It's been fifteen hours since Linzy and I argued, and I haven't seen her since. Dad's in his office. He came home about thirty minutes after me last night. I'd managed to clean up his space and the downstairs just as he pulled in. I then spent the rest of the night doing my room. Luckily the only items he has in his bedroom are clothes, so it was easy to slip in before I went to sleep to rearrange it all.
I've gone to every corner of the house, minus Dad's office, and whispered Linzy's name. I get that she's mad at me, and I told her to stay gone, but part of me wonders if she's okay. Of course, that's stupid. She's a ghost. What could be more wrong? And why do I care? It's not as if she's made any of this easy or is even a friendly ghost. I just wish I had someone to talk to about it. I can't go to Dad or Kinley for obvious reasons. The only person who knows I can see Linzy is Eli, and I don't feel like chatting with him… Wait. His grandmother.
I grab my phone off my nightstand and text Eli.
can i meet ur aubela? can u pick me up?
I set the phone back down and a text notification beeps.
On my way
I run downstairs and knock on Dad's door.
"Come in."
"Hey, Dad." I peek my head in. "Eli's grandmother invited me over for lunch. Can I go? Please. I'm so bored."
His brow creases.
"Yeah, I know it's unusual, but the other day he mentioned how cool she is and she likes meeting his new friends. Plus, she's lonely and old and bored too. Eli will pick me up and bring me home."
I bounce up and down, practically doing the potty dance, hoping he gives me a "yes" before Eli honks his horn. Dad hates when I make plans before getting his approval.
"Yes, that's fine. Keep your phone on."
"Thanks, Dad." I start to turn, and he clears his throat, super loud. That means he has something else to say.
"Um, are you interested in Eli?"
Eww. "No. He's gross. Besides, Kinley likes him, and I wouldn't do that to a friend." Even though I'm not sure we are friends.
"Okay, have fun and call me if you won't be home by supper."
I smile and wait for Eli on the front steps. Sweat instantly latches onto my skin. It feels like I'm actually standing on the sun, which has no shame in scorching a patch of grass between mine and Kinley's yard. Is the dying grass a metaphor for the state of our relationship? When Eli pulls up, my stomach twists and turns at the idea that Kinley may be watching.
"I'm surprised you called," he says while turning off my street.
"Me too."
Despite not liking him, I am grateful he came to get me and that he even suggested I talk to his grandmother. Maybe he's not a horrible person, even if he has zero fashion sense.
We drive past Main Street, to the other side of town, a side I haven't seen yet. Eli parks in the driveway of a two-story A-framed house with a detached garage and a flower garden framing the front windows. Their grass is so green and even, I wouldn't be surprised if Eli laid on his stomach with a ruler and a pair of scissors.
He leads me to the side door.
"Do you live here, too?"
He nods. "It's me, Abuela, Mami, Papi, and my two little brothers."
Wow, a houseful. That must be nice.
The kitchen is sticky warm, like outside, but it smells like beef, onions, and pastry or bread. In other words, delicioso. We walk through it and stop at the dining room table. An overhead fan cools the room, and while it's still too warm in here, it's bearable.
"I'll be right back," Eli says and goes into the living room. He turns the corner and walks out of view.
I sit at the table and stare at the packed china cabinet. Beside the dishes and various sized pitchers and vases, there are photos of a dark-haired family and knick knacks, like a Santa snow globe and a porcelain angel. It all looks so delicate and old. They must've been collected for years—family keepsakes.
We don't have any of that. Well, we have a box of special ornaments for the Christmas tree, but that's it. Moving every year makes it difficult to collect memories.
"Abuela, this is Piper. The girl I told you about." Eli and his grandmother walk up to the table.
He talked about me?
He's missing his Fedora. It isn't until now that I notice he's wearing dark green cargo shorts and a white and burgundy plaid, button-down shirt. He looks cool, as in not hot, not sweaty.
His grandmother holds out her wrinkly hand. When I place mine against her, I expect a handshake, but she covers mine with her other one and just holds it—a hand hug.
Her entire face is one giant wrinkle breaking off into smaller ones, like tree branches and twigs. Her eyes are liquid brown and seem to sparkle. I expected someone old, and while she definitely looks the part, her movements are quick, and she wears denim shorts that come down to her knees and a yellow T-shirt printed with a panda eating leaves.
She sits at the head of the table and motions for me to move over one seat, so I'm beside her. "Are you hungry? You look skinny. Elias, go make her a plate."
Ohmigod, I love this woman.
"Girls today are always concerned about the number on the scale or those fancy dungarees—the thin ones."
"She means skinny jeans," Eli calls from the kitchen.
I bite my lip to keep from giggling.
She waves her hand in annoyance at the kitchen. "The name doesn't matter. Beauty comes in all sizes. Don't you forget that."
I smile. "I won't."
Eli returns and places a plate of steaming food and a glass of iced tea in front of me. As he leans over, I smell soap and laundry detergent. I must sniff too hard because he turns his face and smiles.
I stare into his eyes and glance at his mouth and suddenly feel very self-conscious. Warmth floods my neck and face, and I turn to my plate. What was that about?
He walks around the table and sits across from me. "That's empanadas with beef and potatoes. The rice has pigeon peas, which are actually beans, and those squashed things are plantanos. Americans call them…"
"Plantains, I know. I used to live in Arizona. We've eaten a lot of Mexican food."
"Well this is pure Puerto Rican fare, and Abuela is the best cook in the world." He rubs his grandmother's arm.
She pats his hand and smiles affectionately.
They look close, like she's tucked him into bed when he was a boy and probably read him stories and sang songs. He knows she's here when he comes home from school and is probably waiting with warm cookies and milk.
They watch me, encourage with their eyes, as I cut my empanada with a fork and take a bite. I feel like Guy Fieri on that show, Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, where he samples food all over the country. This is totally money. "It's awesome."
They both smile proud.
I continue to eat (It's so good.), and Abeula continues talking.
"When I was a little girl, I saw my papi come into my room one night. He smiled, tucked me into bed, and kissed my forehead. The next morning, I woke up to Mami crying, and learned Papi had died the night before."
I know exactly where she's going with her story. "He was already dead when he came into your room?"
She nods. "Si. I was very confused and scared at first, but as I grew older I saw it as my purpose."
"To help others?"
"Si, to help them move on, but that's not all it's about."
"What do you mean?" I hold a hand over my mouth so they don't see smashed rice and peas.
She stares out the windows directly across from her. "I feel I'm here to listen to them. The departed must be so lonely, no?"
"Can't they see other ghosts?" I sip my iced tea.
"Yes, but their families and the people they love can't hear or see them, so it's not very fulfilling."
Yeah, that stinks. "Why do they stick around?"
"It's the ones that have unfinished business."
I've heard that before. I just didn't know if it was true or not.
"What about you, dear? This can't be the first time…"
I nod vigorously. "Yes, it is. That's why it's so weird. I wasn't born with it like you were."
"But you had to be. It's not like in books when a character hits her head and can suddenly communicate with the dead. This is genetic."
I don't want to argue with her, but she's wrong. For me, this is definitely new.
* * *
When Eli pulls up in front of my house, there's an ambulance over at the Quinns. What happened now?
Most of the neighborhood is out, including Kinley and her mother. I use all my willpower not to look her way. I can't deal with the guilt I feel, especially since this is platonic.
"I can't stay," Eli says. "Text me with what's going on, okay?"
"Yeah," I say and step out of his car, grateful he's leaving. I run up our steps. Dad is on the porch, sipping a mug of coffee while watching the Quinn house and me.
"Is someone else hurt?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "Not sure yet. They just arrived."
Mrs. Jackson stomps her cane and shouts out Cujo's name. The little pup races down her walkway and runs across the street, into the Quinn front yard.
"Cujo?" Dad asks.
"Yeah, she just got him for protection."
Dad raises an eyebrow. "Have you met every neighbor?"
My escape artist routine springs to mind, and my stomach knots. There's only so much guilt a girl can handle before her insides implode. "Yes, Dad. If you didn't hole yourself up in your office, you'd meet them too."
He turns his attention back to the Quinns. "If I didn't hole up in my office, I couldn't afford to dress you."
I do a curtsey and hold out the hem of my shirt. "You mean these fine, couture garments?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, those."
Mrs. Jackson stomps her cane again. "Cujo, get back here right now."
As if the mutt understands English.
I run down our stairs and call out to her. "I'll get him."
"Oh, thank you, dear. Be careful. He growls a lot but is really quite gentle."
I doubt that. For some reason he sits in the middle of the yard barking at the Quinns' lawn ornament. An ugly pink flamingo. Maybe he thinks it's real, and he's talking to it.
I giggle and approach slowly so he won't run off or turn and bite me. Then when he isn't aware, I scoop him up. Instead of tensing and wanting to tear my face off, he licks my chin. I laugh. What an odd dog.
As I stand back up, I'm able to see into the living room through the front windows.
Mrs. Quinn is seated on the sofa. A paramedic is beside her, the other is standing to the side. I can't tell if Mr. Quinn is home or where Shayla is, but Mrs. Quinn is awake and talking. Whatever happened, it's not that bad.
Then I glimpse Linzy in the background. She's grinning. She looks up, sees me, and winks.