Chapter 18
HERE COMES THE REEFER
Graham
I walked away before I knocked some sense into that prick. I could have flattened him in one swing. But not tonight. Not with everyone here. Not with Maggie… shit… Maggie. I scaled the stairs, skipping every other one, and searched each room for her.
Not in her bedroom, the guest room, the rose room.
“Max?” I called up the stairwell to the attic.
Nothing.
Then, at the end of the hall, an orange glow danced behind the curtain on the balcony door.
I opened the door. Sure enough, there she was, along with Katie and Derek taking turns sucking the soul out of a joint like it was the only thing left keeping them alive.
“Nice…” I said. “Anything else any of you would like to further alter your conscious state of mind?”
Maggie jumped from her round wicker nest and leaned over the back, her eyes red and glassy. She was higher than fuck, and judging by the amount of alcohol left in that bottle… plastered too.
“Got anything harder than weed on you?” she said, slurring. “Make me forget.”
“Christ, Max. Of course not. And you’re not supposed to be on that shit with your head, anyway.”
“Aww—you’re no fun.” She turned herself over like the Cheshire Cat and pointed her finger at me.
“I was just joking anyway, silly, you know I don’t do that.
And your camptin’ certainly wouldn’t like it if you did.
” She giggled like a loon and wobbled around on one leg. “Argghh—matey. Do I shiver ye timbers?”
Then, as if a fucking bolt of lightning struck her, she jumped out of her seat and stumbled toward me.
“Ooo! Ooo-ooo! Open your shirt!” she said, scratching at my buttons.
“What, why? It’s fuckin’ freezing out here. Come inside,” I said, reaching for a blanket next to Katie and Silas on the wicker couch.
Maggie tilted her head at me and gave me a stern look like I was going to be punished if I disobeyed.
“Okay, okay. Relax,” I said, unbuttoning it to my navel, but before I could finish, she slipped her freezing hands in and grabbed my pecs, smooshing her face between them.
“Max, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked, paralyzed by not only the icicles forming on my nipples but also the absurdity of the entire situation.
Her muffled voice came out from my core. “I’m sorry I didn’t take the murders seriously. I should always believe the big boys. Especially when they’re cops… with big manly boobies…” She pulled her face back and jiggled them.
I swatted her away. “Did you really think now was a good time to get her high, Katie?”
“Don’t look at me—she dug through Derek’s pockets.”
I shot him a look.
“It was better than the alternative,” he said. His face said he was pissed at me, but I didn’t know why.
“Oh, and what was that?”
Derek got up, double-tapped his wrist, and went back inside.
Fuck.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath.
“Hi Mr. Tiger.” Maggie giggled with a mischievous glint in her eye, hooking her fingers and batting at the air. “Mm-Rawwrr—”
I shoved her hands back down. “Can I talk to you?”
“Look.” Maggie went sober. “My mom’s downstairs right now probably trying to console Hunter because I didn’t say I’d wear this fricken’ boulder on my finger for the rest of my life… but I don’t want to… because I want to wear whatever boulder you give me.”
Maggie shoved off my chest and spun herself into Katie, taking the blunt from her and bringing it to her mouth.
“But you can’t because you’re still in love with your wife…
and daughter.” Then, like someone flipped a fucking light switch, she turned into a sobbing mess.
“Oh no! Graham, your wife… your daughter.” She gasped and covered her mouth.
“I forgot all about that poor girl. I would have loved to meet her.”
I stared blankly at her.
What the fuck is happening?
“Maybe I can! Maybe we can have a séance. We can meet them… and let her know how big and strong her daddy is. And… and… you could talk to Rebecca!!!”
Maggie blew out the candles she’d lit along the balcony’s railing and scooped them up, dripping melted wax down her arm and along her path as she pushed past me and into the house.
“Shit! Max. No. That’s not a good idea.” I followed her.
She yanked the attic door open and up she went. Then there was a crash, and she came rolling down the steps like a rag doll, landing on her head with her feet in the air.
“I’m okay!” she yelled, holding up a single candle, flipping herself over, and stumbling back up the stairs.
Jesus Christ.
“Graham…” Katie placed a hand on my shoulder. “Go easy on her. This whole thing is hard for her.”
“This whole fucking thing is hard on everybody.” I grabbed the attic doorknob and whipped it open, following whatever-the-hell that was upstairs.
The resinous incense and cedar smoke mixed with something else smothered me.
When I reached the top, I knew what that something else was. My knees buckled at the sight in front of me and I landed hard on them—Flowerbomb.
Maggie was on the floor chanting a spell from a big leather book on her lap, and the candles surrounded the pentagram around her.
Standing in front of her like no time had passed was Rebecca, as beautiful as ever. And holding her finger was my sweet baby Wren.
I couldn’t breathe.
Time stood still, and the wound on my heart started to bleed again.
“Talk to them, Graham,” Maggie said, rising to drape a small silver pentagram necklace around my neck, then returning to the floor to chant.
“Do as she says, lad,” Silas said, appearing near the stained-glass window.
“Dada!!!” Wren screeched and plowed into me. It was like she was actually there. She almost felt warm—alive even.
“Oh, my sweet baby girl… I’ve missed you so much!” The words caught in my throat as I tried to hold everything back. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed tight.
But feeling her there broke the dam and tears flooded down my cheeks. I just hugged her tighter and tighter, until she… vanished.
“Kitty!” she yelled, reappearing by Chester, who was curled up with Tophie on the couch, completely unfazed by the new ghosts in the attic.
Everything inside was fire and ice at the same time. Seeing her alive and playing, like nothing ever happened, was bittersweet. She would have been thirteen in a week.
My life right now was supposed to be me sleeping in my uniform, ready to inform all the pimply-faced twerps waiting to date her who her daddy was and what size his gun was.
Instead, the past ten years were nothing but lies, broken promises, and a whole lot of sex and alcohol trying to convince myself their ghosts weren’t real.
Then a hand found my cheek.
Bec turned my face to hers, and I stood.
I couldn’t help myself. I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her up to me. I kissed her—hard. Part of me felt bad about doing that in front of Maggie, but I knew she’d understand. Why else would she bring them here?
It wasn’t like Bec was an ex.
She was my wife.
We didn’t break up or choose other people.
We had plans.
Plans that were taken from us.
She was supposed to be my forever.
But none of that mattered now. She was stuck in another realm—away from me.
Bec pulled back and looked at me with those molten eyes. “I don’t blame you.”
I set her down and looked to the floor. “Well you should,” I muttered.
“No, baby. I blame Donovan, and so should you.”
I ran my hand through my hair. The thoughts came anyway—finding her lying there in her own blood, the bastard hovering over her, getting off on the fact that she was dead. And even though I knew I didn’t make Donovan do those unforgivable things to her… it was my fault that he ever got the chance.
“She needs you too.” Bec motioned to Maggie, who was now playing with Wren and the cats, sing-songing the chant as she showed Wren how to use the mouse on a string to tease them.
“About that…”
“Graham, it’s okay. I need you to move on from me.”
“Never.”
“I need you to keep your life moving. You’re still working toward detective?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
Bec gave me the look again—her go-to when she didn’t like an answer I gave—eyebrow lifted, head crooked, arms crossed. Kind of like the look Maggie gave me earlier on the balcony.
“You’ll never make it if you keep drowning yourself in alcohol and fast fucks to forget us.”
“Definitely didn’t have getting lectured by my dead wife on my Christmas list.”
“Graham, I’m serious. You’re wasting yourself for nothing.
You have a woman here who loves you. I could feel it when she called me.
She was willing to bring back your wife not knowing if it’d set you back or scare you off…
and you’re too busy wasting time blaming yourself.
If you’re going to be with her… she deserves all of you. ”
“But Bec. I don’t want to lose you. Not after everything.”
“I’m not saying to forget us, just make room for her.”
I glanced to Maggie. Even though she was inebriated as fuck, I couldn’t help but feel that tug towards her.
“Graham, the way you look at her…” Bec held my hands in hers and brought them to her lips, kissing them once. “It’s the same way you look at me. Let her be what I was for you… Be each other’s nightingale… be each other’s hope in the dark.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t… even if I wanted to.
All I could do was stare at her, take her in for one last time until she faded.
“If you don’t… I’m haunting you forever—and not in the good way.”
One blink and she was gone. Wren too.
I let out a single breath and collapsed to my knees again, staring forward.
Maggie had passed out, leaning up against the couch, arm draped over the seat holding the stick for the mouse toy. Chester batted at it like his life depended on it.
What she did for me was more than anyone else had ever done. Everyone always talked shit about how if I had one last chance to see Bec, what would I say. I always told myself if I ever had the chance to see her again, I’d be a fucking wreck—and I was right.
Sure, I’d talked to Bec a thousand times…
but I never thought she’d talk back. I knew no one else probably knew how—I mean, I spent years denying the possibility—but Maggie took a risk, and I couldn’t have been more grateful for it.
If it was my last chance to see Bec or hear her voice or feel Wren’s hug, I’d carry it forever.