“But there weren’t any treasure maps,” Jackie continued.
“What treasure?” Ashley asked, sinking down into the chair next to the Rev. Breakfast was just about over, so Judy could manage in the kitchen without her for a minute.
“Reverend St. Pierre told us the letters would have a map or something. But we didn’t find a map. Topher said there might be clues if we read them all.”
“A map?” She looked toward Micah.
He shrugged. “Family legend.”
“Family legend?” Her voice cracked.
He nodded as he spooned an inordinate amount of brown sugar into his oatmeal. “Yes. In my family, folks always said that the Howlands didn’t want anyone reading those letters because of the treasure.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Ashley turned toward her son. “And you are not reading any more of those letters.”
“But, Mom.”
“Just because Rose Howland told her father that she felt close to the captain here doesn’t mean she was having conversations with his ghost. It’s just a grown-up expression. His ship went down out in the inlet during the hurricane and his body was never found. So of course she’d feel closer to him here.”
“But, Mom…” Jackie drew the name out into a whine.
She stood up. “I mean it. Find another topic for your project because you’re not doing yours on Rose Howland’s letters.”
* * *
Topher jolted awake to the sound of someone banging on the front door. He pushed up in bed, groping for his cell phone.
It was just shy of seven forty-five in the morning. Damn. He sat there blinking, last night’s troubling conversation with Caleb spooling through his mind.
“Dammit, Topher. I know you’re in there.” A shadow crossed the bedroom window as Ashley’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. Man, she sounded pissed off.
He could pretty much guess why.
He rolled out of bed, his bad leg twinging the moment he put weight on it. He usually spent a good five minutes every morning stretching the useless thing before standing up. But he didn’t think the woman out on the porch could wait that long.
He limped to the door, opened it, and came face-to-face with one pissed-off mother. “What on earth were you thinking, telling Jackie those letters confirmed the existence of a ghost?”
He squinted in the bright morning sunshine, suddenly weary of being wrongly accused of heinous behavior. Was this how Jessica felt?
He pushed the thought away and met Ashley’s stare. “Because the ghost is real?” he said, without a great deal of conviction. But it was kind of fun yanking Ashley’s chain.
“Oh my…I can’t believe it. You’ve been encouraging him?”
“Uh, well…”
She pointed a finger at his naked chest. She was so angry she hadn’t noticed his bed head or the fact that he was standing there in his boxers and nothing else. She was like a wild-eyed mama lion.
And he loved her for that. Because for once she wasn’t trying to baby him or pity him. She’d gone back to bullying him, which she’d done quite effectively when he was little.
He listened to her rant and realized it didn’t have much to do with him. It was mostly about Jackie’s therapy and Adam’s death. Angry tears streamed down her cheeks as she poured out her sorrow and anxiety in a giant wave.
He wanted to give her a hug, but he had a feeling she might run away screaming. So he decided to push her a little more.
“Why are you so dead set against believing there might be a ghost?” He shifted his weight off his bad leg and leaned into the doorframe.
“Because there isn’t one. And encouraging Jackie to believe in a ghost isn’t healthy for him. He’s just doing this to get attention. Not unlike—” She bit off the words.
“Not unlike what?” he asked.
She stood there staring at him. “You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. When you were little. That summer I came to visit and you spent most of your time up in the tree telling everyone you had conversations with the pirate.”
A shadow memory shifted through his mind. He remembered climbing the tree. He remembered pretending to be a pirate up there in the crow’s nest. He remembered conversations.
“Okay. Point taken,” he said on a long breath, ready to give up until he had another thought. “But how do you know that ghosts don’t exist?”
“Because…they don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. And don’t tell me you saw a ghost. I know damn well that you made it all up when you were little. You were