Shift (11 page)

I listened to them banter, marveling at how anyone could be so sharp this early in the morning. But when Grandmom turned away from Kaye, I swore I saw her eyes glistening. Questions about my mom burned inside of me, but I couldn’t bear to see my grandmother’s tears.

Or worse, be the cause of them.

What Grandmom said was true: My mother had been right about life being short. Less than four years after visiting Newgrange and becoming pregnant with me, she had died from lung cancer.

On that rainy Easter Sunday afternoon, I went with my aunt and grandmother to visit Mom’s grave. The wet headstones reflected the dark sky, making them look like the black marble Logan once wanted for his own stone (not that his parents listened). A few ghosts wandered between the rows, rain falling through their pale violet figures.

I leaned over to place a wreath of pink and yellow daisies next to my mother’s headstone. Based on the photos I’d seen of her, she would’ve preferred less girlie colors, like red or purple or royal blue. Or maybe that was just me.

My aunt and grandmother stood at the foot of the grave, heads bowed in prayer. Rain streamed off the clear plastic hat protecting Grandmom’s brassy perm, and the hood of Gina’s lime green jacket shadowed her face.

Instead of praying, I cleaned Mom’s headstone, brushing off the wet leaves and fuzzy maple buds that had blown from the trees at the edge of the cemetery.

My cell phone rang. I gave Gina and Grandmom a guilty look as I fished it out of my pocket. “Sorry.” My thumb reached for the screen’s ignore button.

ZACHARY M
.

I hit answer instead, stepping away from the grave. “Hey. What’s up?” I said quietly.

“What’s up is I miss you. When are you coming home?”

I wiggled my toes in my rain shoes at the sound of his voice. “Gina and I are leaving in a couple hours. We’re at the cemetery visiting my mom.”

Instead of getting all embarrassed, he said, “That’s lovely. Do you like being there?”

“It makes me feel closer to her, even though there’s nothing here that really belongs to her. Not like at home, where I can look at her pictures.”

“I’d like to see them sometime. If you want to show me, that is.”

I felt a rush of dizziness—the good kind, not the imminent-vomiting kind. The thought of sharing my deepest loss with Zachary gave me the same feeling of
right
ness that I got when I thought of kissing him. “I’d like that, too.”

“My dad goes to work at five and won’t be back until late.”

My breath stuttered. “You want me to come over tonight?”

“Yes. And before you ask, we’ve had the place swept for bugs. No one will hear us.”

Because of the solemn setting and the soggy grass, I resisted the urge to jump up and down. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven. And tell your grandmother thanks very much in advance for the sweets.”

We got home in time for me to gather my study materials and change into something a little less Easter-y. I needed to look spectacular, since the last girl Zachary had hung out with was Becca, at her family’s seder. Had he seen her again over the weekend? Gone golfing with her dad? Did he even know how to golf? The sport was invented in Scotland, so maybe he was born knowing.

Now I was really going insane.

I searched the rubble under my bed for the left half of my favorite
pair of sandals, glad the sun had blasted away the rain and made it seventy-five degrees outside. My skin seemed to come alive anticipating the touch of the warm air—not to mention Zachary’s hands.

“Eighty-two days, Aura.”

I hit my head on the bed frame. “Ow! Logan, I hate when you do that.” I sat up, pulling down my skirt, which had hitched way up when I’d bent over. Logan’s glow was invisible in the flood of early evening light through my window.

“It’s not like I can creak the floor to warn you.” His voice came over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

I waved the shoe, then opened the bottom drawer of my night-stand to retrieve a thick purple folder, the one containing photos and a journal from my mother’s trip to Newgrange.

“Working on your thesis with Bagpipes?”

“Trying to.” I sat on the bed and opened the folder. “I’m missing so many pieces of this puzzle. And the pieces I do have are too jumbled to all fit in my brain at one time.” I rubbed my face. “Does that even make sense?”

“Hey, this might sound crazy, but what if the three of us got together and told each other what we know?”

He can’t be serious.
“The three of who?”

“You, me, and—”

“Don’t call him Bagpipes.”

“And Zachary.” His voice tightened around the name.

“So I can die of awkward-itis? No thanks.”

“But it’d be worth it, if we could figure stuff out. I’d do anything to help you, Aura.”

“Is that what this is about? Helping me?” I knew he had to tell the truth.

He was silent for a second. “As far as I know.”

So at least he thought it was true. That didn’t mean it was reality, only that it wasn’t a lie. “Maybe Megan should be there, too, to keep things sane.”

“Great. She can translate for me so you don’t have to.”

Since I’ll be busy playing referee.
“I hate keeping secrets from her, anyway.”

“Hey, you lost that red cloud.” Logan’s voice was closer, coming from the bed beside me. “Remember last week when I had to leave?”

“Yeah, that was weird. At least it’s gone now.” I closed the folder and slipped it into my book bag. “So, what’d you do for Easter?”

“I went to Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin. I think it was the first time I paid attention since I was an altar boy.”

I could imagine how an Easter mass would sound to a ghost, with all the talk of resurrection and eternal life.

“I want to pass on, Aura, I swear I do.”

“You don’t need to swear. Ghosts can’t lie.”
Except maybe to themselves
. I zipped up my bag. “I’ll ask Zachary about meeting you. I’m going to his place tonight to show him my mom’s pictures and journal.”

Logan hesitated. “Wearing that?”

I tugged on the end of the short sleeve. He knew I wore this black V-neck T-shirt when I wanted to look hot without looking like I wanted to look hot. I tried to blot out the memories of Logan’s hand sliding up under this pleated neon green skirt.

“So this is it, huh?” he said softly. “You’re really going out with him?”

“Sort of.”

“Then why are you taking Dylan to the prom?”

“Long story. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. If anything, I’m relieved.” His voice moved back and forth, as if he was pacing. “At least I know you won’t hook up with Dylan. Even if he wasn’t my brother, you’re a million miles out of his league.”

I slipped my sandals on my feet, pretending to adjust the strap so he couldn’t see my eyes. “I wanted to go to the prom with a friend, not a date.”

“Bagpipes isn’t your friend anymore? Or he’s more than a friend?” When I didn’t answer, Logan came closer. “Tell me the truth, Aura. I swear I won’t shade out. I just want to know how I fit into your life.” He paused. “If I fit at all.”

I looked up, where I thought his eyes might be. “You fit. But we can’t be together the way we were before, when you were a ghost the first time.” I swallowed, wetting my throat to steady my voice. “I can’t be your girlfriend.”

“But what if I—”

“Even if you come back to life.” My chest ached at the thought of Logan’s body, full and solid under mine. “Even if it’s for good.”

He didn’t speak for so long, I wondered if he was gone.

Finally he spoke quietly. “Do you want me to leave you alone? Forever?”

He made it sound so simple. But as long as he was here and pursuing his music career/ghost crusade, I had to stick with him, if only to translate his words to protect myself.

Besides, I wanted him here. I wanted to see his smile and hear his voice—whispering, speaking, or singing—for as long as I could. I was still greedy for what I’d lost, then found again.

“Don’t leave,” I told him. “Not unless it—” I cut off the words,
Unless it hurts too much to be around me
. They would make me sound full of myself, when in fact I felt quite empty.

“I can deal,” he said. “After all, we were friends for ten years before we were boyfriend-girlfriend, right? Plus, I have a lot of other … stuff to do now, so it’s not like you have to babysit me this time around. I’ll be okay.”

“Good.” I smiled at him. “I’m proud of you, for all your … stuff.”

“Thanks.” After a long pause, he said, “I guess I’ll go, then.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I waited, holding my breath, wondering if he’d really left. Then a cloud passed over the sun, shrouding the room, revealing no telltale violet glow.

Alone, I finished my makeup and hair, my preparations less frantic than before.

It was true, I was ready to share Logan with the world. Not just because he could do good, but also because as much as I loved him, he could no longer fill every corner of my life.

Some of the biggest spaces were already taken.

I
heard Zachary’s kitchen timer beep as he opened his apartment door.

“Hi.” He stood there dazed, absorbing my appearance, then blinked and shook his head. “Sorry.” He got out of my way so I could enter. “Tea’s just now ready.”

Flustered by his admiring gaze, I pushed a flat white bakery box against his chest, probably too hard. “It’s
pizza gain
.”

“Thanks, but I already had supper.” He opened the box. “There’s cinnamon on this pizza.”

Pizza
actually means ‘pie’ in Italian. So any kind of pie is
pizza
, including dessert.” I set my book bag on a dining room chair and rested my hand on the table for support. “I got up at four a.m. yesterday to help make ricotta pies.”

“Thank you even more.” Zachary reached past me to set the box on
the table, but I didn’t move out of the way. We stood close together, my heart slamming so strong I could barely speak. From somewhere in the living room area to my left, the latest Radiohead release was playing at a low volume. The singer’s haunting murmur made my throat ache.

“I also got you this.” I pulled the bottle cap with the spiral design out of my pocket and slipped it into his hand.

He looked hurt. “You’re giving it back to me?”

“It’s a matching one, off a new bottle. See, it’s not scratched like the one you gave me. Not that scratches are—”

Zachary’s kiss cut off my babbling. He slid one hand over my waist and the other into my hair, so that I felt utterly consumed by him.

The timer gave a reminder beep, and he pulled away, but only a few inches. “Sorry.”

“For kissing me or for stopping?”

“I’ll never be sorry for kissing you.” He disappeared into his apartment’s narrow kitchen, where I heard the rattle of ceramic, then the pouring of liquid.

I stayed in the dining room, shifting my feet. “Logan wants to meet you.”

All sound ceased. Zachary appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Why?”

“If we each tell what we know—you and me about the Shift and our funky powers, and Logan about being a ghost and a shade—maybe we can put the pieces together.”

“How would we meet when he can’t stand to be around me?”

“You’d be in different rooms where I could see both of you, like my living and dining rooms. Megan would be there, too.”

“I can’t tell anyone about this power of mine. Especially not someone who has a grudge against me.”

“Logan figured out you were different a long time ago, and he’s never told anyone.” Luckily, no one knew to ask him directly. “We should all have the whole picture.”

Zachary turned away. I followed him to stand in the kitchen doorway while he pulled saucers, then cups, then plates from a white wooden cabinet. His motions were deliberate, controlled.

When it was all arranged on the countertop, he let out a deep breath, his shoulders sagging. “I’ll meet with Logan, if you think it’ll help us understand the Shift.”

“Thank you.”

“Or better yet,” he muttered, “help him pass on.”

Dessert and tea in hand, we sat on the smooth brown loveseat to look at the photos taken of and by my mom. First came my aunt’s scrapbook, then my mother’s collection from her longer-than-planned stay in Ireland, starting with Newgrange.

Zachary picked up my favorite photo, preserved in a plastic zip-lock bag, of my mother standing on the hillside next to the passage tomb. He read her sticky note on the back: “Taken by some Irish guy who claimed I looked ‘mystical’ gazing out at the River Boyne. (Really I was just trying to figure out which road would take me to a breakfast place.)”

“She reminds me of you,” he said with a chuckle. “Of course, right now, a ball of dust reminds me of you.”

I let my hair fall forward to hide my smile as I pulled out my mom’s journal. “This is from her time in Ireland. Most of the pages are missing.”

“Are you sure you want me to read it? Seems like a bit of an invasion.”

I set the journal in his lap. “Invade me.”

I tried not to stare as Zachary read. As far as I knew, only Aunt Gina and I had ever seen these pages.

Even with my mom’s sloppy handwriting, it took him less than a minute, since there were so few complete entries.

“This is odd,” he said. “The day after Christmas, she writes, ‘Went to a St. Stephen’s Day party at the local pub. I’m not the one in the family who sees ghosts, or even believes in them, so maybe there was something in the whiskey besides all that whiskey. But I swore I saw’…” He flipped the paper. “And the rest of the sentence, of course, is on the next page, which is missing. Small wonder you’re frustrated.”

In more ways than one
, I thought, but kept it to myself, as his brow was low and furrowed in deepest thought.

“So your mum knew this person she thought she saw. She thought they were dead.”

“If she meant ‘ghosts’ literally. Apparently, Mom used to joke about Aunt Gina’s paranormal abilities. She was super sarcastic.”

“Your mother, sarcastic?” Zachary widened his eyes at me. “I can’t imagine.”