Audrey Claire - Libby Grace 01 - How to be a Ghost (4 page)

I drifted over to the hall mirror.
Drifted
is the only way I could describe it because I was not aware of stepping. I had no form, or maybe I did, but I couldn’t tell. The mirror’s reflection showed the same landscape on the wall but this time without the obstruction of my form. I looked toward Clark and Monica sure neither saw me.

“Where is Ms. Grace?” Clark was asking.

Monica made a rude noise. “Why are you calling her Ms. Grace like you two didn’t come up together, and you weren’t running behind her hoping she would notice you?”

To my surprise, Clark reddened, and then he frowned. “I’m trying to conduct an investigation, Ms. Wade.” When she lowered her chin and I imagined flicked an eyebrow skyward, he conceded. “Monica. Where is Libby? Why isn’t she home with her son at this hour?”

“Don’t judge my friend,” Monica shot back. “She’s grown.”

“Meaning?”

“She had business to take care of.”

Leave it to Monica to always look out for me. Clark was being tight-lipped about why he was there, and Monica refused to tell him anything in case she inadvertently got me into trouble. That’s the kind of friend she was from the first time I met her in eighth grade. I really loved and appreciated that woman, even more so now. I also knew since I hadn’t told her anything about where I was going, she would worry, and that bothered me.

“What business could Libby have to take care of at six a.m. on a school day?” Clark insisted.

Monica shrugged. “That’s for her to tell you if she chooses to. Now if you will excuse me, I have to get Jake ready for school, and I have to be at the library by nine.”

Clark opened his mouth to ask another question, but Monica shut the door in his face. Undeterred, Clark pushed his business card through the mail slot and called out, “As soon as you hear from her, have her call me. It’s important.”

Monica bent to pick up the card, tapped a nail on the smooth, shiny surface, and then turned around. I stood in front of her so I saw the smirk melt away. Her brow furrowed, and she pinched her lips together. She darted into the kitchen and snatched her cell phone off the counter. I didn’t have to see the button she punched to know she speed dialed my phone. Monica danced from one foot to the other as she waited with the device pressed to her ear. From my position, I heard my own recorded voice come on the line asking the caller to leave a message.

“Hey, girl,” Monica said, “where are you? Call me.” She paused. “I’m worried. You know I don’t like being worried. Call!”

“Monica, I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “I would give anything to calm your mind.”

I don’t know what I expected, maybe for her to jump at hearing my voice? If she couldn’t see me, that didn’t mean I was also silent, right? Wrong. I was there, able to watch her, hear her voice, but I was cut off. I wanted to wail, but crying would do nothing to help me. The sooner I located my body, the sooner I could be with my friend and hold my little boy.

Spurred to action, I left my home and stepped out on the front walk. Then I whizzed to Ian’s door. At least, I assume I whizzed because no sooner had I decided to approach his house, I was there. This was an emergency, and the conventions of waiting for him to answer a bell summons did not apply.

I stepped forward expecting to phase through the pre-finished mahogany door, which matched mine except in a newer, more preserved state, and found myself repelled. I had the sensation of rolling head over heels, and an electric current zinged through me, not painful exactly, but startling all the same. When I righted myself, I shook my head and blinked. Had I lost the ability to phase?

Because fools don’t learn quickly, I decided to try again with the same result. I moved around Ian’s detached home, but nowhere, not through doors, windows, or walls could I gain access to his house. Each time, some unseen force kept me away. I couldn’t even get close enough to peer through the windows.

Frustrated, I raised my voice to call to him but then recalled how Monica hadn’t been able to hear me speak to her. Perhaps in coming outside, I had stepped through a portal of some kind and separated myself from all contact with the living.

“Okay, calm down, Libby. Things are never as bad as they seem. Just go back home, and if you can get in, you did not pass through a weird portal.”

Somehow the self-talk settled my manic mind, and I started across the lawn toward my house. This time because I was terrified of finding myself locked out by an invisible barrier, I didn’t move as fast. Under normal speed, I arrived at my front door, and wouldn’t you know it, without effort, I phased inside.

Voices reached me from the kitchen, and I entered it to find Jake sitting at the tiny table in the corner, big enough for just two people. He swung spindly legs back and forth while he ate cereal. Poor tike was such a small fellow, so unlike Mason’s imposing figure. Mama had been a little above average in height, and so am I, so I figured Jake inherited his size from my father, whom I had never met.

“Where did you say my mom went?” Jake was questioning Monica.

“I didn’t. She had to take care of something, baby. Don’t worry about it. Aunt Monica has got you covered.”

Jake frowned. “Mom always makes me a hot breakfast. She says it’s the most important meal of the day.”

When I noticed a thinning cloud of smoke in the air, I realized Monica had attempted to do just that, but my friend had a lot of wonderful talents. Cooking just wasn’t one of them. My attention swung back to Jake who wrinkled his nose, and I knew the kitchen smelled of burning food. I could smell nothing, and it dragged my spirits down deeper than they already were.

Monica took a comb to Jake’s morning hair. “I’ll bring you something good from Gatsky’s after my shift. How’s that?”

Jake perked up and grinned, showing off teeth too big for his narrow face. I was still hoping he would grow into them. Maybe within the next year. “Cool. Can I have apple pie?”

“Do you really want to insult your mom by eating someone else’s apple pie?”

“You’re right. Mom uses Grandma’s recipe. She might cry.”

I shook my head. “Oh for Pete’s sake, Jake. I’m not that sensitive. You can have Gatsky’s pie.”

Jake glanced around the room, a look of confusion on his face. Hope bloomed in my chest. Had he heard me?

“Aunt Monica?” Jake said.

“Yeah?” Monica concentrated on his hair, at first adding a part on the side and then whipping it away. I acknowledged the boy needed a haircut soon.

“Did you hear something weird?” Jake asked.

“Nope. Like what?”

“Never mind.” Jake went back to his cereal. What did my voice sound like? I supposed if it were words to his young ears he would have said so. Jake read voraciously, so he had no trouble expressing himself.

I floated closer to him and tried to touch his hand, but my fingers phased through his. He shivered. I bit my lip and ventured, “Jake? Can you hear me?”

“There’s that buzzing,” he said, “like a bee.”

My hope fell away.

Monica finished his hair and straightened to view her handiwork. “I declare you gorgeous. All those second grade girls are going to fall all over you.”

Jake looked horrified at the prospect, and I couldn’t hold back a smile. He finished his cereal and took the bowl to the sink, rinsed it as I had taught him, and left the kitchen. I floated along behind him and watched as he gathered books into his backpack. Most of them had nothing to do with academics, unless you counted his insatiable thirst for anything on American or European history. I was proud of my son, who read on a fifth grade level. Any word he didn’t understand he either looked up or asked me. I had broadened my own vocabulary helping him with his.

Jake slung his backpack over his shoulder, grabbed the baseball sitting on his dresser, and headed toward the front door. He hesitated once there and glanced over his shoulder. For a moment, I could swear he saw me, but he turned around and lowered his head staring at the floor.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Monica asked. “Forget something?”

She stood behind him, jiggling keys in her hand and waiting for him to open the door. My heart constricted in my chest because I knew what Jake waited for. Ever since he reached the age of five, he refused to let me kiss him in public. He hated for me even to kiss him goodnight, stating in emphatic terms that he was not a baby. However, just before we left the house in the morning, Jake always paused to let me get in a good hug and kiss. I didn’t know how long even this would last, so I took advantage of it. Today, my fingers phased through the silky curls at his nape, feeling nothing. I couldn’t draw him into my arms. I couldn’t feel him or even smell my precious little boy, and it killed me—or
re-killed
me.

Jake juggled the baseball in his hand. He often tried to take it with him to school, and I usually reminded him it would be there when he got home. I waited to see if he would obey my rule even in my absence. Jake heaved his shoulders, twisted around to unzip his backpack, and stuffed the ball inside. Well, so much for that. At least he had washed his cereal bowl, I reminded myself.

Monica and Jake left the house, and soon the sound of her car receded as she disappeared around the bend toward Summit’s Edge Elementary School. I was left alone to ponder my nonexistence and not a little sorry for myself.

Chapter Three

After I had a nice long pity party with no attendees except me, I headed over to Ian’s house. At least there was one living person who knew of my existence, and maybe since he had helped me before, Ian could shed light on why I was invisible and how I could reverse it.

I drew up to his door but not too close. I had come to the conclusion—with no evidence whatsoever—that the barrier around Ian’s house must be either a figment of my imagination, or a temporary unexplainable phenomenon. Yes, total denial was going on, but I didn’t care. At least I wasn’t sticking my head in the sand pretending I wasn’t a ghost, or hiding out in my house afraid to face the world.

With eyes screwed shut and bottom lip between my teeth, I extended a hand toward Ian’s door. When next I opened my eyes, I stared up at the blue sky, puffy white clouds drifting by as if all was right in the world. Great. No form but able to be knocked on my butt by a spell.

I blinked at the thought. Could that be it? Ian had cast a spell to keep me away? My throat dried, and tears pricked my eyes. If Ian wouldn’t help me, I was alone in the world. Life would go on around me, and I would be stuck viewing it all and unable to participate. Another pity party took firm hold. I thought about going back to my house, but instead I drifted as close as I dared to Ian’s house.

Perhaps ghosts are patient, or they have no sense of time. I watched Ian’s closed door as if it were a riveting saga on TV. I’m not sure if I even blinked. Depression hung heavy over me, and it seemed that I turned in on myself. I only know time passed because one minute it was day, and the next, the sun descended on the western horizon. Had I been standing there all that time, for hours or had I gone somewhere on another plain and just returned?

I directed my gaze to my own house and noticed a light burning in the kitchen. Monica had shut it off that morning. Her car was parked in the driveway. Fear and worry stirred in my stomach.

Ian’s door opened, and he appeared. Hopeful, I drifted forward, but I felt the beginning zings of the barrier and backed off. Ian’s cold gaze passed over me as if he didn’t see me. He stuck a key in the lock, turned it, and then pocketed the ring. When he started off down the street, I didn’t know what else to do, so I followed him. We strode several blocks, Ian keeping a steady but swift pace. I’m sure if I were in my body I would be winded by now, even if I did make a habit of jogging four times a week. Ian didn’t appear breathless.

I studied him as he walked. He wore a button up sky blue long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. While I couldn’t feel the temperature, I knew from watching the weather forecast early in the week, this time of day was still pretty warm. At around seventy-five degrees, Ian should be sweating. During my evening jogs, I wore shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, and my skin still grew moist with sweat. If he did not sweat, as I knew there were a few people that didn’t, lucky him.

Some women might feel Ian had a nice rear, and I was inclined to agree. As I followed him, I found myself wondering if he had a girlfriend. Maybe that was why he wouldn’t give the local ladies a chance. I imagined this woman to be a blond with model good looks and a figure to match. Ian, being in love and a faithful man, would never betray the girl who stole his heart. He waited only for her to move down from the city so they could settle into the house and raise attractive babies.

When Ian turned onto the walk leading into the park, I forgot my fantasy about his love life and hurried to close some of the space between us. Just like last night, shadows reached out to me, inviting me into their depths. I stared hard into them, thinking any second they would come alive and attack, but nothing moved.

Up ahead, a man strode along carrying a briefcase and chatted on his cell phone. People often cut through the park to get to the south side of town. No one to my knowledge had ever been mugged, so no one feared doing so. Besides, the paths were lit.

I stopped walking when Ian approached the man, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said something I couldn’t hear. The man stared into Ian’s eyes and nodded. Because of the shadows and the fact that they chose a spot just outside the scope of the nearest lamp, I couldn’t make out either man’s expression. One thought popped into my head. No wonder Ian brushed off the women of Summit’s Edge. There was no beautiful girlfriend in the city.

“Libby,” I whispered to myself, spellbound by the couple before me, “don’t jump to conclusions. Ian might be saying hello to a friend.”

At that moment, Ian twisted his head in my direction. I swallowed and drifted back a step. He spoke to the man again and then started toward me. No mistaking the frown marring his handsome face this time.

Ian stopped short several feet away but directly in front of me. “How long are you going to follow me?” he demanded.