She gave an awkward wave, halfway between a warning and a truce. “Just...don’t touch them. Okay?”
The room stayed quiet. Totally still.
But Ocean couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was listening.
Halfway down the stairs, she almost turned around. Like if she moved fast enough, she might catch Jo in the act or something. But she didn’t.
Instead, she kept going, her thoughts spinning.
If this was the same Jo the letters were meant for, that was seriously sad.
Why did she never read them? Didn’t black ribbon usually mean someone had died?
And if she’d lived on Fourth Street back then, why was her ghost here on First Street now?
The questions scratched at the back of her brain as she quickly sorted through the two boxes, moving anything she wanted to keep into one. She stacked some books, tucked the brush set on top, and hauled the box upstairs.
She stepped into her room. Then froze.
The ribbon was untied.
Two of the letters were open. Just lying there, face-up on the desk like someone had been reading them.
Ocean’s heart kicked. She dropped the box onto the floor with a soft thud and sat on the edge of her bed, facing the desk.
“Okay, Jo,” Ocean said, her voice just barely steady. “We need to talk. Please.”
She waited.
Nothing.
She looked toward the window, then back at the desk, where the letters sat open.
“Are you…are you Josephine Fitzgerald?” she asked softly.
No answer. Just the breeze coming through the screen, rustling the papers a little. But now, the smell of lavender mingled with the honeysuckle.
“I know you’re here,” Ocean said, her voice cracking a little. “My mom and Arthur try to lie about it. Pretend you’re not real. But they’ve seen you too. I can tell.”
She stood up slowly, walking toward the desk but not touching the letters. “So why are you hiding from me?”
Her throat felt tight. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but her eyes stung a little.
“I wouldn’t freak out or anything,” she said, softer now. “I just…I want to know what happened. To you. To him. Why didn’t you read these letters.”
The silence stretched on. The lavender scent grew stronger. Like someone was standing right there with her.
“Jo?”
A shadow started to form in front of her.
Ocean’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her first instinct was to run. Bolt straight out of the room, down the stairs, maybe out the front door. But her feet stayed rooted to the floor, like even they were too shocked to move.
The air felt heavy, charged. The shape shifted, grew more solid. And then, right in front of her eyes, it started to take emerge, like a watercolor painting filling itself in.
She gasped.
The woman looked like she’d walked right out of an old movie, but not in a creepy, black-and-white kind of way. Her dress was this rich burgundy silk that shimmered when the light hit it. It wasn’t sparkly or flashy, just classy in a quiet, expensive way. It hugged her figure and stopped right around her knees, like those 1920s flapper outfits Ocean had seen in history class videos or Halloween costumes. Only real.
