I wish Tyler could stay, but he has his own parents to worry about. Hopefully he can keep them from freaking. Hugging me tight, he says, “We’ll figure something out, okay? It’s going be okay.”
I smile and answer, “I hope so,” even though I know he’s wrong. Maybe we’ll figure out how to save you, Holly, but I know in my soul that it’s not going to be okay. It’s going to be hard and dangerous, and I don’t think anything will ever really be okay again.
Tyler and Max head off. LeighAnn stomps around the kitchen. I lie on the sagging couch and pretend to be asleep. The house is sweltering. There’s no air conditioning, just some open windows letting in a weak breeze and cricket song.
Eleven
The door bursts open, and where am I? I yell, groping through unfamiliar shadows.
The light comes on, making me wince. “Jane? Hey.” Ultimate Steve stands under the hard glare.
“Hey.” I’m at Stratofortress’s house, I remember now. I remember everything.
Steve is wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday morning. Sipping an energy drink, he says, “So … what? You crashing here?”
I nod. “Holly’s a ghost. Her soul’s trapped in the river, and I have to stay here until we can free her.”
“Wow, that sucks. It won’t keep you up if I play Xbox, will it?” He’s already down on the floor in front of the TV. I shut my eyes, but machine-gun fire from the game washes over me, keeps making me flinch. I open one eye.
“Didn’t you just drive to South Carolina and back?”
“Yeah.” His face flickers in blue light, then in the bright orange of a tossed grenade.
“So aren’t you going to get some sleep?”
“Nah, had, like, twelve of these things.” He takes another gulp of his energy drink.
I pull the lip of the sleeping bag over my head. My skin is damp and itchy from my wet clothes. Plus I don’t have my Tenex. I’ll never get back to sleep.
Lying hidden, I drift back to the time the youth group planted flowers in the church flower beds. Two springs ago? We were supposed to do it on a Wednesday evening, but bad weather pushed it to Saturday. Mom and me were both scrambling to make sure enough people came, and I couldn’t figure out why you were so mad.
“You were gonna come over here on Saturday.” Your anger crackled over the phone.
“Well, stuff got turned around because of the rain. Sorry.”
“We were gonna make monkey bread.”
“We’ll make it some other time.”
“I wanted to do it Saturday. Please, we haven’t hung out in forever.”
“Well, we’ve got five pallets of impatiens that need to be planted. Why can’t you come and help?”
“I can’t deal with Jonathan. All the youth group guys are just … ”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“They’re just what?” I snapped, getting mad.
“They’re goof-offs, Jane. They’ll work for, like, fifteen minutes, then start goofing off and make you do the rest.” Several seconds of staticky silence passed, then you muttered, “Why do you have to be in charge of every single youth group project, anyway? You’re such a goody-goody.”
“I am not.” My lame response just made me madder at you. “I have to go. Have fun sitting in your house judging everybody.”
“Yeah, whatever.” You hung up, the buzz of the dead line stinging like a wasp. You were angry because I couldn’t bake monkey bread with you. Angry because under the surface, beneath all your sweetness, there was always something desperate, something half-convinced that everybody had already abandoned you.
That’s what came out of the water last night … that frightened, always-hungry shadow of yourself. That can’t be all that’s left of you, Holly. It just can’t.
That morning, we filled the flowerbeds with fresh potting soil before planting. Then we gently teased each impatiens’s root ball loose before setting it into the rain-dampened ground. I love the smell of humus—that old vegetable matter decayed into rich, dark dirt. Planting things, sinking my hands into the cool earth, may be the most calming feeling in the world, the most right feeling in the world.
But that day, I was mad because you were acting like a jerk. I got even madder when the boys started goofing off fifteen minutes in, chasing each other around the community hall.
But I prayed for you, Holly, right there on the sidewalk, clasped hands black with dirt. And when I prayed, I stopped feeling mad, and when I stopped feeling mad, I remembered it was the anniversary of your parents’ death.
“Oh no.” I stood up. “Jonathan! Come here! I need you guys to plant the rest of this row. And that row over there.”
“Okay,” he chuckled. “But Dylan took my—”
“I don’t care! I have to do something, and all these have to get in the ground today.”
“Okay, okay. But how do we—”
“Figure it out.” Stuffing my straw hat on his head, I left. Just turned my back and walked away. That felt good, Holly, I have to admit.
I jogged the two miles to your house. By the time I knocked on the door, I was panting hard. But when you opened it, I managed enough breath to snap, “Why didn’t you tell me what today was?”
“I don’t—did your mom drop you off or something?”
“I was at church and ran.”
“You ran?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, stepping into the delicious air conditioning of your living room. “Where’s your pa-paw?”
“At the studio,” you grumbled. “He always finds something to work on this time of year. He’ll probably put in a hundred hours this week.”
I sighed and asked again, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because it’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not.” I pulled you into a hug. “You’re stupid for not telling me. But this is not stupid.”
Burying your face in my neck, you began to sob. “Part of me just can’t ever remember that they’re dead. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think they’re in the next room. And then I remember, and it’s almost like losing them all over.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I miss Mom and Dad. I miss Me-maw.”
“I know, I know. But I’m always here for you, Holly. All you ever have to do is ask. Okay?”
You sniffled and nodded, then said, “Can’t believe you ran all the way here.”
“Yeah. Oh, I also yelled at Jonathan.”
“Really? Awesome.”
Twelve
The shower turns on. Is it morning already? I lie in my sleeping bag thinking about you, thinking about my promise. Max and Steve talk in the kitchen. I smell black coffee and pick out my name in their conversation. Tyler’s name too.
“See you tonight, Lee-Lee,” Max says.
“Bye, guys. Be careful.”
They walk out. A motor starts and pulls away. Then LeighAnn nudges me. “Hey. Hey, wake up.”
Pulling down the lip of the sleeping bag, I squint at her. She’s wearing a white blouse and maroon skirt. The airplane tattoo on her forearm shows through the thin material of her blouse, but she pulls on a maroon suit jacket that covers it completely. She looks normal now, except for a pair of bangles on her wrist made from old guitar strings.
Flipping her hair out of her collar, LeighAnn asks, “You okay? No … ?” She mimes a flower blooming.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Kicking out of the sleeping bag, I scratch at my bandages.
“I got some clothes for you. If you want to wash what you’ve got on.”
“Thanks.” The denim shorts and well-worn tee smell like cigarettes, but at least they’re dry. The old sneakers are at least a size too big. “How come you’re dressed like that?”