Hourglass (6 page)

Chapter 11

M
ichael moved in the next day.

I could hear him shuffling things around next door. The walls of the building were well insulated, but the weather was crisp and sunny, and we had both opened our windows. The loft Dru gave him shared a bedroom wall with mine.

Magnificent. I could already imagine trying to sleep knowing he was practically lying beside me. Even though he’d made me furious yesterday, I couldn’t deny that the attraction still existed.

I was an idiot.

The sound of John Lee Hooker and his guitar floated from Michael’s room through my window. So much in common—I loved the blues, too. I sat on my bed to listen to the music, watching the shifting shadows cast on my floor by the leaves from the oak outside my window. It was a beautiful afternoon, perfect for hanging out at the lake and grabbing the last bit of warmth before the weather turned cold. If you were a normal teenager. Since I’d left normal behind a lifetime ago, I stayed at home, trapped with my thoughts.

Even though I promised Michael to mind my own business, I was tempted to resume my Internet search on the Hourglass. Liam Ballard died under mysterious circumstances, and Michael didn’t want me asking questions. Why? What was he hiding?

I looked at Dru’s laptop, still on the ottoman, mocking me. Would I break my promise if I touched the power button and looked at what popped up on the screen?

I reached toward the computer, and Jack appeared in front of me. I almost yelped in surprise, but the open window and the thought of Michael possibly hearing stopped me. Since I was alone, and lonely, I figured a conversation with a dead guy wouldn’t be a horrible way to pass the afternoon.

“Hello.” His voice still sounded smooth, cultured.

“What’s up?”

“What’s … up?” Jack asked.

“Never mind,” I said as I walked to the window to slide it shut. I leaned back and rested my bottom against the sill. “I meant, how are you?”

“Better than you appear to be.”

“Yes,” I sighed deeply, “but don’t feel too good about it. Better than me is not a hard thing to accomplish.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that at all.” Jack folded his hands together behind his back. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” I asked. I held out my arms and looked from my feet to the tips of my fingers.

He pulled his head back in dismay before he erupted into warm, contagious laughter. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing with him.

“Your size makes you seem delicate, like a spiderweb. But the wise fly knows that delicate can also be strong.”

I was suddenly very aware that even if he wasn’t
alive
, he was a man, and he was in my bedroom. And he’d just paid me the best compliment I’d ever received.

“So”—I paused and made a conscious effort to lower the pitch of my voice—“is there a reason for your visit?”

Jack shrugged. “I wanted to take advantage of human companionship while I had it, unless, of course, you find my presence intrusive?”

Weighing his words, I tried to decide if it did feel intrusive. If he were alive, he would probably fall into the creepy-stalker category. Since he was a rip, did that make him more guardian angel?

“No, it’s all good.” I walked back to sit on the edge of the bed, not trusting my knees. Jack was a grown man. Who happened to be dead. I needed to pull it together.

“To have gone for so long without anyone to talk to,” Jack said in a voice so sweet it would turn vinegar to sugar, “how lucky am I that my first conversation is with someone like you?”

Not an angel.

I fought the urge to fan myself.

“Um … thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” He fingered the chain on his pocket watch, the upward pull of his suppressed smile barely noticeable.

I couldn’t even manage a normal social exchange with a dead guy.

“Em?” Dru knocked on my door.

Feeling like I’d been caught doing something naughty, I jumped up from the bed. “Yes?”

“Who are you talking to?”

“No one, just … oomph—” I backed away from Jack and managed to trip over my ottoman in the process. “I was reading out loud.”

“Open the door. I want to show you the baby bedding I bought.”

“Sure, just a sec.” Staring at the doorknob, I realized I hadn’t locked it. It didn’t really matter if Dru came in or not because she wouldn’t be able to see Jack. But the thought of trying to have a conversation with her while he stood next to me … no way.

I scrambled to my feet and turned to tell him he needed to disappear.

He was already gone.

In addition to bedding, Dru purchased possibly every article of gender-neutral baby clothing in the entire town of Ivy Springs. She sorted it into groups on the four-poster king-sized bed she shared with my brother, and the cream lace coverlet was completely hidden underneath the piles.

“Emerson, I wanted to apologize,” Dru said, folding up a tiny T-shirt imprinted with the words
SPIT HAPPENS
.

“For what?”

“Running you off when Thomas and I, uh, celebrated our pregnancy news.” Her face turned the same tomato red as the bedroom walls. Mine grew hot, and probably the same color as hers. I welcomed the cool breeze flowing through the open window and stirring the pale window sheers. Dru cleared her throat and continued. “We could’ve been a little more discreet.”

“It’s okay,” I mumbled, ducking my head and kneeling to retrieve a tiny sock that had escaped to the hardwood floor.

“No, it isn’t. This is your home, and you should feel comfortable in it.”

“I do.” I smiled up at her. “You and Thomas are going to be wonderful parents. And I know how long you’ve … wanted a baby.”

Dru rubbed her midsection as tears formed in her eyes. I stood and focused intently on finding the mate for the sock in the pile of clothes on the bed. According to Thomas, they’d started talking about babies on their honeymoon. It was never openly discussed, but I knew the past few years had been filled with disappointment.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice trembling, “we decided we’re going to name the baby after your mom or dad. Clarissa if it’s a girl, Sean if it’s a boy.”

I would not cry. I just wouldn’t. “I know they’d love that,” I whispered. “I mean, I know they
would’ve
loved that.”

“So, it’s okay with you?” Dru asked, removing her hand from her stomach and picking up a chenille blanket.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Dru fiddled with the blanket’s fringe, twisting and untwisting. “You’ll have children one day. I didn’t know if maybe, you’d want to …”

“Me? No way,” I said, trying to laugh it off, failing. The only way I’d ever experience children would be vicariously, as the spinster aunt living in a tiny house with thirty cats. And possibly some dead people. The muscles in my face wouldn’t cooperate with the smile I tried to force. “I don’t think I’ll ever get married, much less have children. Whether I want to or not. That’s all so … normal. I’m not.”

She put down the blanket and reached out to take my hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “Thomas told me you’re seeing them again.”

“Bad news travels fast.” My stomach dropped all the way down to my shoes. I pulled my hand away and turned back to the bed to continue sorting through the tiny clothes, searching blindly for the elusive sock with the yellow chick on it.

“Maybe it’s not bad news. Maybe it’s serendipitous, perfect timing. Thomas really seems to think Michael will be able to help you.”

“Or he could end up being as bad as all the rest of them.” Or worse. Because from our first conversation I’d hoped for so much more from him, and now I didn’t know what to think. “How did you two find him anyway?”

She shrugged and took more clothes out of a paper shopping bag. “You’d have to ask your brother about that. And don’t change the subject.”

“What subject?”

“The subject of your future. Your happiness.” She wadded up the bag, fiercely crunching the brown paper, and threw it to the ground. “You’re one of the most compassionate, generous people I’ve ever met, which means if you want to be, you’ll make an excellent mother. You have so much to offer. Don’t sell yourself short and hide in a hole instead of living your life!”

I froze, waiting for the flying pigs to descend. Dru
never
yelled.

“I’m sorry.” Her hand flew to her mouth. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I—I, just, thank you. For everything.” I paused, pressing my lips together, blinking furiously. “That’s how I know what a phenomenal mom you’re going to be. Because you’ve been one to me. So thank you.”

This time the tears spilled over. I grabbed the spit happens shirt and held it across my chest. “I don’t think this will fit. Didn’t they have bigger sizes?” I got the laugh I was hoping for and took the opportunity to change the subject. “Looks like the bags are empty. Are all baby items deemed acceptable?”

She nodded, brushing the wetness briskly from her cheeks, getting back to the business at hand. “Will you help me take the tags off everything so I can wash it all?”

“No problem. I had no idea babies needed their own detergent.” I handed Dru the pink plastic bottle with the picture of a sleeping infant on it.

“Me neither.” She laughed. “We have a lot to learn. Isn’t it exciting?”

It was.

When we were finished, a pile of tags and tiny plastic hangers covered the floor, so I stuffed it all into an empty shopping bag and took it down to the Dumpster. Dusting off my hands, I headed up the metal stairs and ran smack into Michael’s chest, losing my balance.

He reached out to grab my shoulders, stopping me before I fell. I pulled away quickly. Now wasn’t the time to be reminded of our crazy physical connection.

“Hey,” he said, his focus shifting from my face to the ground as he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans.

I crossed my arms and stepped around him to continue up the stairs, irritated that he’d spoiled my good mood.

“Wait, Emerson.” I heard his feet hit two steps behind me before I turned and leaned back against the metal railing. We were practically eye to eye.

“What?” I drew it out, trying to sound bored, but my voice trembled at the end of the question.

“About yesterday … the Hourglass … I wish I could explain.”

“Why can’t you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I just can’t.”

I gave him an irritated growl and turned to continue up the stairs. He grabbed for my hand, but I yanked it away as I spun around. “Why? I ‘don’t know what I’m dealing with,’ so I should just ‘mind my own business’—isn’t that what you said?” I could feel the sneer curling my upper lip.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

The desire to kick him in the shins at the answer that was beginning to become his standard was overwhelming. “No.”

“What?”

“No.” My impulses moved from kicking to punching, spurred on by my own anger and the fact that, before yesterday’s incident in my bedroom, I had trusted Michael. “I won’t mind my own business. You show up, tell me you
understand
me and that I should trust you. And then you won’t tell me the truth.”

“Emerson, I’m being as honest with you as I can be, believe me,” he said, his palms up.

“Not being completely honest is the same as being a liar.”

“I am not a liar,” he said. A vein pulsed in his forehead.

“I think you are,” I pushed with my words.

“I’m not. What I am is extremely frustrated.”

Michael reached out, cupped his hands under my elbows, spun me around, and dropped me to my feet.

“Whose fault is that?” I shouted as he walked up the stairs to the back door, his spine stiff. “Not mine. Maybe you should go ahead and tell me whatever it is you think I can’t handle—have you ever thought of that?”

But the door slammed, and I was talking to thin air.

Chapter 12

T
he next morning I stopped by Murphy’s Law for a little liquid energy and a chat with Lily. Lack of sleep was becoming an unfortunate occurrence in my life. I briefly considered ordering chamomile tea. Supposedly, it helped with anxiety, and I had plenty.

Lily stood behind the counter. She saw me coming and called out my usual order. “Double
Cubano
and the biggest empanada we have.”

Chamomile?

Right.

When Lily wouldn’t let me pay, I shoved my money in the tip jar and walked to the front of the shop to sink into an overstuffed pumpkin-colored chair. Outside, a man wearing khaki pants and a T-shirt bearing the logo of a landscaping service pulled summer annuals from the intermittently spaced planters lining the street. He replaced them with delicate pansies in dusky crimson and two shades of purple. A Davy Crockett look-alike stood beside him, his calves disappearing into the middle of the planter. Rips and solid objects didn’t really mix. I was glad Davy was out of his century and not just fashion challenged.

The coonskin cap really would’ve been over the top.

As I watched them both I noticed a sign taped up on the outside of the plate-glass window of the coffee shop. The sun shone at the perfect angle to make the thick black words stand out clearly:
HELP WANTED
. The heavens broke open. I wanted a job so I wouldn’t have to ask Thomas for extra spending money, and my favorite coffee shop in the world was hiring. Could I get a job smelling and selling the elixir of life?

Lily brought over a tiny espresso cup and my empanada and then lowered herself gracefully onto the edge of the chair across from me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hiring?” I asked.

She frowned, and I gestured toward the sign. I watched her read it through the glass, backward letters and all. “I didn’t know
Abi
decided to hire anyone. I thought she was going to keep working me to death to save money.”

“Your powers of observation astound me. One of your many superpowers.” She frowned at me. Needing to be on her good side, I changed the subject. “You think your
abuela
would hire me?”

“I don’t know why not. Coffee runs through your veins instead of blood. I think it stunted your growth.” I looked for something to throw at her, but the empanada was the only thing I could see, and I wasn’t willing to give it up.

“Is she here?” I struggled to get out of the chair. It seemed to have eaten half of my body. “Can I talk to her?”

“She ran over to the bank for some change. And why are you even asking? You know if you want the job, it’s yours.” Lily twisted her long dark hair up on top of her head, fanning herself with her order pad, looking more like Cleopatra on her barge than a barista at a coffee shop. She carried glamour as casually as some women carry a purse. “You think you can start tomorrow? I need a break.”

“Only if you can free me from this beast of a chair,” I said, wiggling as I tried to get some leverage. “What do you feed this thing? Customers?”

“Relax.” Lily let her hair fall around her shoulders and grinned at me. “I kind of like having a captive audience. How’s it going with Thomas and Dru?”

Since I wasn’t going anywhere without help, I took a sip of my espresso, sighing with pleasure. Rumor had it Murphy’s Law was the best place in the States besides Miami to get a
Cubano
, an espresso shot sweetened with sugar while brewed. “Better than I expected. They’re pregnant.”

“Pregnant? That’s great,” she said before tilting her head and narrowing her eyes at me. “Or is it?”

“It is. Dru threatened to put me under house arrest if I tried to move out. She said she knows somebody at the police department who can get her one of those ankle bracelets.”

Lily’s voice turned wistful as she leaned back in her chair. She’d never get stuck. “Family is important.”

The two of us shared the no-parent thing. Her parents were alive, but her father’s involvement with the government hadn’t allowed him or her mother to escape Cuba with Lily and her grandmother. Except for some extremely distant cousins in South Florida, she had fewer family members than I did.

“Any news from your parents?” I asked.

“No. Not since last Christmas.” Her eyes filled with sorrow I recognized. She changed the subject quickly, the way she always did whenever her family came up. “You never gave me details about the restaurant opening. Spill it—any developments on the social front?”

“Nope.”

She gave me a look that clearly indicated she didn’t believe me. “That was an awfully quick answer.”

“When did y’all start selling your own brand?” I hedged, squinting up at the sign announcing the price for freshly roasted coffee beans.

“Last spring. Dish. Now.” She perched on the edge of her seat, eager for the details. “You
did
meet someone.”

“It’s true.” Lily knew me too well. She wouldn’t stop until she got it out of me. “But there’s no point talking about it. He’s off-limits.”

“Why?” She pulled her head back in dismay. “Don’t tell me there’s a girlfriend?”

“It’s one of Thomas’s rules—the guy sort of works for us. Plus he’s older than me, but only by a couple of years. Thomas thinks a high school diploma puts the guy in the speed-pass line for the nursing home. The thing is, every time we’re together there’s all this crazy …” Unable to come up with a solid description, I made wordless circles with my hands. I guess I could’ve told her we almost made the circuits blow at the Phone Company, but figured I should probably keep that to myself. “I feel this … pull toward him.”

And it scares the bejeezus out of me.

“Em, that’s a big deal for you,” Lily said softly. She knew how hard it was for me to relate to people sometimes. “If there’s really a connection there, don’t you think Thomas would understand, make an exception?”

“I don’t know if it’s mutual. Besides, I think Michael agrees with Thomas. He’s the one who told me about the no-mixing business-with-pleasure rule.”

“Michael,” Lily said in a sultry voice before she giggled. “Nice name. You could always go all Romeo and Juliet if you had to. Keep your love a secret.”

“Yeah, because that worked out so well. There’s no love there, Lily.” And for me there probably never would be. No matter how much Dru protested, I didn’t think I had anything to offer.

“Abi’s back. Let’s go talk to her. I bet you won’t even have to fill out an app.”

“I don’t see her.” I craned my neck to look toward the kitchen door. She walked in two seconds later. I looked back at Lily. “Okay.”

She laughed uncomfortably and pushed herself out of her chair, but stopped in her tracks when I called out to her.

“Lily?” She turned back to face me. I gestured to the chair. “Help?”