The Possession (5 page)

Unexpected anger swirled up in me, like a waterspout, and I spun in their direction. That’s when Aunt Dwill did something I never would have expected.

“Oh, no! Rowdy!”

I almost missed the quiet ‘
Chuch’
. Rowdy’s command to chase.

The leash handle slipped from Aunt’s fingers.

Mr. Barrett dove into the driver’s seat and slammed his door. The bikers scattered, pedaling as fast as they could down the road.

At her low whistle, Rowdy lumbered back to Aunt’s side. I swear that, as she bent over him to detach his dragging leash, I heard her murmur, “Good boy.”

*    *    *

My feet froze in the icy air of the waiting room at County General Hospital, but I refused to leave. Until I saw Zach for myself, saw that he really was okay, I wasn’t going to move. We had been placed in this special alcove where family could wait since his family hadn’t arrived yet and the staff might need more information from us. Aunt Dwill sat in the far corner, holding a coffee but not drinking.

A shadow fell across the room. Aunt looked up from her cup as I turned toward the entrance.

I swear he was the largest man I had ever seen. His shoulders filled the doorway, arms nearly brushing the frames. Not fat. No. This man worked out. Black eyes glinted from beneath drawn brows. His nose was hawk-like, but it suited him. I wasn’t sure about his hair. It, too, was dark, but pulled back from his face, so that I couldn’t tell its length or type.

“Edwilda.” The warmth in the word belied his curt nod. The single word revealed a flash of even white teeth in a flawless maple face.

“James.” Aunt Dwill rose, but neither adult made a move toward the other.

‘James’ worked the rim of the cowboy hat he held in a pair of massive hands. A beaded bracelet adorned one wrist.

Zach’s dad. Zach had the exact same bracelet. He’d said it was a gift from his mother. She had died when he was in grammar school. She’d made one for him and one for his dad so that they would remain close, even long after she was gone.

“Tell me what happened,” James’s voice was deep, his words direct. That’s where Zach must get it from.

The doctor came to the door. “Mr. Philbrook? Dr. Greeley. Why don’t you and your family come with me.”

No one protested, so we filed down the hallway behind the doctor. She turned into a room marked Exam 2A.

They had propped Zach up in the hospital bed. His color was better, and the nurse removed his blood pressure cuff before stepping to the corner of the room along with the doctor. His dad tossed the hat onto a nearby chair as he strode to his son’s side.

For all his size and hard appearance, Zach’s dad morphed to gentle relief when he finally saw his son. They spoke but not in English, so I had no idea what they said but could tell Zach was reassuring him.

The doctor returned. When Mr. Philbrook stepped away to speak with the woman, I immediately went to the left of Zach’s bed, leaving the right side free and clear for his father to return.

“Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay, Zach.”

“I’m okay.” Zach looked at me long and hard. My hand rested on the bed, and he covered it with his. He tried to crook his head, to call me closer, but it came out a tired roll. I moved my head near.

“We have to talk. Later.” He darted a glance at the grownups, causing my own gaze to shift.

Zach’s dad crossed back to the bed. His gaze fell on our clasped hands then flew to Zach’s face. They stared at each other. I tried to slide my hand out inconspicuously. Zach held on tighter and drew it nearer. He turned his face from his father to me, then closed his eyes.

Mr. Philbrook half-turned to Aunt Dwill.

“Eddie? What’s this?”

Eddie was Aunt Edwilda? What?

Aunt Dwill motioned him over, and spoke to him in what sounded like the same language he had used with his son. For a moment the fatherly concern dropped from his face, replaced by another emotion. His eyes softened as his head dipped closer to Aunt’s to catch her words.

I turned my attention to my aunt. The sea spray at the beach, the wind and the fright had all conspired against the tight rein she kept on her hair. Curls cascaded in strawberry ribbons from a barely-holding-on doubled headband. Her rosy skin was marred only by a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, more apparent from our time in the sun. And though she was almost as tall as me, near a guy like that, it didn’t matter.

I can’t say why I’d never noticed before. She may be forty-five years old, but Aunt Edwilda is . . . pretty.

For some reason that made me want to cry. As my eyes dampened, Aunt drew herself up and pushed back a stray lock of curls that had fallen across her cheek. In short order she whipped the whole mass back up and rewrapped the headband around it. The competent woman who ran the lighthouse had returned, and she was not happy.

“Fine. If that’s how you want it, Jay.” A chill and brittle light snuffed out the warmth in her amber eyes. “You can tell him.”

She looked over to me. “C’mon, Daphne. We have to go.”

Something buzzed in my chest. A warning, but I wasn’t sure of what. So I did the only thing I could think of that would make me feel better, that might make it go away.

Before I slid my hand from Zach’s loose grasp, I brought my lips close to his ear. “I’ll be back.”

And when he smiled in his sleep, I kissed him.

“What on earth were you thinking, Daphne!”

“Oh, I don’t know. That I thought I saw my friend die in front of me today? And that I was happy he wasn’t dead? And I wanted him to know it?”

“Drop the sarcasm, young lady, and the dramatics. A lip lock was totally inappropriate.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?” I fumed.

And so the conversation went, around and around, all the way home. I knew Aunt Dwill wasn’t really mad at me, and I wasn’t mad at her. But we just couldn’t let it go.

The doctor would have called it after-shock. She had warned us while we waited for Zach’s dad that Zach might be irritable for a few days, and that would be why. The formal name was post-traumatic stress.

I slammed into the lighthouse keep and up the stairs to my room. I bypassed the bed, though a good tantrum into the pillows might feel good right about now, and plopped instead into the rocker by the window.

The sea called to me. Waves crashed as the tide came in and the weather started to turn. A storm brewed, but nothing could match the tempest inside me. Emotion fought to keep logic at bay.

Something had happened to Zach.

Or someone.

I couldn’t shake the image of Zach’s legs coming out from under him. I’d seen enough fake fight scenes watching bad B-movies with my dad to recognize the exaggerated up-and-backward leap from a well-placed fist. Or shake the feel of the chip bag being ripped from my grasp, either. Wrestle for anything with a sister and you’d recognize that scenario, too.

And let’s not forget Rowdy, growling at nothing, again.

And the man at the cemetery.

Could a
ghost
actually do such a thing? Like
touch
someone?

Well, at least he’d be safe at the hospital and then at home. His dad could probably scare a ghost back to heaven . . . or wherever else it might come from.

Hmm. Mr. Philbrook did not like me. Why should that surprise me? A tall, gawky redhead without the sense to not kiss a guy in front of his father who doesn’t like her? Sure. She’d be my first pick for my boy.

The girl who nearly got him killed.

Zach. I buried my face in my hands. Why couldn’t I just stay and keep an eye on him tonight?

“Daphne! Supper.”

I took a moment to compose myself then rose. From her tone, it sounded like Aunt was calling a truce. I might as well give it a shot, too. I needed someone on my side.

The meal began in silence, except for the scrape of my chair as I pulled it back from the table and slid onto it. Cutlery clinked on china and ice
ting’d
in our glasses. Linen napkins whisked near-silent from lap to mouth and back again. Aunt studied every morsel on her plate, the occasional glance my way indicating she searched for an opening.

I felt ready to oblige.

“Aunt, is the—”

“Daphne, please tell—”

We looked up from our plates, gazes meeting across the table. Aunt’s smile was somehow sad.

“It’s been quite a day.”

I nodded.

“What happened at the beach, Daphne? You need to tell me.”

I couldn’t answer, so I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, Aunt.”

Her lips thinned, a thoughtful frown creasing her forehead. I knew that look. Not satisfied with my answer, she prepared to probe.

“I can’t think about it right now.” I stuffed some unwanted pork chop into my mouth and set doleful eyes upon her.

It worked. The wrinkle disappeared. Time for a curve ball. After several moments of silence, I asked, “Aunt Dwill? What made you move to the lighthouse, anyway?”

“Let’s see.” Aunt took another helping of rice. “Your uncle Jack and I always loved the North.”

Uncle Jack! My smile sincere, I said, “I remember Uncle Jack . . . a little bit.”

Aunt smiled back then stared at her plate, memory spinning her back in time. “I’m not surprised you remember him. Even though you were young when he died, you always talked about him and asked for him.”

My mouth pulled downward, sadness crimping my chest. I think today of all days I finally understood. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“For him dying.” I pushed the carrots around on my plate. “It must have been awful for you, too, him dead and me blabbing on about him and all.”

Aunt Dwill kind of frowned and smiled at the same time. Her eyes misted. “Quite the opposite, sweetie.” Her voice, gruff, then smoothed to its normal tone. “A lot of adults usually think that same way, so they won’t talk about him—and won’t let you talk about him. Soon, it’s like that person didn’t even exist.”

I stood and started to clear the table while Aunt finished her meal, giving her space. With her last mouthful, I nudged her on. “So what happened? That you bought the lighthouse?”

“One of our last trips north, before your uncle got sick, we spent the week staying at lighthouse inns. After the first night, I was sold. I started talking about living in one. Your uncle humored me.” She rose and brought dessert to the table. “Even helped me peruse Maine real estate ads.”

I rejoined her at the table and gladly accepted the bowl of strawberries, smothered in a mound of whipped cream. “But you bought this after Uncle died.”

“Hmmm. Well. Not really.” She scraped a dollop of cream toward her mouth from its spot on her chin.

I raised my eyebrows and my spoon at her, spinning the utensil in lieu of words as I chomped my mouthful of sweetness.

Aunt stabbed another berry. “It’s funny. I haven’t given it much thought in a long while. I didn’t buy this lighthouse, Daphne. I inherited it.”

I stopped chewing.

“Almost a year after Jack died, I got a letter in the mail. From an attorney. Some relative—an aunt by marriage I was told—left property to me, on the condition that I agreed to live on it and keep it in the family. That’s really how I became this generation’s Wentworth-in-Residence.”

She lowered her fork, tapping the nearest strawberry on her plate with it as she mused, almost to herself, “Jack’s death was so . . . I had totally forgotten about lighthouses.”

Aunt, lost in thought, contemplated the white and red swirl of her dessert. My attempt to distract her might be working for me, but it was definitely not kind to her.

“Well, I think it’s great. That you live here and all,” I blurted, perky enough to make myself ill. Aunt’s eyes snapped toward me, and suddenly she laughed.

“That knowledge might come in handy someday!”

“Oh, like now? Getting me to clean the cemetery and all?”

The phone rang, interrupting our laughter.

Aunt answered on the third ring.

“Hello? Yes. Good. I’m so glad to hear that.”

Her expression turned serious. The smile dropped from her face. Tension filled the kitchen. “I know. I . . .” She half-turned her back to me, her voice lowering. “No, I do understand, but . . . Can’t it wait until tomorrow, James?”

Mr. Philbrook. Aunt cast a look my way. I nodded to her, so she’d know I didn’t mind. She tipped her chin at me, as if to ask ‘are you sure’ and I nodded once more.

“Okay, sure. What time will you be here?”

That call ended our dinner. We cleared away the dishes and started the dishwasher. Aunt retired to her room to change from the picnic clothes she still wore, and suggested I do the same. I climbed slowly to my room, hoping to slow time.

About an hour later, Rowdy started to bark his warning; the sound cut unexpectedly and turned to greeting. I crossed to the guest room, the one that overlooked the drive. Too late to see the visitor, I returned to my room and hovered by the door, straining to hear. The deep timbre of a man’s voice echoed up, followed by a woman’s answer. Aunt’s voice, but different. I couldn’t just stand here and wait to be called.

I found them in the front room. Standing back from the doorway, I tried to figure out the lay of the land before I entered.

Aunt sat on the edge of the sofa. The soft coral of her tailored sleeveless blouse over sleek white pants heightened her color. She commanded the room.

Then Mr. Philbrook came into view. His hair, dark and sleek like Zach’s, hung loosely to just below his shoulders. Maybe it was the red t-shirt stretched across a broad chest, but he looked even larger in Aunt’s living room than he had at the hospital. Aunt rose and they faced off, as though some verbal bomb might drop between them at any moment. Or already had.

I entered noisily. Both adults turned to me.

“Daphne! Come on in. James, this is my niece Daphne. I know you weren’t properly introduced at the hospital. Daphne, this is Zach’s dad.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Philbrook.” I offered my hand and he swallowed it in his own. “Is Zach better? Did they let him go home?”

Mr. Philbrook scrutinized me as he released my hand. “He’s doing better, but they kept him for observation. He should come home tomorrow.”