I probably should’ve remembered to call those gnomes off. Oh well.
“Please sign here, here, and here,” says Baldy.
“Not so fast,” I say, pocketing his pen. “I’ll need time to read these first. I’ve learned a thing or two about contracts.”
He sighs with annoyance, as if he’s the one with a train coming, not me. But when I flip through the contract, confirming the name of this government form with an internet search, it becomes clear Baldy isn’t pulling a fast one. I sign every blank. And at the end, Baldy puts out his hand as if to shake mine.
“Samantha—”
I recoil. “Eww.”
“Keys,” he says, the skin of his forehead pinching between the eyes. “For the Realtor.”
Oh. Right.
I dig into my pocket, wishing I didn’t suddenly feel churned up, like I’ve misguidedly finished off Grandma’s frozen ziti. They’re just keys. Icame to Salemto do this—to put everything to rest for Grandma Rose. I should be ecstatic: this is the final step to get me back where I need to be. I can be normal and happy anywhere—absolutely anywhere!—else.
But especially in New York, where Jane and I can go to bars and not meet guys while scrolling dating apps on our phones. I can take steps toward a career that will be meaningful and stable and never the least bit unhinged.
And yet, as I deposit the keys in Baldy’s soft and torpid palm, I can’thelp regretting that I didn’t pay a visit to the shop one last time to say goodbye to its half-finished wedding décor and our lopsided window display. To the ridiculous ghost chairs. To the baubles and the burnt mirror and the plush spiders.
Well, maybe not the spiders. Those googly eyes always creeped me out.
On the platform, brisk October wind whips my hair into my face. Even so, among the crowds of costumed heathens and witches and Frankenstein impersonators and paranormal folk who seem to be cheekily not wearing their magic-disguising bracelets, my eyes catch upon a sign painted on burlap.
GOOGBYE SABREE
It’s being held by Mandy, red-faced and blubbering. For some reason, she’s wearing glasses and a tweed blazer. Beside her is a bassinet stroller with a baby blanket arranged over its canopy.
“W-w-we’re going to m-miss you,” sobs Mandy.
From within the bassinet, I hear a sniffle. This could be because the inhabitant is sad; more likely, it’s because the pink wool blanket has fallen so that it itches the tip of his nose.
“What a terrible thing has transpired,” says Bulan, sounding nothing like a baby.
He starts moving around. I hide my emotions by correcting the blanket. “That’s sweet, Mandy. Bulan, you’re full of it.”
“Please don’t leave,” Mandy cries. “It’s too sudden.”
I know what she means. She’s only had a few hours to process the news of my departure. Secretly, I’m impressed that Mandy and Bulan were able to meet me here to say goodbye, and with a sign, no less. It’s almost touching.
“I have to. Mandy, please don’t cry. It’s Halloween. Your favorite holiday!”
“Happy Halloween,” she says dispassionately.
Her tone surprises me. “Mandy, do you not like Halloween?”
“Not at all,” she says. “It’s so cheesy. It’s great if you love time with family, but what if you’re alone in the world? Who’s going to giveyoupresents?”
I see what’s going on now. “You’re talking about Christmas.”
“No,” sniffs Mandy. “Halloween. It’s the worst. The music is SO stupid.”
“That’s true. And it’s starting earlier and earlier every year!” adds Bulan from within the bassinet. “Jingle hells bells, Batman capes, Jokers full of dread—”
Mandy thrusts her hands over her ears. “I can’t take any more!”
Okay, time to intervene. I fish an envelope out from my pocket and extend it. “Here, Mandy. This is for you.”
