Dead People (12 page)

Kurt laughed. “
When
you get the house? You’re bloody sure of yourself.”

“I won’t accept failure.” She gave him a glare he couldn’t see in the near-inky blackness.

“I like that confidence,” he said, his hand patting her arm. “You can do anything you set your mind to do.”

His words surprised her. Tears burned her eyes. He believed in her.

She could do it, she could do it, she could do it... Like the little engine that could, only instead of climbing the mountain with a carload full of toys, she was embarked on a harder endeavor. To make Luke fall in love with her and ask her to marry him.

Chapter Seventeen

The questions haunted Erin. Where was her mom? Why didn’t she email her? Why didn’t she come and get her?

Every day for two weeks, it wasn’t the ghost that made Erin’s heart squeeze so tight it hurt when the bus dropped her off from school and she dragged her feet into the house. It was the fear that when she walked inside, her dad would say, “I’m sorry, Erin, but your mother is gone.”

Gone forever. Dead.

And every day for two weeks, Tricia was waiting for her instead of her dad, making Erin almost happy to see her fake smile. But not so happy she didn’t run upstairs and open her laptop, holding her breath as she logged in with her secret password that no one knew.

And every day her breath whooshed out and she felt empty inside. As empty as her email without all the messages from Vantastic. But today she opened it up and saw the one message.

Her throat jumped. She clicked on it, almost afraid to read it. She clenched her teeth so they wouldn’t clatter as she read.

Baby, it’s me, your mommy, who loves you more than anyone in the world. I’ve been bad, and I’m sorry I disappeared. I was at a spa, you know the one Dr. Willis runs.

Erin put her hands to her face. There was only one reason her mom would have been at Dr. Willis’s “spa.” She must have been really, really, really sick. Maybe the mix of drugs were bad. Maybe she’d taken too much. Maybe she’d overdosed because she’d missed Erin.

And Erin wasn’t there to take care of her.

I’m glad you convinced Luke to stay. It’s been two weeks. I wouldn’t know where you’d be living now. Thinking about it, I’m shaking so much I can hardly type.

Why hasn’t the ghost hunter gotten rid of the ghost by now? I can’t believe Luke is letting her con him. He’s the most suspicious man I know.

I’m worried about you in that place. I told my lawyer, but he doesn’t think I can do anything with it. Not now. Maybe later.

Erin scrunched her face. Maybe later when her mom got straight.

If you’re scared, let me know. Maybe it’s better that you go to the foster family instead of staying with Luke.

No! No! No! Erin couldn’t stand going back to the house where she was treated like a poor little orphan girl. She knew what her mother’s biggest worry was. That Erin would love her dad more than her.

I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise.

Love, love, love, love, love.

Mom

Erin’s hands felt heavy as she lifted them to the laptop keys and pressed Reply.

Mom, the ghost hardly comes out, so don’t worry about it hurting me. I feel sorry for it. I heard it in the guest bedroom next to mine once, making crying noises.

The ghost whisperer is trying hard to get rid of the ghost. She said ghosts are like little kids sometimes. This one is like a naughty big kid, but I hardly see it.
 

I made dad stay here so I can be here when you come. I don’t care that the kids at school don’t like me.
 

Will you hurry and come for me? I thought you’d be here by now.

Love,

Erin

She pressed Send. It was too bad she couldn’t type more, because she had a lot of stuff to say and no one to say it to. But some things she couldn’t tell her mom, ‘cause her mom got too worried.

Her mom had a lot of worries.

Someone knocked on her door and Erin closed the laptop.

“Erin? Your dad wants to see you in his studio,” Tricia’s fake happy voice said.

Erin locked her laptop in her desk drawer. She didn’t trust anyone. Not even the ghost.

When Erin trudged out of her bedroom, Tricia waited in the hall with a huge smile, but Erin knew acting when she saw it. Especially bad acting.

“I’ll walk up with you, see what you and your dad want for supper, spaghetti or chicken.”

Erin shrugged. Tricia was using her, but that was no new thing. People had been nice to her all the time to get close to her mom. Now Tricia was nice to get close to her dad.
 

At least Cassie didn’t do that. Cassie liked her for herself. Erin didn’t think Cassie even liked her dad.

In the studio, her dad told Tricia to make whatever she wanted, but when Tricia left, he went to the doorway and called her back.

“What would you like to eat?” he asked Erin.

“Pizza.” That’s what she and her mom had almost all the time.

“We’re having pizza,” he said to Tricia, who came back to the doorway.

Tricia’s smile wobbled. “Uh, I’ll go to the grocery store and get—”

“Don’t bother, we’ll have one delivered.”

“But...but...”

“Thank you.” He closed the door on her face.

Erin wanted to giggle but her dad turned to her and she suddenly didn’t feel like anything was funny. He was going to try to win her over again, she could tell by his expression, like he was walking around with a thorn stuck in his big toe. It hurt him to talk to her, but he kept trying and she kept turning him off.

Every time she felt like softening, she thought of her mom and froze up again. Her mom didn’t have anyone but Erin.
 

Her dad went to the synthesizer and gestured to Erin to sit on the stool in front of it.
 

She shook her head.
 

“I’ll give you a lesson,” he said.

She put her hands behind her back. The synthesizer looked beautiful and mysterious, shimmering from the late afternoon sunlight that illuminated the room. She wanted to learn how to use it more than she wanted to eat pizza.

Her mom would never know if she said yes. But Erin would know.
 

“No,” she said.

His lips turned down at the corners and she tensed. “You’ll sing, then,” he said. “Have a seat.” He gestured at the synthesizer stool again.

“I don’t know words to any songs.” The words stumbled from her mouth, and she realized her mistake. She should have said “No!” right away. Real stern, like she meant it.

“We’ll learn the words together.” He pulled up another stool a couple feet away and slipped on his guitar strap over his neck.

He bent forward and fiddled with the keyboard workstation. Her hands started to sweat. When he sat back on his stool, she wiped her palms on her jeans.

She should leave. Her mom would hate that she was doing this. And what if he thought her singing sucked?

Her legs felt weak, like her bones were made of rubber bands, and she lurched to the stool and plopped onto it. “I’m not as good as Mom,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Not many people are.” He tuned his guitar. “Everyone has their own strengths. Let’s start off with something simple.” He played “Mary had a Little Lamb,” only he did it with the long blues riffs, like Jimi Hendrix did on “The Star Spangled Banner.”

A tingle went up Erin’s spine. Luke played the guitar as good as her mom sang.

“Sing.” He started the verse from the beginning.

She told herself it didn’t matter if he thought her singing was awful, and maybe she should sing bad on purpose. Her mouth opened and the words poured out, her voice strong now. And instead of singing bad, she sang as good as she could, not nervous at all.

He played too good for her to mess up on purpose. It wouldn’t be right.

Listening to him, Erin understood why Tricia watched him all googly-eyed.

“Mary had a little laaaaaaaaaaamb.” She hung onto the last syllable as the guitar note vibrated in the air, going on and on and on. At the end, her voice wobbled, and he went on to more notes, and she sang the next sentence.

When the song was over, she got lightheaded, like she did last summer when she’d stayed outside in the sun too long with no water. She’d gotten hot and had thrown up. Remembering, she pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t get sick again.

If he wanted to sing another song, she’d say “No” for sure.

He leaned forward and pressed a button on the workstation. The music started, first his bluesy guitar singing out, the sound so pure it thrummed inside her chest along with her pounding heart.

He’d recorded the song!

Oh no, she knew what was coming next. Her voice. How could she stand listening?

Her voice soared out, and she started to bring her hands over her ears—but then she realized her voice sounded like his guitar instead of like her mom. Her mom’s voice was like molasses, thick and deep. Erin’s voice was different, like spring water, but with a husky edge.

It sounded...not horrible.

She pressed her hands to her stomach and sat there like that until it was over. He sat back and frowned.

Something clogged up her throat, choking it, stopping her from talking. She looked away from him, in case he avoided her eyes and then she’d know she sucked after all.

“You’re good,” he said. “You’re seriously good.”

She hopped off the stool. “I have to go to my room.”

Her breaths loud, she ran out. As she closed the door, she heard the same music start up.

He was listening to her sing again. He wouldn’t do that if he was lying.

Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t cry as she ran down the stairs. When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and went to the dresser mirror.

In her mind, she heard the music. “Mary had a little laaaaaaamb,” she sang, “a little lamb, a little laaaaaaaaamb.”

Maybe she was going to be special, like her mom.

But there was only room for one special person in the family.

She should tell her dad not to mention this to anyone, especially her mom.

Erin’s stomach twisted, the turkey sandwich she ate at lunch coming up her throat. She ran into the bathroom, bent over the toilet and hurled. Gunk spewed out of her mouth and her nose. When she had nothing left in her stomach, she stumbled to her bed and lay on her side, pulling her knees up to her stomach. She rocked slightly, her tears leaking onto the creamy sheet.

Chapter Eighteen

Luke stood in the doorway of Erin’s bedroom. She was curled in a fetal position on her bed, like a human cannonball of sadness against the sunshine yellow wall. He silently swore. He’d thought Erin connected with him this afternoon, just a little. She hadn’t said anything and neither did he, but he’d felt it.

So why was she coiled on her bed with her back to him, saying she wasn’t hungry?

Was she anorexic? She was on the thin side, but not down-to-the-bone skinny. But what the hell did he know about it?

“You’re having pizza,” he said. “Either you come down to the kitchen or I bring the pizza up here and we eat it on your bed.”

The doorbell tolled its death-knell downstairs. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Erin. She didn’t move.

The bell tolled again. Erin remained unmoving. Stubborn. She got that from him and from Vanessa.

He didn’t want to eat in her too cheery bedroom, but if he went back on his word—

The fucking bell tolled again, and he remembered Tricia said she was leaving early tonight to work at the motel, something about one of the clerks taking off for her birthday.

He didn’t say anything to Erin, just snapped around and headed to the stairway. It was probably Cassie. He clambered down the stairs. Let Erin worry about what he was going to do.

“I’m giving you a key,” he said, letting Cassie in. She wore a brown corduroy jacket that matched her hair and eyes. “Temporarily.”

“You’re in a lovely mood.” She whisked past him.

“Isabel’s been playing hide and seek for two weeks now and you haven’t found her. I want her out of here. Yesterday.”

She turned to face him. “Are you in a hurry to get rid of me?”

No! Hell no! These last two weeks, he sat across from her in the family room every night. As they talked and sometimes dueled with words, he imagined making love to her, holding her full breasts, running his hands down her curvy hips, fitting himself into her softness, between her legs.

From the looks she shot him sometimes, he suspected she might be tortured too. They talked about movies or food or politics. Never anything private or suggestive, as if they’d made a silent pact to keep their relationship impersonal.