Lessons from a Dead Girl(6)

“Why don’t you want to be alone with him?” I ask.

“I just don’t. Don’t ask. Just promise.”

“OK,” I say. “I promise.”

“Want to hear a scary story?” Leah pulls the small book of ghost stories she bought at the library book sale out from under a hay bale we use as a table when we have picnics up here.

“No,” I say. I don’t tell her, but the last time she read me a story from that book, I spent the night in my sister’s room, even though I knew she’d tell me I was a baby the next morning, which she did.

“Scared?”

“No.”

“I think you are.” She grins that sneaky grin of hers and opens the book to a spot she’s dog-eared. She clears her throat and starts to read the same story that gave me nightmares.

“Don’t,” I say. “I know it already. It’s boring.”

“You’re scared.”

“I just don’t want to hear it again.”

“Do you think it really happened?” She moves closer to me. “Do you think it’s true, Lainey?”

Leah’s always asking me if I think something’s true or not. I think she’s just trying to get me to say yes so she can tease me.

“It could be true, you know,” she says quietly. “There are a lot of psychos out there.”

“Yeah, but not around here,” I say, squeezing my knees to my chest.

“Sure there are. What makes you think here is so special? There are crazy people everywhere. Where you least expect them. You’d be surprised.”

Goose bumps poke up on my arms. She turns away from me.

A car horn and the sound of wheels crunching up the Greenes’ long, stone-covered driveway save me.

Leah jumps off the dusty bale of hay she’s been sitting on and stands at the window. I stand beside her and peek out to see Sam stepping from his black Jaguar.

We watch him climb out of the car and stretch. He’s wearing a pair of new-looking jeans and a sports jacket. His thin, sandy hair is brushed across the top of his head.

Sam is Mr. Greene’s best friend from college. He comes to visit about once a month. The Greenes think he’s a god or something, though seeing him now, I have no idea why. I’ve never actually met him because usually I’m not invited over when he comes. But today Leah begged to let me stay.

“I better go,” Leah says. She heads for the ladder without waiting for me. She’s out of the barn before I reach the bottom rung.

“Wait for me!” I call. How am I supposed to not leave her alone if I can’t even keep up? I watch from the doorway of the barn as Leah reaches Sam and stops a few feet away. At the same time, Brooke comes running out of the house, then Mrs. Greene steps onto the porch and waves.

Sam stands next to his Jaguar and smiles at them all. He walks closer to Leah and says something, then wraps her up in his arms. She turns her head in my direction, as if to make sure I’m coming. Sam says something to Brooke that I don’t hear. She walks around in front of him, wiggling her hips.

I move toward them, conscious of my unwashed hair, grimy jeans, and dirty fingernails.

I’m not surprised when Sam doesn’t notice me.

“That’s my girl,” he says to Brooke when she stops strutting.

“I’m fifteen, Sam. I’m not a girl anymore.”

His eyes trace her body. “You’ll always be my special girls,” he says sweetly.

Brooke smirks at him, and he lets go of Leah to hug her.

“Who’s this?” he asks when he finally notices me lurking off to the side.

“That’s my best friend, Laine,” Leah says, stepping between us. “Didn’t Mom tell you she’d be here?”

“Right! Of course! Any friend of Leah’s is a friend of mine,” he says, reaching out his hand to shake. It’s warm and clammy. Luckily he lets go quickly.

At dinner that night, Sam brings out gifts for Brooke and Leah. Brooke’s is a bottle of perfume with a pink shell for a cap. She puts a dab behind each ear and walks around the table so everyone can sniff. I think it smells like my old great-aunts, but I pretend it smells nice.

Leah’s gift is the softest sweater I’ve ever touched. It’s pale pink with little pearl buttons. When she puts it on, her blond hair looks almost pink, too. Like Brooke, she walks around the table, letting everyone touch her sleeve. The sweater is much nicer than the little glass figurines, purses, earrings, and things Leah has shown me from Sam’s other visits. I wonder what makes this visit so special.

Out of the blue, Sam steps out of the room and comes back with a gift for me, too. I can tell Leah and Brooke aren’t expecting it by the way their eyes narrow. I catch them exchange a look, but I can’t tell what it means.

I touch the smooth wrapping paper and turn the gift around in my hands. The ribbon is real, not like the plastic curling ribbon my mother uses. But the edges of the paper are worn and faded, as if Sam has a bunch of wrapped-up gifts lying around in case he runs into someone he needs to give a present to.

“Well, Lainey, it isn’t going to unwrap itself!” Mrs. Greene says, taking another sip of her wine.

I carefully untie the ribbon. Inside the box there’s an oval-shaped wooden doll, hand-painted in bright colors: red, green, yellow, blue. I touch the paint, the tiny lines that decorate the doll’s body. I move my finger over the seam in the doll’s middle.