The Ghost of Graylock (19 page)

T
HE BOYS SHOVED THE CLOSET DOOR
against the shelves, pushing forward with all their weight. They squeezed themselves out through the small gap into Melissa’s bedroom.

Clutching the yearbooks, Neil and Wesley careened into the hallway and down the stairs. They froze in the foyer, listening to a commotion of voices coming into the kitchen from the garage. Melissa must have alerted her brother and his friends that someone had been upstairs. The bookcase crash had probably shaken the whole house, freaking out everyone even more.

In the foyer, Neil and Wesley spun toward the front door. They yanked it open and darted out into the night, running and sliding across the damp lawn, not slowing until they reached the street. They crouched behind Mrs. Baptiste’s car, unsure what to do.

Shouting continued to come from up the hill, louder now than before. Tony and his friends must have discovered the ruins of the bookcase in Melissa’s room.

Two shadowy figures exited the garage and dashed down the driveway. One of them was hugging a large case — the viola.

Eric drove, not knowing where they were going. Neil and Wesley peered out the rear window, making sure no one was following them. After several hurried turns, Eric pulled the car to the curb and flicked on the overhead light. Water condensed on the windows, collecting and streaking down the glass.

They were parked on a purgatory street, surrounded by forest, the nearest houses far ahead and behind them. The trees on either side of the road were becoming silhouettes against an already muted sky, the sun still hidden behind thick clouds.

If they didn’t head home soon, the aunts might come back to the Diaz house looking for them. Right now, though, Neil knew they had bigger problems.

“Well, the band fell in love with Bree, especially when she started playing,” said Eric. Bree shook her head, as if she might be able to wiggle away from her embarrassment. “But what happened with you guys? Melissa burst into the garage, screaming her pants off.”

From the backseat, Neil and Wesley recounted their story. Eric and Bree listened with urgent attention.

“Yearbooks,” said Eric after they had finished, pointedly ignoring the tale’s ghostly aspect. “Brilliant. What gave you the idea to track them down, Neil?”

“Dunno,” said Neil. “The idea popped into my head this afternoon when I was on the phone with Wesley. It just came to me — I almost could have sworn a voice had whispered it in my ear. But it definitely wasn’t Wesley’s voice.” Bree shivered and hugged herself. “Anyway, we’re just lucky you knew where to find the books we needed, Eric.”

“I can’t believe we pulled that off,” said Wesley. “When it was happening, I wasn’t sure we would.”

“So … if Rebecca wanted you guys to get these yearbooks out of there,” Eric said after they’d finished, stealing an uncertain glance at Bree, “there must be something good inside.”

“That’s what we were hoping,” said Neil. The books sat on the seat between him and Wesley. All four of them stared at the pile. “There’s one for each of us.” He picked them up and handed them out.

Neil held Rebecca’s freshman year in his lap. He opened to the class photos section and quickly found her portrait surrounded by those of her classmates. She stared up at him from the page, her eyes as wide as her toothy smile. Her long brown hair was parted down the middle and tucked behind protuberant ears. She glowed with a happiness that made Neil sad.

According to the earliest pictures, Rebecca could have been any girl on the verge of great things — a girl filled with possibility, who saw the world as a treasure chest waiting for her to come and crack it open. Put together, however, the four volumes revealed a different kind of story, one whose morbid ending became more apparent with every page turned. By her senior year the exuberance that had existed in Rebecca’s fourteen-year-old face was gone, as was her smile and any hope that it might have contained.

Neil, Wesley, Bree, and Eric spent nearly half an hour sharing the books with one another, flipping through the pages and indexes, looking for a moment — some indication — of where, when, and why things had changed for her.

“Wait a second,” said Bree, after she’d gotten hold of Rebecca’s junior year. “Here’s something strange.” She lifted the book so they all could see. Near the front, a photo of a woman filled nearly half a page. A name was printed beneath the photograph — Mrs. Alice Curtain. Mrs. Curtain had brown hair cut into a bob. She wore large glasses, a reserved smile, and a pink twin-piece sweater set. She looked off as if she’d been caught unprepared for the shutter to close. At the top of the page were the words
In Memoriam
.

The principal had written a brief eulogy about Alice, about how much the town would miss her, about the good work she had done at the school. He proclaimed that the accident that had caused her passing was a tragedy and should act as a reminder that every day must be seen as a gift.

“She died earlier that year,” said Bree.

“Who was she?” asked Wesley.

“Duh,” said Eric. “She was obviously a teacher.”

“Yes,” said Bree, “but she was more than that.” She pointed at what looked like a short poem at the very bottom of the page.

“Alice Curtain wasn’t just
any
teacher,” Bree continued, her face drawn, her skin pale beneath the car’s overhead light. “She was also Rebecca’s mom.”

B
Y THE TIME
E
RIC HAD DRIVEN
N
EIL AND
B
REE
back to the aunts’ house, the wind had picked up and lightning flashed in the distance. The sun had gone down, and the front porch light was on, straining to cast its orange glow through the thick mist and increasingly strong rain.

Turning into the driveway, Eric sighed. “Will Claire and Anna be mad that you’re late?”

“We’ll be fine,” said Neil, his voice hushed by doubt. He gathered the yearbooks from the backseat and opened the car door. “But we have to find out some more about Mrs. Curtain. Learning what happened to her will give us a clue about what happened to her daughter. These must be the glowing bread crumbs Rebecca left behind.” He thought of her poem. “
A trail of clues in the dark
,” he said, wearing a bleak smile. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Everyone nodded, their exhaustion weighing heavily on them. As Bree got out of the car, grappling with her case, Wesley slipped past her into the front seat. Before she closed the door, Eric leaned across him, calling out the window. “Hey, Bree,” he said, “you really do play a mean violin. Those guys would be lucky to have you in their band.”

Bree smiled crookedly. “Thanks,” she said. “Same to you.” Neil noticed with amusement that she hadn’t corrected him — she played viola, not violin.

A growl of thunder rolled by overhead as Eric drove off.

Neil and Bree dashed across the lawn toward the front porch and up the steps. Before she could reach for the door, Neil grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he said, nearly dropping the four books as he glanced back at the driveway. “Look.” Two vehicles were parked there instead of the usual one. The aunts’ Chevy sat closest to the barn. Behind it, a black minivan seemed to slumber. “Isn’t that Mom’s car?”

The front door swung inward. From behind the screen door, a tall figure stood in silhouette, staring out at Neil and Bree. “Well, look who finally made it back,” said a deep voice.

Neil’s body went instantly numb. He hadn’t heard the voice in such a long time, his instincts told him he must be dreaming. He shivered — the cold water that soaked his shirt seeped into his skin. He realized, unfortunately, that he was awake.

Bree stepped forward, a strange smile plastered across her face. “Dad?” Her voice was unnaturally high and shook like a child who was on the verge of tears. “What are you doing here?”

I
NSIDE
, N
EIL AND
B
REE SAT ON THE COUCH
in the living room as their father leaned against the fireplace mantel and told them his story. Claire and Anna listened from the kitchen — this was the second time they’d heard him go through it that evening. From the looks on their faces, Neil knew they couldn’t stomach it again.

California hadn’t worked out, he explained. The casting agent had broken every promise she’d made. He said that he’d come back to New Jersey mostly because he missed his family, and he knew they’d welcome him home.

“This afternoon,” said their father, “I flew into Newark, I took a cab back to the house, and borrowed your mom’s car. I drove all the way up here for you guys.” He grinned, as if he’d just presented them with an enormous, brightly wrapped gift. “You can pack your things. We’ll leave tonight. Whaddaya say?”

Neil wished he could squeeze himself backward into the couch hard enough that it would swallow him up. He couldn’t look at his father’s face — determination and hope combining into an expression that filled Neil with nausea.

“What does Mom think?” Bree asked. The little girl with the wavering voice was gone.

A chip of the gleam fell from Rick’s smile. “We’ll surprise her.”

Neil found himself shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I’m not leaving.”

Now Rick’s smile crumbled entirely. “We’ll be together again,” he said, stepping toward his children. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Bree, can’t you talk some sense into your brother?”

Bree seemed to choke on her thoughts. Then she said, “If you knew Neil at all, you’d understand that sometimes he
doesn’t make sense
. I certainly don’t have the power to change his mind, and I doubt you do either.” She turned and smiled weakly at Neil, and he knew that she hadn’t meant to insult him. What Bree had said was true, and she seemed proud of him for it. “Maybe if you’d been around for the past few months, you’d have seen that.”

Rick turned red. “Well, you guys might not have a choice.” He crossed his arms. “After everything your aunts have told me, I’m not sure how much longer they’d like to keep you around.”

Anna came from the kitchen and stood in the doorway. “I can tell you the answer to that one,” she said. “Bree and Neil are welcome to stay as long as they want to.”

Neil’s face burned with surprise. Was that true? Had his fears about being sent away only been in his head? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, his father’s appearance had galvanized the aunts against him.

Rick scoffed. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I think we’ll pass.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” said Claire, joining Anna in the door. “Linda may still need some time to herself. Did it even occur to you to ask her what she wants? Just because you’ve decided to come home doesn’t mean we’re all ready to have you back.”

Anna sighed. She took Claire by the arm and led her around the corner into the hallway.

Rick was left alone in the living room with Neil and Bree. “Thanks a lot,” he whispered, his tan face looking sunburned and suddenly old.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” said Bree, reaching out for his hand. But he stepped away. Then, to Neil’s horror, she added, “We’ll think about it, okay?”

A moment later, Claire and Anna came back into the room. Anna nodded toward the front door. “Come on, Rick,” she said. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride? Where?”

“We need to talk in private,” said Claire, glancing briefly at Neil and Bree. “You can take Anna and me to dinner.”

“What about us?” Neil asked, standing up.

“There’s some food on the stove for you two,” said Anna. Neil hadn’t been asking about dinner, but he kept his mouth shut. “Help yourselves. We won’t be long.”

Annoyed, Rick shook his head as he grabbed his car keys from his jacket pocket. He glanced at his children. “Go pack your things,” he said again. He turned and followed the aunts out the front door.