Chapter 29
Nate spread too much jam on a piece of toast, and some of it plopped off the bread onto his plate.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and warm bread.
It seemed smaller than it had a week ago when I entered alone, grimacing at the dust and old appliances.
Dust still crept into the crevices, and there were still a few unlabeled jars in the back of the cupboards.
But the coffeemaker was burbling happily, and there were enough dishes in the sink to indicate an entire family lived in the house.
Surprisingly, I was calm when I entered the kitchen.
I moved slowly, still sore and not sure how to feel about everything that had happened the previous day and night.
I took a mug that said “Grab life by the beans” from the cupboard and poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot.
Neither Nate nor Yasmin seemed to know what to say, so they didn’t say anything at all.
Nate got up and put a piece of bread in the toaster for me.
I sat down at my spot at the table. Annabelle wasn’t there. I didn’t know if she would come back or if she could come back.
“I’m not leaving.” I pointed at Yasmin. “You’re not either. I think I know how we can make this work.”
Yasmin opened her mouth and then closed it, looking like a confused fish.
I shook my head. “Wait—I said that wrong. Do you want to leave Abaddon? Go back home to California?”
Nate busied himself at the toaster, making enough noise that we didn’t forget he was there but not enough that it intruded into the conversation. Yasmin’s gaze flicked to him before she answered, saying, “No. I don’t want to leave.”
I spied a smile playing at the corners of Nate’s mouth as he buttered the toast that popped out of the toaster.
“Good. You’re going to draft the business plan. I set up a meeting with Seymour Anderson to see if he’ll fund us, but if he doesn’t, I think my boss Babs might have some connections with a morally dubious venture capital firm.”
“Wait, slow down. Funding for what?”
I grinned. “You know what they say, if you can’t get along with your family, start a business with them.”
“No one says that.” Yasmin played with the lacy sleeve of her blouse, then undid the button at her wrist and stuck her finger through the buttonhole. “And I can’t write a business plan no matter what the business is. I’ve never done anything like that.”
Putting every ounce of sincerity I was capable of into my voice, I said, “Yas, out of the millions of people on planet Earth who might be able to write a business plan, I trust you to be the most capable and most annoying about doing so. Plus, Nate will help.”
Nate set my toast down on the table, then stood behind Yasmin and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Heck, yeah, babe. Owning a small business is hot.”
“You don’t even know what Gibson is proposing.” Her voice was withering, but fond.
Nate shrugged.
“Oh, good morning, folks. What’s this about a business?”
Annabelle appeared in her spot at the table, mostly visible and fully dressed in her usual blouse and flowy trousers. She was wearing house slippers and a very bright smile on her not-quite-solid face.
I held out my hand, palm up, and she placed hers carefully on top of it. “Glad you made it back, Marley.”
“Me too, Gibson, me too.”
***
Seymour Anderson met me at an airy coffee shop on the bay that also doubled as an art studio. We sat in homey chairs and watched half-million-dollar boats go by.
I apologized for giving him the runaround and blowing off our deadline, explaining my fall from a horse and exaggerating my injuries to make it sound like that was the main reason for my delay.
Then I took a deep breath and launched into my pitch.
When I practiced with Annabelle, she listened with rapt attention, making encouraging noises and googly eyes at me.
Which had been nice but didn’t really prepare me for Seymour’s furrowed brow and serious businessman face.
The pitch ended with, “I know it was rather strange for you to walk in on what looked like an occult ritual, and I apologize for the timing. But my spiritual advisor insisted that the lunar eclipse was the only time we could embrace the spirits in the house and turn the negative energy into a welcoming presence for guests.”
He pursed his lips while I said this but didn’t immediately get up and leave, which was a good sign.
“It’s not that I believe in this stuff, of course,” I continued, with a gee-whiz shrug of my shoulders, “but after spending time in the house, I can see how others might. And I think we have a real opportunity to cater to a niche audience: bored rich people who want to believe in the supernatural. There are plenty of places on the island to get a standard Victorian revival bedroom or a soulless modern suite. But where else can you get a room with a ghost?”
He was extremely polite the entire time.
But it was clear that all he was interested in was the land under my cottage’s foundation and he thought I was insane.
He implied that Miranda put me up to the whole thing, saying she had a corrupting influence on the year-rounders.
I smiled and let him pay for the coffee.
His loss.
***
While walking back to the cottage, my phone rang.
Brooke’s picture came up on the screen, and I almost pressed the red dismiss button to end the call. What did I have to say to her? “Thanks for not being my girlfriend and thanks for not letting me in the band we both considered family?” Nope.
But something made me take the call. Maybe the wind or the view of the Round Island Lighthouse or whatever.
I answered. “Hey, what’s up?”
On the other end, I heard the sound of traffic and people shouting in New York at each other. A powerful wave of nostalgia hit me. To gird myself against it, I conjured a memory of the odor of Penn Station.
“Oh my god, hi.” Brooke sounded breathless, like she was walking fast or had smoked too many pretentious cigarettes the night before. “I just ... there’s been a lot going on, and I hadn’t heard from you since the show and ...”
“Yeah.” There was a lot in that “yeah,” and we both knew it.
“I’m sorry,” Brooke said. “I really am. You know that, right? Like, I think I depended on you more than I actually wanted to be around you? And that’s not right. Right?”
I laughed. “No, it’s not. And yes, I understand what you mean. I think I had an idea about what we could be ... and that needed to change. It took me coming out here and you booting me from the periphery of the band for me to get that.”
There was a loud honk and a profanity-laden screed from the other end. “Sorry about that, I’m going inside, hold on.”
I heard the muffled sound of Brooke putting the phone against her shirt and then the chime of a bell ringing and the background hum of an espresso machine.
She picked up again, laughing. “See, the fact that you use the word ‘periphery’ when I’m just talking to you casually is, like, we are not the same.”
I laughed with her, walking away from downtown past the row of picturesque bed-and-breakfasts.
Bikes and horses joined me on the road, but I realized I was used to their presence now.
Even the clop-clop of a giant draft horse coming up from behind didn’t bother me.
The spire of Ste. Anne’s Church pierced the bright blue sky, and I headed toward it.
“How’s Stephani?”
Brooke sighed. “She’s good. Like, so good. And I think she gets the direction the company wants us to take.”
“Company? Wait, did you get a deal?”
I could hear the grin on Brooke’s face when said, “Yeah, man! You really haven’t been online, have you?”
“No, sorry. I’ve been ... dealing with other stuff. Congrats.” I looked up at the beautiful white building of the church, feeling genuinely happy for Brooke and the band I’d tried so hard to join. “That’s really great.”
“Thank you.” Brooke sounded relieved. “It’s a lot to deal with. I think Stephani will be a good collaborator. We’re in the same microgeneration, you know? She understands where I’m coming from when I make references from 2009.”
I rolled my eyes but chose kindness. “I get it.”
The grin crept back in her voice as she said, “So, did you hook up with someone there? I hope you did.”
“I mean ...” I was grinning, too.
“You totally did, you slut!”
I laughed. “She’s ... quite a bit older.” I paused, then added, “Than me.”
“Fuck yeah! Get it, Gibson.” After a moment of pleasant silence, the ambient sounds of a city coffee shop from her end and the wind whistling through trees on mine, she said, “Are we okay?”
I thought about my answer, then said, “I was pissed at you. But yeah, I think this will work out.”
“I’m so glad. I was dreading this conversation, if I’m honest.”
Before a week ago I would have too. But so much had happened that the anxiety and desire and jealousy I felt whenever I thought about Brooke had dissipated like morning fog.
“We’re okay,” I repeated. “I’m happy for you and the rest of the band.”
I walked around the grounds of the old church, wondering if Annabelle had seen a similar view of the building when she was alive. While I wandered, Brooke chattered about the record deal that the band was deliberating over.
“Have I told you that they want six new songs? Which is, like, doable, but we can’t decide on a place to go write because Ivan is being a little bitch and Stephani is super insecure as the newest member, so she’s zero help. I’m like, guys, can we just go to New Jersey or something?”
“How much did you say they’re giving you to write and record?”
She named a ridiculous sum of money.
A new grin spread across my face as inspiration struck. “Does everyone in the band have a winter coat?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so.”
I paced, already making plans in my head. “And is anyone allergic to horses?”
“Not that I know of. Gibson, what are you talking about?”
I left the churchyard, stopping to allow a horse-drawn carriage to pass by before turning my feet toward home.
To get there, I would pass through residential neighborhoods, swanky old-fashioned resorts, and wild forest. Next to my house was Mike’s property, which would be empty of horses during the winter when the herd went to Pickford to fatten up and prepare for next year’s tourist season.
I pictured his garage, where he kept thousands of dollars’ worth of dormant music equipment.
“Hear me out, Brooke, I have an idea. Could you get the company to pay for a flight to Michigan? And is anyone in the band deathly afraid of ghosts?”