From My Window (3 page)

I don’t want to love someone and watch them grow old and die. He won’t want to love someone who can’t be a real, living, part of his life. He’ll want children. He’ll want to go places. I can’t do any of that.

“Love you?” I question.

Chapter 18

“Yes. Love me, Ellie. Don’t you love me?” he asks.

I jump up from the hammock. I’m shaking and confused. I’m angry for getting myself into this situation. I’m angry at myself for putting Mason in this situation. Why did I do this? I’ve spent forever hiding away, keeping to myself, avoiding the living. Why did I take this risk? And with Mason?

Because I do love him. If I’m being truthful, I started falling the moment I set eyes on him. And when I realized he saw me, actually saw me, there was no preventing it. I simply couldn’t help myself. So, I’d waved and smiled and eventually talked to him.

Now here I am in love with a living person and about to break his heart. Do I simply tell him I don’t love him? Tell him I will never feel that way? Then go somewhere else? Disappear?

Or do I confess my love but tell him that I’m dead? Tell him we can’t be together because I’m a ghost? Will he hate me for it? For putting him in the position of getting hurt.

Mason stands up beside me and takes my hand. His movements are slow as if he’s afraid of startling a frightened cat.

He repeats his question, “Don’t you love me?”

I can’t help it. I have to say it. “Yes,” I tell him, “I do love you.”

He pulls me to him. His blue eyes bore into mine and he reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face. He tucks it behind my ear. Then he leans in to kiss me. His breath reaches me first, a whisper across my lips. Then his mouth covers mine in a tender, warm kiss. I’ve never been kissed before and I’m realizing the terrible loss in putting it off so long. His lips are smooth and inviting. He deepens the kiss and my knees want to give out on me.

Oh, what am I going to do now?

Chapter 19

My head is still swimming as we walk along the beach, holding hands. He talks of the things we’ll do, the places we’ll go, and the things we’ll see. I’m not following what he’s saying. I feel a deep sense of loss growing inside me.

Mason loves me. He wants to be with me and make a life together. As happy as that makes me, it also makes me extremely sad. I can’t have those things. I can’t go places. I can’t do things. I can’t see things. I have to tell him. I have to let him know I’m a ghost. Let him know I can’t be with him forever. Because I may be around forever, but Mason won’t. He’ll grow old and die.

“What’s on your mind?” Mason asks.

“Oh, I’m, uh…”

Mason stops and turns toward me. I can’t look him in the eye. I’m ashamed that I’ll soon be breaking his heart. I knew better than to let this get so far. I shouldn’t have fallen for him and made him fall for me. Mason lifts my chin with his finger and searches my face. I can’t help myself. I’m drawn to his eyes. I look into his face and I start to cry.

“Hey, Ellie. What’s wrong?” he asks. He pulls me to him and holds me, comforts me.

“I’m, I’m…” I can’t bring myself to say the words. I stammer a few more times and then finally pull away from Mason’s embrace and burst out with, “I’m a ghost!”

Mason laughs.

Chapter 20

He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m making this up. How do I prove it to him? How do I make him see we have no future because my future is always the same. Day in, day out, I exist, but don’t live.

Mason pulls me to him again. I resist at first, but then allow him to press me against him and wrap his arms around my waist. He tilts my face up toward his and kisses me. Tenderly and sweetly. My tears are still rolling down my cheeks.

Mason pulls back and whispers, “I know.”

What does that mean? He knows what? That I’m dead? That I’m a ghost? That we have no future together? Has he been toying with me? My face must be showing my confusion because Mason tries to explain.

“I know you’re a ghost. I’ve always known. Why do you think I can see you, Ellie?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I just thought maybe it was a fluke,” I answer.

“Has anyone ever seen you before?” he asks.

“My mother saw me right after I died,” I told him. It was a painful memory. The sight of my mother screaming bloody murder and pointing her finger at me as if I’d done something horribly unforgivable. I ran and never saw her again.

“Well, family can sometimes see us. But has anyone else ever seen you?” he asks.

“No,” I answer. Then what he said begins to dawn on me. “Us?” I ask.

Mason chuckles. “Us,” he says.

Chapter 21

“I don’t understand. Are you dead?” I ask Mason.

“Yes, sweetheart. I died about ten years ago.”

Then it dawns on me, “What about your mother? Is she dead too?”

“No,” Mason explains, “She’s alive. But, after I died in a car wreck, I went home. I didn’t know what else to do. She was able to see me, understood I was a ghost, and accepted me anyway. Since she accepts that ghosts exists, she can see others. Like you.”

“What about the redheaded boy?” I ask.

“That’s Charlie. He died just last year. Drown,” he says.

“And your mother sees Charlie?” I’m beginning to catch on.

“Yes, she sees Charlie. I’m sure you have a million questions. But we have lots of time.”

We walk again. Hand in hand with the sand squishing up between the toes of our bare feet. My mind is fractured from all of this new information. Mason is a ghost. Charlie, the redhead, is a ghost. Mason’s mother, Margaret, is alive but aware of ghosts. I’ve been dead for so many years but Mason knows so much more than I do about the whole ghost thing.

He’s right. I do have a million questions. But, I also have lots of time.

About the Author

Karen began her writing career creating poems for handmade birthday cards at work. Later she started a story as part of a 1,000 word homeschool contest. Being rather chatty, she found it difficult to stay anywhere near 1,000 words and gave up. A few years later, she finished that story and it became her first children’s book.

She would love to say that her children’s stories come from a finely-honed understanding of the hearts and minds of children. But in actuality, they bubble up out of a childish imagination she never grew out of. Her short stories and novels also come from that imagination with a little bit of life experience thrown in. Karen often writes about events directly from her life but not before she has pounded and twisted them almost beyond recognition.

Karen lives with her husband, teenaged daughter, mean Chihuahua, and a cat named Fitch, in a rural area of Indiana. They long for the beach and plan to move to Santa Monica one day. Especially the Chihuahua, who finds the winters in Indiana far too cold.

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KarenJones.us
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