“I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. I really don’t. All I ask is that you not repeat what I’ve told you to anyone else.”
“And if I do believe you?”
He looked at her in surprise. “You believe me?” he said, and seemed unable to say more.
“Yes, I believe you, Tyler Hawthorne.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand, and said, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”
The ghosts started to move closer, and Shade growled.
“Shade!” Tyler said, letting go of her hand. “What’s gotten into you?”
The ghosts retreated. She found herself feeling angry with them-not for the first time. She was determined not to let them interfere in what was happening here, whatever it was, between her and Tyler.
“How long have you been alone?” she asked.
He smiled. “As for being alone, I’m not, really. Shade has been with me from the start, and he’s an excellent companion. And the dying are invariably willing to befriend me.”
“I can understand why. Let me make sure I understand. For a short time, a few minutes, really, the dying are completely open to you, and tell you their secrets.”
“Yes.”
“And then you have to say good-bye to them.”
“They are always happiest right at that moment. It’s as if they gladly surrender to whatever draws them away. At that point, I don’t think they really notice my being there-or anyone else’s presence-as they leave.”
“But you don’t ever get to leave.”
“No.”
“Hmm. And while I am sure Shade is a great comfort to you-”
“More than you can imagine.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But-does he talk to you?”
“Not in words, no. But he’s excellent at conveying meaning.”
Shade wagged his tail, but he kept his eyes on the ghosts.
“And you befriend a few people, like Ron. Like me.”
“That doesn’t happen very often,” he said.
“I can understand why. You’ve got all these secrets, both your own and those of the dying, and you can’t afford to have someone discover what I learned out in the desert.”
“That’s part of it.”
“So if you befriend someone who isn’t dying, you have someone to talk to for a period of time-without really being able to tell them your own story, of course. And then what?”
“After a few years, I move.”
“Because otherwise people start to wonder why you aren’t aging the way they are.”
“You begin to understand why Los Angeles appeals to me.”
“I’m sure it won’t take long for people to be begging you for the number of your plastic surgeon.”
He smiled.
“So, when were you born?”
“In 1791.”
“Seventeen ninety-one!”
He shrugged.
“Oh. Really?”
“Really.”
“Seventeen ninety-one-A.D.?”
That surprised laughter from him. “Not, I will admit, the question I expected at this point. Yes, 1791 A.D.”
She waved this off. “I can’t help how my mind works. So what happened to you? When you were twenty-four, I mean. That would have been-1815?”
“Yes.”
“Were you here then, in Los Angeles?”
“No, I was in Europe. I was born in England, but at seventeen I joined the army and spent several years fighting on the Continent. I made a brief trip home, but in 1815 I was back and fighting in Belgium.”
“With the British army?”
“Yes.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “What can I say? Having spent roughly two centuries in the U.S., I’ve lost my accent.”
She didn’t let that sidetrack her. “The British army in 1815-you were fighting Napoleon?”
“Yes. Boney, we called him. Have you studied history?”
“I like it, but I haven’t taken more than basic classes,” she admitted. “Sorry. Does that bother you?”
“No, not really.”
There was a soft knocking at one of the doors leading from the hallway. Amanda saw the ghosts vanish as he called, “Yes?”
Ron came in. “Hi! Alex told me you were in here. Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” Tyler said. “How are you this evening?”
“Better, although I wish I had more energy. My sleeping schedule is so crazy. I haven’t been awake much today, and now I’ll probably be up all night. What time is it? Almost eleven-thirty? What did you two do today?”
“We went to the hospice,” Amanda said, then looked to Tyler.
“I’ll let you tell Ron whatever you want to about today. As for me, I need to take Shade out for a bit.”
“Whatever I-”
“Yes, anything,” Tyler said, standing. He turned to Ron and added, “We have another houseguest-Amanda’s cousin Brad.”
“Brad! No wonder you looked so shaken up when I came in here, Amanda. Brad! Of all the-”
“He’s been badly injured,” Tyler said quickly.
“Oh! Oh…I’m sorry.” Ron looked at Amanda in confusion. “I thought he was with Rudebecca.”
“One of these days,” Amanda said, “you are going to call one of the other Rebeccas we know by that name.”
“Not a chance. I like Rebecca Davis,” he said, naming a friend who now lived on the East Coast. “I like Rebecca Johnson. Those are wonderful Rebeccas. Nice people. The Trainwrecka, though-”
“I hate to interrupt this fascinating recital,” Tyler said, “but I need to get going.”
“Maybe we could talk more, when you get back?” she said. “If you aren’t too tired.”
“Of course. And don’t hesitate to call if you need me. You still have the cell phone number?”
“Yes-but-you aren’t just walking him here, around the grounds?”
“Sorry, no. He has a few favorite places to roam, so I’ll be taking the car. But I’ll be only a few minutes away. And Alex and her crew will be here to protect you while I’m gone.”
23
Tyler went to his room, found the slender packet of handwritten sheets, and ran his fingers over the paper, so unlike the paper of these times. The words were inscribed in his best copperplate, written with neatness and care-once she became accustomed to the style of the hand, she should be able to decipher it. He wondered if the day was coming when no one would be able to write without the aid of a keyboard.
If so, he’d be around to see it, wouldn’t he?
He shuddered.
He took the sheaf into her room, a guest room. She had not had time to make any personal impression here, hardly time to do more than unpack.
He began to set the papers on the desk, then halted and turned to the bed. Ignoring all the warnings in his mind that this was trespass, and his fear that she would see this as an insult, he pulled the light comforter aside and set the papers on the soft sheets below, near but not quite on her pillow, then left the room.
“I don’t know what she’ll make of it, Shade,” he said later, as they walked together through the cemetery. He paused and stared out over the tombstones. “I hardly know what to make of all of this either. Courtship, at my age? A little ridiculous, isn’t it?”
The dog stopped and stared back at him, then butted his head against him. From long experience, Tyler knew this to be a gesture of comfort. He reached to stroke the dog’s soft, tufted ears. “Thank you. I’ve often wondered if you long for the company of another dog, but you’ve never seemed more than mildly interested in other canines.” He paused. “And I don’t know where to find another cemetery dog for you. Should I try again to find someone else who does what I do? The closest I’ve come is Colby.”
Shade walked on. He always seemed disapproving or indifferent to any mention of Colby. Tyler could hardly blame him.
“Colby once told me there are no others, but he’s never felt compelled to be truthful. I feel strongly that there must be others, and yet whenever we’ve traveled-not the smallest bit of success, was there? Perhaps I’ve kidded myself, hoping we’d at least be able to meet an animal who could provide better companionship for you than I do.”