Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(13)

“Zoë, I don’t even do that for my boyfriend. Your big fat fluffball of a cat is going to have to deal with his hypertension on his own.”

Five

Darcy’s tense voice filtered through the answering machine as she left a message at nine in the morning. Hearing it, Alex dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and staggered toward the kitchen.

“… don’t know if you’ve found another place to live yet,” Darcy was saying, “but time’s running out. I’m going to start showing the house next week, so you have to be out of there. I want it sold by Labor Day. If you want to buy it from me, you can talk to the Realtor—”

“I’m not going to pay for the same damn house twice,” Alex muttered, ignoring the rest of the message. He pressed a button on the automatic espresso machine and waited for it to heat. Through slitted eyes, he saw the ghost standing at the kitchen island with his forearms braced on the granite counter.

The ghost met his gaze. “Hiya.”

Alex didn’t reply.

Last night, he had turned on the TV and sat on the sofa with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The ghost had sat in a nearby chair, asking sardonically, “You’re not bothering with a glass now?”

Lifting the bottle to his lips, Alex had ignored him and kept his gaze glued on the television screen. The ghost had fallen obligingly silent … but he had stayed until Alex had passed out.

And this morning he was still here.

Seeing that the espresso machine was ready, Alex pressed the start button. The metallic squall of the automatic grinder filled the air. The machine clicked, clacked, pumped out a double shot of espresso, and emptied the grounds into a hidden plastic receptacle. Alex drank the coffee straight and set the empty cup in the sink.

He turned to face the ghost with grim resignation. It was pointless to keep ignoring him, since he didn’t appear to be going anywhere. And in that weird secondhand way, Alex could sense the ghost’s mood, the weary patience of a man who’d been alone for a long time. Although Alex had never been accused of having an excess of compassion, he couldn’t help feeling a flicker of sympathy.

“You got a name?” Alex eventually asked.

“I did, once. But I can’t remember it.”

“What’s with the flight jacket?”

“I don’t know,” the ghost said. “Are there squadron patches on it? A name tag?”

Alex shook his head. “Looks like an old A-2 with cargo pockets. You can’t see it?”

“I’m visible only to you.”

“Lucky me.” Alex viewed him dourly. “Listen … I can’t function with you following me everywhere. So you need to get invisible again.”

“I don’t want to be invisible. I want to be free.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Maybe if you help me figure out who I am … who I was … it might show me a way out. I might be able to break away from you then.”

“ ‘Maybe’ and ‘might’ aren’t good enough.”

“It’s all I’ve got.” The ghost began to pace in abbreviated strides. “Sometimes I remember things. Bits and pieces of my life.” He stopped at the kitchen window to stare out at the beckoning blue flat of Roche Harbor. “When I first … had awareness, I guess you’d say … I was in the house at Rain-shadow. I think in my former life I had a connection to that place. There’s still a lot of old junk there, especially in the attic. It may be worth poking around for clues.”

“Why haven’t you done it?”

“Because I’d need a physical form to do that,” the ghost said, every word drenched in sarcasm. “I can’t open a door or move a piece of furniture. I don’t have ‘powers.’ “ He accompanied the word with a mystical waggling of all his fingers. “All I can do is watch while other people screw up their lives.” He paused. “You’re going to have to clear all that crap out of the attic eventually, anyway.”

“Sam will. It’s his house.”

“I can’t talk to Sam. And he might miss something important. I need you to do it.”

“I’m not your cleaning lady.” Alex left the kitchen, and the ghost followed. “There’s enough stuff in that attic to fill a ten-yard Dumpster,” Alex continued. “It would take me days to go through it alone. Maybe weeks.”

“But you will?” the ghost asked eagerly.

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I’m going to take a shower.” Alex stopped and shot him a glare. “And while I’m in there, stay the hell away from me.”

“Relax,” the ghost said acidly. “Not interested.”

By the beginning of third grade, Zoë’s father had told her that he was getting a new job in Arizona, and she would have to live with her grandmother until he sent for her. “I just have to get the house ready for you,” he had said. “What color do you want me to paint your room?”

“Blue,” Zoë had said eagerly. “Like a robin’s egg. Oh, and Daddy, can I get a kitten when I move to our new house?”

“Sure you can. As long as you take care of it.”

“Oh, I will! Thank you, Daddy.” For months Zoë had painted pictures of what her new room and her new kitten would look like, and had told all her friends she was going to live in Arizona.