Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4) (27 page)

Zach cracked open his cookie carefully and pulled out
the slip of paper. “Three things cannot long be hidden—the
sun, the moon, and the truth.”

I threw down more than enough money to cover the
check and the tip as Zach made a hasty exit. Before I walked
away from the table, I grabbed both fortunes and tucked them
into my wallet just in case this was our last visit to Chow Ming.
Jack Wolfe may have stolen City Lights from us, but he could
never steal our memories.

17. Period of Adjustment

Now that I knew for sure that I was stuck with Clay
indefinitely,
I decided
that it
was
time
to set
some
more
boundaries with him. Never sleeping again was not an option
so the issue of dream invasion—no matter how uncomfortable
the conversation might
be for both of us—needed to be
discussed. While I had no control over what happened in my
dreams, he had least seemed able to discern that what was
happening wasn’t actually real. I was going to have to place my
trust in him. If anything inappropriate started to happen, I was
going to hold him responsible for stopping it.

I approached the topic
with
zero
emotion—like a
middle school health teacher giving
the dreaded naughty
anatomy lecture. The idea of Clay having more control in my
dreams than I did frightened me. But I didn’t want him to see
that it did. After calmly asking him to please refrain from any
sort of shenanigans while cavorting around in my dreams, he
gave a two word reply.

“Scout’s Honor.”

 

With that promise, I turned out the lights and prayed
that sleep would only offer nightmares and nothing else.

When I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t remember
having had any dreams. Was this a good sign or a bad one? I
could usually at least
remember a fragment
or two of
something silly that my brain had conjured during the middle
of the night. When I asked Clay if he had any knowledge of my
dreams, he said that he didn’t and appeared to be telling the
truth.
Maybe my luck was starting to turn.
But then again,
maybe not.

No nightmares should have meant a peaceful morning
at least. Not so.
I woke up with a raging case of PMS. I was
bloated beyond all recognition and no matter what pair of jeans
I tried to put on, they all felt like they were going to slice me in
half if I buttoned them. Just what every girl wants to feel like
on the day
she
goes
to
try
on prom
dresses.
Even
after
alterations, the only way that dress was going to fit me right on
the big night was if I was bloated then, too.
Prom was already
going to be a disaster—did something else really have to go
wrong?

After a long bout with my closet, I settled for a long
sweater and leggings and hoped that it wasn’t going to be
unseasonably warm. Today was going to be one of those days
where Rachel’s sunny personality was going to irritate the
pants—make that leggings—right off of me. I decided to issue a
warning shot the second I saw her and explain that PMS and
eyelashes on a car were a volatile combination.

I went downstairs hoping to find bacon for breakfast.
PMS only brought out an intense craving for salty foods every
now and again but today was one of them.
When I found
nothing for breakfast, I got super cranky.

“Where’s breakfast?” I snapped at Shelly who was
slumped over the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“If you want breakfast, you’re going to have to make it
yourself. Have a bowl of cereal. I have cramps and they always
get worse when I eat.” She clutched at her abdomen and let out
a groan.

“Well
I
am super bloated and craving something salty
like there’s no tomorrow. Cereal just isn’t going to cut it.”

 

“Fry yourself some bacon, then. I’m going to go get a
warm shower and hope these cramps go away.”

The
thought of frying
my
own
bacon cranked
my
crankiness level up another notch.
But since it was obvious
that she wasn’t going to make it for me, I decided to give it a
whirl. I opened up the refrigerator and began to search for it.
Nothing.
Not one single slice of bacon in there.
I double
checked the freezer just in case but still came up empty handed.
There weren’t even any pickles which could have at least halfsatisfied my craving. No pretzels or potato chips either. Why
today?

Shelly and I bickered back and forth over the lack of
salty foods the whole way to the Masons’ house. We were
going to have to stop for something along the way. I wasn’t
going to survive the two hour ride to Pittsburgh without a junk
food pit stop of some sort. Shelly insisted that I would at least
have to wait until we got off of the interstate because she
wanted to be sure to miss the rush hour traffic. Rush hour on a
Sunday
morning?
Crankiness
level once
again
increased.
Before I had a chance to warn Rachel about my ill mood, she
flung her own grouchy grenade directly at me.

“Look at these things!” she said, pointing to a gross little
collection of zits sprouting out of her chin. “The only time I
ever
get them is when I’m hormonally challenged! I have been
waiting
for this day since I was old enough to know what a
prom was and now the whole day is completely ruined! You
don’t happen to have any chocolate on you, do you?”

OMG.
She had PMS, too. It’s like she, Shelly, and I
formed a premenstrual Bermuda Triangle.
This was epically
terrible. The only way it could get any worse was if….

“I’m glad you’re driving, Shelly,” Diane said as she got
into the vehicle.
My ovary hurts and I feel like I could start
crying at any second now. I can’t wait for menopause.”

Make that the Bermuda Pyramid.
Four women with
PMS were setting out for a two hour drive together. Trapped.
Inside one vehicle. Together. I felt like we should have a police
escort all the way to Pittsburgh but there wasn’t a man alive
who would be willing to even get
that
close to us.

“This is going to be a long day for me, isn’t it? Clay said,
suddenly appearing in the seat between Rachel and me.

I stand corrected. There wasn’t a man alive
or
dead
who wanted
anything
to do with the
hormonal hot mess
brewing inside that SUV.

“Well if you’re looking for sympathy, you came to the
wrong woman. If I don’t get something salty in my mouth
ASAP, things are going to get ugly.”

Unable to see or hear Clay herself, Diane assumed that
my scathing response was meant for her. “Geez, Ruby. Thanks
for the understanding. You wait until you’re my age and have
suffered thirty
years
of
this
kind of crap.
Then
you’ll be
apologizing to me.”

I wanted to snap and we weren’t even out of their
driveway yet. “We’re all miserable. Let’s do this some other
day.”

I thought that it was the smart thing to do. I thought
that everyone else would agree with me and happily crawl back
into their beds and hate life from afar like I longed to do. I was
wrong. Clay was the only one who agreed with me.

They all started talking at once, complaining about why
today was the only day we could all go. Shelly and Diane cited
busy schedules, Rachel insisted that every good dress would be
gone by next week. I tried to argue my point but it was a losing
battle. The three of them together out-hormoned me and I had
no other choice but to give in.
But I had one condition that
needed to be met first.
I needed potato chips and I needed
them
now
.

Shelly agreed to stop at the first convenience store she
found along the way. “Anything to make you shut up.”

Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “Thank you,
Shelly! If I have to hear her whine about potato chips the whole
way to Pittsburgh, I will stab myself in the eye. Plus, I can pick
up some chocolate while we’re there.”

“And thank
you
, Rachel, my bestest friend ever, for so
lovingly having my back on this one.”

“Look, Ruby, I’m so miserable right now. You can’t even
imagine. I’m a bitchy, weepy mess. You have no idea how
much I want to sucker punch someone in the gut and cry while
doing it. It’s a good thing there aren’t any men around.
Someone might lose a testicle if they looked at me funny.”

Clay cringed and settled his hands over his zipper area.
“I’ve never been so happy to be invisible before. And I thought
the biggest perk of being dead was being able to enter the girl’s
rest room without going to jail.”

“You win, Rachel. All I want is a bag of potato chips.”

“That’s right, I
do
win. And I also win the argument I
just now thought of having with Boone, too.
I have to text him
and tell him he’s wrong about something. I’m not sure what,
but I’ll think of something.”

She typed out what must have been a nasty text then
started crying as soon as she sent it. “I’m a hot mess!”

“So I see. I’m more of a tepid mess at the moment. But
if I don’t get those potato chips soon, I’ll be boiling over!” I
directed that last sentence loudly toward the front seat so that
Shelly would get the hint.

At exactly the same time, Clay and Rachel both asked,
“What’s tepid mean?”

“Lukewarm,” I grumbled and leaned my head against
the window. I never thought I would see the day that I dreaded
shopping. As much as I hated his guts, Lucas was right about
one thing—never say never.

Shelly bypassed the first exit because she was too busy
moaning about her cramps.
Diane spent about ten minutes
explaining how she could tell which ovary was producing each
month
by
which side
it felt
like
she
was
being
slowly
disemboweled from.
Rachel pulled out her compact and
declared that her zits had doubled in size since she discovered
them that morning. Clay, well, Clay was taking it all in stride
until Rachel made the comment that pushed him over the edge.

“How far is it to the next exit? I’m in serious need of
chocolate. And a restroom, too. I’m going to need to start
tamponing it any second now.”

While I admit that hearing
the
use
of
the
word
“tampon” as a verb was jarring even to me, Clay seriously
started to freak out.

“Good God. Is it possible for ghosts to commit suicide?
I can’t take any more of this! I don’t care if I go to hell for real
this time, I have to end the suffering!” He threw his hands in
the air and raised his eyes to the heavens. “Sweet angel of
death, take me now!” he shouted.

“Stop overreacting!” I screamed at him but of course,
Rachel thought I was yelling at her so she started to cry. I felt
bad but I didn’t try to explain that my harsh reprimand wasn’t
even meant for her. I was afraid of how Diane would react if
she found out that there was a ghost in the car with us. Instead,
I apologized to Rachel and thanked her for not sucker punching
me in the gut.

By the time we found the next exit with a convenience
store, we were all infinitely miserable. We descended upon the
store like wild fiends, practically shoving each other out of the
way to get to what we needed. The girl behind the counter was
wearing a trainee ribbon on her name tag and had a look of fear
in her eyes as we all approached her at once.

I glared at her over the bag
of potato chips
I was
clutching protectively to my chest and uttered four words of
warning. “PMS. All of us.”

She
nodded her head
fearfully and
beckoned
her
manager over for assistance. They rang up our mass quantities
of food and shoved them into bags like bank tellers being held
at gun point. There was a definite air of “if we give them what
they want, no one will get hurt” kind of attitude emanating
from behind those registers. I was half afraid that they were
going to jot down our license plate number and have the cops
meet us five miles down the road.

Once our cravings were at least partially sated, we were
all a little less grumpy.
A little.
With less period talk, Clay
calmed down, too. The soundtrack for the rest of the drive was
a symphony
of crunching, wrapper
crinkling,
and
coffee
slurping.
My only complaint when we pulled into the mall
parking lot was bloating.
Epic bloating. Squeezing my water
retaining self into a form fitting dress was the last thing I
wanted to do.

Rachel and I were both of the same mind on this one.
While Diane and Shelly kept showing us potential dresses, we
were both reticent to actually try any of them on.
When it
finally got to the point where it looked like we were going to
both get taffeta-lashed, we decided to give in and “enjoy”
ourselves like we were supposed to.

“These ones aren’t
too
terrible,” Rachel said as she
plucked two dresses from the rack. “Ruched waistlines are a
good way to hide bloating. There’s a nice red one over there
with the same kind of styling.
You should try that one on,
Ruby.”

I checked out the one she suggested and saw that she
was right. It was the perfect shade of deep red and it looked
like it was capable of making a whale look more like a dolphin
around the midsection. I took another minute to look around
and decided that it was the only dress I even cared to try on. It
was this one or it was nothing.