Page 56 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
I plopped down on the stool next to Dad, snatched his scotch, and tossed it to the back of my throat. I coughed at the harsh burn of the liquor.
"Prudence and I always had a close relationship after what happened with you. She didn't have any other family, so she left the house to me. She would've been so happy to know you were using it. God, I wish I'd had the guts to introduce you while she was still alive. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew if I did, I'd have to explain, and it kills me to admit the truth. It kills me." His shoulders bobbed with the rhythm of his sobbing.
Now, I considered blabbing to my dad that Prudence had never left this house. I really did. I opened my mouth several times to broach the subject. But I didn't. I told myself it was because he'd never believe me, but it was bigger than that. I didn't tell because my ghosts were my secret. As crazy as it sounds, some deep-set instinct kept me from sharing Prudence's ghostly presence.
Instead, I patted him on the back. "Dad, I can't say I'm not totally floored right now. But I'm a nurse, okay? I see what the death of a loved one does to people. I can't really say I understand, not personally, because I've never been through it. I guess what I'm trying to say is... the important thing is... You came back for me. I mean, you were a good dad to me when it counted. I don't even remember those first weeks."
He buried his face in his hands. I noticed his glass was empty again.
"I forgive you, Dad. Okay? I forgive you."
The hug he gave me made me cry. It was so desperate. My chest hurt to think he'd been carrying this secret and the resulting guilt around for so many years.
"You're a good kid, Grateful. A really good kid." Dad pulled himself together, smoothing his suit coat down and wiping under his eyes. "I should go." Standing, his realtor self snapped back on his frame like a Lego part. He ran a hand through his hair and gave me one last hug.
His hand was on the doorknob when I remembered there was more I needed to ask him. "Hey, do you know if more keys came with this place? I can't get the attic door open."
His mouth tightened, and his eyebrows knitted together. "I know for certain there are no other keys. I'm careful about labeling everything. Who knows where Prudence kept it? Go ahead and call a locksmith if you want. I'll pay for it. Going to need it if I sell the place someday anyway."
"Okay."
He left, looking as fresh as when he'd come, like he'd never had a major heart-to-heart with his only daughter. That was my dad.
I watched him pull out of my drive, thinking about what Logan had said. After he'd told Prudence I was Robert Knight's daughter, the baby she'd cared for twenty-two years ago, he'd said she remembered me. The ghost in my attic knew me. She'd helped deliver me.
Unfortunately, I still didn't understand what any of this had to do with Rick, or why Logan was being so secretive about why he was in my attic. In fact, I was more confused than ever.
* * * * *
"Prudence was the nurse who delivered me. What does it mean, Logan?"
Logan sat across from me at the dining room table, watching me eat a late dinner he'd prepared. It was some sort of chicken dish that melted in my mouth and tasted of butter and fresh herbs. He'd insisted, and I couldn't refuse.
"I told you, I can't say," he muttered.
"Can you ask Prudence to talk to me?"
He hesitated, looked away. "Sure. I'll ask"
I rolled another delicious bite around in my mouth, amazed a ghost had prepared it. "Don't you remember anything about your life at all?" I asked.
"I see bits and pieces sometimes. I know things about eating. Like how to cook and what wine goes with what dessert. I think I liked motorcycles. Everything...all my memories are loose inside my head. I can't connect them logically."
Part of me could relate. Some days I didn't know who I was either. The arc of my life just seemed to happen with no driving force behind it, as if I were going along with a script rather than meeting it head on. Part of it I could blame on being in my early twenties, but the rest was all me.
"In an odd way, I can empathize," I said. "I may know my name, but sometimes I wonder if I will ever understand who I really am." The words surprised me as they poured out of my mouth. What was it about Logan that made me share the most intimate details of my life with him?
"I have a vague sense that I was lonely when I was alive. There's a hollowness at the center of me. I don't remember what my life was like, but something about me seems disconnected. It's hard to explain."
I rubbed a circle over my sternum with my palm. I could relate to that too. "Gary did that to me. Maybe you had a similar situation before you, um, died."
Logan's despondent eyes fixated on his interlaced fingers. "I wish I remembered."
"I wish I could forget."
Glowing green eyes met mine. Logan and I had a moment of connection, a communion of thoughts that conveyed a mutual desire to comfort, although no words were said. I reached forward to place my hand over his, and my flesh sank through him. A tingling pressure eased over my skin until my palm hit the table.
"Oh. Sorry." I retracted my fingers.
