my question. “Willow? Are you still here?”
The seconds are slow as they pass without action. But then the keys begin to press down, and I breathe a sigh of relief as she types something out.
Sorry. I’m here now. I left the room when Layla got down here. It feels weird watching the two of you without your permission, so I don’t.
“Where do you go when you leave the room?”
I was in the Grand Room.
“Do you ever go upstairs?”
Sometimes. Not when you’re both up there, though.
That’s not entirely accurate. “You were upstairs the night you slipped into her and got out of bed to look in the mirror.”
I thought you were both asleep. I try not to spy on you when you’re together. It feels wrong. But I have weaknesses . . . like when I smell the food you’re eating.
“But you spy on us when we’re alone?”
Spy is a strong term. I’m curious. Lonely. So yes, sometimes I watch you live your lives. There’s nothing else to do around here.
“What will you do when we leave next week?”
Sulk. Maybe try to beat my eight-day record of staring at the clock.
I don’t laugh at her self-deprecating joke. The thought of her being completely alone makes me feel bad for her. It’s weird—feeling sorry for a ghost. A spirit. Whatever she is.
I wonder what happened in my childhood that makes me take on so much guilt, even when I’m not responsible for whatever is wrong. I take on the weight of Layla’s sorrows. Now I’m taking on the weight of Willow’s.
Maybe I should buy this house. I know Layla wouldn’t want to live here full-time, but we could come here for vacations. That way Willow wouldn’t always be alone.
“We’re leaving soon, but we’ll be back this evening.”
Where are you going?
I guess she really wasn’t in here for Layla’s and my conversation. I find it humorous that a ghost has morals in the same way humans do. She doesn’t want to be intrusive, even though we wouldn’t be aware of her presence.
“Layla wants tacos. And I’m sure she’ll want to shop while we’re in town. We’ll be gone all afternoon.”
Tacos sound so good.
“Want me to bring you some?”
It’s a nice gesture, but I think you forget that I can’t eat.
“You could tonight. After Layla goes to sleep.” There’s a moment of stillness before she begins typing again.
You’re okay with me using Layla again?
I shouldn’t be okay with it, but it doesn’t seem to be harming Layla in any way. If anything, she’s getting some much-needed calories from it. “Sure. Tacos are important. You want beef or chicken?”
Surprise me.
I close the laptop and head upstairs, skipping every other step. I’m looking forward to spending the day with Layla. But I think I’m looking more forward to talking to Willow again tonight.
There’s definitely some deceit going on here—I’m fully aware of that. But it’s hard to know where to draw the line when the lines aren’t even in the same world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There were more options in Nebraska than anywhere within an hour of Lebanon, Kansas, so we crossed the state line and went to a city called Hastings.
I was starving by the time we got there, but Layla wanted to shop first, so we went to a few boutiques before going to the restaurant. It was a smart choice on her part, because she had four margaritas with just one taco, so she was barely able to stand without assistance by the end of dinner.
She wasn’t too drunk not to question why I wanted to order tacos to go. I told her it was because she didn’t eat enough at dinner, so I wanted to take food home in case she got hungry later.
When I said that, she smiled and leaned across the table to kiss me but knocked over one of her margarita glasses. It went crashing to the floor, and she was so embarrassed she was apologizing to everyone in the restaurant while they cleaned up her mess. She even apologized to the glass she broke. That’s when I knew she’d exceeded her limit.
It was only an hour’s drive back, but Layla had to stop twice to pee because of all the margaritas. I kept talking to her in an attempt to keep her awake. It was still fairly early in the evening on our drive back to Lebanon, so I didn’t want her sleeping in the car and then staying up late.
I felt a twinge of guilt for that—being excited for her