Haunt Your Heart Out

Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Seven bookstores, three coffee orders, one vintage clothing store, and likely miles spent wandering serpentine through store aisles, and I had bags of gifts, an impressive stack of books, and a chunky knit sweater to show for it. We slipped through the front door of my parents’ house to the sounds of kids chasing each other and dinner sizzling on the stove.

“Alex! We’re sacrificing our health for your benefit. I’m making those crab cakes you love,” Jordan called down the hallway to the front door, where we were unlacing our shoes. “Oh god, I should have asked if James eats crab. I hope he’s not allergic or anything.”

“I love crab, it smells delicious,” James said. We walked into the kitchen, where Jordan stood flipping patty after butter-drenched patty.

She wore high-waisted, wide-legged trousers with a flowy subtly printed top—front-tucked but loose in the back, the long sleeves casually rolled to keep them out of the way of splattering oil. I’d thought my slouchy sweater and black jeans would be dressy enough for a family gathering, but I’d forgotten how Jordan could make the simplest outfit look glam without even trying. There was no question that we were sisters, though: I could see a reflection of myself in her, from the nose to the cheekbones to the blue-green eyes to the wavy blonde hair.

In another timeline, maybe we’d have spent more time together, maybe getting our hair done or going away for a weekend at some fancy hotel where we’d gossip over sparkling wine. I wondered idly if there’d be any chance to make up for lost time now. If I asked her to get away for a long weekend, would she accept? I shook the thought away before I could let it consume me.

“Jordan, this is James. James, Jordan.” I gestured between the two.

“I am thrilled to meet you. So glad you could come!” Jordan went in for a handshake but paused midreach and held up her hands. “Forgive me, I’d shake but I’m a mess.” She brushed her crab-and-butter-caked hands together over the sink before grabbing the spatula to flip, flip, flip some more patties off the griddle and into the warm oven.

“Look at you, a professional in action. Impressive.”

“I’m hardly a professional but thank you for the confidence.” She swatted at my hand with the spatula to chase me away from the pretty curled carrots she’d prepped. “You. Wash your hands and help me out here. Veggies in the fridge, you know where the good knives are. Chop, rinse, toss, and stop stealing the garnish.” She swatted me again as I stole another thin ribbon of carrot. I leaned my head on her shoulder in a half-hug as I nibbled the contraband carrot, and she tipped her face downward enough to rest her cheek on the top of my head momentarily. “And I’m very glad you’re here, even if you are ruining the presentation.”

Jordan finished her flipping and turned back to the cutting board to slice cabbage paper-thin, which she added to the bowl with the carrots. She reached for a red onion next.

“I didn’t realize you had so many talented chefs in the family, Lex,” James said.

Jordan snorted.

“I can cook, Jordan. Just because my favorite meals aren’t up to your standards …” I flicked water from my fingertips into her face and she shrieked.

“Honestly, Alex, why ?”

I mouthed “sorry” to James, then gathered up the vegetables from the crisper drawer in the fridge.

“I’m more of a comfort food kind of guy. You know, chicken soup, mac and cheese. Good, hearty meals that stick with you.”

“Well, there’s enough butter in this to make it count as comfort food. We’ll have salad, and my own special slaw recipe that you’ll just adore. Everyone does.” She was rambling, her words nearly tripping over themselves as they tumbled from her mouth. She alternated between chopping and gesturing wildly with the knife, occasionally reaching for her wine glass for a swig to break up the routine. Bubbly and outgoing, as always. Just because we had similar physical appearances didn’t mean the genes aligned our personalities. She was like the Energizer Bunny, while my ambivert energy usually only kicked into high gear while I was putting on a show for fans of the vlog.

“Dad’s outside grilling up some chicken thighs—imagine it, Alex. Dad. Grilling chicken thighs. On their last cruise, Mom and Dad attended a cooking workshop with that chef she loves. What’s that guy’s name? The one who she describes as Chef George Clooney? Anyway. They made fennel and orange chicken thighs. Dad’s hooked. It’s madness. He absolutely adores chicken thighs now. I know. It’s just.” She raised her hands, palms-up with the knife still gripped in one hand, and turned her eyes to the ceiling. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“My father has always said chicken thighs are not worthy of our dinner table,” I explained to James. “Cheap meat is beneath him.”

“To be fair, he special-ordered these from their butcher, so. Still on-brand-Dad. You should have seen Mom’s face when he recommended we skip the Cornish hens this year. I was sure she’d pass out. But she talked him into adding to the menu for tonight’s meal instead, and voila. Here we are. Dad’s grilling, Alex. Grilling.”

I shot James a bug-eyed look and blew air through my lips. “That’s the strangest thing, wow. Mind, blown,” I said with the barest hint of sarcasm.

“So how was the flight, Alex? Was it dreadful? Morning flights are the worst. Have you settled in? Mom said you were out shopping. I assume you’ve added a stack of books to the collection? Anything good this time?” She looked at James. “She and I have such different tastes in literature. What she lacks in general refinement, she makes up for in how well-read she is. I, on the other hand, haven’t had that much time for reading since I graduated from med school and had the boys.”

James grinned. “She’s been giving me homework assignments since we met. Everything but the written essay portion.”

“Ugh, you two are adorable. Alex, he’s adorable. I can’t handle how cute you are.” She started pulling the crab cakes off the stove and layering them on a platter, on top of the slaw. She’d left my last four voicemail messages unanswered. The last time we texted, the dots bumped around for nearly two minutes before I received a two-word reply. I never heard from her unless I reached out first, but suddenly conversational Jordan had made an appearance. It wasn’t unlike her to out-talk an auctioneer, but this was a whole new level of chattiness. Maybe she was trying to fill the air before quiet had a chance to settle in—she always preferred background noise or conversation to quiet contemplation, to my chagrin. “How’s that salad coming? James, tell me all about how you met.”

I finished tossing the mixed greens and veggies together and began to dig through the massive refrigerator for the salad dressing. “So, Italian dressing or …?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

Jordan took a sip of her wine, then snapped her fingers. “The dressing, I forgot. Here, it’s all set. Fresh and tangy—so much better than the store-bought stuff. James, care to give it a shake while we walk?” She pressed a canning jar into his hands. “I’m heading outside with the crab cakes, I’ll let everyone know you’re on your way.”

She breezed out of the room, and the energy fell by at least half without her giant personality to fill the space.

“So, that’s Jordan.”

“She’s … nice,” James said.

“She got all the charm, all the energy, and all the talent. I had to work with whatever was left over.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Lex. You charmed me from day one,” he said, giving the jar an extra shake. “I’d never be able to keep up with all of that, anyway.”

“Everyone else seems to think she’s a breath of fresh air. Vivacious and effervescent, or something. I realized early on that no matter what I did, she’d outshine me simply by being in the room.”

“And yet, you’re the one who has my attention.”

I smiled and leaned in to give him a kiss. “And you have mine.” I put the salad bowl onto the wooden tray on the counter, alongside the plates and cloth napkin-wrapped flatware, and carried it to the sliding glass doors that led to the patio. The patio heaters were roaring, but my parents were both wearing double layers and knit caps.

My father waved his tongs at us, and my mother raised a wine glass in my direction. I introduced my dad to James, and the two shook hands briefly before Dad went back to poking at dinner, which had my stomach growling at the smell.

“Did you show the poor boy every bookstore in town? You’ve been gone hours.”

“Just the used bookstores. How can I help?”

“You could track down your nephews to let them know we’re ready to eat.”

My eyes darted to James, whom I could not leave with my parents unattended.

“I’ll keep him safe,” Jordan promised. She plunked herself down in a patio chair, tucked both feet beneath her, and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her pristine trouser legs. She patted the seat next to her.

“He will be fine, Alex,” my mother said, barely hiding the exasperation in her tone.

I slipped back into the house to round up the kids. Isaac and Levi were nowhere to be found, but the gentle rustle of my mother’s floor-to-ceiling drapes gave them away.

“Hmm, where did they go?” I said, tiptoeing toward their hiding spot. “Maybe under the coffee table? Nope, not there.” Snickers and more rustling cloth. “Oh, I know. Behind the throw pillows. Not there either! Who taught them to hide so well? I guess they must be upstairs somewhere … Dinner’s going to be gone by the time I finally find them.” More hushed giggles came from behind the drapes. I reached for the edge and peeled them back to reveal two wavy-haired kids, each with identical splashes of freckles and grins featuring newly sprouted adult teeth that didn’t quite fit in their kid-sized mouths.

“Aunt Lex!” They leaped into my arms for a three-person hug that was more jumping and jiggling than actual embrace.

“Okay, first of all, you’re both almost as tall as me and that’s unacceptable. Secondly, I have a surprise for you for after dinner and you’ll never guess what it is.”

“Maple candy?” Isaac asked, then grinned. “You always say we’ll never guess. And it’s always maple candy.”

“Hey, now, if you don’t want it, I can eat it.”

Levi’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. “No way, we’ll eat it.”

“I thought so. Let’s go eat.” I ushered them out to the patio.

When we returned, James, my parents, and Jordan were all laughing. He had charmed them already, and it was only a matter of time before one of them asked me how I’d managed to find him.

“What are you talking about out here?” I asked, prepared for embarrassment.

“James is a delightful young man, Alex. Kudos.” My mother, who had moved to sit beside him in the two minutes I was gone, patted James on the forearm.

“Well, I’ll file that away for when I actually want your opinion on the person I’m dating, thanks.”

“Oh, come on. Your mother is being nice. Why do you insist upon making her the enemy?” my father said.

“I have a few solid reasons—” I started, but James cleared his throat. Buffer mode activated.

“This looks fabulous. When do I get to dig in?” He rubbed his hands together greedily. “Our sushi lunch was ages ago and I’m ravenous.”

“Oh, please tell me you did not force this dear boy to eat raw fish.” My father’s lips turned downward as he shook off a mock shiver. Isaac and Levi stuck out their tongues in solidarity.

“Thank goodness your daughter knows exactly what to order. Not a single bite I didn’t love.”

My eyes shifted from my father to James and back again as I waited for a reply. Dad merely grunted, carried the platter of chicken to the table, and set it down. Not a peep otherwise.

Every meal came with at least one instance of verbal sparring, usually between my mother and me. This evening was no different: Dad mentioned that he’d been reading a Bernard Cornwell book and I had the audacity to mention that I could send him the next in the series since I had a stack of them at the store.

“No wonder you don’t have more responsibilities around there,” my mother said. “Giving away books is not how you make money.”

“I meant that I’d purchase it and send it as a gift, but yeah let’s go with that.” There was still time to pull back, to quit before I made dinner awkward. But I lacked the sense to stop. “Let’s ignore that I’ve single-handedly improved the store’s sales year over year and that there’s an opportunity to expand the café menu now because customers have been asking. We can just gloss right over the fact that the place is running smoothly with one full time employee, one part time employee, and an owner who only calls to check in so he feels like he’s fulfilling his boss duties rather than out of interest in the store. I haven’t had a vacation since last Christmas, but—” I sent James a pleading look, begging for an escape from the impending argument.

“I’ve been impressed with the way Lex handles the store,” James jumped in—the guy never missed a cue. He reached beneath the table and grasped my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “In fact, she’s been working toward some marketing initiatives that I find very interesting. If the owner gets on board, I see great things for the place.”

“Well, lovely. I do hope Charles realizes how much you do for him, then, and provides a suitable raise or bonus.”

“You and me both,” I mumbled. It would have been nice to be making it instead of just scraping by.

We cleared the table of every scrap of food. Chicken bones were picked clean and there wasn’t a speck of crab or slaw left on the platter.

After the dishes were done, the kids disappeared to watch a movie and my mother and father began cleaning the kitchen. James, Jordan, and I were left alone with nothing but the propane hiss of the heaters to keep us company.

“More wine?” I asked, reaching across the table to fill Jordan’s glass. She clapped her hand over the top of the glass. “Or not?”

“I have something better,” she said. She slipped through the patio door and disappeared down the hall.

James lifted his eyebrows at me; I raised my shoulders and shook my head. Jordan shuffled back down the hall and onto the patio, a bottle of Bacardi in her grasp.

“Okay so I had to sneak this past Dad in my shirt—do not disappoint me, Alex Lenore McCall.”

James’s eyebrows arched and he mouthed “Lenore?” I gritted my teeth and rolled my eyes. Now was not the time to explain the long-held tradition of family names that had earned me that middle name.

“James, you’re more than welcome, obviously. My husband’s clocking hours upon hours tonight, so I’m sorry to leave you without company.”

“I can leave you two to the fun …” he said, pressing his hands into the patio cushion to heft himself out of the seat.

“Oh, stay,” I said, grasping for his wrist to keep him from abandoning me with my sister. “You’re absolutely welcome, and it’s far too early for you to head to bed. Stick around, do a couple shots. I’d …” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Appreciate it. Beyond words.” I pressed my lips together and waited for a response.

“If you insist,” he said.

Jordan squealed, clapped her hands, plunked onto the wrought iron bench, and tucked her legs beneath her. “Oh, shit, I forgot the glasses.”

“It’s alcohol, right? Kills the germs, we’re totally cool.” I grabbed the bottle and took a swig, then hissed as the booze burned on the way down my throat. “Smooth.” I coughed.

Jordan reached for the bottle, opening and closing her fingers to urge me to hand it over faster. She took a swig, ran the back of her hand across her mouth to wipe away the nonexistent drips, then thrust the bottle in James’s direction.

He accepted the bottle and tipped it to his lips just enough that the liquid brushed against them—but I could tell he didn’t swallow.

“Yes, James, yes, fantastic! Get in on the party!” She reached for the bottle and took another sip.

After what would amount to four or five shots, her talkative nature went into overdrive. She flipped sideways, tucked a throw pillow between her and the arm of the bench, and rambled about everything. Her kids’ grades, the lack of skilled baggers at the grocery store nearest her house, the sheer audacity that the dealership had charged her for the ding in the front fender of the lease she had just returned. Then the conversation turned toward my relationship.

“Where did you two meet? Don’t tell me, he was … your life insurance salesman? No, no obviously I’m joking. But you do have that professional vibe, James. What are you, a lawyer?” He cringed visibly. “No, not lawyer, then. Architect? Something tactile? Doesn’t matter. Tell me all about it, how did you find each other?”

“She harassed me one night when I stepped into her bookstore. Forced me to buy a book so I could use the bathroom.”

“I did not,” I said, my mouth hanging open. “It was a coffee, and I am offended that you’d forget such an important detail of our meet cute.”

Jordan clasped her hands beneath her chin and sighed, her shoulders drew upward toward her ears. “Fabulous.” She reached for the bottle and took another drag before shoving it into James’s hand and flopping back into her reclined position. She didn’t notice when he passed it directly to me. I imbibed.

“He’s cheating on me, you know,” she said out of nowhere, her voice flat, the cheer that usually soaked every word suddenly dried up.

Jordan picked at a cuticle while I sat in silence, absorbing the news. She didn’t hesitate, there was no maybe in her accusation—no joking tone. I glanced at James and took a moment to blink away the surprise before asking Jordan, “Lucas?”

She clicked her tongue, winked, and pointed at me. “That’s the guy.”

I shook my head. That was impossible. “No, he’s not.”

She sat up, dropped her feet down over the edge of the bench, then leaned forward to place her elbows on her knees. She sucked air through her teeth. “He absolutely is. With a pharmacy intern. A freaking intern , Alex.”

I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to spend time with him, but I hadn’t outright disliked him until this moment. Though, he’d spent his wedding reception flirting with the bartender and bridesmaids, so one could assume he had continued to nurture the audacity. The creep. “Does he know?”

“That he’s cheating on me? Yeah, I’m fairly certain he is aware of this fact.”

I held a breath, then blew the air through tight lips to calm myself before speaking. “Does he know that you know?”

“Of course I knew that’s what you meant,” she said, tipping sideways slightly as she swiped her hand through the air near where my knee was. She missed, then reached out again to try to pat it. I gripped her hand and squeezed, and she looked up, head wobbling slightly. “I don’t think he knows I know, but now you know I know even if he doesn’t know. Ha. That was a lot of ‘knows.’”

James’s eyes grew two sizes, and he gestured toward the door, as if asking permission to be excused. I gritted my teeth and nodded, and he slipped away without a sound. He wasn’t ready for this amount of family drama. Saving himself was the best option.

“How do you know?” I asked.

She laughed, blowing a raspberry in the process. “I saw his phone, then I followed him, then I saw them. They weren’t even being discreet. You’d think that the foremost trauma surgeon in the region would have a hint of discretion, but that’s far too much to ask of someone so important. She was cute, at least. And younger than me, too. Score one for him. But honestly, traipsing around together like he didn’t care if anyone saw. Disgraceful, truly.”

“Do … Mom and Dad know?”

“Oh, god, Alex do not breathe a word of this to them, they’d honestly die of shame. They’d never let me hear the end of it. Do not tell them, I beg you.” Her glassy eyes were wide and pleading.

“Okay, sheesh, I won’t say anything.” I guzzled another shot’s worth of booze. I didn’t have much practice keeping Jordan’s secrets from our parents. She’d never confided in me growing up, and I’d always assumed it was because she could do no wrong. I did not have perfect sister’s perfect marriage blows up on my holiday trip bingo card—and while I wanted to offer support, she’d locked me out of her life so often that I didn’t know how. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice wavered, and I shoved the bottle back into her hand to fend off the waterworks. She raised it in a toast, then drank. “I can deal with there being another woman, I suppose. What choice do I have? Lose the house, lose my job probably, because he’s on the board, and he wouldn’t hesitate to fire me if he thought it would get him ahead. I should have known. How did I not see this coming?” She tucked the bottle between her knees and ground her palms into her temples.

“Hey,” I said, patting her shoulder awkwardly, “even if your husband is trash, you’re still Mom and Dad’s favorite daughter.”

Jordan laughed, and it morphed into a whine part way through. “If only that were true.”

Well, it certainly wasn’t me who was the favorite. “Uh, hi, hello? Earth to Jordan: they picked up and moved across an entire country when you left. You’ve always been their favorite. The perfect daughter, with the perfect grades and bright future. Mom starts every conversation about you with ‘Jordan, you know, the doctor?’ It’s pretty obvious.”

She flopped back onto the bench again and dangled the Bacardi bottle to the side, the neck slung between two fingers. “You should hear the way they talk about you, then.”

“Oh, let me guess. The failure, the college drop-out, the ungrateful daughter who won’t drop everything to move across an entire goddamned country to live near them even though they’ve offered money and a house to appease her. Something like that?”

“More like, ‘Our daughter is going to own an independent bookstore someday, she’s working on her business plan. If anyone has the know-how to pull it off in a dying industry, she does.’”

“Bookstores are not a dying industry.” I snatched the bottle away and drank. Deeply. “Besides, no way they’ve ever said any of that.”

“Their words, I swear it.” She kissed her fingertips on her right hand, then flicked her fingers skyward, just like we used to do when we were kids making a promise to each other. “They know you won’t fail, and that’s why they admire you. They push you to keep you going, to challenge you. You’ve always, always thrived because you want to prove yourself.”

“Well, that’s a hell of a way to encourage someone. Pick up and leave them to wallow alone after they actually did fail and had to come home with their tail tucked between their legs. Great tactic, really. So encouraging.”

“The timing wasn’t ideal, no.” Jordan grasped for the bottle, took the last sip, and let her head flop backwards onto the pillow. “Here’s the thing, lovely. Mom and Dad only moved out here because I’ve been a failure since the moment I left the house.”

“Oh, god, Jordan. Stop being so dramatic. Just because Lucas is a prick, it doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”

“That’s not it. I nearly failed Intro to Bio in high school. Way to break into the medical field, right? When they found that out they started keeping tabs on my homework, my AP courses, my extracurriculars. They left stacks of college applications for me to fill out and double-checked that I’d spelled my own name correctly. Then they sent me off to college—to my first, big, real-life experience—and I was wholly unprepared for a world in which I was required to make choices and perform without their oversight. I got hung up with this sorority that lacked decision-making skills, like, as a whole. I lost my virginity at my first college party, with some guy I didn’t even really know—did you know that? I wasn’t on birth control, so I cried until the guy went to get Plan B.” She heaved a sniffling sigh.

The illusion of the do-no-wrong daughter was shattered in a single sixty second monologue. I’d never seen her so human , or so full of hurt . The real kicker was that if I had known any of this, I would have been in her corner without hesitation. Okay, sisterly bonding. I could do this.

“Jordan, plenty of people show up at college and get a little overwhelmed by the newness of it all. I straight-up quit , and I wasn’t even studying anything so specialized as pre-med.” I’d just had a chest-squeezing aversion to being left behind, but she wouldn’t know about dealing with that.

“You didn’t need Mommy and Daddy to jump on a plane and rescue you, either. You made your decision and stuck to it—damn the consequences. In fact, if they’d tried to change your mind or wanted to come help you, you would have sent them packing. Get out of here, I’ve got this, because I’m Alex the Great. I’m tough and cool, and I have friends who support me. Not like me, nope.” She popped the “p” in nope, then shifted her body into a curled-up C, squishing the pillow around for extra comfort. “Mom and Dad moved out here to save me from myself, because I was about to destroy their entire plan for my future.”

“This was ages ago, and you’re a doctor now. You’ve made it, nothing was destroyed. It’s in the past.”

“Except now my marriage is failing.”

“Listen, you’re not to blame for your husband’s bad choices.”

“He never loved me enough, you know. He loved the idea of me. He loved that I was successful, and we could be a power team. Not like you and James. You don’t compete. You complement each other.”

I forced a smile while my conscience yelled, screamed, pounded at the walls of my skull, reminding me that I had spent the last month sabotaging his project just to ensure my own success. I’d been putting my own desires ahead of his needs. I’d thought it wouldn’t matter, that his time in Vermont was an overlay between destinations. But after what he said at lunch today, I wasn’t so sure of anything anymore.

“Lucas and I have always been vinegar and baking soda. Explosive and only to be mixed under parental supervision. You and James are, like, peanut butter and jelly. Apple and cinnamon.” She chuckled. “Bacardi and our parents’ house. You go together.”

“For now.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “For now, we go together. Until he leaves.”

“Now that’s bullshit,” Jordan said, pointing her perfectly manicured finger at me without lifting her head. “Why would he leave?”

I tucked my feet onto the seat of the chair—my mother hated it when I did that because it ruined the finish—and tugged my knees up to hug them to my chest. “You left.”

“Well, yeah, but that was for med school—”

“Kyle left for music. Mom and Dad left because you were the better option.”

“Jesus, you think they left because of you ? They left because of me . I was failing at everything, Alex. And they stayed because things were only getting worse, and I needed help. I had two babies—one was in the NICU for months. I had postpartum depression and couldn’t take care of myself, let alone two newborns and a husband who preferred the gym to coming home to help me out. You had your shit, and I wasn’t going to stomp on it with my drama. But they did not leave because of you.”

“Felt like it,” I said. There was no way I was understanding her correctly. How could it be possible that my perfect, had-it-together sister had spent so long feeling the exact same way about me that I had about her?

“Mom and Dad knew you could handle yourself. You’d been handling yourself since the day you were born. You know what Mom’s go-to anecdote was whenever anyone mentioned how strong the boys looked as babies? ‘They get it from their Auntie Alex. She tried to crawl on her third day on this earth, and that’s the truth.’ She shared that story every time. You know what she never said? ‘Oh, they get that from their strong mama.’ They never equated their grandkids’ strength with the woman who had actually birthed them. They knew you had things under control, one hundred percent of the time. You always have, and you always will.”

My throat prickled and my eyelids burned as I held back the unexpected emotion. Even if she was only saying it because she was drunk, it was nice to feel strong and appreciated for once, rather than like a burden my parents had to endure.

Jordan flopped forward and groaned, and I startled out of my sudden moment of actual sisterly feelings toward her—just in time, too. “I am going to have a massive headache in the morning, and it’s all your fault,” she said.

“You’re the one who snuck the rum out here in the first place, and somehow it’s my fault? Come on.” I looped one of Jordan’s arms over my shoulder and helped her to her feet. “Let’s go, beddy time, okay? I was supposed to be regaling my boyfriend with stories about my terrible childhood while we stared at the kids’ glow-in-the-dark stars, you know. Romance.”

“Well …” She swayed on her feet, but regained her balance by gripping my forearm. “You’ll just have to stare at those stars with me, then.”

“You’re going to sleep in the kids’ room with me? There’s only one bed. And it’s a twin.”

“Their sleeping bags are in the closet. That carpet is incredible, almost as good as my memory foam mattress. No, I swear it.”

“And the kids?”

“They’re fine, Mom was going to set up a sleepover space in the den. They’re not me, you know. They’re in possession of independence. They’re like you.” She laughed. “You sure they’re not your kids?”

“Absolutely sure, yes. ‘Cool aunt’ is the only kid-related title I ever need.” She wobbled, I braced. I shuffled her weight slightly for better support, then we both snuck into the kitchen through the sliding glass doors and slunk down the hallway toward the bedroom. James poked his head out of his room when I unlatched my door, but saw the extra-drunk, nearly sleeping Jordan draped across my shoulders.

“So, that’s your family?” he said quietly.

“That’s my family.”

“Interesting.”

“What?” I eyed him.

He scratched the back of his head, plucked a piece of invisible lint from his sweater, then shrugged. “They seem pretty okay to me.”

“Pretty okay?” I adjusted Jordan on my shoulder. “ Pretty okay? Shall I recap the entire night? Can we start with the part where my father referred to his high school game-winning home run as his ‘biggest and best accomplishment,’ while his daughters and grandchildren were right there ?”

“I’m just saying, overall, they’re not the worst.”

I thought about that for a moment. “No, I guess they’re not the worst. Kind of close, some days. But occasionally, they can be alright,” I agreed.

He rolled his eyes playfully. “See you in the morning?”

“Sorry, yeah. See you in the morning.” I stretched my neck around Jordan’s head and James leaned in for a tiny, sweet peck on the lips. “Wish me luck. I have a feeling we’re about to get into some deep childhood trauma, and I may not be the same person when I come out on the other side.”

“I’ve staked out the area. Donuts and coffee will be waiting bright and early.”

“God, you’re dreamy when you talk like that. Just not too early, please? That was, like, a lot of rum.”

He leaned in and kissed me again and my limbs tingled. Damn this turn of events. We were supposed to be getting frisky in a twin bed tonight.

“No earlier than 6 A.M. , got it.” He winked, shuffled back into his room, and clicked the door shut behind him.

Haunted Happenings transcript

Date: December 23, 2006

Location: Smuggler’s Notch Scenic Highway

Luna: We’re coming to you today from a snowy, icy Notch Road. It’s closed to vehicles during winter, which means no interference from radios, electronics, engine sounds … Just us, nature, and—

Natalie: Frostbite?

Luna: Ghosts.

Natalie: Oh yeah, those.

Luna: Specifically, bootleggers who used this route during Prohibition. Smugglers transported supplies through here during the War of 1812, too, but I’m interested in the people who risked their lives to make and distribute booze in spite of Prohibition-era laws. Vermont was ready to keep the supply flowing because we had a sorta pre-Prohibition prohibition that started in the 1850s and ended in 1903.

Natalie: What is it with the government always trying to tell people what they can and can’t do with their own bodies?

Luna: Right? Lay off, already. [Luna glares at the camera not at all subtly because she’s had enough.] When booze was banned, thousands of men lost their jobs—at distilleries, breweries, and restaurants and bars that served alcohol, but elsewhere, too, like in factories that made the barrels and bottles. It basically ruined people’s lives everywhere.

Natalie: And the people fought back!

Luna: Yeah, they did! Smugglers kept the booze biz running, including a lot of women. The laws actually unintentionally protected women from getting caught. Like, prohibition agents usually wouldn’t pull over a vehicle with a woman in it, and they weren’t allowed to search women—at all—so women would strap the alcohol to their bodies to hide the goods. And while Prohibition was an overall shitty idea, it did help obliterate some ridiculous gender roles. Women weren’t allowed to drink in public, but, when Prohibition shut down bars, women started making alcohol at home and hosting parties to serve their homemade hooch. That led to speakeasies—many run by women—where women were welcome to drink and dance alongside men. So, like, speakeasies are more than just a party theme, got it? Women risked their lives and freedom to keep the booze flowing just to support their families—and some of them got filthy rich doing it.

Natalie: Hell yeah!

Luna: And, I mean, it was super dangerous, too. People died . But you didn’t come here for a history lesson, you came here for ghosts. We have heard that a woman haunts this twisting roadway. It’s said that while she was being pursued by Prohibition agents, her car was totaled—but nobody ever found her remains. So, the question is: is she haunting this area, mourning the fortune she lost … or did she get away on foot to enjoy the spoils of her efforts? Let’s get our equipment set up and we’ll see what we can spot.