“I was hoping I could practice talking with you,” I say, bracing my elbows on my knees. “If you’re willing.”
“You sound like you talk fine already,”Peggy says, not looking up from her fish.
“I mean, talking to a ghost,” I clarify. “I need to practice keeping my walls up.”
“Nico is good at keeping his walls up now,”Peggy says.“We used to play a game where I’d try to get past them.”
I glance at Nico. I can tell he’s listening by the stiffness of his shoulders, even though he’s looking firmly at the trees.
“You did?” I ask Peggy.
“We don’t play that game anymore,”Peggy says.“He’s teaching me how to read.”
Getting rid of this stubborn longing inside me would be so much easier if Nico were a complete asshole, but he’s not. He’s good and kind in such quiet ways, like he doesn’t want to call attention to it.
Closing my eyes, I go to my stage and sit cross-legged, facing all the empty chairs. I stop imagining my family in the chairs. It’s easier to concentrate when I’m not trying to picture their faces.
Peggy and I talk for an hour. It’s weird not looking at her while I talk to her, and at first the stage falls away. She tells me about her house, about how she died (when she tried to climb a dresser and it fell on top of her, which she describes with a lot of enthusiasm and cursing), and about the people who’ve tried to get rid of her over the years when she pulled pranks on them. I tell her about Bob, and she makes me promise to bring him to meet her next time.
“Animals can tell I’m here sometimes,”Peggy says, picking at another scale.“It’s fun to scare them, but I won’t scare your dog. Promise.”
Instead of her voice sounding like it’s coming through the walls of my theater, her voice starts coming in through the speakers. I have to keep my eyes closed. How Nico can keep his walls up with his eyes open is beyond me. But maintaining my walls with her is easier than with other ghosts. Maybe because she’s not trying to hurt me.
“Does Peggy’s family know she’s a ghost?” I ask Nico on the walk back to the house.
“She stayed here to comfort her mom, but that was sixty years ago,” Nico says, hands deep in his pockets. “Her mom’s dead now. I’ve been looking for her anchor.”
I know it’s wrong and selfish, but part of me wishes Mom or Dad or Rosie loved me so much that they hadn’t moved on without me. I wish they had waited for me.
The next morning, I wait for Nico outside the containment door, my hands curled around a steaming mug of tea. Nico might avoid coffee, but who doesn’t like tea? And with the way he attacks ice cream, the honey I added should satisfy his sweet tooth.
I’m pretty sure the ectoplasm has all cleared my system. Last time I threw up was the morning after I was contaminated, and I only coughed up one small glob since then. I keep waiting for the crushing disappointment about Nico to fade with it, for my brain chemistry to normalize and make me realize I was just contaminated and horny and not hung up on a guy who kissed me once and then told me he never wanted to discuss it again.
Spoiler alert: it’s not working like that.
Turns out I’m pathetically into him, which is inconvenient but also something I need to be an adult about. He doesn’t want me. People are allowed not to want me. I’ve got plenty of experience with that. I can still be professional and friendly and not make this weird.
Hence the tea.
The containment door opens. Nico steps out, and my heart does a somersault that I curse myself for. Well, that’s not agreatstart to our professional relationship.
“Good morning,” I say, holding out the mug.
He examines the mug like I’m handing him a live grenade.
“It’s just tea,” I add when he doesn’t take it. “Not poisoned or anything.”
He takes the mug, his fingers positioned to avoid touching mine. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I smile at him even though he’s already turned and started down the steps. Cold air hits my face as I follow him down.
I’m getting better at keeping my walls up. Yesterday, I stayed on my stage through an entire conversation with Richard Fentonwhile he tried to convince me that my dad would be ashamed of me, and I only slipped once. At least I’m being useful while everyone waits for Morrow to emerge from whatever hole he’s hiding in.
Nico sets the tea on the floor next to the control panel.
“So, what are we doing today?” I pull my goggles on. “More practice with Fenton? Or are we moving up to someone stronger?”
“Neither.” Nico’s already flipping switches, bringing systems online. “I have an interview scheduled. Your job is to keep your walls up while I work.”
