Page 4 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)
Three
Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about Tristan.
Obviously. He’d stayed on her mind during the whole ghost tour; she even thought she’d spotted him in the back of the crowd on Beachside after the Chamber of Commerce stop.
Ridiculous. So at the end of the evening she made a deal with herself—she had the entire walk home to get him out of her mind. No more, no less.
Inside, the place looked much like it had when Aunt Alice had been alive.
Sophie had moved her books from her bedroom to the bookcase in the living room, and she’d updated the appliances one expensive year, but those were the only real changes she’d made.
Candles of all sizes were still grouped in the no-longer-working fireplace, and Aunt Alice’s record collection still nestled, along with its turntable, in a corner of the living room.
Books lay scattered across the coffee table, and the dining table in its nook was more of a home office where Sophie occasionally ate.
The place was cluttered, but it was cozy.
And it was all Sophie’s, as long as she could keep paying the property taxes.
Sophie locked the door behind her and froze. She took a deep breath, all thoughts of Tristan and his smile instantly forgotten. Then she took out her phone and called her best friend, Libby.
“I can smell it again.” She barely gave Libby time to say hello. “Jasmine, the second I walk in the door.”
Libby didn’t answer at first, and Sophie could tell she was biting back a sigh. “Sophie.” Her voice was kind, but with a tinge of exasperation. Sophie was ready for that. They’d had this conversation too many times by now.
“I’m just saying. What if your grandmother was wrong? What if…?” Her throat threatened to close up at the thought.
“Nan wasn’t wrong,” Libby said gently. “She’s never wrong. She did a really thorough scan of the condo after Alice died. She even went back a second time, remember?”
“I remember.” Libby’s grandmother had given her a dressing-down, telling her that this second visit was a waste of time. There was nothing that a ghost hunter could get on a second sweep of a home that she couldn’t get the first time.
“If your great-aunt had stuck around, Nan would have made contact. Simple as that.”
“Yeah.” She knew it was the truth, but sometimes—more than sometimes—Sophie wished it weren’t quite that simple.
That this jasmine scent that sometimes greeted her when she came home really was Aunt Alice, sticking around to check on her.
There was probably a more down-to-earth explanation: stray molecules of Aunt Alice’s favorite perfume living in the air vents, left over from the thirty-something years she’d lived in this condo.
“You’re right,” she finally said, swallowing hard against her sadness. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” The exasperation was gone from Libby’s voice, and now only kindness remained. “Comes with the territory. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in these years as Nan’s assistant, it’s that grief can do weird things to the brain.”
“It can’t still be grief, though. Alice has been gone a while.”
“Only a few years. That’s not long in the grand scheme of things. Grief isn’t linear, you know; it comes in waves. Apparently even years later it can hit you in the back of the knees.”
“Yeah.” Well, that part made sense. Sophie had been hit in the back of the knees herself a few times since Aunt Alice had gone.
“Hey, not to change the subject,” Libby said, absolutely changing the subject, “but I heard you met a hottie at The Haunt tonight.”
“How?” A startled laugh escaped her chest as Sophie plopped down on the sofa. “How did you hear that?”
But of course she knew the answer before Libby said a word. “Tony.” The two women spoke at the same time. Sophie sighed, while Libby chuckled.
“Okay, well, technically it was Cassie. She and Nick were at The Haunt—”
“They were? I didn’t see them.”
“You know them. They were probably tucked back in some corner, being all lovey-dovey and disgusting. Anyway, Cassie said she saw right as you were leaving, and when Nick went up to the bar to settle the bill, Tony told him—”
“Word gets around here fast, doesn’t it?”
Libby kept going like Sophie hadn’t interrupted. “He said that you’d been making eyes at some tourist.”
Embarrassment covered Sophie in a full-body flush. “I wasn’t making eyes …” But she had been, hadn’t she? How had she looked to Tony? Had he been laughing at her? Wouldn’t be the first time. “Okay, maybe I was making eyes. A little.”
Libby’s chuckle became a full-on laugh. “Did he make eyes back? Tell me everything.”
Sophie didn’t want to tell her everything.
Because “everything” included her boring the crap out of Tristan, talking his ear off about ghost tours when he couldn’t care less.
“Not a lot to tell.” That was a lie. There was plenty to tell.
He had great eyes, a compelling smile. The way this man—someone she’d known all of five minutes—had looked at her made her feel more seen than she ever had in her life.
But Sophie dismissed all that; what was the point?
“He’s a tourist,” she said instead, because she obviously needed the reminder.
“Probably just here for the weekend. He was cute, we talked a little, then I left to do my Friday night tour. The end.”
“Hmph.” Libby sounded disappointed. “That could have gone better.”
“You’re telling me.” Sophie’s laugh sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“Eh, don’t worry about it.” On the other end of the line, Libby was probably waving a dismissive hand. “He’s a tourist, like you said. It’s not like he’s sticking around.”
“Yeah.” He’s not sticking around. The words hit like a small dart, all the more painful because Sophie knew that Libby didn’t mean it like that.
She wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings. But that didn’t stop Sophie from making a few more polite noises and hanging up as fast as she could.
Sophie tossed her phone to the coffee table and closed her eyes, chasing that jasmine scent that had all but faded while she’d talked to Libby.
Every time she caught it, she felt like a kid again: held against her great-aunt’s soft bosom, surrounded by her powdery jasmine perfume, feeling safe, like the world couldn’t touch her.
Sometimes that memory expanded to include her father.
Always by the front door, one hand on the doorknob, saying he’d be back soon to visit.
And he did come back, at first. But the visits became less and less frequent as it became apparent that he’d moved on.
Remarried. Who needed your old life when you had a new one?
Better to leave behind the daughter who reminded him of his first wife, the one who’d cheated and left him with a toddler to raise.
Leaving ran in her family, apparently. Her mom did it. Her dad did it. But Aunt Alice had been a constant from the time she was five years old. That was when Boneyard Key had become her home. When Aunt Alice had become her home.
Now Aunt Alice was gone too. Though when you lived in the most haunted small town in Florida it was normal to hope that she’d lingered. Normal to hope that Alice would understand how lonely Sophie felt, now that she was on her own. Maybe she would have wanted to stick around.
But she hadn’t.
This home was all Sophie had left. Well, that and the forty-odd years of crap that had accumulated in this two-bedroom condo.
When Aunt Alice had first passed, Sophie had held on to every scrap, not able to part with a single thing she’d touched.
As time went on, her grip had relaxed, and she’d been able to clear things out.
Clothes were donated first, followed by most of her jewelry, then a few furniture pieces.
Now the space was a cozy mismatch that was very much Sophie, but with enough reminders to keep Aunt Alice’s memory alive.
She could feel her aunt’s love in the handmade quilt slung across the back of the sofa, the vinyl collection, and the plants that Sophie did her best to keep alive.
The final frontier remained the master bedroom. Aunt Alice’s room. Sophie hadn’t been able to bring herself to take it over. Easier to just keep the door closed and stay in her smaller bedroom with its purple flower wallpaper.
It was a good life. Really. But every once in a while, Sophie wished she could be enough to make someone stay.