Page 34 of Haunted

I go back to my room and snap a photo of the dark, quiet street and send it to the group chat. Then I draw the curtains so the morning light won’t hit me like a searchlight in a few hours, brush my teeth, lie down, and close my eyes.

When sleep finally comes, I dream, once again, of fire.

Chapter thirteen

Lance

It’s a little after three on Sunday afternoon and my mother is on the phone from the Farmers’ Market, telling me that Shelley Bishop lives across the street from me. She is also, at the same time, trying to remind my skeptical father of That One Time He Liked Butternut Squash.

“Which apartment?” I ask.

“Twelve. Second floor.”

I look out the window at the façade of her building. It’s a big brick one with wide windows. I remember that Parker lived on this street nine years ago. But I never pinpointed exactly where he lived. Which is good, because if I had, I’d have spent nine years knowing exactly which window.

“Wear a decent shirt,” she says. “We were at your cousin’s house and you distinctly said that the butternut soup was good.”

For a second I wonder if she’s talking to me.

“Jackie, I do not remember that,” I hear Dad insist in the background.

“I’ll let you go,” I say before Mom can get me to testify to the veracity of this memory.

The box is heavier than it looks and the bottom’s gone soft with age. By the time the elevator door opens on the first floor my good shirt looks like I’ve been sent to a coal mine. I jaywalk across Flint Street and the aging cardboard shifts so much that I stop trusting the bottom. I am still trying to juggle the box and press the buzzer when someone takes pity on me and holds the door open. I back in, still trying to prevent the box from disintegrating onto the lobby tiles.

“Thanks,” I say as I shoulder my way in. I get the fleeting impression of a man in a hoodie with a map open on his phone before I take the stairs up to the second floor. By the time I hit the landing, I have serious opinions about this box. The only way I can free my hand to knock on her door is by wedging the box against the wall with my body.

Shelley Bishop opens the door with reading glasses pushed up in her hair and a pen behind her ear. It takes her a second and a half.

“Lance?” she asks.

“Ma’am. Hi.”

She looks at me, and I watch her place me. I open my mouth to tell her about Parker’s box, but then I look into the apartment and I don’t see him. I don’t know why I thought I would, but somehow, I was just sure I’d catch him here, and he’d smile and look amazed to see me. And now that he’s not, I just can’t give her the box.

“My mom said I should stop by because we’re neighbors now. And…” I’m not sure how to finish this sentence. She’s looking at the box. She’ll ask about it any second and I don’t know what to tell her. “She thought that I should just let you know where I am in case you need someone to move boxes or open a jar or…”

Her eyebrows go up. “So, in other words, a single woman of a certain age needs a younger man to open the jars of pickles,” she says in a dry tone.

Shit. “No. I did not mean that.”

She waves her hand and cracks a broad smile. “I’m pulling your leg. It’s sweet of you to come by. Come in. Put that down anywhere. Do you want coffee? I’ve got coffee. It might be from this morning.”

“Coffee’s fine.”

The apartment’s crowded with stuff: a multi-armed Indian bronze goddess, a pastoral painting in an oversized gold frame, a china hutch that belonged to somebody’s grandmother. The front door opens onto the dining area. I set the box down by the door where it isn’t in the way.

“Sit,” she says. “You’ve filled out nicely. Was that the Marines or was that just always going to happen?”

“Bit of both, ma’am”

“Your mother says you’re back for good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer.

“She’s very proud of you.” She pours the coffee and glances at the box. “What’s that for? Are you bringing me something?”

I glance at it. This is my chance to come clean. And I can’t. “Not really,” I say, thinking fast. “I live up on the fifth floor across the way. It’s a studio and there’s not much room so I am kind of downsizing. Donating away some things that are eating up space.”