The Ghost of a Chance (9 page)

"But, Darcy, what did he say
to you?"

"He threatened to murder me if
I ever, quote, touch you, unquote. Apparently he thinks that you and I are
having an affair."

"The hypocrite!"

"My thoughts exactly.
Personally, I suspect his twisted little mind just enjoys the image of our
naked bodies entwined together in secret lesbian passion..." My voice
trails off. I regret the words, though I can't pinpoint why. "He's
perverse to even imagine such a thing."

"Yes," Alis agrees
quietly. "I just can't apologize enough to you, especially after you
offered to let me move into your beautiful house. Of course, that can't happen
now, not after—"

I sit up straighter. "Alis,
I'm not afraid of Jason. My offer still stands. My home is your home, whenever
and for as long as you need it.
 
I’ve
got room to spare."

"Darcy, I couldn't—"

"You can, and you will. Make
an appointment with the local U-Haul. I want you here, safe, tonight."

Chapter Eleven

"This is it? This is everything that you
own?" I survey the contents in the open trunk of Alis' sedan and toss her
a doubtful look. "There must be more.
 
Dishes, furniture, books..."

"Oh, I brought the
books." She points to a small box sealed shut with duct tape. "I
don't own many books, only the ones that I can't live without. I borrow most of
my reading materials from the library."

"My library?"

She nods, smiling.

"It's strange... I don't
remember seeing you there. But maybe that's why you looked so familiar to me
when I woke up after—"

I stop mid-sentence and busy my
hands by hoisting the heavy box of books up and out of the car.

"Well," I continue,
"we'll have to get you a proper bookcase. There's already a nice bed in
your room.
 
Feel free to change the
linens and curtains if you'd like. We could even the paint the walls. What's
your favorite color?"

"White, actually. I'm so
boring." She laughs, unamused, removing a bag full of clothes from the
trunk and setting it down at her feet.

"White's a lovely color. Like
snow."

"I'm a little old-fashioned, I
guess. I enjoy simplicity. Simple pleasures."

We carry our respective burdens up
the porch steps and into the house. "Such as?" I question, leading
her up the main staircase.

"Reading, hot chocolate, walks
on the beach. God, I sound like a personals ad."

"I think it’s
sweet."
 
I glance at her over my
shoulder. Her cheeks are two spots of bright pink. "Okay, here we are.
Your bedroom.
 
Of course, you've seen it
before." I set the box down on the floor and gesture at the dresser, the
closet, the headboard-less double bed. "It isn't much, but I hope you'll
find it cozy enough."

"Oh, Darcy..." Without
warning, her eyes teem over with tears, and she wraps her arms around my neck.
"How can I ever thank you—"

"Just try to be happy. That's
all."

"Only if you promise me that
you'll try to be happy, too."

Sighing, I rest my chin on her
shoulder and cross my fingers behind her back. "I promise."

"Good. It's a pact." She
moves her hands to my shoulders and pulls back from me in order to meet my
gaze. "We have to seal it. How do you think—by blood? My brothers used to
make pacts by spitting into their palms, but that's kind of gross."

"Definitely gross." Her
smiling blue eyes swallow me whole, and I stagger, arcing toward her body, her
mouth...

She turns her head and hugs
me—tightly—again. "Are you okay?"

I am acutely aware of the rise of
her chest against my own. We breathe in sync, and too fast for everyday
conversation. "Yeah, I just... I'm feeling a little off today.
Sorry."

"Maybe you aren't up to
lifting these heavy things, Darcy. I can manage myself. I'll unload the rest of
the car."

"No, give me a minute, and
I'll be fine. Sit with me." I lead her by the hand to the bed. I bounce
down onto the mattress with a creak and cross my legs. My foot begins to tap
the air with a nervous twitch when Alis seats herself beside me, her thigh
touching my own.

"Jason didn't come home. I
think he's with...that woman. And, you know, I am immeasurably grateful to her
for keeping him out of the way while I packed and drove out here. Maybe she did
me a huge favor, after all. She...she set me free."

Alis beams at me, practically
glowing with newfound hope. I find my heart fluttering, mothlike, drawn to her
light. "It's the start of a new life for you," I say. "You can
do anything, whatever you'd like."
 
I tear my eyes from hers and stare down at my bare hands.

"Hey, is this a new
necklace?"

Instinctively, I wrap my fingers
around the diamond ring, concealing it from her.
 
"Just an old family heirloom. Probably paste, but my
grandmother insisted it was real."

"Let me see. I love antique
jewelry." She places her hand on my own, attempting to gently pry away my
fingers.

I stand up. She looks at me,
confused. "It's getting dark," I say, still clutching the ring.
"We should bring in the rest of your boxes before we're both too tired to
finish."

"Right." She sounds hurt,
but I turn my back to her and slip the silver chain beneath my shirt, then jump
when I feel the squeezing pressure of her hand above my elbow.

"Darcy? How about a
kiss?"

"A...kiss?" I take a step
away from her, nearer to the door, but she follows.

"To seal the pact. The promise
we made to each other."

The promise. I feel the ring lying
over my heart.

"Would that be all
right?"

We're facing each other now; her
hands are on my arms, and I can't stop myself from placing my own hands at her
waist, then sliding them around her back, pulling her closer still. Our breasts
touch with a deep-felt jolt, and before I can speak my doubts, her lips press
against mine, soft as an angel's feather, and then harder—

"Sorry, I…"
 
With a groan, I let her go and turn on my
heel, walk through the doorway and down the steps, walking, walking,
walking...until I'm standing behind Alis’ car once again. I pull an easel from
the trunk and clamp my eyes to it thoughtfully, while my heart hammers.

Her shadow appears on the porch,
silent and uncertain.

"You paint," I say,
because I can think of nothing else.

"Yes, as a hobby. I'm not very
good."

"No, you are good." Our
eyes meet. She has a hand to her chest, and her lips are downturned and parted.
I have never seen her look so sad. "Your mural at The Poseidon—it's
beautiful. Catherine loved the mermaids."

The name slices the tension between
us. Her shoulders visibly drop; she shrugs them halfheartedly. "Thank you.
But, like I said, it's just a hobby. Listen, the rest of these boxes can wait
until morning. I have everything I need inside. Can we call it a night?
I'm...tired. It's been a rough day."

"Sure, if that's what you
want."

"It is. Good night,
Darcy." She walks back into the house with a wave. "And thank
you."

"You're welcome, Alis," I
whisper, and slam the trunk closed.

---

The cabin door is open, beckoning. I sit down at the
typewriter and welcome the loss of physical control as Catherine enters me,
moves within me—and all that I am recedes in oblivious hibernation.

---

"You didn't sleep in your bed last night,"
Alis greets me when I walk into the kitchen, blinking at the too-bright sun
streaming through the naked windows.

"What happened to the
blinds?" I ask, ignoring her comment.

"I hope you don't mind.
 
I took them down. It isn't healthy to
diffuse sunlight during the wintertime. Light deprivation can cause
depression."

I raise my brows. "A little
light isn't going to make me feel any better. It only hurts my eyes."

"At first," she says,
with a trembling, small smile. "But you'll get used to it. Over time. You
may even begin to like it."

I open the junk drawer and rummage
through batteries, spools of thread and unsharpened pencils until I find my old
pair of sunglasses. I put them on and smirk at Alis like a naughty child.

"You've got more sass than I
thought," she says, shaking her head.

"Mind-numbing grief will do
that to you. Suddenly, you realize that nothing matters—the social niceties,
the daily grind. It's liberating and horrifying all at once."

"Why horrifying?"

"Because... If nothing
matters, what's the point of carrying on?"

She stares at me and chews her
bottom lip. "I don't know what to say to that."

"Never mind." I wave a
hand at her and open the fridge door. "Would you like some eggs for
breakfast? I don't think these ones have gone bad...yet."

The phone rings. I stand up
straight, and Alis watches me, her face unreadable and still. "Aren't you
going to answer?"

"My guess is it's either Jason
or Mrs. Corde calling, and I have no desire to speak to either one of
them."

Three rings. Four. The answering
machine picks up, a monotone female voice advising, "Please leave a
message after the beep." I erased our personalized greeting weeks ago. I
would find myself hitting the replay button again and again, just to listen to
Catherine's voice repeat, "Hi! You've reached Darcy and Catherine. Tell us
who you are and what you want, and we'll call you back as soon as we're done
having hot lesbian sex." I was appalled when she first made the recording—straight-laced
librarian that I pretended to be—but it did make me laugh, especially when
someone called and we really were making love. Which was often.

Now, following the beep, an
unfamiliar, accented voice asks, "Hello? Ms. Morrow? This is Genevieve
McLeery. Marjorie gave me your number, mentioned you might need some advice
about a lingering presence. Forgive me for calling this early, but I'm booked
with appointments from tomorrow until January and only have this afternoon
free. If you wish to meet, give me a call back at—"

I lunge at the phone. "Ms.
McLeery? Hi, this is Darcy Morrow."

Alis shoots me a surprised look and
is about to speak, but I silence her with my hand.

"Ah, you're home! I'm so glad
that I caught you, Ms. Morrow, because, as I said, I am very busy and will not
be able to fit you into my schedule until January, at earliest, after today.
Are you interested in a consultation?"

"Yes," I say, shocking
myself with the certainty of the word. "I live just east of town, at 76
Hidden Oaks Lane. Do you need directions?"

"No, my girl, I know right
where you are. I could be there in an hour, if that would suit you."

"That's perfect. I look
forward to meeting you, Ms. McLeery."

"Call me Genevieve, please.
I'll see you soon."

She hangs up, and I hold the phone
in my hands for a moment, wondering what compelled me to make the sudden
decision. I had considered calling Genevieve when Marjorie gave me her number,
but what if her meddling chases Catherine away? What if she tells me something
I’m not prepared to hear?

What if she's just a charlatan,
with purple veils and crystal balls and "spirits" knocking under the
table?

The more I think about it, the more
I want to call her back and cancel, but Alis interrupts my inner debate.

"Darcy, what did that woman
mean by 'lingering presence'? Is she a medium? Is this house haunted?
 
You mentioned something before, about the
cabin…" Her eyes are wide, but her brow is furrowed. She holds her mug of
coffee in midair, awaiting my response.

I replace the phone in its cradle
slowly, deliberately, and return to my perusal of the refrigerator. The orange
juice is expired; maybe I should make breakfast tea...

"Darcy?"

"I heard you, but... It's
private, okay?"

"I'm sorry." She puts the
mug on the table and stares down into it, her lips pursed. "I didn't mean
to pry. That was impolite."

With a heavy sigh, I slam the
refrigerator door closed and sit down at the table beside her, cradling my head
in my hands. "There's something going on. It's not serious or dangerous,
but I...I hope Ms. McLeery can shed light on the situation for me. I'm having
trouble distinguishing—" I look at her; she's staring at me. My eyes fall
to her mouth, and I remember the taste of it: sweet and cool, like apples.

Her face is flushed. She takes one
of my hands and sandwiches it between her own, fingers interweaving. "Say
nothing else about it. It's not my business, and I shouldn't have made you feel
a need to explain."

Gratitude consumes me. Gratitude
and...something else. I stand up quickly and fill the tea kettle with water.

Alis joins me at the sink. She
places her mug in the basin and leans against the counter. "My shift
starts in twenty minutes. I should get going."

It's only now that I notice Alis is
wearing her white nurse's button-down blouse and knee-length skirt. Her legs
are clad in sheer white stockings, with white vertical lines coursing the backs
of her calves. Pin-up stockings.

"Are those standard-issue
hospital pantyhose?" I wonder aloud, amused.

She rewards me with a sly grin.
"No, I just got them from the lingerie shop a few days ago. Think anyone
will notice?"

"Uh...yeah."

Her head tilts becomingly as she
averts her gaze. "Well, I'm prepared to accept whatever punishment a
breach of dress code merits. Do you know how dull it becomes, wearing the same
outfit day in and day out?"

"Sort of. I went to an
all-girls boarding school."