Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4) (34 page)

Shane sized me up for a moment in complete silence
while
analyzing
my
words.
When that
excruciatingly
long
moment passed, he relaxed his facial muscles and gave me an
odd half-smile. “Well, I’m going to keep my eye on you anyway.
If you find any more information, you better bring it to me.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as Dylan took his cue and
opened the door. I’d grown to despise the tinkling of the little
bell that hung on it, but it was now the sound of an angel
getting her wings—me being the angel in question.
Every
muscle in my body relaxed in one fluid motion.
I was home
free. Until Shane offered his parting words.

When the door to Something Wick-ed finally swung
shut behind them, that
stupid bell resounded
again
and
triggered yet another weird association in my brain.
When I
was twelve years old, I read a gothic horror novel about a man
who was buried alive. In the Victorian era, people feared that
fate so much that they requested to have bells installed inside
of their coffins just in case. In the novel I read, the man inside
that pine box slowly drove himself insane with the constant
ringing of the bell that no one could hear. He died panicked and
alone in the most terrifying way possible, only to be found mere
seconds after his demise.

Yet again, I found myself wondering if I was going to
live to see my eighteenth birthday.
How many more times
could I be saved by the bell before that chime went undetected?

Between customers, Clay and I discussed Shane’s and
Dylan’s visit until it was time to close the shop. We argued back
and forth over what my next best move would be. Clay wanted
me to drop the whole thing, suggesting that over time, I would
find a way to deal with our now seemingly unbreakable bond. I
countered with the argument that if he weren’t so afraid of
facing Sophie, I may have been able to sidestep this kind of
ugliness from the very beginning.
I wavered back and forth
over whether or not to turn the matter over to the police
immediately after work. Clay begged me not to out of fear that
I would end up in the same condition that he was in. In the end,
we both agreed that what I needed to do most right now was
not panic or make any sudden moves.
A conversation with
Shelly about the matter was also on the agenda. I was finished
with making dangerous decisions without consulting a trusted
opinion. I may still be crazy but I was done being stupid.

Before I had a chance to discuss my problems with
Shelly, she greeted me at the door with some disappointing
news—the Masons cancelled their plan to spend Easter Sunday
with us. With this being the holiday that my dad chose to work,
that left just Shelly and me alone again like on Christmas. This
time around, it didn’t seem like such a bad turn of events. Even
though Dad knew all about my epic weirdness and accepted it
fully, I still felt more at ease approaching these kinds of matters
with Shelly first. Now, we would have an entire day together to
figure things out.
I went to bed exhausted and had another
dreamless night.

With only two names on the guest list, Shelly opted out
of baking a ham. Instead, I helped her make fried chicken and
seasoned potato wedges—something we both loved. While we
slaved away in the kitchen, I posed my current dilemma to her.
She listened intently to my account of recent events and Clay
helped me fill in the details.

During my explanation, my mind went back to the day
last summer when she
almost caught sight of
paranormal
activity over the breakfast table.
I was mortified at the time
and confused about whether or not I wanted her to notice it.
Now as we stood together peeling and cutting potatoes—both
of us fully aware of the ghost sitting at the table watching us—I
marveled at
how
much
things
had changed in
what was
relatively such a short period of time.

Once Shelly had heard all of the pertinent details, she
quickly offered her advice on the situation. “Don’t go to the
police. You don’t have any real evidence and you’ll only be
stirring a pot that’s already itching to boil over. Don’t go
anywhere near Spring Avenue. Stop investigating Clay’s
death—sorry Clay, I know you’d like to have some answers but
this isn’t the way to get them. If you still want to help Clay, I
suggest letting things settle down for a bit and then try locating
Sophie. You said you think she’s still in Ohio, right? I would
wait until fall.
You will have plenty of free time on your hands
while Zach is in class. In the meantime, you and Clay need to
find a way to peacefully coexist together.”

I took a minute to let her advice sink in. She was right,
on every count, she was right. Clay agreed as well except for
the part about finding
Sophie who
he
wanted
to remain
unfound for the rest of eternity. I liked to think of myself as
being pretty persuasive so I figured that I could change his
mind on the subject over the coming months. By the end of the
conversation, I felt positive that things were going to work out
fine.

With dinner topic number one out of the way, Shelly
turned to the next biggest piece of emotional baggage on my
mind. “How’s everything been going at school? You haven’t
mentioned anything
about it in
weeks.
Has
the bullying
stopped?”

She had to be kidding, right? If she knew Misty the way
I knew her, Shelly would realize that my academic torture
wasn’t going to end until after graduation was over—and I
would be lucky if it ended then.
I would still be spending most
of the summer in Charlotte’s Grove and so would Misty.
Hopefully, she would be too busy with her new restaurant—
and I nearly choked on the words just thinking them—to worry
about what Zach and I were up to.

Shelly threw down her fork in disgust. “That’s it—I’m
calling your principal first thing in the morning.
This has to
stop. Misty’s out of control behavior cannot go unpunished.”

“Don’t bother,” I replied. “Lascher came right out and
told Dad that he was too afraid of Jack Wolfe to discipline Misty
in any way. All she’ll get is a lukewarm lecture on bullying and
he’ll send her on her way. The only thing that will accomplish
is making me look like a weak cry baby and make her want to
torture me some more.”

“No ‘buts’. My plan is to ride out the storm until the end
of the school year.
There are too many other things on my
mind to worry
about
her.
Zach really
needs
my
support.
Things aren’t so happy in the Mason family right about now in
case you hadn’t noticed.”

Thinking about everything he and I discussed on Friday
made me lose my appetite.
I pushed my plate to the side,
leaving half of my potato wedges uneaten—something I once
declared to be a mortal sin. I didn’t feel that it would be right to
tell her everything that he shared with me in confidence so I
tidied it into a few short sentences without verbalizing the
painful details.

“Zach and his dad both have unresolved issues from
the past—the death of Zach’s grandpa and the whole lost
football career thing kind of intertwined. They collide head on
nearly every day it seems. I need to know how I can fix the
situation.” I expected her to lay out a detailed plan for me—a
plan that would restore peace to the Mason home. That wasn’t
what I got. I was barely finished speaking when she offered a
response.

“You
can’t
fix it, Ruby. The only thing you can do is offer
Zach your support—be there to listen when he needs to talk
but don’t try to get involved. It won’t be easy—trust me, I
know—but you need to let them work it out on their own.”

I nodded disappointedly. Zach had gotten me out of so
many tight spots since we’d met. For once, I wanted to come to
his
rescue. When I replaced the car he wrecked because of me,
I thought that would bring an end to their arguing.
Money
really
couldn’t
buy everything—at least
not
the
important
things. Shelly offered plenty of sound advice today but the only
real thing I walked away with was this—I needed to have
patience. Patience sucks.

I helped Shelly clean up the kitchen before heading
upstairs to skulk for a while before bed. I told her goodnight
even though it would be hours before I attempted sleep. She
returned the sentiment with one addition.

My heart began to weep for my invisible friend because
in that moment, I knew precisely what was going through his
mind.
He was wishing that his own mother had treated him
with as much respect as this veritable stranger who couldn’t
even see him. Why couldn’t everyone have a family as
supportive as mine was? Clay had no peace in life but come hell
or high water, I would see to it that he found it in the afterlife.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck me. “I changed my
mind. Tonight would be a good night to start getting caught up
on all of those episodes of Cinnamon Jones that I’ve missed.
You guys up for a few hours of television before bed?”

Cue the smiles. I couldn’t decipher which one of them
seemed happier. Or perhaps I was the one most deserving of
that award. Either way, I guess it didn’t really matter. Just as
we were sitting down to watch the first episode, Dad arrived
home from work. I waited until he was seated on the couch
with a plateful of reheated food before doing what I once
considered to be unthinkable—I “introduced” him to Clay.

It was a little awkward at first, but once he’d had time
to digest the situation—and a second plate of Easter dinner—
he became just as relaxed around Clay as Shelly was. It was
nothing more than a typical
a
typical family bonding night at the
Matthews house. While I knew that Clay’s feelings toward me
hadn’t changed, my feelings toward him
had
. He wasn’t really
my friend anymore—he was family.

It wasn’t until I was ready to climb into bed that I
realized that I hadn’t heard from Zach at all today. I sent him
one text and waited anxiously for a reply.

That negative reply erased all of the good feelings I
gathered throughout the course of the night. While I was busy
making sure that Clay had a good holiday, I forgot all about
Zach.
I should have invited
him
over for dinner. I should have
asked
him
to stay and watch TV with a family that wasn’t
constantly fighting. I’d already broken the cardinal rule of a
good relationship—be supportive. Clearly, my Super Girlfriend
cape needed a bit of ironing.

I woke up the next morning feeling “off”. Once again, I
couldn’t remember a single thing from my dreams. That wasn’t
normal for me—not normal at all.
remember, recalling
vivid dreams

For as long as I could
was
the first
thing
that
happened to me upon waking. Even on those rare occasions
that my sleeping mind took a night off, I could always be
assured that they would return the next night. That wasn’t
holding true anymore.

Sluggish and super troubled by my dreamlessness, I
dragged myself downstairs for breakfast. Oatmeal. Unflavored
oatmeal. I had nothing against oatmeal as long as either some
sort of fruit or cinnamon were involved. On its own, though, it
was
nothing
more than
a bowlful of mushy cardboard—
tasteless and foul textured.
After a few spoonfuls’ worth, I
abandoned the pursuit and toasted a bagel instead.

The weather had been getting progressively warmer
but I kept forgetting to pull out my lighter weight clothing.
Okay, it wasn’t so much forgetting as it was procrastinating.
Word mincing aside, I struggled to find something that wasn’t
as wrinkled as my Super Girlfriend cape and that I wouldn’t be
sweating
to death
in
by
first period.
Deciding
that semiwrinkled was more than semi-okay with me, I threw on some
clothes and set about tackling my hair.

After fifteen minutes of strenuous straightening efforts,
I still looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. Cautiously, I moved
my finger closer and closer to the ceramic plate until I was
certain that I wasn’t going to burn myself. It was barely even
warm.
My beloved straightener that had kept me nearly frizzfree for almost two years now had finally kicked the bucket.
Armed only with straightening serum now, I did my best. In
the end, I decided that semi-straight was also semi-okay with
me. My hair would be alright as long as it didn’t—

Rain.
Tons of it.
Pouring down from the sky and
forming into puddles on the drive.
I was already so close to
being late for school that I didn’t bother looking for an
umbrella.
I threw my jacket over my head instead and bolted
off the front porch toward my car. No joke, I could already feel
my hair growing like an out of control Chia Pet. Semi-straight
was nearly semi-gone. But that wasn’t the only thing that was
gone.