Adelaide Confused (9 page)

“Do you have a shovel I can borrow?”

It must be his day off as
he wore only a pair of cargo shorts. I tried not to look at his
muscly chest, and I especially tried not to look at his
preposterous tan lines. I couldn’t help it though. His arms and
neck were ten shades darker than his stomach. It was funny, but he
wasn’t the type of person you could laugh at.

He stared at me in his
typical fashion, face masked of any emotion but unnervingly direct.
Finally, “Yeah, hold on.” He disappeared inside the house,
returning a minute later with a ring of keys.

The shovel was inside his
shed, which he kept locked. It was a place I recognized as every
man’s treasure trove. An endless variety of tools neatly lined the
walls while other manly gadgets filled the space between. He held
up two different shovels. One had a wide but rounded edge. The
other’s was narrow and pointed.

I shrugged.

“Have you ever used a shovel?”

I gave him a condescending
look, though I couldn’t recall an exact instance.

He kept the pointy one and
left the shed, walking barefoot to my yard. “What do you want me to
dig?”

If he had been anyone else
I would have refused the offer. “It’s out front.” I took the lead,
guiding him around the house.

The ghost hadn’t moved. The stubborn little
snot had even managed to swipe up a bit of dirt. I pointed,
“There.”

While he worked I moved a
few paces back, allowing him some space. After a minute of shifting
from foot to foot, I sat, twirling grass as I idly watched. It was
nice.

The shovel met resistance
all too soon. I stood abruptly. For the first time I wondered what
was buried there. Lucas bent closer, using his shovel to scrape
away the dirt.

A horrible image came to
mind and I turned away so as not to see. “Oh gross, it’s a dead
dog, isn’t it?”

Lucas was silent so long I was forced to
look. He was kneeling over the newly dug hole, unaware of the
little ghost dog jumping all over him. He was also staring at me
funny.

“What?” I demanded.

“You are very strange,” was all he said.

“
I have a logical reason
for the assumption,” I assured.

Dubious, he asked, “Did you
bury a dog here?”

“
If I had buried a dog I
wouldn’t be wondering what was down there, now would I?” I took a
step closer, trying to peer inside. “Just tell me what it
is.”

The ghost went wild as he
extracted a bone, half-chewed and dirty. Oh, duh, I should have
guessed. He handed it to me and I immediately set it down. The
ghost was so happy, springing and bouncing about. I nearly
smiled.

“You’re just going to leave it there?”

I nodded.

“
Do you want me to fill in
the hole?”

“
No, I might need to bury
it again later.”

He watched me, probably
worried I was crazy, but too soon turned to go. I blurted, “Will
you clean out my gutters?” It was lame, I know, I hadn’t even meant
to say it.

He stopped, glancing at my
house. “When was the last time you cleared them?”

“
Uh…” I pretended to think
it over. “…never.”

He was quiet for a moment,
deliberating. “Yeah I’ll clean out your gutters, but you have to
clean my bathroom.”

“What?”

“
Clean my bathroom,” he
repeated gruffly.

“
But bathrooms are gross.
When was the last time you cleaned yours?”

“
I clean my bathroom more
often than you clear your gutters.” He didn’t smile and he didn’t
feel, so I couldn’t tell if that was a joke. I thought it was meant
to be.

“
Not a bathroom,” I said,
completely unwilling to go that far. “I’ll clean your kitchen
though, twice.”

He nodded and left. It was
a bit disappointing. I would have liked to talk some more. But it
was probably for the best, we both had trouble with conversations.
Baby steps. Today he dug a hole in my yard, and tomorrow he might
be cleaning my gutters. So long as I found a few more chores, we
might end up dating.

Francesca arranged her work
schedule so we could go shopping the day of my dinner with Reed.
For that we had to leave the island. Her car was up and running
thanks to Brock, so she drove. We left early (she might have been
able to rearrange her schedule, but I didn’t have that luxury). I
had to be back by noon.

She complained the whole
way, asking for the umpteenth time, “Why does he need
your
help?”

“
I told you exactly what he
said. I’m supposed to mingle during dinner and feel for something
odd.” I wouldn’t tell Francesca I was an empath, but neither would
I lie.

“
That can’t be what he
said. It doesn’t make any sense!”

I sighed. “Just say the
word and I’ll refuse.” I was sure he’d carry through with his
threat to contact my family, the notion was upsetting. But
Francesca had been giving off pings of jealousy all morning long,
and I would cancel in a heartbeat for our friendship.

It was Francesca who was
unwilling to let me. “No! I’m not saying you shouldn’t go, I’m just
confused why he asked you.”

“It’s not like he asked me on a date.”

“But he did,” she whined.

“
I’m only pretending to be
his date, and I’m getting paid, remember?”

“I know, I know.” She took her eyes from the
road to glance at me, looking sheepish. “I’m being unreasonable,
I’m sorry.”

“It’s hard to be logical when you’re in
love.” I said it as a joke, but she nodded like it was sage
advice.

In an attempt to change the
subject I said, “So while we’re on the topic of men, I should
mention that I met one.” She looked at me sharply, the car
swerving. “Shit, Francesca!” I screeched. “Eyes on the
road!”

She veered back into place.
“Sorry, sorry. I just... you took me by surprise.” She gave me a
furtive glance. “You don’t mean Reed do you?”

I threw up my arms. “For
fuck sake, Francesca, what do you think?”

She shook her head, honestly confused. “I
don’t know why I asked that.”

I forgave her. It was his
charm, it made them unreasonable. Meeting his secretary made me
worried, even scared, that Francesca was turning into that—an
obsessed, angry woman.

“So who is he?” She was curious and excited
now.

“
My neighbor. He’s a
mechanic.”

“Did he just move in?”

“No, he’s been around for years.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention him?”

“I didn’t notice him before,” I admitted.

I felt her disappointment,
and she didn’t bother trying to hide it. “So he’s not good-looking
then?”

“
No,” I contradicted.
“He’s... intensely attractive, but in a rough southern sort of
way.”

She was bubbling with excitement now. “When
can I meet him?”

“Never,” I said severely.

“What for?” she asked like a child being
denied a treat.

It was a fairly obvious
answer. “Because if he sees you then he’ll never be interested in
me.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.” I wasn’t.

“
It’s not like we’ve been
flirting back a forth. Things are always awkward between
us.”

“
Like how?” she asked,
intrigued.

“
Like when he looks at me,
I can’t tell if he’s repulsed or attracted by what he sees.
Honestly, it’s a toss-up.”

“Why would he be repulsed?” Her confusion was
flattering.

“He’s only seen me acting strange.”

She wasn’t surprised by my
confession—that wasn’t so flattering. “So if it’s not chemistry,
what’s the attraction?”

Good question. I thought
about it for a moment, trying to be as honest as I could. “You
know... I just don’t know. Maybe it’s the mystery.”

“He’s mysterious?”

“Extremely so.”

She smiled. “Don’t forget
hot.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Francesca took me to a
little boutique where you didn’t simply pick off the peg. Instead
we had a consultant, a young wisp of a man with perfect posture
named Dominique. Dominique and Francesca put their heads together,
speaking softly. They sounded as if they were trying to solve a
particularly delicate crisis—and maybe I was.

I tried on a little black
dress first. They said it washed me out and we moved on to the
next. It was a stunning red number that swept the floor regally,
but they said it was at odds with my red hair. I corrected them. My
hair wasn’t red, it was strawberry-blonde. We tried a strappy cream
and a low cut yellow, but neither fit me well. There was no door on
my dressing room, and Francesca took pleasure in popping through
the curtain whenever I was indecent to thrust a new gown my way.
The winner ended up being an emerald gown I’d been forced into
last, perfect in its simplicity. They said it was also at odds with
my hair, but in a good way.

Francesca charged it to
Reed Wallace. He’d given her a card for the occasion. She made sure
I had shoes, a clutch, and other accessories. And since Reed had
insisted she treat herself to something, Francesca bought some
dirty lingerie. She said they were naughty; I said they were
nasty.

On the ride home she asked, “Will you put in
a good word for me?”

“
Since I’m temporarily in
his employ, I assume you mean in a professional
capacity.”

“
No,” she said, matching my
snarky tone. “I mean you should tell him I’m single.”

“I thought Brock didn’t leave town for a few
more days.”

She waved a hand. “He’s
practically gone anyway.”

“So in other words, you already got the
carpets.”

“
You should see them.
They’re so soft.”

Room nine had the best
lighting, so that was where I went to get ready. Stephen sat on the
bed, attentive and curious. The door was propped open so that we
could keep an eye on the office. Outside the ghost paced, or gave
the impression of pacing. He was agitated, but I didn’t have the
time to figure out why.

I was trying to pin my hair
into place when headlights flashed, signaling a car had pulled into
the lot. Stephen jumped up, jogging to the door. “It’s him!” he
said, unable to contain his excitement. I knew it wasn’t
mine.

“Go get him,” I instructed, still struggling
with my hair.

Stephen loped off, running
through the ghost, oblivious to the fact that it had been blocking
the doorway. As if blown by the wind, the ghost swirled in
Stephen’s wake, but didn’t dissipate, rather, seamlessly converging
with fluid grace. The misty cloud restricted into a man of
alabaster smoke. He drifted through the room, coming
closer.

His features were difficult
to distinguish, but I thought he might have once been handsome, and
young. I put him at around thirty when he died. He came to loom
just behind me. I watched him through the mirror, unable to look
away. His eyes weren’t hazy but glassy pools of awareness. He
needed something, just like the little ghost dog. I could feel it,
and it was overwhelming. His desperation and anticipation warred
with each other, and there was misery, a deep misery.

I shook it off. Gaining
control over myself, I whispered, “I know you want something from
me, but tonight I don’t have time to figure it out. And I’m only
going to make time later if you make yourself useful.” He shifted
around me feeling slightly relieved. I added, “And no more popping
out unexpectedly. Do not scare me, or even surprise me. I hate it.”
Earlier when I was pulling into the lot at Sterling’s he’d breezed
through the passenger door, forming a solid gray mass of the
sickliest hue on my passenger seat. I had
screamed—obviously.

The ghost shifted suddenly.
It was not with caution, more of an awareness that warned Reed was
coming. Sure enough, he coasted through the open doorway a moment
later. “Adelaide, you look lovely.”

“I told you not to call me Adelaide,” I said
to his reflection.

Stephen followed Reed in,
reclaiming his seat on the bed.

“
I’ll have to call you
Adelaide if we’re to act the part of a couple.” He was looking
extremely attractive, and I usually didn’t go for men in formal
wear.

I had to give myself a
mental shake. I wasn’t immune to his charm, and it snuck up
unexpectedly. I’d have to be careful tonight. “We’re not acting
yet.” I nodded at Stephen who was watching us with a keen eye. “You
need to pay Stephen. He’s covering the rest of my
shift.”

“
Of course,” Reed said,
while pulling out his wallet. “I don’t mean to appear gauche, but
truly this is the smallest bill I have on me.” He handed over a one
hundred dollar bill, nice and crisp. He gave Stephen a friendly pat
on the shoulder. “I’m sure you deserve it.”

“He deserves three hundred dollars, a bill
for every hour.” I gave Reed a pointed look as I applied a pale
blush.

“Adelaide!” Stephen spluttered, appalled at
my temerity.

I shrugged. “Put it towards
your college fund.”

Reed was irritated, but he covered it like a
champ, extracting two more bills and passing them over to Stephen.
“Most of the women I see try to at least pretend they aren’t
interested in my money,” he said wryly.