Authors: Tara Hudson
“I’m glad they’re here,” I said, looking down at Jillian’s wan face. Joshua must have stretched her out upon the riverbank again, because she lay in the mud again, close eyed and pale.
“Yeah. She’ll be okay, I think.” Joshua stared down at his sister, frowning heavily. Then he abruptly chuckled and turned back to me. “She’ll probably just wake up really, really pissed off.”
I laughed with him, but our laughter felt somehow out of place. Joshua must have sensed this too, because his face once again grew serious.
“Are
you
okay, Amelia?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.
“Yeah.” I sighed, and, for some inexplicable reason, I dropped my face back to his chest and sank farther into him. Maybe it was the sound of his rough voice that broke down my defenses, or maybe it was the simple act of resting for the first time this evening. Whatever the case, I was suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted.
Joshua moved his arm up my shoulder to wrap his hand around the nape of my neck, where he then threaded his fingers through my hair. Not for the first time, I thought about how much I absolutely loved the way that felt. A slight smile crept over my face, and I sighed again.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Joshua murmured. “But I’ve got to at least ask: did you . . . save us?”
“I wouldn’t call it saving per se,” I said, pressing my face harder into his chest. “I would call it . . . spooking, maybe.”
“So, you spooked Eli away?”
I smiled grimly, although Joshua couldn’t see my face. “
I
didn’t. But he’s definitely been spooked away. Pretty effectively too, I think.”
“Good.”
The sound we heard next surprised both of us. A soft voice—hoarse from exhaustion and too much river water—croaked up at us from the bank.
“Amelia?”
I looked down at Jillian. She’d leaned up a few inches, onto her elbows, and she now stared directly at me. Her hazel eyes—almost feverish in the dark—met mine. The intensity of her stare seemed to hypnotize me.
“Yes,” I whispered back, more out of compulsion than anything else.
“Is he gone?”
“Yes, O’Reilly’s gone.”
“No, not O’Reilly. The blond one.”
I blinked in surprise. Jillian meant Eli. How had she known about Eli? She hadn’t even seen him, had she?
“Y-yes,” I stuttered. “The other one’s gone too.”
“Then . . . thank you.”
She gave me one weak nod. Then she closed her eyes and laid her head back down upon the muddy bank.
I
’d stop asking you if you’d stop being such a stupid jerk.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to be a stupid jerk if you’d stop being a weirdo freak.”
I sighed heavily, leaned back against the wall, and splayed my fingers in front of me to study my nails for invisible dirt. I’d heard this argument so many times in the last two weeks that I could have had it alone, debating each ridiculous side by myself.
Yet Joshua and Jillian seemed intent on having it at least one more time.
While I hovered at the top of the stairs—more than ready to end this pointlessness and leave—Joshua stood in front of Jillian’s room with his hand clenched tight against the doorframe.
“Look,” he growled. “Considering everything Amelia did for you, you’re being . . . rude.”
Jillian simply gave her brother a cold smile and folded her arms across her chest.
“As far as I’m concerned, Josh, nobody but
you
did anything for me; and I’m not going to show you how grateful I am by pretending some imaginary person exists.”
“Oh, for the love of—!” Joshua released the doorframe and threw both of his hands up in the air. “Amelia is not imaginary. You saw her, the night she saved you. You
talked
to her, Jillian. And you can see her now, just like I can.”
Joshua pointed to me. Jillian’s eyes followed the line of her brother’s arm, all the way up to my face. I only had the briefest second to smile at her before her eyes flickered away again.
“Nope, nobody there.” She chanted the words in a singsong voice.
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Joshua, this is useless. Just like it was useless last night, and three nights ago, and on and on . . .”
“It’s not useless, because Jillian’s going to come with us tonight.”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this,” Jillian said through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to spend my Friday nights with you and Casper the Friendly Girlfriend.”
Joshua opened his mouth, in all likelihood to yell again, but I interrupted him.
“Look, Joshua, she clearly isn’t going to give in tonight, so can we please, please just go?”
“Yeah, Josh, listen to your imaginary friend and get out of here,” Jillian spat.
Joshua immediately began to crow, laughing and slapping his hand in triumph against the doorframe.
“Ha!” he cried. “I knew it! You
can
hear her, you big liar!”
Jillian’s mouth gaped like a trout’s. She glanced right at me again for a second. Then she shook her head violently, as if the motion would make me once more invisible to her. She grabbed the edge of her door and, with one last scowl, slammed it in Joshua’s face.
Even with a door in his face, Joshua continued to chuckle. He turned to flash me a broad grin.
“See? I told you she’d give in.”
“Sweetheart,” I said with another roll of my eyes, “she didn’t give you anything you didn’t already know. Besides, she’s a full Seer now, whether she likes it or not. And I’m pretty sure she’s not going to start making Save Amelia from Exorcism T-shirts whenever Ruth finally ends the truce. Even if Ruth
did
let me back in the house.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “Jillian and Ruth will like you. Eventually.”
Despite my strong doubts, I laughed too. “Joshua Mayhew, ever the sunny optimist.”
“Because my plans always work. You’ll see.”
“Speaking of mysterious plans . . . ,” I prompted, and then slipped my arm through the crook of his elbow. Joshua’s grin widened as he pulled me closer to him and led me down the stairs.
“I told you—it’s a surprise.”
“What, are you going to try to bring me back to life or something?” I pretended to sound hopeful. Well, at least, I sort of pretended.
Joshua, however, just laughed. “Give me time, Amelia. Give me time.”
I shook my head. “Joshua, normal people surprise each other on their birthdays, which we both know I no longer have.”
“All right. Then instead of giving you a present, how about I just ask you to destroy some public property again?”
I grimaced and squirmed uncomfortably against him. “Hey, I told you I don’t like talking about that.”
Joshua’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’m just saying, it’s probably going to take the county
years
to fix High Bridge.”
“I hope they never do,” I murmured. Then I smiled, shrugging. “Anyway, I told you, not going to talk about it. Period. End of discussion. Finis.”
What I didn’t say was that there were more than a few topics I now avoided. Such as Ruth’s thinly veiled hostility to my nightly presence in her home; Jillian’s impending induction into the Wilburton Seer community, which I basically saw as inevitable; or the near-constant worry I felt for my father when I thought about where, and by whom, his soul might be trapped.
And, of course, I wasn’t exactly ready to bring up all the impossibilities facing my relationship with Joshua himself, either. After all, we were, collectively, a Seer and a potential target for exorcism. A vibrant, living boy and a dead girl.
Not exactly an obvious, or easy, match.
Unaware of the dark thoughts that plagued me, Joshua gave me another mischievous grin. By now we’d reached the back door of the kitchen, and he playfully shoved me out the doorway.
Soon he had me safely deposited in his new vehicle—a used truck, painted a shiny black—while he drove us to some undisclosed destination. Upon his orders I slid all the way back against my seat (after muttering my protests for a solid five minutes) and pressed my hands against my eyes. Each time I tried to peek between my fingers, Joshua caught me and threatened me with the punishment of an entire trip spent listening to Jillian’s hip-hop playlist.
Eventually, Joshua rolled the truck to a stop. We sat in silence for a moment, and a strained air began to settle over the cab. I could feel Joshua’s hesitancy radiating out from him like the vibration of a tuning fork.
“Joshua? You’re awfully quiet.”
“I guess I’m nervous about the surprise. I want you to like it, but I don’t want it to make you sad.”
“Sad?” I asked. “Why would I be—?”
I stopped my sentence short, letting the question hang in the air. I did so because that very air brought with it a familiar but long-forgotten scent.
Honeysuckle.
No matter where we’d parked Joshua’s truck, I shouldn’t be able to smell the plant. We were now into the chill of fall, and early frosts had already laid waste to most of Oklahoma’s flowering plants. Yet the scent hit me now, strong and floral and sweet.
The Mayhews didn’t grow any honeysuckle in their yard, nor did I remember passing any in my afterlife wanderings. But I recognized the smell instantly, mostly because it had grown in thick, amber-petaled vines all along the fence line of my childhood home.
I turned my head toward the passenger side window and dropped my hands from my eyes. Sure enough, I faced the little clapboard house, the one in which I’d spent my first—and only—eighteen years of life. The honeysuckle vines around the house weren’t in bloom right now, but their flowers had blossomed for so many years that the smell must have permeated the very air of this place.
“My home?” I whispered.
“I had an idea,” Joshua explained, “of how you might see your mom. Just for a little bit. Do you think you’d want to?”
I stared more intently at the house. A rusted sedan now sat parked in the driveway. The light of the TV flickered out from the front window, shifting from yellows to blues in the dusk.
I thought about Joshua’s suggestion for a moment longer and then nodded.
Joshua got out of the truck and came around to my side, opening the door and pretending to pick something off the floorboard in case my mother was watching us. I slid out of the truck, my eyes never leaving the front door of the little house.
Joshua and I didn’t speak as we made the short walk across the yard. We tromped over the porch, only Joshua’s steps echoing against the floorboards. Joshua raised one hand and, with a reassuring nod at me, rapped upon the door.
I heard shuffling from inside the house, and my head began to swim. A few seconds later, when the door swung open, I thought I might faint.
There she stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. Elizabeth Louise Ashley. Liz to her friends. Mom to me.
She’d aged horribly, much worse than I’d expected. Yet beneath the new wrinkles, and the ten extra years of sadness, my mother’s beauty still shined. Anyone could see that.
Her dark hair glistened in its ponytail, with only a few grays for decoration. Her large brown eyes—still fringed with thick lashes—assessed the young man on her porch before she gave him a full, gracious smile.
“May I help you?” she asked in that lovely voice, the perfect one that had read me every bedtime story I knew. The one she’d fought not to raise during each and every stupid fight we’d had—fights I wished, more than anything, I could take back now.
“Mom,” I moaned, unable to catch the word before it spilled out of my mouth.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Joshua clench the hand closest to me. I could tell he wanted to reach out to comfort me. I loved him for it, even if he couldn’t act upon his impulse right now.
Instead of clasping my hand, Joshua cleared his throat and answered my mother. “Yes, ma’am. I’m here on behalf of my church youth group. We’re . . . um, passing out Bibles, door-to-door.”
I arched one eyebrow at Joshua. To my surprise, he pulled a tiny green Bible out of his coat pocket and held it out to my mother. You have to give it to him—the boy came prepared, New Testament and all.
My mother smiled, her incredulity mirroring mine; but she reached out and took the book from Joshua. She looked down at it, and her smile softened. Keeping it in one hand, she ran a thumb across its surface.
“You know,” she mused, still staring at the book, “my daughter had a little one just like this. Same color and everything.”
That struck Joshua silent. Even I didn’t know what to say. I swallowed, feeling an odd thickness in my throat.
My mother must have sensed Joshua’s discomfort, because she finally looked back up at him. For a moment I thought I could see the glitter of tears along the rims of her eyes; but she turned her head, and the shadows covered her face.
“I’m sorry. That was . . . random.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” Joshua insisted. “I’m sure your daughter is wonderful.”
“Was,” my mother said quietly. “And yes, she was. Wonderful.”
Guilt twisted in my core like a spasm. The thickness in my throat hardened, and I tried not to choke on it. But the cough I suppressed still threatened to spill over my eyes in the form of tears.
Unaware of the little drama I carried out in front of her, my mother turned to glance over her shoulder at something inside the house. A shaft of light illuminated her face, and I took a last, precious look at it. When she turned back to Joshua, my view vanished.
“You know, Mr. . . . ,” she prompted.
“Mayhew. Joshua,” he offered, and then cringed. Perhaps he’d wanted to give her a fake name, although there was no real need for subterfuge. She would never know the connection between Joshua and me.
“Well, Joshua,” my mother went on. “It’s only eight o’clock. I have some sweet tea, if you want to come inside, or something.”
Joshua’s eyes flickered over to me, but I shook my head no. Although part of me desperately wanted to sit beside her for hours, listening to her voice and trying to catch a whiff of her perfume, another part of me did not. Possibly, it was the part of me that focused on self-preservation. I’d come back later, I knew; but I couldn’t be here right now. I had the suspicion that, if we stayed here much longer, I might fall apart entirely.
“No, ma’am,” Joshua said, shaking his head. “But that’s awfully nice of you. I’d better just go . . . pass out the rest of the Bibles.”
“Sure,” my mother said with a nod.
Even in the dark, I could see her faint smile.
“It’s been a pleasure, Joshua Mayhew,” she said, extending her Bible-free hand. “A brief one, but a pleasure nonetheless.”
Joshua laughed quietly. With a smaller version of his usual grin, Joshua took my mother’s hand and shook it.
“It’s been a pleasure for me, too, Mrs. Ashley.”
Then he blanched and dropped her hand. I could almost hear the screamed regrets in his head: she hadn’t told him her last name, so he shouldn’t have known it. How would he explain this? How could he?
My mother, however, didn’t call him out on this error. In fact, she didn’t say anything further. She simply raised one eyebrow and flashed him that half smile of hers before turning to close the door.
“The mailbox—,” Joshua began feebly. But my mother had already shut the door, effectively leaving Joshua with the secret of why this eighteen-year-old boy knew her last name.
Joshua and I drove in silence for a while, although he didn’t take us home.
I didn’t need to ask where we were going as he pulled off onto a steep, pine-thick road. Although he’d never taken this route before and the night had fallen dark and heavy around us, I instinctively knew our destination.
After winding his way up and around the sharp curves that the road cut through Robber’s Cave Park, Joshua parked the truck next to a small clearing. He left the truck running but turned off its lights and then exited to help me out of the cab. I stood to one side while he leaned back in and fiddled with the MP3 player, which he’d attached to the truck’s stereo.
My favorite song—the one to which he’d introduced me and that I loved for its slowly soaring guitar—drifted out of the open door. Joshua pulled away from the truck and, without a word, took my hand. He led me to the middle of the clearing, just to the right of our favorite park bench. Then he pulled me close to him. I draped my arms around his neck, he wrapped his arms around my waist, and we began to sway in time to the music.
Soon the song ended and another of my favorites began. I suspected Joshua had created this list of songs just for me, but I didn’t ask if this was the case. There was romance in the mystery.