Buddy turned the AC on full blast, and we trailed out of the high school parking lot, headed east.
I let out a sigh that seemed to come from the marrow of my bones.
I. Was. So. Tired.
Ghosts, mix-making, and early-hours traipsing all over Florida can do that to you.
I dropped my book bag.
Realized I hadn’t seen Tommie since I stepped outside.
Not once.
Why not?
I checked the backseat, looking for her.
“This place is a mess,” I said. Maybe ghosts didn’t like dirty cars.
“Thank you,” Buddy said. He grabbed my hand. Held it in his. His fingers so warm. He cleared his throat.
I looked out the side window. Groups of kids walked on the sidewalk. Headed home? To the beach too? The trees reached across the road, the leaves joining together to make an umbrella against the sun. Azaleas colored the ground, all pink and white and purple.
“I need to know about you,” I said. “Tell me about you, Buddy.” I stretched out my arms, still linked to him. My legs. My fingers. I even stretched out my hair. I kicked my feet in the garbage (McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and Taco Bell bags), trying to make a place to rest.
I needed to rest.
Maybe . . .
. . . maybe ghosts were allergic to the sun, and that meant I would never be able to go inside again because I had to avoid Tommie.
Buddy squeezed my fingers in his.
“Tell you about my life? What do you mean, Evie?”
We slowed and stopped for a red light. There was our town’s cemetery. Would there be ghosts there? Waiting?
People who had drowned at the beach?
Car accident victims, waving?
Maybe only Tommie couldn’t come outside.
Yup. There were aplenty in the cemetery. Standing under trees, mostly.
“You look so pretty breathing like that,” Buddy said.
I tilted my head. “I always breathe like this,” I said.
He nodded. “I know.”