From My Window (2 page)

I pace some more, weighing my options. Curiosity is making the letter heavy in my hand. Or perhaps guilt is causing it. I want to open it. To read it. To see what Lilly wrote to Mason. To see what he would have seen if he’d gotten the letter. If I hadn’t taken it. Maybe there will be clues about who Lilly really is. Who she is to Mason.

But something else concerns me more. Why did Mason seem so upset that the letter hadn’t arrived? He had actually looked irritated. Maybe angry. Why would he be angry? What power does this one letter have over him? What power does Lilly have?

Chapter 9

I know I should be ashamed of myself, but I didn’t return the letter. I didn’t mean to keep it, but I waited so long, going back and forth on my decision, that ultimately the decision was made for me. I feel to return it now would be risky. It would seem odd that the letter was postmarked over a week ago.

I watched Mason every day this past week. He would go to the mailbox, open it, flip through the contents as he walked back indoors. Each time he didn’t look up, didn’t see me. It was like the missing letter was all he could think about. I’m a little miffed that he didn’t even look for me.

I mean, who does he think he is? Leading me on. Smiling at me. Waving to me. Making me think I mattered. Obviously Lilly is more important than I am. Obviously he was just flirting with me. And what kind of boy flirts with a girl when he already has a girl of his own? That boy is just plain no good.

At the windowsill I pick up the letter. I turn it over and over in my hand. Since I’m not going to return it, I might as well read it. Besides, it’s not like Lilly should even be with a boy like Mason. I would be doing Lilly a favor if their relationship ended. He isn’t a nice boy. Flirting with other girls when she isn’t around. No. He definitely is a terrible person.

I tear the letter open and pull out the folded pages inside. They are torn from a spiral notebook, the edges ragged, blue lines running across to help keep your text orderly. I’m anxious about what the letter might say. What words of love it might hold. Will I feel jealous of the things Lilly wrote to Mason? Will the words hurt?

I unfold the sheets and read, “Dearest brother…”

Chapter 10

What have I done? Lilly is Mason’s sister. I’m trembling with fear. And shame. How can I be so silly? What am I thinking? I took the boy’s letter. That isn’t like me. I don’t do that kind of thing.

I can still return the letter, right? I can sneak down in the night and put it in his mailbox. It would still be suspicious, what with the postmark being outdated and the envelope torn open, but what choice do I have now?

Or, I can keep the letter and eventually Mason will call his sister. Ask her what became of the letter. She’ll say she doesn’t know and will rewrite it and send it again. Won’t she? There’s no reason anyone will suspect me? I’m a ghost. No one knows I exist.

Except for Mason.

Will Mason suspect that I have his letter? Surely, not. Why would he?

I’ll go and return it to him directly. I’ll say it ended up in my mailbox by mistake. I can put it inside another envelope and he’ll think the post office tore it. He’ll thank me for bringing it over. It will give me an opportunity to speak to him. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Just as soon as I work up the courage.

Chapter 11

Here I am. At Mason’s door. I haven’t spoken to anyone in so many years. Will my voice even work? What if it doesn’t and it just comes out like a squeak? Or it doesn’t come out at all? I test my voice.

“Hello,” I say to the door. That sounds good. Sounds normal.

I look down at the letter in my hand. I’m ready. I just need to ring the doorbell. I swallow hard and reach out my hand, finger extended, ready to push. The door yanks open before I get the chance. I’m so startled, I take a step back and stumble a little.

Mason reaches out and takes hold of my elbow to steady me. The heat from his fingers races up and down my arm. It’s a curious sensation. I realize belatedly that his hand might have gone all the way through me. I took a big risk. But, lucky for me, I’m not a wisp of smoke or a mist of some kind. I’m tangible.

“I’m sorry to startle you,” Mason says.

“Oh,” I say. Not the most clever reply. But I was startled. And he did touch me. And he looks so adorably cute today. So I can’t really be held accountable for being at a loss for words. Or thoughts.

“Were you about to knock?” he asks and drops his hand. My elbow feels suddenly cold and lonely.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I was,” I tell him. I hold the letter up in front of me.

He takes it and looks at the address. “Where’d you get this?”

“It was in my box. By mistake,” I say. My voice sounds strange to me. I can’t get over hearing it again.

“Well, thank you for bringing it to me. I’ve been expecting it,” he says.

His eyes are the brightest blue I think I’ve ever seen. I realize I’m staring and I should probably say something. But what?

Finally, I say, “Well, okay then.” I turn to leave but he grabs my sleeve with two fingers to stop me.

“I’m Mason,” he says. “Do you want to come in?”

I turn, scared out of my wits. He lets go of my sleeve but continues to stand there all handsome and expecting me to speak.

“I’m,” I say, then realize I haven’t told anyone my name in so long I don’t remember it. What was it? How can someone forget their own name? He’s staring at me, waiting. Eleanor. That’s it. It’s Eleanor. That’s so old-fashioned. “Ellie,” I finish. “It’s Ellie. Short for Eleanor. An old family name.”

Chapter 12

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Would you like to come in?” he asks.

Should I? I haven’t done something like this before. What are the risks? He can see me. He can touch me. Oh, how I wish he’d touch me again. It felt so wonderful. So alive. But the risks. What could go wrong? There might be someone else in the house. Someone who can’t see me. I shouldn’t risk it. I mustn’t.

“I’d love to,” I say.

Mason steps back and gestures for me to pass. I step over the threshold into his home. The scent of apples and cinnamon reaches me. Is someone baking a pie? Would I be able to eat a piece of pie? Wouldn’t that be exciting? To eat. I haven’t even tried such a thing. But here I am, being seen, being spoken to, being touched. Who’s to say I can’t eat a slice of apple pie.

“This way,” Mason says, and leads me toward the front of the house. The walls are covered in photos. Some black and white, some full color. There are portraits, landscapes, flowers, and animals.

“Is your mother a photographer?” I ask.

“No. I am.”

This startles me. Mason seems so young. And he goes to school. When would he have the time to take all of these beautiful images?

“There’s so many,” I say.

“I love photography. It’s what I enjoy more than anything,” he tells me.

His home is open and inviting with bright colors. He wanders into the living room and I follow. The kitchen is visible on the other side of a marble breakfast bar. Mason offers me a soda. I take a risk and accept. He hands me a Coke in a can. I’m completely unsure how to open it. I must look ridiculous standing there, soda in hand, staring at it.

“I can open that for you,” he says. He takes the soda out of my hand and pulls back on a small tab of metal. There’s a small popping sound and the soda hisses. Mason hands it back and smiles at me. A big, bright smile. I smile back.

Chapter 13

Yesterday turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Or death. Maybe both.

Mason and I talked for over an hour. I know this because there’s a giant wall clock in his living room. We talked about photography and what he thinks of Santa Monica. He told me he didn’t go to school each day, he went out to shoot photos. He must be older than I thought. I told him I was home schooled. I’m not sure why. He didn’t ask.

Home schooling has made a huge comeback in the last couple of decades. When I was growing up it was all there really was. Sure, there were some finishing schools and things like that, but mostly a nanny or hired instructor taught you all you needed. Besides, back then, girls were raised to run the home of their husband. Nothing more.

It was so nice to talk to someone. I eventually got used to hearing my own voice again. It no longer sounded strange to me by the time I left. I suppose Mason never thought it sounded strange. I worried the first few minutes that his mother would come home, but she never did. The fear eventually subsided and I was able to relax.

Mason has a deep voice. His laugh goes up a little and sounds somewhat musical. He scrunches his nose when he laughs and his hair falls into his eyes constantly. He was barefoot, wearing cutoffs and a surfing t-shirt. I could have looked at him for hours. But I didn’t want it to be creepy. And I didn’t want his mother to come home. So I stayed only as long as I dared.

I’ve been considering the idea that maybe he and his whole family are able to see ghosts. Maybe it’s a genetic thing. If Mason can see me, then maybe his mother can see me. I like the idea, but I have no basis for thinking it can be true. Still… wouldn’t it be lovely to meet his mother and spend more time with him?

Chapter 14

I see Mason in his front yard. He’s lying in the hammock he and his mother put up yesterday. He’s shirtless today and that reminds me of his hand on my elbow. The warmth returns for a moment and then disappears like it was my imagination.

I haven’t been back to his house again. I want to. But first, I’m going to do a test to see if his mother can see me. I’m just waiting for a time when she’s alone in the yard. I’ll go out and walk right up to her. If she doesn’t see me, no harm done. If she does see me, I’ll say I want to introduce myself. She might even realize who I am because Mason has talked about me. He would talk about me, right? Of course he would. Why wouldn’t he?

The redheaded boy is coming into Mason’s yard. He’s carrying his surfboard. I bet they plan on going surfing. Mason is going inside now. The redhead waits on the hammock, swinging his feet and rocking back and forth. Mason comes out with his surfboard and they head for the beach. I’ll miss him while he’s gone. Sometimes they surf for hours.

There’s his mother. She’s going to water her flowers. This is my chance.

Chapter 15

I’m standing right behind her. I’m so nervous I can feel myself quaking all over. If ghosts sweat, I bet I’d be drenched. She isn’t turning around. She didn’t hear me approach. That doesn’t mean anything though.

I clear my throat and say, “Hello.” She twirls around and a hand reflexively reaches to her throat.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you walk up,” she says. To me. She says it to me. She can see me.

I extend my hand and say, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ellie. I live next door.”
Live
is a bit of a stretch, but it’s what she’ll understand.

“Well, hello, Ellie,” she says. She reaches out and shakes my hand. The contact doesn’t have the same impact as when Mason touched me, but I like it nearly as much.

“I’m Margaret,” she says. “Mason mentioned you. Thank you for getting that letter to us. Did he tell you his sister is in Africa?”

Mason was so concerned over the letter because his sister is working with orphans in Africa. He told me it wasn’t always safe there and if he doesn’t get a letter every week, he gets worried.

“He did tell me,” I say.

Chapter 16

The talk with Mason’s mother, Margaret, has left me feeling bold. That’s the only way to describe it. Mason and Margaret can see me, they can hear me, they have spoken to me. And I drank a Coke.

I have the insatiable urge to do something. Anything. But, I’m not sure what. Maybe, visit Mason again. Definitely, visit Mason again. Or surf. Wouldn’t that be wild? Me, surfing. The salt water, the fresh air, the sunshine. And since I’m dead, I don’t have to worry about getting sunburnt.

My mind is racing with the possibilities. So many things to do, to say, to try. And I want to eat something. I’m never hungry, but after tasting that soda, I want to try all the things I’ve seen on TV and heard about. I want to taste a milkshake. Yes, a milkshake. I want to go get a milkshake with Mason.

Speaking of Mason, there he is. He’s wet from surfing and his feet are all sandy from walking up the beach. His redheaded friend must have gone home. He’s almost at the gate to his yard. I dart down the stairs to try to catch him before he goes inside.

When I come out of my house, he’s in his yard toweling off his hair. His surfboard is leaning up against the railing of his deck. When he looks up, I wave. I’m trying to be nonchalant, but I can feel the ridiculous smile spreading across my face.

But Mason’s smile spreads ridiculously too.

Chapter 17

I’m sitting with Mason in his hammock. We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. He doesn’t think it’s odd that I don’t go anywhere. He doesn’t mind that he hasn’t met my parents. He doesn’t question every little thing that would seem abnormal to most people. He’s perfect.

“I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks,” I say to Mason. He’s holding my hand and squeezes it.

“Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m so happy right now,” I tell him.

“Me too,” he says. “And we’ll be happy forever.”

His comment is sweet. But I don’t understand it. We haven’t sworn our undying love for one another. It’s not like I can swear an
undying
anything to anyone. So where does he get the idea we’ll be happy forever? Does he just mean we will both find a forever-kind of happiness? Or does he mean actually happy together? Forever?

“Forever?” I ask. I don’t know what else to say. I need more information. I need to know what he’s thinking.

“Yes, forever, Ellie. We’ll have an eternity together.” He pauses a moment and a strange look crosses his normally sunny face. “Unless you don’t love me.”

Love him? It seems a little soon to be talking of love. And how could I let myself love a living person? I can’t allow this. I can’t fall in love with him. And I can’t let him love me. I’m a ghost. He’s alive. It would be deceitful. To let this go on would be the worst form of cruelty. To him and to me.