Page 12 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

Every Saturday morning since Jamie had moved into Carl and Germaine’s guesthouse, they had enjoyed coffee, fruit, croissants, and gossip with the couple.

Jamie loved to sit on their back porch, shaded with banana leaves.

They’d breathe in the scent of flowers and sip the strong chicory coffee that Germaine brewed with cinnamon, molasses, and a pinch of salt and lightened with cream, the way his mother had made it and her mother before her.

With croissant flakes on their fingers and the taste of butter on their lips, the three of them (and whichever friends of Germaine and Carl’s had stopped by) would talk until the heat of the day drove them inside.

This morning, when Jamie opened the screen door to the porch, Carl and Germaine were already sipping coffee with their friend Muriel.

Jamie loved Muriel, though they found her a touch intimidating.

She was elegant and beautiful, with a long fall of salt-and-pepper hair, which she caught up with ornate pins or braided over her shoulder in a complicated plait.

Today, it was piled on her head in knots and secured with what looked like silver spoons.

Knowing Muriel, they might be actual silver.

Once Jamie had admired a pocket watch she wore, and she’d given it to them on the spot, saying she’d love for them to wear it.

The next day, Carl had told them it had belonged to Muriel’s grandfather and was probably worth a mint.

“Dear Jamie!” Carl greeted them enthusiastically. One of the things Jamie loved most about Carl was how genuinely excited he was at all times to see someone he liked.

Indeed, moving in with Germaine and Carl had been the best thing that had happened to Jamie in the last year.

Jamie was fairly sure their own parents loved each other, but it was in a language Jamie didn’t speak—a language of obligation, appearances, and dismissal of anything that didn’t conform to their desires.

It wasn’t dissimilar from the way they loved their children.

Germaine and Carl, however, loved one another the way Jamie wanted to love and be loved.

Theirs was a love of delight, curiosity, and mutual growth, and watching it gave Jamie hope that someday they might live with a partner who saw them clearly, adored them, challenged them, and gave them grace when they failed to live up to those challenges.

It was from Germaine and Carl that Jamie had learned something else too: that without honesty in a relationship, you had nothing.

“Late night, huh, kiddo?” Germaine asked, raising an eyebrow and pouring them a coffee.

Jamie kissed Carl’s cheek, took the cup and saucer from Germaine, and kissed his cheek, then sat next to Muriel on the wicker love seat.

“Hello, darling. Lovely to see you,” she said and kissed both their cheeks.

“You too, Muriel. It’s been a while.”

She sighed. “Yes, I’ve been unusually busy the last few months. And you know how I like to be nocturnal in the summertime,” she lamented, the latter directed at Carl and Germaine. Jamie could certainly see why though. Summer in New Orleans was brutal, and some days melted even the hardiest.

Muriel regaled them with her work on a new initiative to bring gardens to schools in the city and the work that her friend Greta was doing to facilitate it.

“Carys’ partner? I actually saw Carys last night.”

Germaine’s deep brown gaze focused on Jamie. “I thought you had a date last night?”

“I did,” Jamie said.

“And?” Germaine demanded. He was patient about everything except gossip.

Jamie groaned and slid down in their seat.

“Do tell, darling,” Muriel encouraged, passing them the plate of pastries.

Jamie took a bite of rich, buttery croissant and a sip of milky chicory coffee and settled in to tell them all about the mysterious, sweet, borderline disaster that had been their evening with Edgar Lovejoy.

***

Jamie crawled back into bed with a third cup of coffee after Muriel took her leave. They cranked the window air conditioner as high as it would go and settled in for an afternoon of sulking and horror movies.

Muriel, Germaine, and Carl had listened intently to Jamie’s description of the date and had agreed that something was definitely up with Edgar. But when Muriel left, she had lingered over her goodbye to Jamie, saying with uncharacteristic gentleness, “I hope you give him another chance.”

When Jamie asked her to elaborate, she wouldn’t, simply kissing them on the cheek with a vague eyebrow raise and an even vaguer, “You just never know, do you?”

Jamie, generally of the opinion that they did know, had said nothing. But now, watching as a brother and sister duo were shish-kebabbed by a cursed sword and trapped in a demon dimension, they found their thoughts drifting back to Edgar.

There had been moments—only a few, but they’d been there—when Edgar was truly present and had been sweet, generous, and interested.

Moments when his eyes had gone soft at something Jamie said or did.

Moments that had made Jamie imagine second dates, walks by the river, kisses, and curling up together after a hard day.

And it had been those moments that made it so hard to walk away from Edgar at the end of the night.

Jamie had learned from experience that if someone couldn’t make it through a first date without setting off their alarm bells, then it was best to leave it be.

But Muriel’s words drifted through Jamie’s mind as they snuggled deeper into bed. Lulled asleep midmovie by the daily afternoon downpour, Jamie awoke a few hours later to the following texts:

Edgar : Hi, Jamie, it’s Edgar. You probably don’t want to hear from me, but I want to apologize for being so weird yesterday. And for not telling you why. It’s just pretty personal and not something I talk about. Usually.

Edgar : Anyway, sorry for being a crap date.

Twenty minutes later, he’d sent another text.

Edgar : Is there any chance you’d give me another shot? Maybe you could come over and we could watch a movie?

Ten minutes after that, another.

Edgar : But not a scary movie, please

As Jamie read through the messages, they started to smile, and by the time they got to that one, they were grinning. Edgar was just so damn sweet .

A final text came through as they held their phone.

Edgar : Okay, I’ll leave you alone now. Thanks for considering

Edgar had acknowledged his alarming behavior, said it was personal, and apologized. Everyone had struggles and things they didn’t like to share. Jamie could respect that, as long as Edgar didn’t keep his secret forever.

A moment from their date came back to Jamie then. Edgar’s explanation for why he’d ordered desserts even though he didn’t plan to eat them. I wanted you to have what you wanted , he’d said. That didn’t sound like someone inconsiderate.

Jamie had cultivated a habit of truthfulness because so many people in their life had wanted them to lie.

It was a slippery slope, and Jamie didn’t intend to be one of the people who ended up at the bottom of it, trying to climb their way back from a lifetime of self-erasure.

But Edgar wasn’t Jamie, and he deserved time to feel safe enough to open up.

Jamie texted, I know just the G-rated movie.

Edgar’s response was immediate: Thank you for giving me another chance. That sounds really great.

Jamie’s cheeks ached, and they realized they were grinning at their phone again.

They were pretty sure that meant they’d made the right decision.

***

The House of Screams crew worked in a large warehouse near the tangle of the Pontchartrain Expressway and the river, building set pieces that they’d take to the site of the haunt once the space was available.

It was incredibly humid and stuffy inside and always smelled like sawdust kicked off a table saw, hot from the blade.

On a sunny day like today, the warehouse baked you no matter what you did, making the entire crew grouchy and irritable.

This Friday, the day of Jamie’s second date with Edgar, in addition to being hot and stuffy and grouchy, it was one of those days that seemed to have been cursed from beginning to end.

Tools broke, a delivery of lumber got stuck under a bridge because the truck was too tall, and the trusty coffee machine that lived on the paint cabinet finally perished.

Marty, their fearful leader, was in rare dudgeon thanks to the setbacks—particularly the coffee machine, toward which he’d demonstrated more tenderness than toward his children. And when Marty wasn’t happy, nobody was happy.

He caught Jamie as they came back from lunch. “I need you to go pick up the chandelier for the drawing room in Pearl River tonight,” he said.

“Uh. Tonight? Could they deliver it?”

“No. A buddy’s doing me a favor.”

“Dude, ordinarily I would, but I have plans tonight. Since it’s your buddy, maybe you could pick it up?” they asked hopefully.

“No can do.” He gave no further explanation.

“Marty, seriously. I have a date. Can someone else do it?”

Marty’s eyebrows were bushy, aggressive things, and now they drew together in a V Jamie recognized. This was not going to go well for them.

“If you’re only interested in working during certain hours, I know lots of guys who would be thrilled to have your job.”

There was no arguing with that. “Yeah, okay, no problem,” Jamie said.

“I’ll text you the info,” Marty said. “Don’t let me down.”

“ Fuck! ” Jamie said after Marty had walked away.

See, Mom, this is why I can’t just get some time off for the wedding . Their mother had texted multiple times in the last few days to remind Jamie of their responsibilities.

Jamie grabbed their phone and texted Edgar before they got back to work.

Jamie : I’m really excited to see you tonight, but my boss sprung a last-minute job on me. Is there any chance I can compel you to come on a random road trip with me instead of watching a movie? I’ll bring snacks!