Page 32 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Jamie

Jamie’s head was reeling by the time they said their goodbyes to Alaitheia. The sun beat down relentlessly, and the rain-wet streets nearly steamed as the afternoon storm burned away. Jamie plucked at their sweaty shirt.

“Seriously, how does he wear that leather jacket in this heat?” they grumbled, not really expecting an answer.

They didn’t get one. Edgar seemed lost in his own world.

“Do you want to go to my place?” Jamie asked. “Germaine and Carl will have cold drinks, and their balcony is shady.”

Edgar assented, and Jamie led them slowly through the streets.

“I don’t even go in my apartment when the sun’s out if I can help it,” Jamie said, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they walked in an attempt to distract Edgar.

They told him about how they’d come to live in Germaine and Carl’s guesthouse after Jamie’s landlord had changed their house from a long-term rental into an Airbnb, one more in a long line of people who cared so much about making a buck for themselves that they didn’t care that short-term rentals had radically driven up housing prices, especially in Black and lower-income neighborhoods.

“There it is,” they said.

Every time the white columns and broad wooden planks of the Marigny house’s grand porch came into view, Jamie felt how lucky they were to have ended up here.

“Wow. You live here?”

It was the first thing he’d said beyond murmurs of agreement with Jamie’s disgust at the housing market.

“Well, I live in the guesthouse around back. But yeah. Here, we can cut through this way to the back balcony.”

They flicked the side-gate latch, then led Edgar around the rosebushes that hugged the house and into the garden.

The backyard was like an oasis thanks to years and years of strategic planting.

Germaine and Carl had created a space invisible to neighbors and hidden from anyone passing by on the street.

Jamie glowed with pride when Edgar said it was beautiful. It hadn’t been their design, but they’d certainly spent enough hours out here being Carl’s hands and, more importantly, his knees.

Above them, on the balcony dripping with bougainvillea and ivy, dressed in white linen, lounged Carl and Germaine.

“Come up, kiddo,” Germaine called down.

They climbed the helix of the iron stairs to the second floor. The breeze from the three fans on the balcony ceiling kept the heat from settling, and the icy pitcher of drinks between them made Jamie’s mouth water.

Carl was squinting at Edgar.

“I know you,” he mused. Then he turned to Germaine. “Do I know him?”

“Got me, darlin’.” He stuck out his hand. “Germaine Fell.”

“Edgar. Lovejoy. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands, and Edgar turned to Carl. “We met at your shop, sir. I delivered a box of Lagniappe Lemonade for a party you were having?”

“Of course, dear boy, of course,” he said. “Jamie’s beau.”

“We prefer paramour or inamorata ,” Jamie joked.

Carl smiled and gestured for them to sit down. Carl was never happy unless everyone was seated with a drink in hand.

Jamie got them settled and made Edgar a nonalcoholic version of Germaine’s concoction.

They enjoyed the breeze and the respite from the heat for a few minutes, then Germaine rose and stretched.

“Well, I think it’s time for a nap. What do you say?” He held a hand out to Carl, who blinked owlishly up at him.

“A nap? You don’t—”

Germaine cleared his throat and kicked at Carl’s shoe.

“Yes, yes,” Carl said, nodding and rising, “wouldn’t a nap be just the thing!”

Then Jamie and Edgar were left alone, Jamie rolling their eyes fondly at their hosts.

There’s no time for subtlety when you’re old , Carl had told Jamie once. You stop trusting people to understand, because if they don’t, you’ve wasted precious moments of the life you have left.

Edgar fixed Jamie with an intense look.

“Was my brother right?” he asked. “Am I a coward?”

“No, you’re not a coward. On the contrary, I know how much bravery and strength it takes just to exist in a world where you have good reason to be scared all the time.”

“God.” Edgar slumped, looking utterly exhausted. “It’s all so fucking hard . Where do you get the energy to fight the world again and again?”

“Aw, babe.” Jamie wanted to wrap Edgar in their arms and squeeze the fear from him like poison. “The alternative is giving in and not living the life you want, and that’s so much worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Edgar said, and his voice was small and choked.

Jamie ached for him. But a tendril of worry also crept in.

They didn’t want to sound like they were siding with Poe and blaming Edgar for his fear, but they’d listened intently to the conversation at Le Corbeau and hadn’t come away with any answers except this: Edgar’s fear, if left unchallenged, was going to make his life smaller.

That was his choice to make, of course. But Jamie hoped he’d choose to try and dig. Because if he didn’t, Jamie wasn’t sure there was a future for them.

“It’s really not,” Jamie echoed. “It’s so unfair and it sucks, and I hate watching you suffer.”

“But?” Edgar prompted, sounding resigned.

“But,” Jamie added slowly.

“You can say it,” Edgar interrupted. “You agree with Poe. I should just deal with the fact that I’m a coward and I’m ruining my life.” He looked disgusted with himself.

Whoa, where did that come from?

“Hold on,” Jamie said. “I do not think you’re a coward. Don’t put words in my mouth.” They put a hand on Edgar’s knee. “I was going to ask if you’ve ever tried an antianxiety.”

Edgar’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked betrayed. Then he slumped.

“Yeah, once. It was… It didn’t help. It was after Antoine died and I freaked out.”

Jamie squeezed his knee, encouraging him to say more.

“He was the first ghost I saw on my own.” Edgar reached for Jamie’s hand. “I was… I loved him. He was the only person I ever…”

Edgar trailed off, but Jamie thought they understood.

The first person Edgar had ever loved had died, and Edgar had seen it happen and then been haunted by his ghost. It was about the worst circumstances Jamie could imagine for a first love.

And since that happened, Edgar became terrified of losing the people he loved and terrified of ghosts, the latter preventing him from developing relationships that might result in loss.

“I’m so sorry,” Jamie said. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through all that.”

Edgar sighed. “I didn’t like how it made me feel. The medication. I flushed it down the toilet.”

Jamie wanted to ask exactly how long Edgar had taken the medication, which one it had been, how he’d felt, anything to try and help Edgar understand that perhaps circumstances might be different now.

That he had been a child, directly after a trauma, and not in control of anything in his life.

That now he could work with a doctor, try different things to see what could help.

But this was not the time. They’d have that conversation when Edgar hadn’t just been trampled by his brother and perplexed by his aunt.

“It kills me to watch you suffer,” Jamie admitted for now. “It makes me want to burn the fucking world down to make it stop. But all I can do is be here for you in the aftermath.”

Edgar squeezed Jamie’s hand. They sat in silence for a while, and Jamie’s mind wandered to the first time they’d done burlesque.

It was strange to remember that there was a time only about a year before when the idea of revealing their body to a crowd was one of the scarier things they could imagine.

And how after they rushed offstage, they had an adrenaline high that lasted days.

They’d felt, for the first time, in control of something that had previously felt like it controlled them.

What if Edgar could experience something similar?

“When I first did burlesque, it was really cathartic for me,” Jamie mused.

Edgar nodded politely, clearly unsure where this non sequitur was going.

“This is a little odd,” Jamie said. “But how would you feel about being a ghost?”

Edgar blanched. “Um. Like. After I die?”

“No. Like while you are very much alive.”