I was moving.
Okay. Technically, I supposed, I was being carried. Strong arms cradled me under my knees and shoulders, and my head rested on a warm chest. We moved slowly down the stairs, one step at a time.
“Is she okay? Did she hit her head?” Leah sounded frantic. “Should I call her mom? Or call 911?”
My head. Sharp pain sliced through my skull with every step, and a whimper escaped my lips.
We stilled. Light flashed in my face, and I closed my eyes, turning my face into the warmth surrounding me, inhaling spice and pine and Charlie.
Charlie.
The arms tightened under me. “Just give me a minute,” Charlie said. His voice rumbled through his chest. It was a nice voice. And a nice chest, if I was being honest.
Then light was overhead, everywhere, and spots danced over my eyes. I shut them against the glare, and when I opened them again, I was being lowered to the sofa in the living room. Charlie’s face hovered inches from mine, our noses almost touching.
His blue eyes snapped to mine. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. He had grime smudged down the side of his face, right under his cheekbone. I reached up and rubbed it away with my thumb. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move away. “You all right?”
My mouth felt dry and cottony. “Did I faint?” I managed to croak out.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
Confusion danced across his face, and he laughed softly. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I think so,” I said. “Where’s Leah?”
“She and Ransom are cleaning up the pantry.”
He was so close, his arms still wrapped around me, my hand still on his face. Awareness prickled my skin. His mouth was right there. Right above mine. If I sat up, just a little bit…
He seemed to come to the same realization. His eyes darkened. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “You scared me, you know.”
Memory crashed through me. I jumped to my feet, knocking him over. He reared backwards, out of my way.
“The woman,” I said. “She was there.”
“Amelia—”
“What if she’s still there?”
Charlie caught me in the doorway. He grabbed me around the middle, stopping me before I could go any further. “She’s gone,” he said. “Ransom checked already.”
“She was watching us,” I said. I turned in his arms so we were facing each other. I let my head fall forward until my face pressed against his chest. I breathed in deeply and tried to remember why that was so important. But whatever I’d been thinking was gone, so instead I said, “You smell really nice. Is it your body wash? What kind do you use?”
His hand stroked through my hair. “Uh, I don’t know. Soap?”
“I think it’s nice.”
“And I think you’re concussed. You should lie down.”
I smoothed my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. “You could lie down with me.”
“Oh yeah?” He quirked his eyebrow at me. “And why would I do that? I’m not the one who fainted.”
“Because you like me,” I said. “That’s why you’re always touching me. Always looking at me like that.”
His breath caught. “Amelia—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I like you too.”
And then I kissed him.
Or, at least, tried to kiss him. But the ground lurched under my feet, and I missed. My mouth brushed the corner of his lips and landed on his cheek, my forehead pressing against the frame of his glasses.
He laughed softly. “Come on, Casanova,” he said. “Why don’t we get you back on the couch? I think Leah was right, we should call your mom.”
I tried to pout at him. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”
Charlie led me to the sofa. My knees hit the upholstery, and I let myself fall. He lifted my feet up, tucked a pillow under my head, pulled a blanket over me. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead. “More than you can know,” he whispered, so softly I was sure I’d imagined it.
***
The rest of the night was a blur—Mom showed up and bundled me into the car, and the next thing I knew we were at the emergency room and a young doctor was asking me a million questions and shining a light into my eyes.
“Definitely concussed,” he said to my mom. “Make sure she takes it easy for the next week or so. No sports, no activities, no computer. I don’t even want her reading. Her brain needs to rest.”
And so I spent the next seven days, the entire week leading up to the Quasquibicentennial Festival, camped out on the couch, binge-watching entire seasons of TV shows and old movies. Uncle Frank spent his lunch breaks with me, bringing takeout bags filled with greasy burgers and fries for us to eat. He’d eat dinner with us too, cooking simple meals for me and Mom, the way he had in the days after Mark died.
Leah kept me company in the afternoons, sprawled out on the hideous orange shag carpeting in downstairs. The den in the basement was the one room in our house my parents hadn’t remodeled before the divorce, and now that Dad was gone, I wasn’t sure my mom had the energy to tackle it on her own. So it remained in all of its 1970’s burnt orange glory.
Every night, I tried to stay up and watch the woods, to see if the ghost would return, but, without fail, my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep long before I’d catch a glimpse of her.
Charlie had somehow been roped into helping Mom, Ransom, and the rest of the Historical Society with last-minute preparations. Each evening, he’d walk over after dinner and spend an hour or so with me after Leah had gone home for the day. We’d eat ice cream and play Uno and talk about anything and everything except for the fact that we’d almost kissed.
Twice.
And then there was Ransom. Always on the periphery, always moving around the edges, always there but not quite joining us. He talked more with Leah and Charlie than he did with me. While I was in the ER, they had explained the story of the woman in the woods to him. When I asked Leah how he’d taken it, she shrugged and struck a pose in the middle of my bedroom. “Fine, I guess. Mark must have told her about him already. He didn’t freak out or anything. What do you think of this dress for the party? Too short?”
“It looks great on you,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Not for me, dummy. For you.”
“Me?”
The dress was pretty—dark green fabric flowed to mid-thigh. It wasn’t a dress I’d have ever picked out for myself; the skirt was short and the sweetheart neckline dipped low in the front and the back was nearly nonexistent, thanks to the halter-style top. My scar would be on full display.
“For the party?” Leah raised her eyebrows. “Come on, Mils, you didn’t hit your head that hard.”
“I don’t know.”
She slipped the dress off, utterly unselfconscious, and wiggled back into her shorts and tank top. The dress landed in my lap. “It’s going to look great on you. Don’t even.”
“My mom might not let me go,” I said. “She’s freaking out over this,” I added, pointing to my head. “And the last time she let me go to a party, well…” I trailed off. I didn’t have to finish that sentence.
Leah dropped to the bed beside me and slipped her arms around my shoulders. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Losing Mark was awful,” she said. “But he’d want you to go. Don’t let the fact that he’s gone turn you into a ghost.”
Tears, hot and heavy, prickled at the corners of my eyes. “Leah—”
“She’s going to let you go,” she said. “I already talked to her.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered.
She rested her head against mine. “We’ll do it together,” she said.
And that was that. I was going to her party.
***
Since I was under strict brain-resting orders, I couldn’t do much of anything over the rest of the week. I was stuck inside, wasting time, while everyone else seemed busier than ever. My mother was like a slave driver, and as the week wore on, Ransom and Charlie started to give off this frantic energy, like every second spent sitting and doing nothing was a second wasted.
I went back to the doctor the morning of the festival. Mom tapped her foot in the waiting room and checked her cell phone constantly. After a few questions and a quick exam, he cleared me to return to normal life, and she bundled me into the car.
“Just in time,” she said. She checked her lipstick in the mirror, frowned, and flipped the visor closed. “Marie’s left me sixteen voicemails.” She glanced over at me, took in my knit shorts and Lafayette High Swimming t-shirt, and sighed. “Will you be okay getting changed at the Society?”
“I could ride my bike,” I said. I’d packed a bag just in case, but I much preferred getting ready at home in my room to the cramped bathroom in the basement of the Historical Society.
She sighed. “No. You can’t. You just had a concussion, for Christ’s sake—”
“A week ago—”
“Your brain bounced off the inside of your skull. You’re not ready.”
“The doctor just said I was ready,” I protested. “What are you going to do, make me wear a helmet all the time?”
“I haven’t ruled that out yet,” she said. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’m even entertaining the idea of letting you go to Leah’s party tonight.”
“You don’t have to let me go,” I said. Part of me almost hoped she’d say no so I would have an excuse to stay home instead of facing the people who’d be there. Mark’s friends, home from college. The girlfriends I’d drifted away from after Mark’s death, when I’d shut everyone out except for Leah. Ben.
But Charlie would be there too. And maybe Leah was right—maybe it was time I started trying again. “I just—I don’t know. I just want things to go back to being as normal as they can be, okay?” I made my voice as small as I could. “I don’t want to be that girl with the dead brother. I want to be me again.”
Her face softened. “Fine,” she said. “You promise that you won’t do anything stupid?”
Stupid, like the last time. I fought against the sick feeling in my stomach and turned away from her, back to the window.
“I promise.”
Mom looked at me for a long second, then sighed. “It’ll be good for you to be with your friends. But no drinking. And call me if you need anything.”
As if I’d ever even think about drinking after what had happened. I’d learned my lesson. I held up my hand, pinky facing hers. “Done,” I said.
She wrapped her pinky around mine, like she had when I was a little girl and a promise from my mom could fix anything.
If only things could be that easy again.