Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4) (22 page)

“I had barely adjusted to the fact that I was dead at that
point. Until I actually saw my body, I didn’t have a damned clue
as to what was going on. I don’t know what I expected death to
feel like, but this wasn’t it. So as the few friends I had gathered
around my casket at Grimes and Loeffler to say their final
farewell, my mom came tumbling in the door with a half empty
bottle of vodka in her hand. You should have seen the look on
Grandma’s face—I’ve never seen her so angry.”

“Mom’s a loud, obnoxious drama queen even on her
best days but that day, she outdid herself. She draped herself
over my casket and kept screaming about how life was so
unfair to her. That’s the thing with her—it was always about
the bad things that happened
to
her not the bad things she
caused herself. She went on and on about how she didn’t make
enough tips at her job the week before and couldn’t even pay
for her own son’s funeral.”

“Wait a second. Here’s a question for you—who
did
pay
for your funeral?
Was it your grandma?
I noticed that you
don’t have a headstone but
someone
had to pay for that casket.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong my d—“ Clay
stopped himself just before calling me ‘dear’. He began to
fidget with the buttons on his shirt, pretending that he was
actually engaged in a necessary task. “That’s where you’re
wrong, Ruby,” he managed to say once he composed himself.

I pretended not to notice the pause or the near slip of
the term of endearment. “Really? So where is it then? I’ve
searched that cemetery countless times and have never come
across a stone with your name on it. That fresh grave I was
talking to that first day I saw you at Heaven’s Gate—that wasn’t
yours?”

“Hell no! The dirt settled over my grave a long time
ago.”

“When exactly did you die?” I asked. Something about
this conversation made me uneasy. I had the same feeling that I
normally got when driving over a bridge. It was nowhere near
as bad as the day I freaked out on Lucas in Pittsburgh—that
was more because it felt like I was actually
with
Lee on Destiny
Bridge again. No, this was more like a feeling of dread, a feeling
of something not being right but not being able to determine
exactly what it was.

“If I died the day I think I did, it was May 29
^th
, 2011.”

I let out an involuntary gasp. Now my goose bumps had
their own set of goose bumps. That was only three days before
the Cold Eternal concert. Three days before the bridge collapse.
Three days before Lee died. Three days. Even though I didn’t
know Clay then, I struggled to think of where I was and what I
was doing that day. I couldn’t recall any specifics but my best
guess was that I was probably plotting how to pull off my great
escape for the night of the concert. While I was busy coming up
with the perfect plan for sneaking out to Harrisburg without
my dad finding out, Clay was busy dying. That realization gave
me a whole new perspective on life. And on death.

It wasn’t until I saw the look of confusion on Clay’s face
that I realized that I had never told him the full details about
my past.
Not that what happened to Lee had any bearing
whatsoever on Clay’s situation, but I felt obligated to share the
story with him. If anyone understood death and loss, he most
certainly did.

“Oh.
I see now why you reacted the way you did.
It
may be a morbid thought, but while my body was floating
aimlessly through Silver Lake, yours was doing pretty much the
same thing in the Susquehanna.
We have more in common
than I ever would have guessed we did.”

This topic was too depressing for me—we had to find
something more pleasant to talk about. “So back to the original
topic—who paid for your funeral and if that wasn’t your grave,
where
are
you buried? I tell you—I know that cemetery as well
if not better than you do. I’ve never seen a headstone with your
name on it.” Okay, so I totally sucked at choosing more
pleasant conversation but anything was better than what we
were
talking about. While neither of us could actually recall the
time we spent in the water, the mere thought of it upset me.

“Half dominatrix, half detective—you sure are the most
mysterious girl I’ve ever met, Ruby,” he said with a laugh. “I
don’t technically
have
a headstone anymore.
It was one of
those small, cheap ones that lie flat against the ground. It sunk
into the mud at some point, though. I have no idea who paid for
either it
or
the funeral—I heard my grandma ask the funeral
director the same question. He told her they were purchased
by someone who wished to remain anonymous and that he, in
fact, wasn’t even aware of their identity. And my grave is just
inside the gates, off to your left, and behind that tall tower
thingy.”

Funerals
must be at least fairly
expensive.
People
didn’t normally just go around paying for things like that for
strangers—did they? Was it possible that whoever killed Clay
actually footed the bill for his burial? Or better yet….

“Sophie! Sophie must have been the anonymous donor!
You said her family was rich, right? Who else do you know who
would have had enough extra cash floating around to pay for it?
See, I
told
you she still loved you!”

Clay turned his head and refused to face me. “And I told
you
that I don’t want to talk about her. Besides, you’re wrong
anyway. Her parents were the ones with the money—not her.
They hated me and if it were up to them, they would have just
thrown my body back into the lake as fish food.
Discussion
over.”

Okay. It was plain to see that I’d touched a raw nerve
there. Good thing we were just outside of Roseman’s Floral
Emporium because I had no idea what other topic to switch the
conversation to.
There was too much traffic for me to even
consider parallel parking so I pulled around the corner and
took a spot in the bank parking lot on the street behind.
I
would rather walk than cause an eighteen car pile-up due to
driver’s anxiety.

Clay was still too busy sulking to crack any kind of jokes
about my choice of parking spots.
As long as he cheered up
once he saw his grandma, I wouldn’t feel bad for mentioning
Sophie.
I really needed to try to track her down. After a few
minutes of girl talk, I would have her spilling out all of their
relationship secrets. The only problem was that it required a
trip to Ohio and I didn’t even know what town she lived in. My
gut told me that she had nothing to do with his death and that if
I tracked her down, I would probably find a heartsick girl who
had no idea that her ex-boyfriend was dead. Zach and I would
be heading out to get a look at the campus and potential
apartments near Pendleton—looking for Sophie was now also
on my list of things to do while there.

“There she is!” Clay
exclaimed the very
second we
stepped inside the door. “There’s my grandma!”

A small, sad-looking lady with snow white hair was in
the corner of the store watering plants and humming to herself.
She looked up as I approached and gave me a halfhearted smile.

“Hello, dear. How can I help you?” She placed the
watering can down on the counter and reached for her glasses.

“I’m here to take a look at corsages and boutonnieres
for prom. I’m going to pick out a dress this weekend and I
wanted to get an idea of what my options were flower-wise
ahead of time.”

“Ah, prom! It
is
that time of year again, isn’t it? The
time goes by so fast once you get to be my age. Is this your first
prom, honey?”
She
seemed like a very
sweet lady and
I
understood why Clay missed her so much.
With no mother to
speak of, his grandmother was the closest thing he had to a
maternal figure in his life.

“Yes, first, last, and only which is why I want to make
sure everything about that night is perfect.” What a lie! Of all
the lies I’d told, I think that one had to be the biggest. The only
reason I was going to prom was because Zach wanted to go.
I
didn’t want to spend any more time around that school-full of
backstabbers than I absolutely had to. If it weren’t for Rachel, I
wouldn’t have even joined the track team. Admittedly, I was
kind of having fun with it now that I had something to prove to
Misty—that
I
would
stick it out
no
matter how much
punishment she wanted to throw my way.

“You’re a senior? You must have known my
little
Clayton,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t recognize
you
, though.
But then again, my memory isn’t that great these days. What
did you say your name was again, honey?”

I never even came close to mentioning my name which
proved that she was correct about her bad memory. “Ruby
Matthews,” I replied politely without pointing out that fact.
Then I giggled inside at the fact that she referred to him as her
“little Clayton”.

“Ruby Matthews,” she repeated. “I don’t remember
Clayton ever mentioning your name. Were you close friends?”

Were
we? No, I’d never even passed through
Charlotte’s Grove during the time Clay was alive. Are we
now
?
Absolutely, but there was no way that I was going to tell
her
that.

I shook my head no. “I moved to town last summer. I
didn’t know Clay but I have heard about what happened to him.
I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said as a single tear fell down over her
wrinkled cheek.

Throughout
my
entire
conversation
with
his
grandmother, Clay stood silently by my side. The moment that
tear fell, he
approached
the counter where she
stood and
reached out as though to brush it away.

“Oh, it just got so cold in here! Did you just feel that
breeze? It feels more like December than late March.” She
opened up a binder full of pictures of flower arrangements and
flipped to the page showing the corsages. “Here, why don’t you
start looking at these while I go get my sweater from the
stockroom? I’ll be right back.”

Clay
lowered
his
arm
and watched wistfully
as
his
grandmother walked away. “She has no idea that I’m here. I
thought maybe if I touched her, she would be able to feel me,
you know?
Instead, I just made her cold.
Being dead sucks,
Ruby.”

“I’m sorry, Clay,” I replied out loud. When I realized
what I’d done I immediately clasped my hand over my mouth.
“Do you think she heard me?” I whispered.

“No, you’re safe. Her hearing was never the best and to
be honest with you, I think her memory is far worse than I
remember it being. Even if she
did
hear you, I doubt she would
remember it long enough for it to matter.”

“Okay, as long as you think I’m safe. I know you wanted
to make some sort of connection with her, but I really don’t
need to have any more people thinking I’m a freak.” I paused
momentarily when I heard her voice floating out from the
stockroom.

“Now where did I put that sweater I was wearing this
morning? I don’t see it anywhere. Oh, never mind—there it is
right there. If it had been a snake, it would have bit me!”

I felt a wave of panic wash over me. Someone else was
in the shop, someone else
could
have overheard me!

“Don’t worry—she always talks to herself,” Clay said,
apparently reading my mind. “Trust me when I say that you’re
safe—Scout’s Honor.” He held up the hand signal and I relaxed.
Crisis averted.

Before I had a chance
to reply, his
grandmother
reappeared behind the counter. “Have you decided which ones
you like, honey?” she said pointing to the binder that I hadn’t
even glanced at yet.

“No, not yet. I’m still looking. My dress is going to be
red and I would kind of like something a little different as far as
flowers go. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Why yes, I do. I know of a very special flower that
grows right here in Charlotte’s Grove. It’s called the Heart of
Scarlet Rose and it would be just perfect with your dress.
I
don’t carry them here in my shop but I can order some for you
from the Wakefields.
They live in that big mansion on the
outskirts of town. You know which one I’m talking about, don’t
you?”

I started to laugh. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I know it
quite well. The Wakefields actually sold that house a year ago
and my parents are the ones who bought it. And you’re right—
the Heart of Scarlet would be the perfect flower for me.”

“They sold that beautiful mansion? Recently? They had
some fancy name for it—what was it again? Royal Oak?”

“Rosewood,” I replied, “And no, we’ve been living there
for almost a year now. The roses are still there, though. My
stepmother takes care of them now. I’ll bring some in for you
to use for our prom flowers.”

“Yes, please do! Those are the most perfect roses I’ve
ever seen. If the Wakefields hadn’t charged me so much for
them, I would have made a killing selling those things. I used to
get so many requests for them on Valentine’s Day but very few
people were willing to shell out that kind of dough for them.
Eventually, I just stopped taking orders for them.
The flower
business isn’t what it used to be, honey.
Not enough people
send flowers these days.”

She was such a sweet old lady and I felt so bad for her.
Her business was in the toilet, her grandson was dead, and her
daughter was the town drunk.
How did she deal with all of
those things and still make it through the day? I could see why
Clay loved her so much.
She was a very strong lady—stronger
than I could ever
hope
to be.