“Back to the ghost who was in here before,” Kristal says. “Who was it? Do you know?”
“I’ve never seen her before,” I answer. Speaking of such things makes my tongue feel thick and clumsy. But I push through to add, “I think she was Rodge’s mother. She had the same grumpy nature and the same build and face.”
Kristal nods and grabs a sketch pad from the nightstand. “So kind of like this?” she asks.
A few quick strokes later, she holds up a sketch of a woman who looks exactly like Rodge, but with softer planes on her craggy face and a braid instead of a military buzzcut.
“Almost,” I say, impressed with her talent. “She had…how is it called by the Americans in my department? A man bun. She had a man bun but for women.”
“So just a bun,” Kristal says with a laugh. “But other than that, close enough?”
“Yes, I believe so,” I answer, scrunching my brow. “But close enough for what?”
“To show Rodge her sketch,” Kristal answers. “If he’s related to her, maybe he can help us figure out how to help her pass on.”
I frown at first…but then smile at her.
“What?” she asks. She looks away, back to the shy elf I met last year.
“Most women would have screamed and run upon hearing there was a ghost in our room. But you are most concerned with figuring out how to help the ghosts I have spent most of my life trying to avoid. And that’s what I…”
Perhaps it’s the relief of finally telling someone else my secret. The word nearly falls out of my mouth before I catch it and replace it with, “Like. That’s what I like about you.”
She tips her head to the side and lowers her eyes.
“I like you too, Hayato,” she says, her voice quiet. “And I’m happy I’m able to give you the like and acceptance you’ve given me.”
“You have,” I answer.
Somehow this feels like the biggest confession of all for the both of us. More significant than being an elf who draws soon-to-be departed loved ones or a billionaire who sees dead people.
What a pair we are.
I shift forward, then pounce on her in a way that yields me everything I want. Kristal, on her back, naked, because the thin towel can’t hold against the sudden aggressiveness of my attack.
“Wait, what about Rodge and his possible mom?”
As I said, she is kind.
Much, much kinder than I am.
“No moving,” I remind her. Then before she can answer, I capture her mouth and bring her back to the main point.
This….
Us…
Everything we can be now that she knows and has so readily accepted my secret.
30
That’s Not Me
The seventh day of Christmas
I wake up on the morning of New Year’s Eve with an odd feeling that someone is watching me.
But when I open my eyes, I discover I’m wrong about that.
There’s not only one person watching me, but several people gathered around my bed.
Ghosts. Several of them are guests I recognize from the always busy downstairs dining room. And the one standing the closest is the woman I thought might be Rodge’s mother. They’re all leaning forward with a keen look of anticipation. Like they’ve been here a while, eagerly waiting for me to wake up.
I soon find out that’s precisely what they’ve been doing when the woman I found in the room yesterday says, “About time you opened those eyes. We’ve been waiting all night for you to wake up already!”
“He’s a billionaire you say?” the older man with the handlebar mustache asks. He raises his monocle to peer at me. “It must not take much to achieve this feat these days. If I had spent as much time in bed as he does when I was alive, I never would have become a captain of industry!”
“I heard Declan telling Maeve he inherited most of his wealth,” the blonde with the Farrah Fawcett hair answers. “His family started Toyota…no, that’s not right. Nakamura. That’s where most of his money comes from, not real work.”
“Toyota? Nakamura? What’s that?” the man in the sailing suit ask.
“Cheap little cars. From Japan,” the blonde answers. “They weren’t over here yet when you died in the fifties, but in the seventies, they became all the rage. So now his family’s rich.”
“Ah, I see,” the man with the monocle says. “Well good on you, old chap. Wish I had thought of that! That Henry Ford was so pompous. I would have loved to have given him some competition.”
“Shut it, all of you! Who cares how he made his money?” The ghost we think might be Rodge’s mother glares at the other spirits standing around the bed.
Then her cranky gaze comes back to me. “The point is you said last night you were going to help me get a message to my son, Rodge, before you and your girlfriend got distracted and started making the beasts with two backs. So are you going to keep your promise are what?”