Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Sorting bookstore donations was my favorite task. Dog-Eared drop-offs were often old Dog-Eared purchases, so pricing was easy enough—especially if the old tags were still attached. The inventory system was more a game of memory than an actual method, but Darla and I were well loved for our quick retrieval of requested tomes. We’d created a sense of order that Charles had never quite managed. Now, books were arranged by subject, then author name, as opposed to Charles’s original plan of “fill shelves to bursting, we’ll figure out the rest later.” And by “we” he meant “anyone but him.”

The first year I was on staff, I spent the winter organizing and labeling the shelves, only for Charles to lecture me about how the store lost its charm when the shelves looked like every other bookstore’s shelves. Organization: what a travesty. But when sales rose because people were able to find what they wanted rather than play a literary version of roulette, he let me have my organizational methods.

I spent most of the day tugging and tagging books, pulling stacks of paperbacks from within boxes, paper bags, and plastic bins, and wishing people had better places to pawn off their copies of The Secret and Twilight . Anything Dog-Eared couldn’t put on the shelf was reboxed and saved for the town-wide book sale, a library fundraiser that shut down Main Street every summer.

I examined, priced, and shelved dozens of books—but only after checking the inside cover of each, mining for handwritten treasures. Among the day’s finds were a copy of The Da Vinci Code , inscribed “Really makes you think, doesn’t it?” and a book of daily affirmations that included the note “Give yourself permission to make space for yourself. You are loved. You are powerful. Yours.”

Natalie rushed through the door at noon, a takeout bag from our favorite sushi place tucked beneath her arm, and a box of donuts in her other hand. We ate lunch over stacks of books, and Natalie begged me for the latest gossip.

“Gossip about what?” I practically snorted. “Same old sleepy bookstore, same old town. Anything I know, you know.”

She leaned back in the desk chair and swiveled back and forth. “Yeah, nothing changes around here. Doc Cecil probably started the morning telling everyone in the coffee shop about the time he saw an apparition stuck in a witch window on Mountain Road.” Stowe had a rich history of being haunted, with a ghost story for each historic building and shadowed pathway—which meant that Natalie and I had had plenty to work with while staging our hauntings. We started with the enduring local tales before weaving my own fictional accounts into the mix. Doc Cecil—not actually a doctor—couldn’t explain what he saw in that window, and neither could Nat or I. We hadn’t been involved in that sighting, simply because we weren’t born yet. “How can this place be such a draw for you?” she said. “I’d be a couple thousand miles away if my parents wouldn’t murder me for it. What’s keeping you here?”

“It’s home.” I shrugged. “It feels right.”

“Even with your family gone? Couldn’t anywhere feel like home, if you gave it a chance?”

“It was home long before my parents left. It was home before Jordan left. Grampa left me the place; it’s where I belong.”

She gave me a look. “Even if you’re draining your savings to keep it standing?”

This was far from the first time we’d had the “what if things were different” conversation, and it was making me anxious, as it always did. What if I’d moved when my parents did, instead of staying here for some college boyfriend who was just going to break up with me when I dropped out of school? What if I’d sold the house, taken the money, and started fresh? What if Mom and Dad had stuck around instead of dropping everything to move when Jordan made their dreams come true with perfect baby twins? What if I’d taken the chance and found a new corner of the country to call mine? It would eventually come around to me wondering what would have happened if I’d followed Kyle to Nashville, and whether I’d be happy. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss hypotheticals, so I excused myself from the conversation before it had a chance to really get going.

I made coffee instead, then yanked a couple of dollars from the tip jar to pay for it.

Natalie spun in the desk chair, then leaned back as far as she could go without tipping over. She sat up, gasped, and clapped her hands over her mouth. “Is that the hat?”

I glared at the Yankees cap hanging from the peg. “Oh yeah, that’s the one.”

“Look at the little shrine you’ve made. You’ve got it bad.”

“I wanted it out of the way.”

Natalie jumped from her chair and swiped the hat from its hanging place.

“Would you leave it alone, please? It’s just there until he comes back to get it.”

She let her hair down and crammed the hat onto her head, shaking her wavy black hair into place around her shoulders.

“Oh my god, Nat, put it back.” I rushed toward the desk with our coffee mugs, foam nearly sloshing over the top in my hurry. “Just take it off, please.”

“Okay, okay. You worry too much. Taking it off now.”

She plucked it from her head and put it on mine instead. With hands still full of coffee, I had no choice but to let it happen. A faint mint and cedar scent curled through my nostrils. Of course it would still smell like him. I shoved Nat’s coffee into her hand, grumbled “Careful, it’s hot,” then flopped into my own chair.

“Looks good on you,” Natalie said with a sly grin.

“You’re the devil,” I said. A text came through, so I pulled my phone from my pocket.

Mother: Hello Alex. Your father and I have business in the area and will arrive tomorrow for a short stay. Apologies for the late notice, but we only just found out ourselves. Would you meet us for dinner when we arrive? We’ll be renting a car at the airport, so we can meet anywhere you please. Within reason. Don’t recommend Al’s French Frys again, you know we can’t eat like college students anymore. Please confirm a time and location, and let us know when you’ve made reservations.

I closed my eyes tight, gritted my teeth, and whined. No way was I replying yet. I needed to rehearse saying “no” first. I waved my phone in Natalie’s direction. She took it, scanned the message, and patted my shoulder.

“You’ll survive this visit, just like every other,” she reminded me. “They’ll complain, you’ll pretend to listen, they’ll offer stern warnings, and they’ll fly out a day or two later.”

“Want to crash dinner with us?” I asked, hopeful. “They’re buying.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m not sure being a buffer sounds like such a good time.”

“Your loss,” I said. She’d been cleaning up the post-parents mess for more than fifteen years, and she was probably due a break at this point. “Maybe I should just accidentally drop my phone in front of your plow—you know, just so I have an excuse for not answering their message.”

“That sounds like logical thinking, there’s no way that could go wrong.”

“Best case, she figures it out and emails.”

“What’s the worst case?”

I flicked the empty takeout container and startled as cold condensation splashed back. “They show up here, drag me into the street, and publicly humiliate me.”

“Sounds about right.” She nodded. “Need anything? Ben not even the area rugs were enough to dampen the sound. “I guess if a funeral gets me special treatment, it’s worth it.”

“I’m sorry for your loss?” I said, a question hanging at the end due to his baffling laughter.

He nodded solemnly and pulled the door open, then turned back to me. “Go out with me.”

I hadn’t not noticed how attractive he was, but I was a magnet for people with one foot out the door. Which, I suppose, made him exactly my type on two counts. I wrinkled my nose, considering whether his offer was earnest. “What? Are you serious?”

“As death.” He quirked an eyebrow.

I almost accepted. Worst case scenario, I’d get a free dinner in exchange for an hour of lousy conversation. Best case, we’d hit it off, and I’d actually enjoy myself.

Until he went back to New York, and I got left behind. Again.

I didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks for the offer,” I said sincerely, all my previous bite gone from my tone now, “but I’m not really looking to start anything new right now.” Especially with someone who’s going to disappear.

“Suit yourself,” he said gently. He offered a thumbs up, then tapped the cover of his new book and tucked it inside a coat pocket hidden in the lining. He slipped his hands into the outer coat pockets. “I’ll see you around, Just Alex.”

He was maddening. So self-assured and cocky. He knew exactly how frustratingly handsome he was—and that made it worse.

And yet, while I watched him stroll out the door, as easy as a day at the park, I imagined my name on his lips again, only this time with his body pressed against mine as he swept me into a deep kiss. If his affection was half as purposeful as his strut, there wouldn’t be a chance in hell for my heart.

I resolved to call my parents to break the news that I wouldn’t be subjecting myself to dinner with them this time. Gripping the concrete-heavy receiver, I hoped for voicemail, and swallowed back my frustration when my mother answered.

“We’ve already made donations to multiple charities. We’re not interested in supporting your cause at this time.”

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Me? Me, who?”

“God, Mom, it’s Lex.”

“Oh, of course. Alex.” The line buzzed slightly in the silence after her greeting. Talking on the phone with my parents was always an awkward experience; I never knew when to speak or when it was okay to simply end the conversation.

“Hi, how are you, how’s the sister? Did her kids graduate from college yet?”

“Everyone’s fine. I won’t dignify your snide comment about the children with an answer because I know you’re simply trying to get a rise out of me. We made a reservation for 7 P.M. tomorrow evening when we didn’t hear from you. Better safe than sorry, and all. I’ll email you the details. We’d appreciate it if you’d show up on time, especially since you canceled your Thanksgiving visit.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose to stave off the headache I knew was coming. “I told you, I had car repairs and had to work Black Friday, so I couldn’t make it happen this time.”

“I can’t believe you’re still at that fire hazard masquerading as a bookstore.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we hosed it down with liquid asbestos, so we’re good to go.” She didn’t even grunt in reply. “I’m kidding. Seriously, wow.”

“If you lived on the West Coast, plane travel wouldn’t be necessary for us to see one another. Selling that little house has so many benefits. Even if he was stubborn and sentimental, your grandfather never meant for you to stick it out there forever.”

I balled my free hand in a fist and shoved it deep inside my sweatshirt pocket. There it was again: the tightness in my chest as my brain hounded me with the hypotheticals. Each time the topic came up, my ribcage became a hive full of bees—the more my parents insisted selling was the right choice, the angrier the bees became. It wasn’t just selling; it was picking up and moving. Leaving everything I knew. Even if I didn’t swap coasts, I’d still be out of place wherever I ended up. Somewhere with unfamiliar intersections and roads, faces I didn’t recognize, comforting routines obliterated. There would be restaurants with menus I hadn’t memorized—I’d have to make a choice even though it’s impossible to see the words through the dark edges that creep into my line of sight when I’m on the spot. Literally everything would be more difficult.

I clutched the phone to my ear and dragged my fingernail along the textured edge of the case to regain a bit of focus. “I love that little house, and I’ve put a lot of effort into it. I’ve almost paid off the window replacements, and next spring they’re evaluating the septic.”

“It was meant to be a stepping stone, Alex, not your final resting place. Honestly, the way you hold on to these tiny nonsense things, as if it would be the end of the world to move. There’s nothing worthwhile keeping you there. Nothing but my father’s willfulness, which you seem to have inherited right along with that house.”

She could insult me all she wanted, but coming for my house was another story. I’d already explained my feelings, multiple times. She’d never get it, but that was the choreography that defined our relationship.

I took a breath. “The thing is, I can’t make it out to dinner this time. I’ve got … a date.” I had no idea why I’d just said that. She’d probably find a reason to drop by the house anyway just to make sure I wasn’t lying about my prior engagement—at the very least, video call to catch me in my lie—but it was too late now. I could take Nat out for the night—she’d been my cover story before, and I knew she would again. “Maybe next time you’re in town.” If they made the trip specifically to visit, rather than cramming me in like an afterthought on a business trip.

“Oh?” Her voice pitched up slightly. “A date? Anyone I know?”

“No, Mom. Nobody you know. Just … someone I’ve been … uh … seeing often … recently.” My heart rate increased the longer we were on the phone, and with each second she was closer to her asking for my date’s name, date of birth, education history, and current career prospects. “I’m sorry, have a safe rest of your trip. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Say hi to Jordan for me. She hasn’t replied to my last three voicemail messages, so I may need to resort to skywriting to stay in touch with her.”

I hung up, certain I’d get an earful for it later.