Love Me If You Must (6 page)

 
9

Good old Lloyd stomped off without pounding one nail.

Get the permit and remove the cistern or wall the thing in were the only two options the man would entertain. My idea to sneak the big rocks out disguised as trash only served to hasten my star contractor’s departure. Apparently, Martin Dietz gave no quarter to code violators, and Lloyd wasn’t about to suffer the tyrant’s wrath.

Moratorium declared, I slunk off to start work on the back staircase. I peeled, primed, and papered until the narrow passage looked like it belonged in the twenty-first century. Then I pried and pounded until the steps were squeak-free.

By the time the big fall holiday arrived a few days later, I had worked off my frustration over the uncooperative Lloyd and was ready to enjoy the occasion.

I was just tucking the final section of my costume masterpiece into place when the doorbell rang and the first little voices of the night wafted into the kitchen.

“Trick or treat!”

I dumped pencils and stickers into a bowl and headed to the front door to let the rascals help themselves. I smiled on the way through the dining room. I’d survived my first weeks in the new neighborhood.

But though my gray matter was intact, my house still looked as if it were a creepy old asylum. Even if things weren’t moving as quickly as I hoped, I nevertheless felt satisfied when I reviewed my progress.

I glanced around the vestibule before opening the door. Utterly perfect. I’d painted the walls a creamy off-white and rubbed the natural oak woodwork until it shone. An ornate Victorian three-bulb fixture gave off a welcoming light.

I pulled open the door and stifled a giggle. A waist-high pirate pointed a plastic sword in my direction. Next to him, a dainty princess held up her sack in expectation.

“What are you supposed to be? A mummy?” the pirate asked.

“I’m Lazarus,” I answered. I secured a stray white strip wrapped around my head.

“Who’s Lazarus?”

“He’s a guy from the Bible. Jesus raised him from the dead. Lazarus, come forth!” I said, lurching sideways in my best imitation of the newly risen friend of Christ.

Three summers of Vacation Bible School when I was a kid were the entirety of my religious training. I’d gleaned enough to know there was a God. And I couldn’t have survived to adulthood if I hadn’t held on to the hope that Jesus really existed. Sadly, a few years in the church I attended as a teen with my grandmother were enough to sour my attitude toward organized religion and keep me from wanting to know more. Now at least I browsed the Bible, even if I didn’t always understand it.

Across from me, the chaperone forced a smile. “Kids, pick out a treat. We have a lot more houses to go.”

I smiled back through the wadding that covered my face. The pirate rested on his sword. “There’s no candy in here and stickers are for babies.”

“Jason!” The mother swatted at him. “Mind your manners.”

“How about a pencil?” I asked, almost wishing I’d conformed to the tooth-rotting Halloween tradition. “Here’s one with 3-D lettering.”

I handed the little thug his prize, and he toyed with the image for a moment.

“Cool.” The pencil went into his pillowcase. Then he pushed back his patch and looked up at me. “Brandon says your house is haunted.”

“Jason!” His mother grabbed at his shoulder and half dragged him off the porch. “Thank you!”

The princess ran after them into the night.

I sagged against the doorway.

Haunted? Perhaps.

There was always the possibility that my house was inhabited by the restless spirit of some murder victim. But what were the chances, really? Other than a vague glance over my shoulder now and then, I hadn’t given the ghost another thought. Nor had the apparition shown itself again. True, I hadn’t been in the basement since the day of my “vision,” and neither had anyone else. Lloyd had fed me one excuse after another for not getting to the job downstairs.

Most likely, what I’d seen was a result of my own guilty conscience projecting an image from my past onto the concrete, hoping I’d face up to my deeds.

Nah. Too Freud.

I watched through the storm door as another group of trick-or-treaters came up the sidewalk, wearing costumes that stood the test of time.

The five oversized kids gave their call in unison, then edged in toward the bowl. Hands hovered, then halted.

I definitely should have capitulated and gone with the standard sweets.

“Pencils?” the vampire asked through his fangs.

A vein in my neck throbbed. “Here. Try this one. It’s 3-D.”

He twisted it in his fingers. “Is it legal to pass this stuff out on Halloween?”

I lost my cool. “Aren’t you a little too old to be trick-or-treating? You’re lucky I let you stick your fingers in the bowl.”

“Sorry,” he moped, dropping a pencil into his bag. He backed off to make room for his friends.

A white-sheeted teen peered over my shoulder into the house.

“Have you seen it yet?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Seen what?” I turned to look behind me.

“The ghost.”

A prickle crept up my scalp and raised the hair beneath the strips of cloth wound around my head.

Tish, Tish. I could almost hear a voice calling me, rising from the concrete, curving up the basement steps, seeping under the door and floating to my place in the vestibule.

Behind me, the kid let out a snort. “I’m just playing with you, lady. I’m the ghost. Get it? Man, you look like you thought your house was haunted or something.”

There was laughter. The bowl jostled in my hands. Then the porch was empty.

I clutched the Tupperware to my chest. Tears welled up and one of those big lumps stuck in my throat.

Life didn’t seem right anymore. I’d managed well enough in my other neighborhoods. Lonely, but content. I had felt, or maybe just hoped, that a change was coming with this move to Rawlings. But things were worse here. Now, even the kids taunted me.

I dabbed at a nasal drip with a dangling bandage.

In my side vision, a dark figure moved across the lawn toward the porch. Probably another rude kid looking for a handout.

It was David.

My face burned beneath my wraps as I tried to find a place to hide. I absolutely could not let him see me looking like the victim of some toilet paper prank.

“Hello,” he called from grass glistening in the light from the porch. “Is that you under all that tissue?”

There was no hiding now.

“Hi.” I tried to put a smile in my voice. “I’m just getting into the holiday.”

He sprang up the steps. “Are you The Mummy?”

I cleared my throat, trying to get the lump down to a manageable size before I croaked like a frog.

“Yeah. The Mummy.”

As soon as I said it, I felt like crawling into a tomb somewhere. Apparently my courage had escaped out the front door at the arrival of my adorable neighbor.

I gripped the Tupperware like a life preserver.

“What’s in the bowl?”

He was probably hoping for a candy bar too.

“Pencils.” The bowl started to shake in my grasp.

“Superb idea. Why rot the little angels’ teeth?”

My knuckles relaxed. At least someone agreed with my logic.

“You’re not passing out treats at your house?” I asked.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Trick-or-treat is strictly an American tradition. And with Rebecca gone . . . Well, I thought if I turned out the porch light, the kiddies would take the hint. But there’s no dissuading them. They wouldn’t quit ringing the bell. And when I opened the door to tell them the bad news, they gave me such devilish faces, I thought I’d better come over here to be safe. Perhaps I can hide behind the pencil bowl.”

I grimaced. “I’m not having any better luck than you bribing a smile out of those ungrateful little monsters. I’m getting the idea that pencils and stickers don’t qualify as treats in their mind. Tricks, maybe.”

He looked over his shoulder as the next batch of hooligans walked up the sidewalk.

“Let me give it a go.” He came up the steps and took the bowl out of my grip. “I’ll get rid of every last one of them.”

My brow furrowed. Get rid of the trick-or-treaters? This was my once-a-year missionary opportunity.

“The pencils, I mean,” he said, and shook the bowl.

The new arrivals gave the call and came close to collect their prize. Their hands pulled back in hesitation.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” David scolded them. “These pencils will be valuable antiquities one day. Put one in your trinket box, and I guarantee when you graduate from high school, you’ll be able to sell it on eBay and pay your way through college.”

At his words, tiny fingers grabbed indiscriminately at the bowl, rushing to take more than one goody.

I giggled into my hand, pleased with his clever sales job.

“It’s definitely a different world than the one I grew up in,” I said as the kids left and made their way to less future-oriented porches.

David crossed his arms and leaned against the vestibule wall, shaking his head. “Today’s kindergartners are more versed in computers than most adults.”

I looked to the ground, embarrassed by my own ignorance. “I guess not everybody’s had the opportunity to be around one.”

His hand touched my chin. I met his eyes, fascinated by the pale, yet piercing, blue.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said softly. “A career in computers was my dream as a kid. I feel very fortunate that I was able to make that dream happen.”

More goblins and hobos came to the door and David made his pitch. Only five pencils remained when the last trick-or-treater disappeared into the night. I tore the Lazarus wrap from my head, glad to be liberated. “Thanks for helping out,” I said, walking after David onto the porch.

“My pleasure.” He paused on the top step.

I smoothed my hair. “I never could have gotten rid of all those pencils without you.”

He turned and started down the stairs, but paused and looked back.

“Tish, would you have dinner with me next Friday?”

My heart slammed to a halt.

His words transported me to Single Woman’s Euphoria. His was my second invitation to dinner since I moved in. Poor Brad hadn’t had a chance, of course. Lousy timing, along with a poor choice of occupation, had doomed him from the start.

David came up the steps and leaned close, his mouth magnifying before my eyes. My breath drained out as I imagined those lips against mine.

“Dinner? Next Friday?” I couldn’t think of a single conflict, besides the fact that he was a married man.

I grabbed hold of my enthusiasm and stuffed it in under a rock. “You know, David, normally I’d love to go to dinner with you. But, um, you’re really not free to ask.”

Sadness welled up in his eyes. “The divorce papers came today. It’s officially over between Rebecca and me.”

My breath caught.

“I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t begin to imagine his pain. “Are you sure you’re ready to go on a date?”

He swallowed and nodded. “It’s been a really lonely year. We could get together and just talk.”

“Okay. Sure. Dinner sounds nice.”

“Thanks, Tish. How’s seven o’clock at the Rawlings Hotel?”

Sheesh. Brad had wanted to take me to the Rawlings. I bit my cheek, allowing the sharp pain to chase away the guilt that threatened to ruin my triumphant moment.

“I would love to join you at the Rawlings Hotel.”

A smile lit his face. “You won’t be sorry. The beef Wellington is superb.” He trotted down the steps and across the lawn toward his own yard.

I watched until he disappeared into the shadows.

Alone again, I rubbed my arms to ward off the dampness of the black night.

“Can I lend you my coat?” The unexpected voice came from the darkness beyond the porch.

A scream tore from my throat and my hands flew to my neck in panic.

Officer Brad stepped into view, laughter on his face.

“Do you know what night this is?” I said through injured vocal cords. “Never sneak up on somebody on Halloween. They’re liable to drop dead from heart failure.”

His smile faded to a barely restrained grin. “I’m sorry. I raced over as soon as the insanity ended. I wanted to make sure you locked things up good tonight. Even Rawlings has its undesirable element—especially on Halloween.”

“How long have you been standing by the porch?” I asked.

“Long enough to know that you’d choose dinner with a pretty face over dinner with a man of impeccable character.”

I slumped into my waist.

“I was afraid you’d heard that. Are you mad?” Brad was nice enough to come over and make sure I double-bolted my doors. I hated the thought that my flat-out refusal of his dinner invitation earlier in the week had just gotten rubbed in his face.

“I’m a patient man, Tish. I figure once you get over the fascination of his good looks and English accent, you’ll be ready for a guy who actually has a personality, not to mention a green thumb.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for the tomatoes.”

He plopped down on the top step and looked out at the street. “And there’s the added benefit that I’m actually available.”