be their own light, that his day was complete.”
Her voice is filled with so much love and wistfulness that tears spring to my eyes, but I’m smiling as I glance back at Henry, who grins.
“And I’m in your way,” I declare, scrambling to my feet.
She laughs. “Not at all. I just didn’t want to come up and start singing happy birthday to a ghost and have you think I’m crazy,” she teases.
My outburst of laughter is wild and loud. “Can I sing with you?” I ask when I tame it again.
“It’s weird to sing to a bench,” the older kid complains, wrinkling his nose. Henry’s daughter sighs when his younger sisters echoes his words like a parrot.
“Good thing that I’m kind of weird,” I reply before she can say anything, grinning.
The woman watches me for a second, like she’s trying to figure me out, but offers a hand. “I’m Isabelle.”
I shake her hand. “Nova. Now, how can I help?”
In just minutes, we’ve arranged the bouquet of flowers she’s brought into the built-in vase in the armrest closest to Henry, dumping ice water from a thermos into it. The heat will eat the flowers alive by the end of the day, and we all know it, but it’s the thought that counts.
We sing happy birthday to a bench—or at least it appears that way to anyone around us. The kids are fully on board, reflecting my enthusiasm. Henry’s dimpled grin as we sing to the bench—to him—is everything, and for a minute I wish I could show Isabelle that her father is right here. That he loves her and relishes this day every year because he gets to see her.
I must make a face at the thought because Henry, still grinning, shakes his head, dismissing my idea. I respect his decision, no matter how much it grieves me I could bring them together but probably shouldn’t.
Isabelle cleans up their trash, the kids hurrying to throw it in the nearby trashcan. She turns to me with a warm smile.
“Thank you,” she breezes. “I know he would have loved the fact that a complete stranger joined us. It was good to meet you, Nova.”
She offers out her hand again, and I take it, squeezing. “I think he would be beyond proud of you,” I blurt out.
Isabelle grins. “Me too.”
And that is how I know—I don’t need to show her that Henry is sitting two feet away from her. He made his time alive count, and she already knows that she was loved, cherished, and admired by her father.
It’s such a foreign concept for me.
As they walk away, the kids waving to me again before they get in the car, Henry lets out a long, content sigh. I turn to him when they’re gone, but he’s gone too, to wherever ghosts go to when I can’t see them.
I smile the entire walk home, even when I make the decision that could change everything.
I’m telling Theodore about Zeus. Tonight.