Chapter 21
The inspection wraps up without a sign of Xander.
I was hoping to see him, even though we hadn’t made plans today. Lately, he feels like the only person who gets me. The only one who understands what it’s like to live without hope that things will ever change.
I walk slowly down the drive, giving him time to sneak up on me, maybe drop down from a tree and shower me with Skittles.
But he never comes.
The passenger seat of my truck is empty.
Rainbow Valley’s open shed holds nothing but a few stacked lounge chairs.
I replay our last conversation, when we were figuring out when we’d see each other again.
And then it hits me.
He’s not here because he doesn’t want to be.
All he talked about was the Ardor Tree. Any other plans were off the table.
His absence hits my heart differently than Murray’s. With Murray, it’s relief. With Xander, it’s worry.
On my way to the Ardor Tree, the rain finally breaks free from the waterlogged clouds and falls at a steady pace. Deep puddles form along the road’s shoulders, their surfaces rippling like a pool caught in a storm. Thunder rumbles before a streak of lightning splits the horizon.
I park along a muddy embankment near the trailhead and step out. My shoes slide on the slick grass as I lurch toward the woods, where the thick tree canopy shields me from the worst of the downpour.
Fog clings between the trees, dense and unmoving. Combined with the heavy green of summer leaves and the steel-gray sky, the familiar woods are cloaked in an unrecognizable darkness.
Then, at the edge of the obscured path, the neon graffiti on the sewer pipe begins to glow through the shadows. My breath catches.
Xander sits cross-legged in front of the Ardor Tree, shirtless, his head tilted up toward the carved hearts. He sucks on a blue slushy from the gas station. I grab my stomach as an unexpected drove of butterflies find their new home.
“What do you think this tree has to do with us?” Xander asks, his back still to me.
Raindrops roll from the soaked tips of his curls, trailing down his tanned shoulders and tracing the dips and rises of his arm muscles.
I sit beside him.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s the first commonality between us . . . in our journeys to ghostdom. So there’s got to be something here. At least a place to start.”
He turns to me, lips stained blue. My eyes flick to the chain around his neck, where the shark tooth rests against his collarbone.
“Commonality?” he repeats before taking another sip of his slushy. “That’s a good SAT word. I sucked at those tests. Pre-vet schools were not kind to me because of it.”
I swallow.
He leans sideways and nudges me with his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I assume you did well on the SAT. You won’t hurt my feelings if you say you got a perfect score. Own your shit. Life is too short.”
A soft breeze chills the rainwater on my neck. “I did do well,” I admit.
“There you go.” He grins and drapes his arm over my shoulder. Heavy, dense warmth presses into me. “I bet I’d do better now. Guess how many books I read last year?”
A drop of water clings to the tip of his nose as he studies me.
“Twenty-four.”
“Two a month?” he scoffs. “Insulting.”
“Thirty?” I try. “I don’t know. I give up.”
“Sixty.” He nods, satisfied. “The vocabulary section wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”
“It’d be an ignominious defeat.”
He rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave this mystery for you to solve, then, smart guy.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“By the way,” he adds, tone flat. “Your nipples are hard.” Before I can react, he flicks my chest and stands.
I flinch, tugging at my soaked shirt, which has suctioned to my body. “So are yours,” I mutter, scrambling to my feet.
His shoulders shake with laughter. “I know. I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” He winks. “Just observing.”
I squirm for a response.
“Are you done yet?” he continues.
“Done what?” I ask, shifting my eyes upward from his chest.
His smirk deepens. “Observing me.”
My face burns. “Let’s focus on the tree, shall we?” I move toward the base of the trunk. The first carving I see is Kelsey and Phil / Class of ’97.
“Where did you say your heart is?” Xander asks.
“Was.” I correct him. “I smashed it off. Then the tree attacked me.” I lead him to the spot where my original heart was carved. The white, inner wood of the tree has darkened since I last visited.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, you really smashed it. I thought you meant you, like, threw a rock at it or something. I didn’t know you went full Gimli on the poor thing and axed off a chunk. No wonder it fought back.”
I exhale. “It was an emotional day.”
“Screw that guy for making you so mad.”
I shift the conversation before Murray becomes the focus. “The tree didn’t attack you?” I ask.
Xander shakes his head. “Nope.”
“What were you doing here?”
He smirks. “Carving a heart.”
I raise an eyebrow. “With who?”
“Myself.” His grin widens as he steps onto a low branch and starts climbing the damp trunk.
I follow.
“Here,” he says, stopping about ten feet up. He points to a heart carved into the bark surrounding the words Xander + _______.
“Xander plus who?” I ask, catching my breath.
“Whoever I was meant to be with.” His fingers trace his name in the bark, his voice barely above the sound of the rain.
“It was kind of a message to the future. That I’d find love one day.
I didn’t think it was fair that everyone else in town got to be on the tree, when I wasn’t even allowed to be myself. ”
My pulse moves to my throat. “That’s really sweet, Xander.”
He huffs, then pushes past me and slides down the tree. His feet land with a splash in the mud below.
“Maybe so,” he mutters. “But it backfired.” He flicks a wet curl from his forehead. “I left here, went to the pool, and got killed. I guess I wasn’t meant to be with anyone.”
I drop to the ground beside him. “That’s not true.” I meet his gaze. “Remember, if I’m not dead, then you’re not dead. We’re going to fix this.” A slow breath leaves his lips. “You’re going to end up with a full heart.”
“How?”
I roll my neck. “We get the tree to fight back. Maybe if it smacks me across the head again, I’ll wake up from this nightmare.”
“And me?”
“When it swings, jump in front of me so it hits you too.”
His face lights up. “Yes! I’ve always wanted to do a rage room. I have a decade’s worth of pent-up anger.”
“A what?”
“Never mind.” He shakes his head. “You have so much to learn, Stetson. How do we piss it off?”
I grab a rock and hurl it at the trunk. Thud. “Like that.”
Xander grins and scoops up a handful of pebbles, pelting them against the bark like Pop Rocks candy.
I take a fallen branch from the ground and wind up like a batter at home plate. The first swing rattles my arms. The second splinters the wood. On the third, the branch snaps clean in half.
We continue our barrage of rocks, sticks, and glass bottles unearthed by Xander for several minutes. Xander even lands a few well-placed kicks against the trunk. Our breathing grows ragged. Still, the Ardor Tree stands unmoved. No shaking limbs or groaning roots. Just stiff, impenetrable silence.
Defeated, we collapse onto the soaked earth. Cool water seeps through my shirt, chilling my skin and sending the fine black hairs on my arms rising into the air. I press my arm against Xander’s for warmth. His bare chest rises and falls in sync with my breath.
“I guess we’re not as tough as we thought,” Xander says.
“I’m just out of practice,” I say. “I was a runner. Never got into the contact sports.”
He sighs. “If only we could run away from this.”
My ears perk up. “Have you tried? Like, if you leave Penango, are you still invisible?”
“I’ve been everywhere. The invisibility never changes.”
“Everywhere?” I turn my head toward him.
He nods. “Name a place.”
“Europe.”
He chuckles. “A little more specific, please.”
“Sorry. I’ve never left the country.”
“Really?” He props his hand behind his head. “Well, then I have a lot to tell you.” He taps his chin, thinking. “Let’s see . . . Europe, Europe . . . Oh! One of my favorite places in Europe is Mont-Saint-Michel.”
I frown. “I never heard of it.”
“It’s this castle in France that’s built on a floating island. At low tide, you can reach it by land, but at high tide it’s surrounded by water.”
“That doesn’t even sound real.”
“You’d be surprised what’s out there.” He scooches closer to me. “Where do you want to go?”
The answer is instant. “Tennessee.”
He smiles. “I like your confidence. What’s in Tennessee?”
“College . . . hopefully.”
His expression faulters.
“It would be in August,” I clarify. “If I leave.”
Xander doesn’t say anything. He just closes his eyes and lets the rainwater wash over his face.
“I want to figure this . . . us . . . out first before I go. Don’t worry.”
We didn’t solve anything today. But there are still two months left to try. I’m glad Whitley rejected my plan to leave town sooner. I need this time with Xander. And I think he needs me too. I can’t imagine leaving him alone here.
“Why do you come back to Penango?” I ask. “When you could be anywhere.”
“I always thought if something was going to change with my situation, it’d be here.” He licks water from his lips. “And it turns out I was right.”
I stare at the leaves, trying to decipher a code within their veins.
“Did you like meeting my mom?” he asks, eyes still closed.
My breath catches. “How did you know I met her?”
“I heard Sheryl and Kim talking about her visit earlier.”
“She was nice. She really likes what they’re doing with the pool.” I pause. “Why weren’t you there?”
“I left once she arrived.”
“You didn’t want to see her?”
“No.”
“Oh.” I hesitate. “Why . . . why not?”
His throat bobs. “When strangers can’t see you, it’s weird. But when your mom can’t see you?” He exhales, shaking his head. “It’s heartbreaking.”
The heavy words settle between us.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be.”
He rolls onto his side, finally opening his eyes. His hands tuck under his cheek and his shoulder sinks into the soft dirt.
“Thanks for trying to fix things,” he says softly. His teeth clatter behind his lips. Without thinking, I slide closer until our waists touch, and we share warmth.
I could suggest other ways to solve this mystery. But right now, I just want to stare at his burning gold eyes and listen to the rain patter against the leaves.
If I had to be a ghost with anyone . . . I’m glad it’s Xander Pomers.