Maybe This Time (15 page)

Mrs. Crumb smiled, the curve of her lips almost youthful. “Tower? Oh, that's Peter. He thinks the house is his. He's just looking out for his property—”

A loud screeching sound made Andie jump, and she looked around to see a teakettle on the stove, blowing steam.

Get a grip on yourself. The damn house is getting to you.
“Mrs. Crumb, I don't believe in ghosts.”

“Well, you're the one who's seeing them,” Mrs. Crumb said, and got up to take the kettle off the stove, moving with an oddly youthful
grace. “You should have Mr. Archer come down here.” Mrs. Crumb took down a teacup and saucer. “He should be here if you're worried. Can I make you some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Andie said, and thought,
I need real information.
The Grandville library wasn't that far away. They might have a history of the house. Or a book on faking hauntings. Or exorcisms.

She left Mrs. Crumb smiling to herself and stirring her Earl-Grey-with-schnapps in the kitchen and went to get the kids.

They were talking in the library when she opened the door, their heads close together, both of them open and unguarded until they saw her. Then their faces shut down again.

“Come on. We're going to spread the mulch on Alice's butterfly garden and then go to the Grandville library,” she told them, and they looked at each other and then got up without argument and went to get their coats.

Alice's Jessica doll had fallen when she'd stood up, and Andie went to pick it up and put it on the window seat. Its hair was disarranged as usual, and Andie tried to pat it back into its bun, straightening the three-tiered skirt gathered into the ribbon band—

Three tiers.
The woman on the other side of the lake had been wearing a dress like that. And her hair had been like the doll's, too.

I'm hallucinating,
she thought.
There wasn't a woman over there, I hallucinated Alice's doll. Alice was acting weird because I was trying to make her see a hallucination.

Except Alice had seen it first.

There are no such things as ghosts,
she told herself, put the doll on the window seat, and went to help with the mulch.

 

Two hours in the Grandville library looking for “Archer House,” “Faked Hauntings,” and “Parapsychologists, Ohio” gave Andie nothing except a book called
Ghostbusting: The Story of One Man's Battle Against the Undead
and a very old newspaper article about the insane
Archer who'd brought the house back from England. She copied the article and checked out the book, and then took the kids home. She tried asking them a few general questions—“So, ghosts. What do you think?”—and they ignored her, so she tucked them into bed and then went to bed herself with the book. The author's name was Boston Ulrich and he was from Cincinnati, which meant he was in the general vicinity, which was a plus, but two chapters in, she knew it was going to be no help because it was more about how smart Boston Ulrich was than it was about ghosts.

That made sense, she decided, because there were no such things as ghosts, so he hadn't had anything else to write about. The woman across the lake was probably just looking at the house, and the man in the tower was probably checking the cable, and Mrs. Crumb hadn't told her he was there so she could push the whole this-house-is-haunted bit. Or something. There were no ghosts. She put the book away and turned out the light and let herself drift to sleep. Maybe she'd dream about Will tonight. That would alleviate some guilt about all the hot North dreams.
C'mon, Will,
she thought but it was the ghost girl who showed up, smiling at her from the foot of the bed.

“Who are you?” Andie said, and the girl said,
I'm you,
and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She seemed more solid this time, as if she'd been eating better, whatever ghosts ate. More fleshed out and, although she still had a disconcerting translucency, the vertigo wasn't nearly as bad. Andie frowned at her, trying to place what buried memory she'd dredged her up from.

Oh, stop it,
the girl said, and settled in at the foot of the bed.
Can't you accept that I'm you? Everybody's prettier and more interesting when they're younger.

“Thank you. But no. You're some weird memory. After my divorce, I used to dream about my husband all the time. One of my therapists said it was because I was trying to say a better good-bye. But I have absolutely no recollection of anybody like you.”

That's because there's nobody like me.

They need somebody like you,
North had said.
And there's nobody else like you.

Tell me about the guy we marry,
the girl said.
North Archer.

“He's a good man,” Andie said. “Just distant. The thing is, if you're some buried memory, why would you be haunting my dreams now?” She stopped. “Haunting. Are you somebody else's memory?”

Tell me three things about North Archer, and I'll go away.

“I'll trade,” Andie said. “Tell me three things about you, and I will.”

You go first.

“Okay.” Andie took the first thought that came to mind. “The one Valentine's Day we were together, he brought me a heart-shaped Valentine's Day box full of potstickers because he knew I liked those better than candy.” She remembered him handing her roses and the box with a completely straight face and then breaking into one of his rare smiles when she opened the box and said,
“Potstickers!”,
delighted beyond measure. And they'd finished them off that night in bed, and she'd licked some spilled dipping sauce off his chest and—

Potstickers?

“Chinese dumplings.” Okay, they'd had some good moments, but it was over and done with. “Your turn.”

I've never had Chinese dumplings.

“That's too bad, they're great. It's your turn.”

I took my turn. I've never had Chinese dumplings.
The girl slid off the bed and did a pirouette in front of the window, her skirt moving in multiple dimensions, but not bothering Andie nearly as much this time.

“Fine,” Andie said. “I've never had squid.”

The girl stopped twirling.
That's not fair. Three things about North Archer.

“Okay. I'm fairly sure he has had squid.” North tried everything. He'd certainly tried everything with her anyway.

The girl put her hands on her hips.
I want to know things about him, real things.

“Well, I want to know those about you, too.”

Okay,
the girl said, not happy at all.
Your turn.

“I took my turn. The second one is that he's had squid. Your turn.”

We could not count that one.

She sounded like Alice, bargaining for more cookies.

“Then we're back to you. I gave you a Valentine's Day memory.”

Okay.
The girl chewed on her lip.
My favorite Valentine's Day gift was a heart-shaped necklace set with little diamond chips that my boyfriend gave me.

“Boyfriend,” Andie said. “I do not remember this necklace, so again, you're not me. Anybody I know?”

Your turn.
She swished her skirt again, impatient.

“You're not me.”

The girl pouted and somehow was even lovelier pouting, even transparent.

“Who are you?”

It's your turn to tell me something.

“Okay.” Andie watched her move in the moonlight, seeing her skirt swish with her. “Is that a prom dress?”

Your turn.

“Okay.” Andie sat back a little to think. “We had to go to this big fancy party and I didn't want to go because I was going to have to get dressed up in this little black dress his mother had bought for me and act like a wife, and the day of the party he came home and said, “Here's your dress,” and when I opened the bag it was a long greeny-blue chiffon skirt with sequins on it and a turquoise sequined stretchy tank top. He said he saw it in a window on his way to a meeting and stopped to get it because it looked like me. And then I found out he was late to the meeting because of it. That was a big deal.” And she'd been really grateful, and they'd been late to the party—

I don't get it. What's wrong with a black dress? I think they're sexy.

“North understood it. Is that a prom dress you're wearing?”

Yes.
The girl swished the skirt again.
I was trying it on again when
. . .

“When?” Andie prompted.

That was my turn. Yes, this was my prom dress. Your turn. And tell me something besides what he bought you. Unless it was diamonds.

“Okay. The one birthday I had during the year we were together, he forgot. No gift at all.”

Not even later?

“Yes, but later doesn't count.” Now
she
sounded like Alice.

What did he get you later?

“Diamond earrings. Very tasteful.” She was pretty sure his secretary had picked them out, which made it so much worse. He'd never have bought those for her; if there was one thing she knew about North, it was that he knew her. Until he forgot her.

See, that's better, diamonds.

“No. Better was his brother Southie who remembered and showed up on the day with a cake and these big green hoop earrings with bluebirds sitting in them. I still have those earrings.” She smiled to herself, remember Southie handing her the box and saying, “Bluebirds of happiness, Andie. They called your name.” Maybe he'd bought them because he'd known she wasn't happy.

Well, you still have the diamonds, too.

“No.” Andie folded her arms over her chest. “I left them behind when I left. Your turn. Something about you.”

I would never leave behind diamonds,
the girl said, and pirouetted once and was gone.

“Hello?” Andie said to the empty room, and waited a minute but the girl didn't come back. “Damn.”

She lay back on her pillows and tried to figure out what the hell was happening.

You could have hallucinations about things you didn't know about. Maybe the girl was a hallucination.

I'm hallucinating,
Andie thought.
I have a brain tumor or something.

No she didn't. She just needed an explanation.

It's a ghost.

No, that wasn't it, either. It was probably her subconscious.

If it was, her subconscious had a thing for her ex-husband.

“That's not it, either,” she said out loud. She was completely over North. Done.

And now she was hallucinating ghosts.

I need help,
she thought, and was making plans when she fell asleep.

 

The next morning, Andie told Mrs. Crumb to watch the kids and went to Columbus to the Ohio State library, calling Will when she got into town to tell him she was there and could have dinner with him if he was available.

“If I'm available?” he said, laughing. “I haven't seen you in three weeks. I'll meet you at Max and Erma's whenever you say.”

Max and Erma's in German Village. That was two blocks from Flo's place. She should stop and see Flo. Or not.

“Andie?”

“How about six? That'll give me all afternoon at the library.”
And put me on the road in time to get back to the kids.
If they ate at six and she left at seven, she could be home by ten-thirty, too late to put them to bed, but—

“Can't wait to see you, babe,” Will said.

“Me, too.” But it would be early enough she could get some sleep before Alice started demanding cereal—

“So are you going to see North?”

“What?”

“Are you going to see North while you're in town?”

“No. Why would I see North?”

“Well, you're in Columbus. So is North.”

“So is Flo, two blocks from Max and Erma's, but I have to get back to the kids. I have time to see one person. You.”

“You're not staying the night?”

“No.
I have to get back to the kids
.”

“Andie, it's been almost a month,” Will said.

“What's been . . . oh.”

“I'm a patient man, but—”

“Yes, you are, and I appreciate it,” Andie said.
But I have to get back to the kids.

“—my patience is running out here. You won't let me come down to see you and you won't stay up here—”

“I know, I know. Look, we should talk about this because for a while here, the kids are going to come first. I know that's not fair to you—”

“I haven't even met the kids yet, give me a chance.”

“Honey, I'll give you all the chances you want once I get them back to Columbus and settled in.”

“How much longer do you think it'll be?”

“I don't know. I'm hoping to get some help at the library. Can we talk about this at dinner? Because I really have to go.”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn't sound happy, which was understandable. It had been almost a month for her, too.

Except it hadn't. She hadn't even thought about sleeping with Will. Maybe it was age. Except women were supposed to hit their peaks in their thirties.

Or maybe it was because she'd dreamt of making love with North almost every night since she'd gone south, that it was North she wanted even though she knew that the North she wanted was a fantasy.

Maybe it was time to break it off with Will until she got her head back in the right place. He was a great guy and he deserved better. And she really wasn't missing him, which wasn't a good sign.

Later for that,
she thought and went out to the university.

At the OSU library, she found a newspaper article on a panel discussion on ghosts. The big name there was the professor from
Cincinnati named Boston Ulrich, the guy who'd written the book she'd found at the Grandville library, who'd evidently wowed the crowd with his assertions that ghosts did exist, although not in the ridiculous portrayals in movie and fiction. “They're like us,” the article quoted him as saying, “except dead.” The buzzkill in the group was another professor, this one named Dennis Graff from Cleveland, who'd sourly asserted that there was no proof of actual hauntings. He was not popular. Andie wrote down his name and found his contact information by digging deeper. Boston Ulrich wasn't the only writer on ghosts; Dennis Graff had written many dry papers on paranormal phenomena, two of which Andie found in the library, but evidently all of which had the same theme: No Such Thing As Ghosts. It took a lot to make the supernatural dry, but Dennis Graff had managed it. There were also a host of “ghost experts” that Andie was pretty sure would be of no use at all. The best of that bunch, a medium named Isolde Hammersmith, charged nosebleed prices, so somebody must have thought she was good, but the last thing Andie needed was somebody who thought she could talk to ghosts. What she needed was somebody who could explain why ghosts didn't exist and how somebody was faking them or Andie was hallucinating them or whatever.