Wherever You Go (9 page)

"Pretty good for a first try," I said. I grabbed a paper towel and wet it under the faucet. "Here." Taking the cupcake pan from her, I wiped off all the stray batter blobs.

"What, you can't bake cupcakes with a messy pan?" asked Marisa in a defensive tone.

"The batter cooks onto the pan, and it makes it harder to clean up later."

"Oh."

I slid the cupcakes into the hot oven and set the timer, but I knew that once I started to smell the chocolate smell filling the air, it'd be almost time to take them out. It wasn't the first tray of birthday cupcakes I'd baked for Lena.

Once, Mom had promised to help do it, but she had ended up taking an extra night shift at the grocery store. She'd turned up at breakfast with a tray of day-old cupcakes from the store's bakery and a sheepish smile on her face. Lena had been five then, so she was too little to really care where the cupcakes for her kindergarten class had come from—but she'd missed out on the opportunity to decorate them herself. While Lena had stood there frowning at the already sprinkled cupcakes, I'd grabbed a pack of gummy bears from the snack drawer and we'd spent the next few minutes shoving them into the frosting. I walked Lena and the treats to school that day. She presented the tray of cakes to her teacher, explaining with pride how she'd gummied each one. It was times like that that I really liked my sister. Sure she was a little spoiled in some ways, but she was also just a little kid who wanted people to acknowledge her. I couldn't blame her for that.

Marisa took a seat at the table and reached for her diet pop. "Is your grandpa going to be okay by himself?"

"Yeah, Lena will be out there parked in front of the TV any minute. She's good with him."

"He seems nice. It's a bummer that you have to be in charge, you know?"

I shrugged. "It's just the way it is."

Marisa took a sip of her drink and set Kdri/p> it on the table. "So, tell me what's going on with you and Jason." Her brown eyes sparkled beneath her long, dark lashes. "Is he really taking you sailing?"

"I think he was probably saying that to be nice. Forget I told you about that."

"Uh-uh. No way." Marisa tucked her hand under her chin and leaned forward. "Did you see him after school?"

"No. I had to hurry home to meet Grandpa and Lena."

"Did he call you?"

"Marisa. I'm not interested in Jason that way."

"That's crap. He's great. And you're great. In love with a ghost, but great."

"I'm not in love with a ghost."

"Yes, you are. Geez, I feel like we need to do some kind of exorcism or something to get him out of your mind."

I got up from the table.

"Oh, come on. Don't be pissed." Marisa reached for my hand and pulled me back over. "I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't point stuff like this out to you."

"Right." I glanced toward the living room, listening for Aldo and Lena over Audrey Hepburn's giggling. "I'm just not ready to date someone."

"Jason is not a
someone.
He's freaking perfect." Marisa gave me a pitying look. "You are so cute together! And have you noticed how he gets all nervous around you? It's adorable."

"He gets nervous?" I sat down in the chair again.

"The other day at the lunch table, he was almost shaking when he sat down with us. That can only mean one thing." Marisa smiled gleefully.

"Yeah, I don't know..."

"You're blind! He's right in front of you hoping you'll notice him."

"I do notice him. I talk to him." The chocolaty smell of the cupcakes perfumed the air. They had about another five minutes, I guessed.

"I know you're scared, but I think you should take a chance," Marisa said.

"I'm not scared." The words felt dry in my mouth.

Marisa shook her head. "You're scared that you'd like him and something would happen to him. When people lose someone they always think the worst. I've seen too many Lifetime movies not to know that."

"Right."

"Or maybe you're worried about his friends. Our old friends."

"They hate me. There's nothing I can do about that."

"You know, I was wondering more about that night. About Rob's accident. About the drinking."

I glanced back toward the living room, not wanting to speak too loudly. "You and I both were drinking. Rob told me he wasn't going to have anything that night, but maybe he had one or two when he was out on the porch with the guys."

Marisa frowned. "I didn't see him drinking at all. Did you?"

"I don't remember." I shut my eyes against the flood of memories. "They did a blood test after the crash. There was a little bit of alcohol in Rob's system." My shoulder tensed up, but I forced myself to breathe. "Why are we talking about this again?"

Marisa put her hand on my arm. "Just that everyone blames you because Rob was driving you home when he went off the road. But Rob wasn't hammered. Probably not even buzzed. Was there something in the road? A dog or something?"

"I don't remember that part," I repeated. "I know we were in a fight that night. And I got a little wasted. Okay, a lot wasted. Then, one minute I was sleeping in the passenger seat and the next we were in the trees and there was blood everywhere." My hands curled into fists beneath the table. I felt my chest constricting, my body heating up.

"You never told me you guys were fighting that night," Marisa said. She scooted her chair closer and put her arm around my shoulders.

"We were fighting a lot then."

"Everything seemed like it was going great. I swear you would have made Homecoming Court."

I gave Marisa a weak smile. "Things weren't going great. He was really quiet toward the end of summer. He was a little off then, you know?"

Marisa chewed her lower lip. "I wanted to ask you before, but it never seemed like you wanted to talk about it."

"Well, sometimes talking about it just makes things worse, you know?"

"Yeah," Marisa said. "But not always."

I got up from the table again and went to check on Lena and Grandpa.

"I'm telling you, though," said Marisa, following me into the living room, "you and Jason would be a great couple. If only you could get over Rob."

The TV was at full volume in the corner, but for once in her short life, Lena wasn't paying any attention to it—she was staring at Grandpa Aldo. Sitting up in the recliner, he was mumbling in Italian. Hands gesturing like he was having a normal conversation. I watched him for a moment, listening to try to pick out a word or two, but the Italian was fast and garbled. His gaze was fixed right in front of him.

"What's the deal?" whis Ke d">"We werpered Marisa. "Who's he talking to?"

Lena got up from the couch and came and stood next to me. "He's been doing this for a few minutes."

The timer sounded.

"Will you and Lena take the cupcakes out? Stick a knife in them and see if it comes out almost clean."

"Huh?" Marisa gave me a funny look.

"Right. You don't bake. I'll be right back. You keep an eye on Grandpa Aldo."

"Sure."

I ran into the kitchen, tested the cupcakes for doneness, and then set them out on the counter on a cooling rack. I switched off the oven and took the frosting I'd made earlier out of the fridge. I laid out spatulas and the sprinkles and got some paper towels ready for the mess to come. Then I walked back into the living room.

Lena and Marisa were on the couch, both watching Aldo with concern.

"He's still doing it?"

"Yep."

I knelt down next to Aldo's chair and took his hand. "Grandpa," I said softly, "are you all right?"

Grandpa Aldo stopped abruptly and turned his head toward me. "
Cara mia?
"

"Yeah, it's me, Holly."

"The boy," he said. "He was here again."

My heart quickened. I didn't want to hear that. I didn't want to know anything about any boy visiting my grandpa, especially not the one I was afraid he was about to mention. "It's just us," I replied, squeezing his hand, trying to ground him in reality.

Grandpa Aldo shook his head. "He is my friend."

"What is he talking about?" whispered Marisa.

I ignored her, not wanting to take my focus from Aldo. "You're all right. You're here with me and safe," I told him.

"Roberto speaks
italiano,
" my grandfather said.

Goose bumps pricked my skin. "Sure."

"Who's Roberto?" piped up Lena.

"Shhh. Hey, Marisa, can you guys go start on the frosting?"

Lena got up slowly from the couch, all the bounce from the birthday project gone from her step. "Grandpa?" she said, stopping in front of us.

Grandpa Aldo let go of my hand and reached out to touch Lena's K toiv> cheek. He didn't say anything, but he gave her a sweet smile.

Lena smiled back and then went into the kitchen. Marisa, her eyes wide, followed.

"He was here again?" I asked Aldo.

He nodded.

"Is he scary?"

"No."

"Come into the kitchen with us." I helped him up to his feet.

"He is very sad," Grandpa said, his voice barely a whisper.

I felt a chill along the back of my neck. Breathing deeply, I slipped my arm through my grandfather's elbow and took him into the chocolate-scented kitchen. Into the light.

***

"Kid, why don't you cross over?" Aldo is mumbling in Italian again, but you can hear his thought perfectly. "It's supposed to be pretty nice in heaven, you know."

You stand in the corner of the kitchen, watching Lena, Holly's kid sister, trying to frost the warm cupcakes. You wish your sense of smell would work, because the kitchen must smell amazing. Frosting is dribbling down the sides of the chocolate treats and pooling underneath the wire cooling rack.

Holly bought that cooling rack at a garage sale she dragged you to during the summer. It was in Greenwood, at a funky duplex. There was a married couple breaking up, and the wife was desperate to sell household things cheap, vowing she'd never bake again. Holly had paid the woman a dollar for the rack, negotiating down from the three-dollar price tag. She'd told you to buy the vintage peacoat hanging at the back of a clothesline, but you couldn't do it. It was just a little too retro for you, even if it was only five dollars. Funny how the little things keep coming to your mind. All the little things and nothing really important.

"Hello, Roberto?" Aldo is waving at you from his place at the table. "Can't you hear me tonight?"

"Hey," you whisper, "you don't have to shout. Keep cool."

"He he." Aldo grins. "You speak
italiano
very well."

"We're not speaking."

"You know what I mean, Mr. Smarty," Aldo replies. "In my mind, I hear you speaking like a native. Your accent is perfect."

"I think this is freaking them out," you say, pointing at Marisa, Lena, and Holly, who are staring at Aldo again.

"It's the mumbling. I can't help it," Aldo says. "Can't stop most of what I do these days."

"That sucks."

"You can say that again." Aldo lets out a big, loud laugh, and Holly reacts by touching him on the arm. "I say things that don't make sense," Aldo continues. "Can't control my body like I used to. Can't seem to find names to go with faces."

"Grandpa, can I get you a glass of water?" Holly asks, her voice sweet and light, but underneath you can tell she is terrified.

Aldo focuses on Holly. "
Sto bene.
I'm fine," he tells her in both English and Italian.

Holly rubs her hand on his back. "Grandpa. Stay here with us, okay?"

"My sweet Holly. Such a good girl."

You take a seat on the step stool in the corner. "She is. She was my friend. My girlfriend."

"I figured that out, son," Aldo says giving you a look. "Why else would you be sniffing around here? I'm onto you. I can think clearly right now, with you—it's just with them..."

"Yeah." You and Aldo watch the girls frosting the warm cupcakes. Holly keeps an eye on Aldo, concern in her face. Her lips in a tight line.

You think maybe you should go, but then Aldo says, "So, what's the story, kid? You're some kind of ghost? My Holly thinks I'm a fruitcake for seeing you."

You shrug. "I'm dead. I guess this is ghosthood."

"Don't you watch the movies? You're supposed to go into the light. Everyone knows that," Aldo says with a little smirk.

You can't help but smile. "Yeah—there's no light. There's nothing. You're the first person I've talked to in all this time."

"Sheesh. That's lonely," Aldo says. "Almost like being me and not being able to say what I want or live on my own or do what I used to do. Tell me, have you seen my lovely bride Gloria? She passed a few years ago."

"Dude—Sir. There's nobody."

"Call me Aldo, kid."

"Aldo, it's the weirdest thing. Everything's just the same, but I'm not. I'm helpless," you say, the first really painful sentence you've uttered.