beneath peeked through. Shiny red paint gleamed in contrast to the dark colorless space around it.
“What is this?” Michael asked, reaching toward one of the shiny patches as Daniel practically bounced in excitement.
“Let’s find out,” I suggested.
Together, we slid the old tarp off the car.
“A Corvette!” he practically screamed when the car beneath was revealed.
There, sitting in the middle of the ancient garage, a gorgeous older model sports car. I would never have identified it on my own, but evidently Daniel knew his vintage ‘vettes.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice suddenly reverent. “Dad, it’s a 1958 Roadster.”
“Language,” Michael said, but his tone was so distracted by the bright red car in front of us that I was surprised he’d managed to remember his parental duties at all.
“This is amazing,” I said. It was swoopy and cool, and I suddenly understood why the contractor had looked at me like I was crazy when I’d told him not to drop a brick on it. This was not what I’d envisioned sitting out in the garage.
“This is amazing,” Daniel said, running a hand gently over the angled fender. “This thing is a collector’s item. Super old.”
Compared to the rest of the house, this was a relatively young antique, but Daniel’s perspective was probably different than mine, considering he was twelve.
“Dad, can we drive it?”
Michael looked unsure. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on!” Daniel sounded very much his age as he prepped himself for a tween-style tantrum.
“Dan,” Michael said, meeting his son’s eyes. “We don’t have the keys, for one thing. And for another, we need to make sure the thing is insured before we take it out. What if something happened? Besides that, we probably need to get it serviced. And maybe appraised.”
“This car is super valuable,” Daniel said, nodding in his sudden agreement.
“And I’m not sure a guy like me should be driving a super valuable car,” Michael said.
“I’ll drive!” Dan volunteered.
“Oh, well, I am definitely sure a guy like you should not be driving a super valuable car.”
Daniel circled the car, and then popped open the door and slid into the driver’s seat, a huge smile taking over his young face as he took the steering wheel. “Oh, Dad.”
Michael stood from where he’d been examining the bumper. “Yeah?”
“The keys are right here.” Daniel pulled them from the ignition and held them up, beaming.
“Great,” Michael said, holding out his hand.
“So as soon as it’s insured, we’ll take it for a drive, right?”
It had taken a lot to get Daniel out of the garage, including promises of insurance and impending rides.
The next few weeks passed quickly, filled with days spent directing contractors, stripping wallpaper, and demolishing the existing kitchen. Michael and I fell into a strangely comforting routine, laced with something that felt like friendship—and a little bit like something more.
Daniel came and went—he stayed in the house for a week at a time, and even Shelly seemed to settle into something that felt less like bucking every little change.
The screams still came—only at night—but in some ways I had begun to accept them as part of the house. I’d gotten used to them, and had settled into sleeping in my own room without feeling terrified. Nothing came with the screams, except the occasional scrabbling sound or a crash of something in the attic falling over again. But if the ghosts in the house limited themselves to screaming and staying in the attic, I decided it was the kind of haunting I could live with. The only really disturbing thing about our ghosts was their tendency to steal.
“Your watch now? Was it expensive?” I stared at Michael across the dining room table. We’d taken to eating take out in the dining room since the kitchen was currently being remodeled.
“I’m a high school graduate who runs a farm supply store. Do you think I was wearing a Rolex?” He smiled at me across the table, his eyes gleaming.
“Well, no, but . . . still.”
“Yeah. I liked that watch.”
“So, let me see if I have the tally so far. The ring, my silver stud earrings, the silver pill container I left in the bathroom, and now your watch?”
“Yes. The ghosts like shiny objects, evidently.”
“So weird.”
“Everything about this house is weird. Maybe the garage most of all.”
“Right?” I said, laughing.
Now, sitting at the table in our increasingly livable haunted house, Michael smiled at me and my heart picked up a quicker rhythm inside my chest. “Yeah, what in the world should we do with that thing?”