As Dead as It Gets (18 page)

He looked down at me, his expression businesslike. “I would really prefer it if you would be mature for once, Alexis.”

I stared at him. What would I do if he refused to move?

Don’t be paranoid,
I told myself. He wouldn’t refuse to move.

Except…he didn’t move.

And then my phone rang, making us both jump. I grabbed it from my pocket and answered without checking the caller ID. I’d have happily had a heart-to-heart with Agent Hasan at that moment if it meant getting out of that house.

I was vividly aware that Jared was watching me, so I forced myself to play it cool. “Hello?”

“Alexis?”

It took me a second to place the voice. “Carter?”

A wave of irritation flashed through Jared’s eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you busy?”

“Um…” I looked at Jared. “No.”

“Okay. I have something for you. I mean, for you and the yearbook. I was thinking maybe I could run it over after dinner?”

“Where are you right now?” I asked.

“What? I’m home right now, but—”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be right over.”

“Really? Are you sure? Okay,” Carter said. “If you want to. See you soon.”

“Yeah. Bye.” I slid the phone into my pocket.

Jared’s face had fallen; his mouth turned down at the corners, and all of the tension had gone out of his body, from his jaw to his shoulders to his hands. “Please, Alexis—can’t you stay? I’m really sorry. I know I can be a jerk. I’ve always liked being the center of attention.” He gave a weak half laugh. “I mean, my mom used to tell me I should have a spotlight installed in a hat so I could wear it around.”

I relaxed a little, taken aback by this first-ever mention of his mother. “Jared…what happened to your mom?”

“Happened to her?” He looked puzzled. “She’s in Colorado with my stepfather.”

Oh.

“So could you please just stay?”

Back up a second. If his mother was alive and well, then what was his pain, his baggage? I felt oddly like I’d been misled, although that wasn’t true at all. I’d just assumed. And obviously I’d assumed wrong.

So that meant there was something
else
he was hiding from me?

“No,” I said. “I can’t. We can talk later.”

I slipped around him and left, shutting the door behind me.

T
HE “SOMETHING” CARTER HAD FOR ME
ended up being a vintage Surrey High sweatshirt that he’d seen at a garage sale.

“I mentioned it to Elliot,” he said, laying it out on the couch so I could see it, “and she said she thought it would be cool to have a picture of it in the yearbook. I think it’s from the forties.”

I stared down at the sweatshirt, trying to focus. But I couldn’t really get over the fact that I was standing in Carter’s house—in his living room—for the first time since October.

“It’s great,” I said.

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty cool.”

Since I’d just proclaimed it “great,” I thought it might be wise to actually take a look. It had really baggy sleeves and tight cuffs, and the neckline was so high and tight it seemed like it would choke you. There was a threadbare red
S
on the front with a small embroidered eagle above it.

“All right,” I said, scooping it up. “Thanks. I’ll get it back to you soon. Or Marley will.”

“No rush.” Carter followed me into the foyer. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

I shrugged. No need to tell him that the primary reason I’d agreed to come was that I wanted an excuse to get out of Jared’s house. “No problem.”

He brightened. “Thanks. So you’re really into yearbook, huh? That’s nice. I mean, I’m glad. They’re good people.”

I glanced around. “Where’s Zoe?”

“Um…” Carter stood awkwardly, with his hands shoved into his pockets. “She’s…home, I guess? I don’t really know.”

I reached for the doorknob. “Okay, see you later.”

“I’ll walk you out.” He hurried to open the door for me. Then he followed me to the driveway, where my car was parked next to his. “Is this yours?”

“Yeah, I got it for Christmas.”

He stood back and looked it over. “It’s really…brown.”

“Go ahead, say it,” I said. “It’s ugly.”

“I’d never say that.”

“Not out loud, at least.”

And then he was giving me that impish Carter look, and my heart felt like two pieces of Velcro being ripped apart.

“It
drives
,” I said. “That’s what matters.”

“Does it have a name?”

I opened the passenger door and set the sweatshirt on the front seat before I looked at him. “A name?”

“All cars have names.”

“Does yours?”

“Of course.”

It was a cool afternoon, and I was beginning to shiver. I hugged myself, thinking that it would be a great excuse for Carter to urge me to get into my car, if he was tired of talking to me.

But instead, he automatically took off his own sweatshirt. As he brought it near my shoulders, I flinched, and he stopped short.

The cold made me shake from my toes to the top of my head, but I said, “Don’t. Please.”

He nodded and backed off, looking abashed and a little disoriented. I felt the same way. Gestures like that had been second nature to us once, but now it was too personal, too much of a reminder of what we’d had.

What we’d lost.

“So,” I said through my chattering teeth. “What’s your car’s name?”

“Ayn Rand.”

I had to laugh. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” he said. “What, is that dumb?”

“It’s…unusual,” I said. “I don’t think you could call it dumb.”

He was watching me closely. “It’s good to see you smiling.”

I shrugged. “Only on the outside.”

He started to laugh, but then I think he realized it wasn’t a joke.

“Alexis. We’re…” He let the word fall. “I mean, Zoe and I—we’re breaking up.”

“Oh,” I said. But inside, I was all: OH. “Um…I’m sorry.”

His eyes sparkled. “I’m not sure I am. Anyway, I wanted to see you…I wanted to tell you.”

“Why?” I asked. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just meant…
why?

“I know you’re with Jared,” Carter said. “But I want you to know that if you ever need anything—or need to talk about anything—call me.”

Was
I with Jared?

I felt like a swirling vortex had opened up under my feet.

Carter’s cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, and I saw the name on the screen: zoe perry. He started to put it away, but I waved him off. “No, go ahead. I’m leaving.”

After I’d sat down in the driver’s seat, I looked up to see that Carter was waiting for me to get settled so he could close the door for me. At the same time, he held the phone to his ear, listening patiently to whatever Zoe was squawking about.

I put my hands on the steering wheel, which had always been the signal for him to shut the car door. He did, and gave me a little wave before walking back to the house.

I turned the key, my heart aching like an open wound.

Two days later, and yet still somehow reeling from my conversation with Carter (it didn’t help that everyone at school was talking about his and Zoe’s breakup), I pulled into the Sacred Heart Academy lot and parked in a space marked welComed guesT. I assumed that meant me—even if I was uninvited.

I’d skipped sixth period, so their school day was still in session. As I walked to the main office, I could see random kids wandering around between classrooms. I felt the oddness of being a stranger in a strange school.

The front desk was staffed by a woman in a plain brown dress. She smiled at me. “Welcome. Can I help you?”

“Hi,” I said. “I know this is super, um, not planned, but I was wondering if Father Lopez is here today.”

She looked interested. “Yes, he’s here. Did you have an appointment to speak with him?”

“No,” I said, expecting to be turned away.

“All right.” She stood up. “Let me just go check and see if he’s available.”

I told her my name, not that he would know who I was, and waited, my whole body on pins and needles. A minute later she came back and pulled open the swinging wooden door.

“Come on through,” she said. “He’s got a few minutes to spare.”

I followed her to a small office with a high window and a giant desk. The man behind the desk—Father Lopez, I guessed—was old and bald, leaning over a book. A Bible. Yeah, I suppose that would make sense.

“Alexis? I’m Father Lopez. Nice to meet you.” He stood up and shook my hand. “Won’t you please have a seat?”

“Thanks for letting me come in,” I said.

“All guests are cherished, expected or otherwise,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Um, yeah. Okay. I summoned all my nerve. “I have a really weird question. Do you remember a boy named Phil Corcoran?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“He was a football player,” I prompted. “He died in 1965?”

Father Lopez’s eyes lit up. “Goodness. Philip Corcoran. Yes, of course. Nice young man.”

“And do you know who Randall Corcoran is?”

He sat back and looked at me. For a minute I was afraid he was going to ask me a question in response to my question. But then he nodded. “Yes. The younger brother.”

Younger brother? Was Philip’s ghost haunting his brother—possessing him, causing him to commit the crimes that had landed him in jail? That was what had happened with Kasey…a ghost took over her body and made her do bad things—almost murder.

“Randy was a nice boy, too. Always looked up to his brother. Just devastated by his death. If I recall correctly, when Phil died, Randy started a campaign to have the graduation ceremony canceled at their high school. He went to the school board meeting to make his case. It didn’t work, and he got very angry. Dropped out of school. Went on to a life of some unhappiness, I think. I wonder if he’s still alive. I should look him up,” Father Lopez said, jotting a note down on a piece of paper. “See how he’s doing.”

“Okay,” I said.

“It was the last thing Phil would have wanted—Randy’s sad turn. But Randy wasn’t thinking that way.”

“What was the, ah,
first
thing Phil would have wanted?” I asked.

I’d meant my question literally—I was hoping for an answer like,
Phil would have wanted someone to take good care of his prized Babe Ruth–autographed baseball.

But Father Lopez considered it with a philosophical look on his face. He turned to me and folded his hands. “What would
you
want? If you died, how would you want the people who care about you to feel?”

I squinted. “Um…sad?”

“Sad forever? To the point of not living their own lives? And always feeling guilt over what had happened?”

“No, of course not. Just for a little while. Not guilty, I mean—sad.”

“Exactly. You’d want them to remember you but keep going. I’ll never forget that school board meeting. Randy had brought his brother’s trophy with him, as a sort of visual aid. And when the superintendent refused his request, he threw the trophy to the floor.” Father Lopez leaned forward. “This was an object that was precious to him—Phil had given it to him before he died. And he was so filled with rage that he broke it.”

So if
Randy
was the one who was filled with rage, why was
Phil’s
ghost trapped on the sidewalk, hating on the Redmond High kids?

And why was Phil’s ghost holding his broken trophy? Was he mad at his brother for ruining it?

My head was starting to hurt. I stood up.

“I hope I’ve helped you,” Father Lopez said. “I’ll admit I’m curious, but…I hope you’ll come back if you have anything else you’d like to discuss.”

I was about to give him my standard
Yeah, sure
line. But something stopped me. I didn’t want to lie. So I just said, “Good-bye. Thanks again.”

I walked back through the hall toward the exit, studying the framed photographs that lined the walls, trying to see if I could sense any sameness between these kids and me—anything that bridged the gaping distance I felt from them and their privileged experiences. I saw a couple of ghosts, but not many. A Catholic school was too close to being a church, and ghosts don’t hang out in churches.

I glanced at one picture that had been taken at a dance.

And I froze, staring at the grinning brown-haired girl in the center of the photo—clearly alive, clearly not a ghost.

And clearly wearing the purple dress.

With my cell phone, I snapped a picture of the photo and booked it down the hall, practically hyperventilating. I ran to my car and sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the girl and the dress on my cracked screen, trying to make myself believe it was true.

I zoomed all the way in on her face, looking for a connection between the girl and the superghost. It wasn’t the ghost—this girl wasn’t blond.

So who was she?

There was a knock on my window, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

Megan was standing outside of my car.

In my shock, I stared at her for a few seconds before she made a “roll down the window” gesture. I hit the button, and the glass sank.

“Um…hi,” I said.

“Did you come here to complain?” she asked. “About Brother Ben?”

I set the phone in my lap. “No,” I said. “I swear—”

“It’s all right if you did,” she said.

I stared up at her.

She swallowed hard and looked directly into my eyes.

“I quit Brighter Path,” she said.

Something inside me leapt, like a unicorn jumping over a million rainbows. But I tried to stay calm. “Why?” I asked. “You liked it so much.”

“I did, kind of,” she said. “But only because it was safe. Or so I thought. But…it wasn’t real. Do you know what I mean? It was fake. It wasn’t really a brighter path. It was just a…box.”

I wanted to get out of the car and hug her until she turned blue. I wanted to turn on the radio and have a dance party.

“Besides.” She shook her head, looking disgusted. “The stuff he said to you—calling you a liar—and a thief? That really crossed a line. I mean, you can be rude, but you’re no thief.”

I froze, remembering the book of charms. “Um, actually…” I said, cringing, “there was one little thing.”

Megan looked stricken. Then, to my shock, she burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Lex! Are you serious? You
stole
something from him?”

“It was well-justified,” I said. “I swear.”

She was still laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, that doesn’t matter. He was still really wrong about a lot of things. You know, I just got tired of him talking about…my mom and…stuff.”

I didn’t want to say anything that might sound like “I told you so.”

Megan looked down at me. “So why’d you come here?”

“To talk to Father Lopez about something.” I didn’t elaborate. If she wanted a normal ghost-free life, I had to respect that.

She nodded and dragged a finger across the car door. “You keep your car as clean as your house, don’t you?”

“Naturally,” I said.

Her gaze bored into me. “Are you really having ghost problems?”

It took me a second to overcome my staunch
deny all
mind-set.

But I nodded and held up my phone to show her the zoomed-in picture of the girl wearing the dress. “Do you know who this is?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Marissa Hearst. She’s a senior. What about her?”

I pulled the phone back into the car. “Do you really want to know?”

Megan began to fidget with her little necktie. “Maybe not the whole story. But is there something simple I could ask her for you?”