Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story (52 page)

“Have your parents called you back?” asked Zoey.

Emily shook her head.

“So what? Nick’s mother hates all Thomases because his son wanted to marry one? Seems pretty daft to me. I mean, wouldn’t she have a fairly long hit list?” said Simon sarcastically.

“Yeah. I don’t know,” Emily replied. “Maybe Nora and I are connected somehow? It might be why I’m the only one who can hear her, and why she talks to me and no one else.”

“Come to think of it, Paulie, you’re the only one who Nick talks to,” pondered Simon, taking a look at a very quiet Andrew.

“But what about this part,” said Margot, taking up Nick’s letters in her hands again as she read. “
Ever since she moved into that boarding house in Noyo, she has become obsessed with this lady and all her dire predictions. But that doesn’t excuse the vitriol she hurled at you. Wishing you dead.
And then in this part of the webpage:
Issuing warnings to travelers and locals alike. Nothing is known of her past and Pomo Indians believe she has haunted the grounds long before any white settlers claimed the land.”

“So this Lady in White must have told Nick’s mother some awful prediction. So awful it made her want Nora dead.”

“A curse,” said Zoey tonelessly. “Dashiell mentioned a curse.”

They all stared at one another, not knowing the answers and shaken by the revelations. Nick’s mother wanted Nora dead. And she died. Nick’s mother wanted Emily dead. And if they didn’t figure out why, she might very well end up the same.

“You think that maybe the key in the box might be to this cottage Nick mentioned? Now that would be cool,” said Christian, clearly intrigued.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Road trip,” announced Zoey, and she jumped to her feet as though ready to begin packing at that moment.

Emily looked to Andrew, but he didn’t say a word. He was too absorbed in twirling Nick’s ring between his fingers.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Andrew said gently. He was sitting on the floor strumming his guitar.

Emily rubbed her eyes open, having fallen asleep on the wicker couch while re-reading the letters. Everyone else was gone, probably downstairs, she thought; the sun had set outside, and twilight was falling. She must have been out for hours.

Andrew had a butterfly bandage over his eye and a support dressing strapping his hand.

“You went to the doctor? Thank God. Are you all right? What did they say?”

“Two stitches, bruised ribs, nothing broken, but they warned me if I did anything foolish again with my hand, I could kiss my career goodbye. Although I may have already done that, so it’s a moot point, isn’t it?”

He played some more, pursing his lip at what must have been the strain in his hand. Then he stopped and placed his fingers over the strings. Curled over his guitar, he held it to his chest until it was silent.

“While I was gone, I was thinking—I think we should stop this search—right now. Just walk away from all this. It’s not safe. Since the day I made you take this on you’ve put yourself in jeopardy. It’s my fault. First Vandin, now this. The last thing I want is for you to run off on some wild chase up the coast to some rural little town. It’s hard enough to keep you in one piece here.”

He began to play again, not wanting to meet her eyes.

“Keep me in one piece? Why do you need to keep me in one piece? I can do that perfectly fine on my own. What do you suppose will happen when you leave to go on tour? I can’t walk away—I’ve seen Nora, spoken with her, and you’ve spoken with Nick. Either we’re all suffering from grand delusions, or what they told us and everything we’ve learned is the truth.”

They had to find Nick’s mother, this Lady in Red, who held the answers they needed and the only hope in reuniting Nick and Nora. And somehow Andrew and she were tied up in this in ways they could not imagine. Emily wrapped her arms around her knees, her skirt and sweater suddenly inadequate for the chill that had blanketed the room.

“I can’t back out now, and would you even want to? You can’t tell me you don’t feel responsible for Nick. They’ll never be together unless we help.”

He began playing again, his fingering becoming more intricate; he was taking his frustration out on the guitar and not her. He couldn’t play like he wanted to, and it was galling him. “Let someone else help. It’s not safe. Death threats and dire predictions—what more do you need? Wanker professors threatening you? Oh, I forgot, you’ve already got that one covered.” The strumming became more discordant.

“Andrew, what’s really wrong?”

He played a while longer, the same phrase over and over. “You’re not going up there alone. No way.”

“You promised me a holiday. Why don’t you come?”

“I believe that might already have been decided. Zoey is running around like a madwoman downstairs arranging the ‘Nick and Nora road trip’ for six, as she calls it. She’s even rung your friends—Dwayne and the lot—claims we need a medium. Christ. Only you would have a business card for a stoner spiritualist on your icebox. You’ll be pleased to know, however, that I distinctly put my foot down on driving up in that van of theirs.”

She laughed, but he rolled his eyes and strummed a loud chord in response, faking a growl. Then his face grew serious.

“There’s something wrong with this whole thing, Emily. I can’t describe it, but I feel it. In my gut. Something we’ve overlooked. Something dangerous. It’s there on the edges, but I just can’t grasp it.”

“Andrew, nothing is going to happen to me or to you. As long as we’re together, we’ll be safe. Ghosts can’t hurt us. Only people.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Do you know what it would do to me if anything ever happened to you? I just found you.”

“I’m not walking away from this. I need to know.”

Andrew stared at her, unable to respond. Then his hand reached out and cupped her face, his eyes tender and determined all at once. “I love you. But I could kill you sometimes.”

He drew closer and held her face more intently, then kissed her, again and again.

The room darkened around them as the night began.

21

L
ATER
T
HAT
W
EEK
B
EFORE
their planned trip to Mendocino, Andrew found himself wandering the streets of Pacific Heights alone. Bracing winds whipped along the wide avenues, avenues that in the vivid afternoon sun seemed to rise and fall like rollercoaster tracks under his feet. Narrower streets shot down from the peaks above and dropped their way clear down to the bay. Mansions clung to the hills, some adorned with turrets, gables, and sweeping granite steps, while others fronted modern slabs of concrete and glass. The area reminded him of a grander version of his neighborhood in London, where everything seemed tighter, flatter, and held together in an accepted order.

As the wind kicked up he leaned against a wrought iron fence to shield himself from the gusts and glanced at the slip of paper in his hand which Emily had given him. She had slid it across the table to him at breakfast that morning with an expectant look in her eyes.

“What’s this?” he had asked her with a quizzical smile.

“I have my last final this afternoon. It’s a graduation gift. You should be happy that I took the effort away from having you choose.”

“It’s an address. You want me to buy you a house?”

She threw him a look. He’d forgotten that she had little money, while she knew very well that he did. “It’s where your mother is staying. You need to talk with her. She loves you. Please.”

“Emily—I—I don’t know. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Start with I’m sorry—it usually works wonders.”

She walked around to his side of the table, kneeled down in front of him, and kissed him. He couldn’t deny her, especially when she kissed him so, or when she drew away and looked at him with such earnestness in her eyes. Eyes that were underscored with dark circles that he knew had little to do with the last of the finals she was taking in a few hours. She’d had nightmares last night, awful ones from the sound of it. She clearly didn’t want to talk about them, and he wouldn’t have been concerned if this was only the first time, but it was the third nighttime horror in as many days. In the middle of the night she would wake and bolt upright, gasping for air. He would struggle to hold her, to find her frozen lips and kiss them, whisper songs to her, anything to drive the fears away—fear of ghosts, fear of death, fear of losing each other. Whatever they were, she wouldn’t speak of them. When he questioned her in the daylight, she would wave her hand dismissively as though they were long forgotten and return to her enthusiastic detective self. It was driving him mad.

But what could he do? He had promised her he would go on this ridiculous road trip to seek out more ghosts, ones who clearly didn’t have her best interests at heart. And while he still felt an inexplicable need to help Nick, it wasn’t strong enough to risk her life in the process.

When he reached the grand Victorian, he looked up and took a deep breath. He wished he could confide all of this to his mother, but he feared how she would perceive it, given her supernatural leanings. She had always believed in such things, and as a child he had been taken to countless graveyards and haunted inns about the country. He had a difficult time reconciling this with her profession as a barrister; she seemed so level-headed and wise. If he told her she would fret, or worse yet, want to come along. No, it was better to deal with one clusterfuck at a time.

The etched glass doors of the bed and breakfast opened to reveal a chintz-laden parlor that led to an ornately carved staircase. The entryway was empty, so he followed the gilt framed direction signs up the stairs to suite five. The room was at the end of the hall. He only had to knock once.

His mother stood there, the epitome of style in a black skirt, silk blouse, and endless pearls. She didn’t notice his beat up jeans and leather jacket. She looked only at his face, and a moment later her composure dissolved.

“Andrew! What happened to you?”

He had forgotten about his bruises and cuts. He could see the logical and ghastly conclusion she must be coming to, and he quickly replied, “Some drunken frat boys—I’m fine. The hand’s been better, though…” He held up his bandaged fist with a shrug, like a child hoping for sympathy.

The ploy had its desired effect, and with fluttering hands she ushered him into a seat in her small sitting room. A tea set was laid out, scenting the air with bergamot.

“Sorry, I already had mine,” he said quietly.

“Since when has that stopped you before? No, you sit down and have a cup of tea. There’s coffee there as well. It’ll make you feel better. Are you sure you’re not hurt? Oh, Andrew…”

He sat down and let her pour while she eyed him as though he might keel over into the china at any moment. He could tell she was thankful for his presence, but an air of nervousness hovered around them as if they had to get used to their bodies being in the same room with each other. As if all the changes and revelations had to find a place to sit, as well.

He plowed on, not wanting to delay. “I said some horrible things, Mum. I was angry, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior. I love you. I know you love me, I do—and I want to listen now if you’re willing to talk.”

He paused, but before he could say another word, she placed her hand tenderly over his and patted his fingers a few times before she tightened her hold. “No, first…first I would like you to tell me about Emily.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked. He was still defensive of her, and his tone came across as such. If this was going to descend into another round of judgments, he would be gone.

“What you would have liked to have told me if I had been willing to listen.”

So he told her everything about Emily, everything that he could share. He laid bare all his anxiety regarding the future and his fear that when they returned to the road he would lose her. Claudia poured him another cup of tea and sat back. He waited, hoping for guidance.

She stared at him over the rim of her cup and answered his thoughts. “I’m the last person to ask for help, you must know that. I’ve made a mess of a great deal of my life, and it has taken me a long time to see that.” She went to sip her tea but frowned at the cup as though it had become sour and placed it down on the saucer. What she said next surprised him.