Phantom Summer Page 7

"After the storm of 1900, the island was elevated ten feet. They literally trucked in dirt and raised up everything. The homeowners who could afford it, lifted their houses. The ones that couldn't had the first floor filled with dirt, and the second floor became the first." He taps his foot on the ground. "Under us is the old kitchen. Cool, huh?"

  We venture through the back door and out into the tiny back yard. The entire yard has been fenced in and covered with a wooden patio, chairs, a bar and tiki umbrellas. Raine steps out on the patio and sits on the edge of a hot tub. "The ghost of a servant girl is said to haunt this house. She worked here her entire life, and when she died they buried her in the back yard, as per the usual back in the day. The home owner's ancestors say she haunts the house because it's all she's ever known, having never been allowed to leave and see other parts of the island."

  People snap photos of the elaborate patio and chatter amongst themselves about the beautiful tiles on the bar and the palm tree in a gigantic pot. "Uh--no," I say, walking up to Raine. "I'd say she haunts the place because these assholes have turned her burial ground into a place to get trashed and party." Someone laughs, and I'm encouraged to keep talking. "I'd haunt it too if jerks got drunk and danced on top of my dead body."

  "Hear hear!" someone yells from the back of the crowd. Raine smiles as he shakes his head and lowers it to the ground. "You'll never get it, Taylor."

  Chapter 18

  Back at the original meeting place, Raine is bombarded with fans, just as he alluded to when the tour started. People want to take photos with him, which he humbly accepts, and even a few little kids want his autograph on their ticket stub. He shakes hands, high fives and hugs so many people that I find it hard to believe he's the same guy who is so normal and laid back all the time.

  I lean against a meter pole and people watch. Anna bounces up to me, her sparkly lip-gloss shining in the street lights. "Guess what?"

  "You saw a ghost?" I guess, even though the look on her face is the complete opposite of the typical ghost-seeing expression.

  She clasps her hands together in front of her chest. "Pax asked me to the movies tonight!"

  "But you go to the movies all the time?" I don't get why she's so excited. She grabs both of my hands in hers and squeezes them. I try not to get weirded out by how much this girl touches people. "We always go with Raine, or some other friends. Always. This is just a me and him thing, he made sure to point that out."

  "Aww, Anna," I say, giving in to the touchy-feelyness and hugging her. "That's a date! I'm psyched for you."

  "Thanks!" She looks over my shoulder. "Maybe Raine will ask you on a date too." I follow her gaze and see him kneeling on the sidewalk to pose for a picture with a little girl in pigtails. "I don't know why he would do that."

  She snorts. "Don't tell me you're still denying the attraction between you two."

  I look away from Raine, down the street to my left as if there's something way more fascinating in that direction. "Fine, I just won't say anything."

  Anna and Pax leave, together, and it's adorable and gives me warm fuzzies but now I have no purpose to stand around. I really want to talk to Raine and tell him how amazing his tour guide personality is, or maybe make fun of him for just being a tour guide. Geez, I don't even care what I say, I just want to talk to him. But a round of mini golf and an arm around my shoulder doesn't exactly make us best friends.

  I linger around the large staircase, waiting for the crowd to thin out. A girl wearing a mini skirt and a tank top—way too little for how cold it is tonight—and her equally dressed friend scamper up to Raine. He's taking a photo with a woman's twin sons. As soon as the boys walk away, the first girl practically throws herself into his arms, hugging him with her arms around his neck. Totally inappropriate, and skank-like. The second girl hugs him too. I look away for a second so I don’t have to see it. Not that I care or anything.

  They talk. And talk. And talk. I sit on the steps and watch. Ten minutes go by and they're still talking, enthusiastically at that. My heart sinks a little, but I get over it. Raine and I barely know each other. So what if he didn't make me pay for the tour? I bet those girls didn't have to pay either. I kick a rock on the ground, watch it flip across the broken sidewalk. Someone kicks it back.

  It's a boy, younger than me. He's wearing a wrestling t-shirt. "Do you really work at the museum?" he asks. I nod, trying not to notice the girl brush Raine's hair out of his eyes.

  "You're really brave. I can't even go in that place during the day."

  "That's because you're raised to think it's haunted," I tell him, which makes him look all defensive like I had just called him a baby. "The place isn't haunted. Those creepy statues are the worst part. But there are no ghosts, you can believe me."

  "My grandma said she's seen a ghost there."

  "Old people like to make up stories." I bring my knees up one step so I can rest my chin on them. The boy doesn't say anything else. I watch him walk away and join an elderly couple who had taken a million photos tonight. He says something to them and points back at me. They give me disapproving looks. They probably tell him that I'm an idiot and not to listen to me. But I don't care what they think because I know they're the ones holding on to some strand of hope that their loved ones aren't really gone once they die. That makes them the idiots, not me.

  Raine's still talking to those girls. He has this total cheese ball grin on his face, like he's enjoying himself more right now than he ever has in his whole life. They're laughing and talking and he shoves his hands in his pockets. He is so cute with his hands in his pockets. I bet he knows it too. I bet he does it just to drive them wild.

  My chest begins to hurt. A big lump of depression and emptiness swells just under my sternum. It almost feels like the night Brendan's mom knocked on our door. "There's been an accident," she screamed hysterically. At that moment I didn't know anything other than that. I hadn't yet found out that my best friend was dead. But the second she said it, I got that same lump of pain in my chest. It stayed there for a long time.

  Until right at this moment, I never realized the pain had gone away. But now that it's back, it hurts worse than ever. As I walk in the direction of home, I realize maybe it never did go away. Maybe something had just taken my mind off of it for a while.

  I'm not even half a block away when I hear footsteps jogging up behind me. "Where are you going?"

  I take a deep breath and feel the pain start to wane. It's like magic. "Home, I guess."

  "Can I walk with you?"

  "For a little bit." I wonder if he notices that we've both slowed to a stroll.

  "Where's your truck parked?" It's like he's fishing for things to say now. My cold shoulder has that affect.

  "At home. The battery is dead."

  "I can help you change it out for a new one."

  "Maybe."

  "But you'd have to let me drive it."

  "No deal." I stare at the dark path ahead of us.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Nope," I say. It's awesome that he's being so talkative and inquisitive. But why me? Especially after those girls were being all flirty. Maybe this is the part where he asks me to give him advice on how to get a date with them. Well, probably not. But at this point, I'm out of ideas as to why he still acknowledges that I'm alive. We walk another block in silence.

  "Did you like the tour?"

  "It was amazing," I say, kicking an empty soda bottle on the sidewalk. "You were really theatrical."

  He kicks it back. "Thanks. I'm glad you liked it even though you think it's all crap."

  "Well, you know…" I say, not knowing how to finish the sentence without insulting him.

  He steps on the bottle, crunching it flat. "Are you sure you're okay? You're being all snobby and short with me."

  "The people really liked you," I say, ignoring his question. Back at home I always kept my feelings to myself. Here, it doesn't seem to matter. So what if I tell him what I think. He isn't Brendan. He's just so
me guy.

  "They do," he says suspiciously.

  "I mean, I've never hugged a tour guide like that."

  "Ahh," he goes, shoving those gorgeous hands back into his pockets again. "Yeah they were kind of…friendly."

  "Mmhmm." Now I shove my hands in my pockets.

  "Are you jealous?" he asks, like it's the most amusing thing he's heard all day.

  "Definitely not. I'm just saying, that's why I didn't tell you that I liked the tour." He kicks the can back to me and I crunch it flat with my foot. "You were pretty busy with your adoring fans, so I didn't want to bother you."

  "I can see how that would have looked bad."

  "It's whatever." We turn onto the street before my apartment complex. I don't want him knowing I live in the projects, but I can't figure out how to get rid of him. "It's not much further from here. You can just go left since your house is down that way."

  "I want to see you get home safely." He doesn't say it with a seductive or romantic tone. He says it like it's his responsibility. I wish he would say it all seductive and romantic.

  I stop in front of the apartment entrance. "Well then your job is done, because I'm home." I feel so dirty admitting it.

  "You live alone?" he asks. I guess it's no secret that these are all one bedroom apartments. That makes my confession even more embarrassing. "No, my mom lives here too."

  He nods. "Cool."

  Just wanting to get rid of the awkwardness, I move my hand in a big old lame wave, like something a child on Barney would do. "Well, see ya."

  "Yeah, bye," he says, turning around to walk back to the part of town where people like Mom and I will never live.

  Mom wasn't kidding when she said she could get me a job. "Try these on. I got you a medium since your boobs are kind of big." She tosses a Twin Peaks bag on the couch right as I'm trying to enjoy a huge bowl of Lucky Charms and watch our new TV. One of Mom's coworkers gave her an old thirty-two inch they had collecting dust in the garage. It's a flat screen.

  "What is it?" I ask, eyeing the bag and hoping it isn't what I think it is.

  "A uniform." She's watching me with so much anticipation that I decide to drag it out as long as possible by shoveling the rest of my cereal in my mouth. Then I drink the milk, even though I'm not a big fan of that gross milky taste.

  The contents of the bag are worse than I expect. Purple shorts with little slits up the sides that have the Twin Peaks logo of two snowcapped mountains across the butt cheeks. A white tank top with the Twin Peaks logo across the boobs. It's pretty much a knock off a Hooters outfit, only they don't look this bad. I drop it on my lap. It's so tiny and frightening.

  "Are you serious?" I ask. Mom nods. "You'll look smoking hot in this, too. You'll get tons of tips."

  "Why don't you wear this?" I ask her as I remember that she wears ripped up jeans with her tank top instead of the bootie shorts and…this booby holder.

  "Because I'm old and veiny with cellulite. No one wants to see that."

  "Why would I be getting tips if I'm going to be a host?"

  "Um," she says, twisting the ring around on her finger. Great. I knew there was a catch. "On busy nights, the hostess will also serve drinks or get appetizers. The customers like to tip everyone. That's why you have this little apron," she says, taking a tiny pouch with strings out of the bag.

  "I don't know, Mom. This feels weird."

  "Oh you'll be fine. I think getting all this attention will be good for you."

  "I've never even had a boyfriend see so much of my skin." I put my hand under the inside of the tank top and can see right through it to the fleshy color of my skin. Mom gets up, yanks my empty cereal bowl off the arm of the couch and drops it in the sink. "Well that's because you've never had a boyfriend."

  Chapter 19

  My backpack conceals the horrible uniform as I walk to work on Tuesday morning. My first night of being a scantily clad hostess is tonight after my shift with Margret. Mom's boss said he'd give me a two week probationary period before deciding to hire me on for good. I plan to slack off, act stupid, and never be polite to customers to ensure I don't make it past these first two weeks. I feel guilty knowing that I'll purposely sabotage a job that'll get us more money, but although being objectified by men makes Mom happy, I hate it.

  "I love your mom and all, but don't ever be a stripper," Brendan had told me one night when we were thirteen and visited her for the summer. Mom came home from work with a big bruise on her thigh. A man had received a lap dance from her but then refused to pay, making Mom to throw a fit and get shoved against a table, causing the bruise. She spent the entire night talking about how worthless men are and how women should be ruling the world because we have what men want.

  Brendan and I knew better than to do anything but nod and agree with her. But after she went to bed, Brendan flopped over on the couch and put his head in my lap so I'd play with his hair. Our favorite show was on TV. It's funny how I remember every detail of that night. "All men aren't like that, you know," he had said. I stroked my fingers through his hair. "I know." I had heard it a million times both from him, my teachers, and random people who knew what my mom did for a living.

  Although I'm totally not stripping, just the idea of working in a strip club makes me feel like I'm letting him down.

  When I walk in the museum, a few people are examining one display case in the corner. Margret is in the middle of them. I clock in on the computer and toss my backpack under the front counter.

  "What's going on?" I ask, pushing through people to get to Margret. "We aren't sure yet, but I'm glad you're here." she says, turning to me. "Tell us what happened last night during the night shift. Did you see anything?"

  "Huh?" I ask, looking past her at the case. I see it immediately. Mrs. Kline's diamond necklace is no longer on its velvet necklace holder, but resting in the mannequin hand on the other side of the display case. "What's the big deal?" I ask. People turn and look at me, as people always seem to do when I ask questions in Sterling.

  "This case is locked by the city. We don't have the key."

  "So someone broke in?" More people stare at me, only now their eyes are shooting me daggers. "If someone broke in, then they would steal the jewelry, not just put it somewhere else," Margret says. "Plus the case is still locked. Please Taylor, did anything suspicious happen last night?"

  I think back to my two hours of cleaning, organizing and filing papers. Nothing happened. Not that anything would happen, because ghosts aren't real. "No," I say. No one looks convinced. Margret says, "Okay then."

  "Is there anything we can do?" an elderly woman in a pants suit asks. Margret shakes her head. "We don't have a key."

  The coffee maker is empty, something that's basically blasphemy around here. I start a new pot and pretend to shuffle around brochures until everyone leaves. There has to be a reasonable explanation as to how the necklace was moved. Maybe someone from the city moved it on purpose?

  Raine walks in the museum a few minutes before closing, letting the bells on the door jingle longer than usual. My stomach flip-flops in both excitement and horror. Margret and I see him walk in at the same time, and magically, Margret has something to do in the back room. I swear she's as transparent as the ghosts she believes in.

  "Hi," I say, acting all casual and apathetic. Again, the brochures need shuffling so I let that occupy me. He saunters up to the front desk and stands directly across from me. There's two feet of counter space between us but I still catch the energy radiating between his body and mine. He tilts his head to get the hair out of his eyes. "I need you," he says.

  I swallow, hard, and try to think of something clever to say. "Doesn't everyone."

  He cocks an eyebrow, sending the butterflies in my stomach into convulsions. "I'm going to the Graves Mansion tonight."

  "Good for you."

  "You're coming with me." He leans over the counter and grabs the edge of the countertop, just inches away from me. His cologne smells amazing. Our e
yes meet. "I am?"

  "Unless you have something better planned."

  I pick at my chipped nail polish. "I do have plans, but as far as them being better…well that's subjective."

  "So then you're coming?" He stands up straight. "I'll wait."

  I go through the motions of closing up for the night while Raine steps outside to answer a phone call. I have no idea what the Graves Mansion is, but it sounds better than spending the night at Twin Peaks with a bunch of drunken frat boys and middle-aged men. Sometimes when you know what you're going to do, you just know, even if your conscious keeps telling you not to do it.

  So although I know Mom will be pissed, and I'll probably hate being around her for the next month until she finds something else to get mad about, I leave my backpack under the counter when it's time to close. Margret slips out quickly, giving us a small goodbye wave. Ten minutes after Raine got here, I'm standing with him on the steps of the museum, ready for whatever lies ahead.

  Raine's car is parked illegally in front of the museum, since no one is technically allowed to park on this part of the Strand. He opens the door to the Civic for me and I climb in the passenger seat. After an awkward moment of wondering if I should shut the door myself or wait for him to do it for me, Raine shuts my door and joins me in the car.

  "So why are we going to a grave mansion?" I ask. The engine roars to life as Raine laughs at me. "It's Graves Mansion. Graves is a last name of the owner, although by happy coincidence it's also a creepy word."

  "Were we invited?"

  "Nope." He pulls onto the main road of the island and heads east. After two miles we are now farther than I've ever been. "Is this another adventure like the train station?" I ask. He shifts gears around a narrow curve before speeding up again. "Stop asking so many questions. It's more fun if you don't know."

  "More fun for who?" I ask. He laughs. "Me, obviously."

  We drive for twenty minutes. Eventually the seawall fades away and all the businesses disappear until we're driving on a two lane road surrounded by nothingness. I'm pretty sure the ocean is on both sides of us, but there are no street lights or signs of life anywhere to find out. In a way, it doesn't even feel like we're still on the island.