Page 64 of Ghostly

“It means a small coffee cup,” Perry said, causing Ida to laugh and smudge the last E.

“Whoa.” Perry leaned forward, his nose almost touching the table. “No way.”

“Believe us now?” Gabriel victoriously crossed his hands over his chest.

“Okay. Okay.” Perry rubbed his forehead. “So y’all are saying there’s a ghost of my great-great-great-grandaunt in here, and she just learned how to write.”

“Notaghost of,” Gabriel corrected. “Sheisyour ancestor. Once, she was alive—now, she’s a ghost.”

“Yeah, I don’t really care about the technicalities. What does she want with me?”

With Perry appearing calm enough to listen, Gabriel returned to his chair and explained the contract. “Now, you are the last living relative. Ida had no children of her own…”

She was still young, though. If they could restore her to life, she’d be twenty-five again. Perhaps a spinster to Harry, but in this day and age, her family life would only be beginning. She’d never thought about childrenintensely; it was a sort of a given, something she’d have loved to have in the future.

How adorable would they look, with their dark hair and moss-green eyes? Maybe a few of her freckles?

Oh, no. Not that again.

She stared at Gabriel, afraid her thoughts would show on her face, but luckily, he was still explaining things to Perry. Why did she have to be so, well, cringe-worthy? She was one step away from haunting a laptop and generating children on one of those websites where you uploaded the couple’s images.

She bet Gabriel would make beautiful children.

Especially him and Wynona.

“…had only one child, and that leads to you,” Gabriel concluded.

For the love of god, focus.

“Perry’s parents are not alive anymore?” she asked.

Gabriel conveyed the question.

“Nah. Died in a car crash when I was little.” Perry changed his gaze between Gabriel and a spot a bit left of Ida, as if he weren’t sure who to address. “Been bounced around foster homes a while. But I’m eighteen now, and it’s time to find my own way in the world. I mean, not that the folks who raised me were bad, not the last ones.”

“Tell him I’m sorry about his parents.” And his great-great-grandfather, too. “And I wish him all the best.”

“Thanks, a-auntie,” Perry said after Gabriel finished the message.

“We know this is overwhelming for you,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“So how about we let you think it through? You can call when you’re ready to discuss it further.” Gabriel looked at Ida. “No, he won’t escape.”

“Dude, don’t make me reconsider.”

“All the time you need. Well, as long as it’s before March 11th.”

“At least a week before,” Ida said. “After all, we do need to bond.”

Perry fidgeted with a string on his jacket.

“There’s a motel in town,” Gabriel said. “Room’s on me.”

Perry seemed to take ages, examining the receipt again, turning it toward the light, then observing Gabriel, then shifting on the sofa. “I guess I can stay for a few days,” he finally said.

Ida squealed and turned in a circle. As Gabriel accompanied Perry to the front door, she glided behind them. Jamie stood on that porch once, too, his shoulders stiff, eyes hard, as he said his last goodbye to a weeping Jacinda and a stubbornly pouting Harry. And just as Jamie’s plaid-clad back turned and headed down the stairs, so did Perry—but he bounced with an always-excessive energy of a teenager, and as he reached the wrought-iron gate, he put on his headphones and swung his head in the rhythm.