Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
NED
Idon’t know what parasite is eating Carlos’s brain, but I kind of like it.
Yeah, I know it’s wrong to be glad my boyfriend seems to be having some kind of breakdown, but I don’t hate the idea of a couple of days in a small town with just each other’s company.
No glitzy parties, no hordes of friends.
And the town basically rolls up the sidewalk at nine on weeknights—there’s definitely no club scene.
The bar we passed on the way in is it, and last night that was relaxed and low-key.
Maybe this is my chance to reconnect with him and show him how great we are.
The B&B is decent. Not lavish or as luxurious as some of the places we’ve stayed, but Lenore, the owner, keeps it clean and fresh, and everything is in good condition.
Even the sheets don’t feel worn. I was disappointed to see the king-size bed in our room—a smaller one would have given me an excuse to snuggle up to Carlos.
But Lenore took one look at me and decided I needed a big bed.
And since I’ve spent the last eight years asking for an upgrade to a king bed everywhere we go, Carlos would have known something was up if I’d told her a smaller bed was fine.
But even with two feet of mattress between us, last night was the closest I’ve felt to Carlos in a long time.
After we turned off the lights, we spent ten minutes giggling over this town and how eager everyone is to have us here…
not to mention the fact that they’re so determined to be accepting of sexual diversity that our hostess stocked the en suite bathroom with condoms and tiny packets of lube. That must have been some seminar.
And this morning, Carlos was still in bed with me when I woke up. That’s progress.
Sitting down to breakfast in the cozy dining room, I look around and say, “This place is perfect, Lenore. So charming. All you need is a friendly ghost to complete the experience.”
She laughs. “No ghosts here, I’m afraid—that we know of, anyway. If you want ghosts, you need to go out to the estate.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. Across the table, Carlos slowly puts his coffee cup down. “Sorry, what? Did you say there are ghosts?”
Lenore nods and tops up our cups, then plants her free hand on her hip. “Yeah, of course. Out at Mannix Estate. There were six, last time I was out there. That was nearly thirty years ago, so maybe it’s changed, but I’m sure someone would have mentioned that.”
“Wait,” I say. I put my fork down so I can focus on her. “There are six ghosts. At… Mannix Estate. What’s that?”
She puts the coffeepot on the sideboard and slides into a chair at the table, planting her elbows and leaning forward.
“Well… it’s one of the oldest houses in the area.
Originally most of the land between here and there belonged to the estate, but over the years it got sold off.
It was a farm and country retreat for the Mannix family for almost a hundred years, and then it sold after the First World War and was converted to a fancy hotel for rich people.
They’d come out from Chicago for a vacation in the country. ”
I avoid Carlos’s eyes. If I look at him, I’ll laugh, and I don’t even know why.
“Then in 1973 there was some funny business. Any local will tell you it was to do with the ghosts, but that’s not the ‘official’ version.
The place got closed down in a rush after some people got hurt.
It’s been locked up ever since. The high school kids like to go out there to do their thing, and since the ghosts don’t let it get out of hand, nobody’s got a problem with it. ”
My mouth is hanging open. The townspeople are letting ghosts supervise their teenagers? Actual ghosts? What do they do, give the kids a chill when they’ve been drinking too much stolen beer?
“Whereabouts did you say this place is?” Carlos asks. There’s a thread of laughter in his voice. “I think I’d like to see it.”
“You don’t really think there are ghosts there, do you?” I ask as we speed along a road on our way to an abandoned country house. Lenore gave us directions, but “take this road out of town for twenty minutes or so. You’re there when you see the broken gate” isn’t all that specific.
“I think it’s an abandoned building and kids play pranks on each other, and over time that’s turned into ghost stories.” Carlos shoots me a sideways glance. “But it might be fun to see. And, uh, I’ve been thinking lately that it could be nice to have a house in the country….”
Say what?
“You… have?” Since when?
He shrugs uncomfortably. “Well, we wouldn’t live in it all the time. And it’s probably not going to be this one. But you like getting away from cities, and the occasional quiet weekend would be good for us.”
A tiny flame of hope ignites within me. This doesn’t sound like he wants to leave me. This sounds like he wants us to put down more roots together.
“Yeah. It would.” We smile at each other. “But not a haunted house,” I add, and he laughs.
“Not a haunted house. Hey, is that the gate?”
I peer through the windshield. “I see gateposts, but no… oh, wait. That rusted chunk of metal lying on the ground and overgrown with weeds would be the gate.”
Carlos slows the car and turns into the rutted driveway. “I’m gonna guess this is a fixer-upper.”
We creep up the driveway toward the house, my mood inexplicably lifting more and more with every yard.
Even from a distance and obviously unkempt, it’s impressive.
Three stories, and with gable windows in the roof that are probably attics, it sits squarely on a rise.
The solid Georgian architecture has stood the test of time, although the building is in need of maintenance.
The windows are all boarded up, which I’d say means someone is still coming out to check on the place, but I’ve got no doubt the local kids have figured out a way to get inside.
Carlos stops the car out the front, and we get out and stare at the face of the building.
“I like it,” he says. “It feels good here. Happy and… I don’t know. I just like being here.”
“Me too. Let’s walk around the house and see if there’s a way to get in.” I head toward the corner of the building, Carlos following.
“Ooh, breaking and entering. You rebel, Ned. I like this side of you.”
My mood instantly takes a dive. Does that mean I’ve been right all this time and he’s getting bored of me? Is my introverted personality killing our relationship?
I bite my lip. I want to say nothing, to pretend I’m not terrified of losing him, to go on like everything is normal, but that’s gotten me nothing but stress and loneliness so far. Things have been good since we got here… maybe this is our chance to clear the air.
The worst that can happen is that I’ll know for sure that we’re over.
Just the thought makes me sick to my stomach, but I push aside the fear, take a deep breath, stop walking, and turn to Carlos.
“Do you wish we weren’t together?”