they won’t hurt you. I know this because…” Courage. Take courage. “Because my mom is one of the ghosts. She’s watching over us, and I promise she’d never let anyone or anything hurt us, ever.”
Lucy’s expressions softens, like she believes me, and the relief inside me is akin to joy.
“Can I tell you another secret? I mean, some of it’s a secret, but not.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to do this English project that’s going to prove to the world that ghosts exist. I’m doing it for my dad. He doesn’t see the ghosts, and I think it’s because his mind isn’t open to believing so I figure if I do my project on ghosts and prove to him that they’re real, he’ll see the ghosts, too.”
“Can we show Sawyer your project when you’re done?” Lucy asks. “I want him to believe, too.”
“Sure. The more who believe, the merrier.”
SAWYER
Thursday Jan. 3: Weight 119 Diary dear, I met a new fellow this morning, a friend of Sue’s from Amsterdam. He’s real nice looking … Oh dear, I want a letter from Jack. I certainly did miss him tonight. I’ve gained three pounds this week. Hope it keeps up. I sure have the blues tonight.
Mom collapses onto her mattress in the middle of her bedroom, and I lay a sheet over her. I only had time to put Lucy’s bed frame together today. Mom’s frame is first thing on the list tomorrow after she wakes. I place a towel near her head and one on the floor in case she’s not done barfing then close her door behind me.
In the living room, our furniture is haphazardly placed in the middle and the mountains of boxes line the walls. With the lights on, the eerie sensation from earlier is gone, and I shake my head at myself for being whipped into a frenzy. I need more sleep, and so does Lucy. It’ll help when we don’t live in a two-hundred-year-old house, but we’re months away from that reprieve.
I leave our apartment, climb the stairs and hesitate at the old wooden door. The muscles in my back tense with how terrible the last twenty-four hours have been and the torture isn’t done yet. Two quick raps on the door and I hear footsteps on the other side.
The beep of buttons being pushed, a chain rattling as if it’s being undone, a dead bolt being pulled, and then the knob rattles as I’m assuming that’s also being unlocked, then the door only opens a crack.
And there’s the pissed-off blue eyes I remember from earlier today. “Yes?”
Yes? Like it’s a question as to why I knocked. “I’m here for Lucy.”
The door squeaks as Veronica opens it wider. She watches me like she’s a hawk and I’m a field mouse as I walk in. A fast survey of the room and I’m quick to jealousy. This place is a hundred times better than the dump downstairs. The walls are a sky blue, the trim a bright white, and the lighting from this century.
The entire floor is open. The kitchen is to the right of the door. Before me is a couch, a recliner, and a small flat-screen TV is mounted to the wall. To the left is a semicircular window seat in the turret along with an office area filled with a desk, a computer, bookshelves, filing cabinets and a piano.
On the couch is a sprawled-out lump covered with a blue velvet blanket. That lump is my sister, and she looks completely at peace with her eyes closed and little chest moving up and down in even breaths.
Veronica leans back against the counter in the kitchen and watches me. She’s in cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt that has Mickey Mouse on it. Her arms are crossed, and she’s definitely not impressed with me.
“You should have left the chain on before you opened the door all the way to check who was knocking.”
Veronica points one finger, and I follow to see a small television on the kitchen counter. The image is separated out into several shots, and one of the pictures is of the steps at her door.
Okay then. They have a security system. A fancy one at that. That’s smart and makes me uneasy. Guess she’ll have a nice view of our dysfunction for the next couple of months.
“Thanks for taking care of my sister.” The sincerity is real, and the suck part is, I feel like I should be able to say more to Veronica, but I don’t