Not Quite Alive Read online

  “There’s always her family, too, and the woman we met down in Beaufort. But yeah,” I sigh. He’s obviously right.

  For a while, Leo and I sit in the quiet. He’s put windows in on the porch, so heat from the house warms the space, which now that I think about it, has become one of my favorite spots in all of Heron Creek. It’s cozy in the darkness, with the twinkle lights glowing on the eaves and the sigh of the bitter January breeze trapped safely outside.

  “This is quite a calling you’ve found yourself, Gracie. But I have to say, I’m not really surprised.”

  “Oh?” My lips turn up in a smile at this second reminder that Leo thinks he knows me so well.

  “Yeah. You were always tough and full of trouble, but even though you never cared what people thought, you had unshakable loyalty to your friends. It’s like the universe knew all along that you would be the best person to trust with all of those poor, lost souls.”

  I wrinkle my nose and peer at Leo. “You’re waxing philosophical. Are you feeling all right? Did you smoke something fun before I came over?”

  Leo snorts. “No, I think I can safely say that those days are behind me. I’m just…I don’t know. It’s a weird thing to say, I guess, especially given what you just told me, but I’m happy that you have this thing that’s so perfectly you.”

  It’s not hard to guess that Leo feels that way because he’s searching for a thing that’s perfectly him. He works as a handyman, he plays his guitar, he works security, he coaches baseball, and does half a dozen other jobs I can’t even list off the top of my head. His wistful tone stirs my ever-present curiosity about why he lives like this, but the slight warning glint in his handsome eyes warns me off asking any more questions.

  “I just wish it paid better,” I joke instead, grateful for the way it lightens the mood. “Damn freeloading dead people.”

  That makes Leo laugh, too, and my heart feels the slightest bit better about the challenges ahead.

  “Ain’t that the truth. But you’ve got your job and your articles. You’ll be okay.”

  “Mmm.” I give him a sly glance. “Nothing like an in-home nurse makes, I’m sure. How’s Victoria?”

  The change of subject seems to startle him, like maybe it takes a couple of seconds for Leo to remember who Victoria is, even though they’ve been dating for almost two months now. It’s sort of a strange courtship, from what I’ve been able to glean—they never went through that hot-and-heavy-always-together phase like most new couples do. Like Beau and I did, for sure.

  He says things are different because he lives with a four-year-old, and I suppose I can go along with that excuse. Truth. Whatever.

  “She’s well. Work’s been keeping her busy.”

  While Victoria lives in Heron Creek, she works in several small towns up and down the coast. We have our fair share of old people, but I guess not enough to pay her bills.

  Leo doesn’t say anything else and neither do I. Victoria isn’t my favorite topic of conversation, since she feels like something with the potential to come between us, a possibility that twists my stomach into countless knots. The silence grows and thickens, but it’s not uncomfortable.

  It rarely is, with the two of us.

  I sit in the comfort for another half an hour before heading home to check on Amelia, feeling better, at least in some ways. The big problem—that I’m going to have to break my boyfriend’s heart—hasn’t changed.

  But I do feel more ready to face it all. First thing in the morning.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, I manage to finally send that email to Clara Larsen at the University of Iowa before hopping in the shower. If Lucy hadn’t shown up last night, I would have spent hours wondering about what might be in those books, not to mention why they were only written by Carlottas, sometimes generations apart.

  Weird doesn’t even begin to describe it, but that pretty much applies to most of my life these days. A thought that is expertly punctuated when I step dripping and naked back into the bedroom only to stifle a shriek at my second sighting of Lucy Winters’ ghost.

  I recover, noticing now that she looks different than she did last night. Not her clothes or her shoes, but her skin—it’s dustier, streaked with mud, and so is her hair. There are weeping cuts on her legs and arms that turn my stomach.

  Out of all of my ghosts, only Henry has appeared to me in different forms of dress. Even Mama Lottie always wore the same thing, though with all of her power I have to think that was by choice.

  “Hi,” I tell her, grabbing the towel off the end of the bed where I’d left it. Quite unfortunately, as it turns out. “Let me just…”

  She watches me, unabashed and doing that impatient shift from foot-to-foot, while I wrap the towel around my body and step over to her. The stench from last night is worse and my eyes water at the added smell of urine that clings to her spirit. My stomach hurts at the thought of the horrors she must have endured before she died. How long she might have suffered.

  If she’s been dead all this time, why just come to me now?

  Help, she mouths again, her eyes darting around the room like an animal cornered by a circle of predators.

  “Okay…where are you?” I bite my lip, willing my still-tired brain into motion. A light bulb flickers to life. “What if I get a map?”

  I trail off, holding my towel to my chest and grabbing for my phone. An atlas would likely be easier, but I’m not sure we own one. My fingers fly over the keys, but whenI spin around to show her a map of the Middle East, she’s already gone.

  My butt finds the edge of the bed. Lucy’s disappearing acts are another puzzle that sets her apart from my other ghosts—they typically don’t wander off that quickly unless we’re interrupted, but I hear Amelia downstairs and no one else is in the house.

  A text message pulls my attention from the maddening situation. It’s Beau.

  Good morning. Wish I were there. Fingers crossed for a short, productive session because I can’t wait to “see” you on FaceTime later!

  I pause, a lump in my throat. I miss him, too, but replying without telling him about Lucy feels like a betrayal. Feels like I’m doing the very thing we both promised never to do again—telling a lie of omission.

  This is different. It’s about Lucy, and you can’t exactly tell him about it in a text message.

  I also can’t ignore him until we have time to have a proper conversation, which means I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  Deep breath. You can do this.

  I miss you, too! Fingers crossed on my end! Xo

  He doesn’t reply, which relieves the pressure somewhat. The longer our chat, the more I’m going to feel as if I’m lying, and that’s the last thing the two of us need with all of the other challenges we’re facing at the moment.

  The process of gathering Amelia and getting to work distracts me for a while, and the messages I find in my email from both the Journal of American History and Clara take up all of the space in my head for the remainder of the morning. Clara wants me to call her later tonight, and the relief that she’s not holding a grudge over the whole me choosing a guy over her when I was young and dumb thing is sweet.

  The journal is just confirming the publication date based on my projected delivery of the revised article. I wonder whether Henry will want me to read him the entire thing. I sort of want to, just for the possibility that he might actually crack a smile.

  It’s not until Melanie swoops in to bring us lunch that my thoughts return to Lucy and Beau. Which is pretty much a miracle, considering my state of mind last night and early this morning.

  Amelia’s too pregnant to fully be on her game, and so focused on her reuben that the arrival of an alien spaceship wouldn’t compel her to put it down.

  Mel, though, notices something is off with me right away. “Who peed in your Cheerios this morning? Are you mooning around over Beau leaving?”

  “What? No.” />
  “Grace isn’t exactly the mooning type,” Amelia says around her sandwich. She does give me the side-eye, as if trying to decide if she’s missed something.

  “Mayor Beau’s not your average guy.”

  Melanie’s observation burns in my throat. Beauregard Drayton is most definitely not just any guy.

  “There is something that I wanted to talk to y’all about, and even though it is sort of about Beau, it’s not how you think.”

  That gets even Amelia’s attention, and she lowers her sandwich onto the wrapper, pieces of sauerkraut oozing onto the paper along with some thousand island dressing.

  Mel’s brown eyes are big and full of curiosity as she studies me. She looks pleased with herself for spotting something my cousin missed. “Come on, Gracie, you’re killing me!”

  “Okay, okay. I saw a new ghost last night, and I recognized her.” I suck in a deep breath, stare down at my unopened Italian sandwich, the dressing seeping oil into the wrapper, and then raise my head. “It’s Lucy Winters.”

  “What?” they screech, nearly in unison.

  My head bobs up and down, almost without my realizing it. “Yeah, I know. She’s dead, and I’m the one who’s going to have to break the news to the Draytons.”

  “Who’s dead?” The sound of Brick’s voice matches the expression on his face, which is a mixture of anger and disbelief.

  He’s standing behind Amelia and Mel, but I was so caught up in my own dread that I didn’t notice his approach. I give my cousin an exasperated stare, but her shrug and panicked wide eyes assure me that she had no idea Brick was stopping by the library. Last I heard, she wasn’t even a hundred percent sure when he was going to be back in town.

  “Hi, Brick,” she says now, spinning around and getting out of her chair to give him a hug. He returns it, but his gaze never leaves my face.

  The challenge in his Drayton eyes zips a shiver down my spine. They let me know, in no uncertain terms, that we’re not leaving this library until I share my news about Lucy.

  “Hi. You look amazing,” he tells Millie, his smile turning genuine as he looks her over from head to toe.

  My cousin snorts. “I look like a whale.”

  “Whales are awesome,” Melanie confirms, one hand resting on her own giant belly. If Millie could go into labor any day, my old friend isn’t more than a couple of weeks behind her at this point.

  I’m happy that Melanie seems more relaxed than she was earlier in her pregnancy. Things have been better since Will took the job at the police department and she started working for Daria, and the two of them deserve to be happy about adding another baby to the family without having to worry over how they’re going to pay for it. Now that Will’s starting to come around about his wife’s new predilection for investigating ghosts, so much the better.

  “She’s right,” Brick agrees. “In fact, they’re my favorite animal.”

  I have a hard time believing that Brick Drayton has ever possessed enough whimsy to declare a favorite animal, never mind that it would be a whale. A shark, maybe. Or a lion.

  “Graciela,” he says evenly, coming to sit at the table with us. “How about you tell me what you were talking about, seeing as it seems to concern my family.”

  Amelia returns to her seat but doesn’t pick up her sandwich, though she does give it a longing look that would have made me giggle in a different situation. Mel digs into her salad, obviously more successful at ignoring the tension in the room than the rest of us.

  “I wanted to talk to Beau about it first…” I hedge, knowing it’s not going to do any good.

  “I have no desire to get in the middle of your relationship with my brother.”

  It’s hard to know what to say to that, or whether it’s true, but it also doesn’t matter. Brick’s clearly not going to drop this, and he heard me say someone is dead.

  “I saw Lucy’s ghost last night,” I say, perhaps a little too bluntly. I’ve learned over the past several weeks that there’s no easy way to tell a person that someone they cared about is dead, so maybe, in the long run, it doesn’t much matter.

  “You’re sure?” he replies after a long pause. His tone is measured and his expression is neutral. The only thing that gives away his distress is how pasty white he’s gone. Amelia reaches over and puts a hand over his, and he holds on for dear life.

  “I’m sure.”

  “But I mean, you didn’t know her. You’ve only seen pictures.”

  “Brick, it’s her.” I look him in the eye, and he wilts slightly at my confidence. “She’s asking me for help, but that’s about as far as we’ve gotten at this point.”

  “You haven’t told my brother. Why?”

  “He just started his new job. We haven’t had much time to talk on the phone, and I didn’t think texting him was exactly the best way to break the news.” The wetness in Brick’s eyes softens my defensive reaction. “I’m going to tell him. I’m going to need your help to give her whatever closure she needs. But please, let me talk to him first.”

  “Of course. I’ll wait to hear from you. I just…” His forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I really thought we were onto something with this last trip into Iran.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A trail. Some informants who said they’d brought food and medicine to captors who were holding an American woman.” He shakes his head, still pale but looking as if he’s starting to come to terms with the news.

  I consider what he said, but whatever those people think they know, it must be old news. I saw her ghost. It’s not as if she can still be alive out there somewhere at the same time.

  “It’s possible she only passed away recently, and that’s why she’s just now coming to me,” I offer. “She doesn’t seem to realize that she’s already dead.”

  “What do you mean?” Mel asks, perking up a little. “That’s different, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah. But if it was recent, that might make sense. She hasn’t had time to come to grips with it like Anne or Henry have, or even Ellen.”

  “Yeah, that’s possible.” Brick pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, looking exhausted all of a sudden.

  I have no idea whether he meant he’d personally been to Iran in the past several days—I don’t think normal people can simply go to Iran on a whim, but their family has a certain amount of influence—and his haggard appearance suggests it’s possible.

  Amelia seems to notice the same thing, and gives his hand a tighter squeeze. “You should go get a nap and a shower. You’re welcome to crash at our place if you don’t want to drive all the way back to Charleston.”

  All the way back to Charleston is a hefty twenty minutes, but I don’t argue. Having Brick at the house tonight could allow me to get a jump start on trying to figure out how to help Lucy.

  “Thanks, but I need to get to the office for a few hours. Birdie’s been shouldering most of the work and she could use a break.”

  The unsaid words hang in the air—that this news will also devastate his sister, and he wants to make her life a little easier before it gets harder again. Brick is so different in some ways from the man I first met a few months ago, but his loyalty to his siblings has never wavered. Even when he was being an asshole to Beau, it was clear enough that he loves him.

  “Maybe you could come over for dinner, then?” Amelia’s hopeful tone softens the tension in Brick’s shoulders.

  He smiles at her. “I’d like that. And we can talk more then, Graciela?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay.” Brick gets up and kisses my cousin’s temple, then leaves the library with what looks like the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  As I try and fail to choke down my lunch, I find that, not for the first time, it’s not so hard to sympathize with Brick Drayton. What is the world coming to?

  “Grace, do you mind throwing a meatloaf together? I checked and we have all of the ingredients.” Millie l
oiters in the doorway to my room, dark circles under her eyes.

  “Sure.” I look back toward my laptop, which I’ve been using to read every article I can find about Lucy Winters, both before and after she went missing.

  The woman was a force of nature, beginning in high school, when she worked to build homeless shelters and outreach programs in her hometown, and into college, when she expanded her efforts to help orphans and widows overseas. Women’s education became a passion for Lucy, or so it seems, after she visited a tribe in Africa where only a few girls went to school past the age of ten.

  I wasn’t doing anything particularly productive in high school. Or college, for that matter.

  “Thanks. I’m going to take a bath.”

  “Isn’t that your second bath since you’ve been home?”

  “Yeah.” She sounds as if she wants to say what of it, but decides against it. Or runs out of energy. “It makes me feel better. I’m a whale, remember? The water displaces my giant weight.”

  I close my computer and get up off the bed, crossing to the doorway and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “You take as many baths as you want. I’ll make dinner.”

  “Thanks.” Her eyes are teary, but pretty much everything chokes her up these days. “Brick should be by around seven-thirty.”

  I check my watch on the way downstairs and find that it’s almost five-thirty now. The meatloaf will have to go in the oven within the next thirty minutes if it’s going to be ready on time, which works out because Clara is supposed to call me about my email at six.

  Despite all of the Lucy craziness, I’m excited to talk to my old friend. Excited to reconnect, but mostly pumped to find out more about my past and the Carlotta writings and the family I never knew existed until Frank showed up in town and told me my mother was a liar.

  Not that that was exactly news, but still.

  Meatloaf is not one of my favorite dishes to make—something about sticking my bare hands in raw meat and giving it a massage weirds me out—but there’s no doubt that nothing makes the house smell better while it’s baking.