End of Story(63)

“I bet she would have had something good to say.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She would definitely have advice for handling the current drama happening in my life. I know she always said to ask if Oprah would approve of the choices I’m making. But that’s not much use when I can’t decide what to do about him. And I have no idea what Dolly Parton would do about any of my relationship woes. Apart from write a song maybe.”

“It would make for a really cool song, too.”

“Oh, it would be great. In Dolly’s hands, finding the divorce certificate would seem all poetical. You know, symbolical of stuff.” I sighed as the ceiling drifted in lazy drunken circles above my head. “That’s about it. Did you want to add anything?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

A soft tapping came from the back of the house. We both gasped and turned in its direction, but nada, nothing. No floating specter. Not even one of those little orbs of light. Kat gave us a disgruntled look before going back to sleep.

Cleo swallowed. “Probably just the wind blowing a branch against the side of the house or...you know. It’s an old building. It could be anything.”

“Maybe what we need is the right equipment,” I said, picking up my cell.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking Etsy for ghost-hunting stuff.”

“Because that makes sense.”

“When in doubt, accessorize.”

Cleo snorted.

“Well, we’ve already tried a psychic, psychometry reading, and tarot cards. There’s obviously something we’re missing. Because weird shit has happened in this house. As evidenced by the divorce certificate.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the certificate was meant to be your aunt’s last words?”

I thought it over. Not that my brain was particularly functioning well, soaked in alcohol. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Aunt Susan sending you hints about your future from the other side.”

We both pondered the idea for a moment. Then Cleo said, “You should also tell them what your current issues are. Just to be clear.”

“Them being the ghosts? You think there’s more than one listening?”

She shrugged. “I’m not convinced any are. But we should at least attempt to be thorough.”

“Right. Okay.” I took a deep breath. “My problem is Lars.”

The room sat in silence.

“Yes, but what about him exactly is a problem?” asked Cleo, eventually.

“Well...he exists.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Cleo laughed. “I mean, you’ve always been dubious about love. We have that in common. But never to this degree.”

“You see how you feel when the universe tells you not only who you should marry, but that the marriage is going to be a bust. Making you question why you would ever even go there in the first damn place.”

She sighed. “Spirits, if you have any advice for my lovelorn friend here, please speak or moan or whatever. We’re listening.”

Nothing.

A car drove by.

More nothing.

Followed by a banging on the front door. Cleo and I both screeched.

Which was when Tore wandered in all calm-like. “Why are you sprawled drunkenly on the floor?”

“Holy shit,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my galloping heart. “Sprawled sounds ungainly.”

Lars followed his brother in and gave me a chin tip. Such a dude thing to do.

“We’re classier than that,” added Cleo. “More refined.”

“What word would you use then?” asked Tore. “And why were you screaming?”

Cleo sniffed. “I haven’t even decided if I’m ready to talk to you yet. Let alone if I’m prepared to explain my current inebriated behavior.”

Tore frowned. “I said I was sorry.”

“Susie, dismiss the spirits, please,” said Cleo.

Lars’s brows went up, but he said nothing.

“Thank you for your time, spirits and anything spirit adjacent. You can go now. And you should. Please. Bye.”

Cleo turned her attention back to her boyfriend. “Come here, you.”

Tore smiled and lay down beside her. They started talking in whispers. Soon her arm was slung over his shoulders, fingers toying with his hair.

“You left me on Read,” I said in an unhappy tone.

Lars scratched at his stubble. “There was a lot going on. I didn’t have time to text you back, sorry.”

“Was everything okay with your bestie?”

“He’d drunk half a bottle of bourbon by the time I got there. I put him to bed in the recovery position with some water, ibuprofen, and a bucket in case he pukes.”

I nodded.

Cleo and Tore had progressed to making out. Guess their fight was over.

Lars offered me his hand. Despite the gallantry, I did most of the lifting of my drunken ass off the floor. His body was still healing.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, pulling me toward the bedroom for some privacy. Both for us, and the couple on the floor. Kat followed, winding herself around his legs.

I sighed. “No.”

“Miss Lillian called,” he said. “I talked to her the night of your party about her place down the street and she finally got back to me. Decided she wants to sell. That’s where Tore and I have been for the last couple of hours, checking it out and settling on a price.”