Touchdown (17 page)

“Leigh, please don't be like that. It's true, I've been dumb, caring about what everybody thinks, but I'm changing . . . ”

Leigh shook her head. “Just don't.” She turned to leave.

Rain started to pelt the field and a bolt of lightning shot through it. “Let's get to shelter and we can talk this through. The old houses over there—”

Leigh looked to where he was pointing. “Uh, uh, don't distract me. We both know you'd never ask me to be with you if you had a better choice.”

“For crying out loud, Leigh—could you give me a chance?” Clay trailed after her. “I thought you were here for me and wanted to hear me out!” The rain started coming down hard. “C'mon, Leigh, let's get to those homes.”

She turned from him. “I need to think.”

“Please,” he said, but she'd already left him standing alone in the field full of grass, rain, and starlight.

• • •

“This is boring,” Goldie announced, as she was forced to stare at the stars. “If you are going to feel sorry for yourself, Clay, then do it in a proper room, where you can collapse on your bed and sob into your pillow. At least that way you can beat yourself up appropriately, and also not get grass stains on your pants,” she sagely advised. “And can I ask why you are standing alone in the rain like someone from an old movie?”

“Oh, you're back. I was wondering about that. The only beds here are in those old antebellum homes that they use as a museum,” Clay said, and gestured vaguely toward a home with four columns in the front. “They're roped off—people aren't supposed touch the furniture.”

Goldie paused. “Don't be silly, Clay?” she said. “Just step over the ropes.”

“Hey, I'm tired,” Clay said defensively. “It's been a long day. And night. Thanks to you,” he added bitterly.

“Just get over it already,” Goldie exclaimed. “I have more important things to do than to soothe your broken ego. We need to get to New York to save my fiancé. We have a witch to stop!”

“What witch?” Clay asked, but he didn't have the energy to hear the answer. “My best friend just left us here, Goldie. New York will have to wait.”

“Well, it can't,” Goldie said. “So let's go!”

“How? I have no car here.”

“So we'll hitchhike.”

“To New York. Are you insane?” Clay said and leaned his head back. “I put in a full day. No way am I hitchhiking to someplace nine hundred miles away.”

“It shouldn't be too far to the airport,” Goldie said.

“You're exasperating. And I've got to get some sleep.”

“Fine, but we're leaving first thing in the morning.”

And with that, Clay hiked to the antebellum houses and entered one. When he found a bed—at Goldie's urging—he then promptly fell fast asleep.

• • •

“Hello! Anybody here? I'm bored!” Goldie sang. She loitered in front of the decrepit houses and kicked at the pebbles. “This guy has been sleeping for a while. And if I try to get him to New York when he is so exhausted he'll get sick. Last thing I need is a septic football player on my hands.” With a dramatic sigh, she collapsed on a wheelbarrow and stared around the big houses. “If you ask me, you should knock all of this down,” she said to Clay matter-of-factly, though he'd fallen fast asleep.

She stared at the peeling faded white walls and rickety steps. “These houses are old.”

“I spent my life in that house,” a woman's voice sounded from behind her.

“Aiee!” Goldie shrieked and lost her balance. She toppled off the wheelbarrow and looked up at the woman, then scrambled to her feet. “Who are you? How can you hear me? And what are you doing scaring people like that?”

The young woman stepped forward into the moonlight. She was small and dark, dressed in a tattered apron. Her curly hair was tied back in a neat bun and revealed a gaunt pinched face that was full of pain. She spoke in a voice horse from disuse. “I think the question is, who are you?” She folded her twiggy arms and glared at Goldie. “This is my house.”

“This is a museum house from the 1800s . . . ” Goldie slowly trailed off, noticing for the first time that the girl's sharp features were quite transparent, and also a little blurry around the edges. “Oh, my.” She began to hyperventilate. “You can hear me because you are a ghost!” She screeched and high tailed it back into the creaky house, where Clay was sound asleep. “Get up!” Goldie prodded Clay, but as her fingers had no substance, her efforts were futile. “Clay!” she shrieked right next to his ear in a frequency that could make glass crack and animals weep.

He started. “Geez, Goldie! Would you be quiet!” he shouted and swiped blindly at her, lethargic with sleep.

“There is a ghost outside!” she sobbed, trying to cling to his arm.

Clay rubbed his eyes. “Goldie. You are a ghost!” he said and collapsed back on the bed. “Just go away,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes.

“Oh.” Goldie thought about it. “Okay.” She descended the stairs, a vision of serenity, and returned to the ghost who was standing there, staring out into the fields as if she was waiting for somebody.

“How about we start over. What's your name?”

“Sally. Not that it's your business.” Sally continued to walk the earth. “John?” she called. “John, I'm here.”

Goldie, oblivious, continued. “What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be in heaven or hell or something?”

Sally shrugged. “I'm waiting for John,” she said.

Goldie eyed the ghost. “Is John dead, too?”

“He went off fighting in the war. But he loves me. He said he would come back for me so I'm waiting.” Sally looked at Goldie. “You know what its like to lose your love? To have your heart torn out and ripped into pieces?” Her thin shoulders shook. “John is everything to me. Without him, I am nothing. So I wait for him to come and make me whole.”

As Sally dissipated into mist, Goldie thought how sad it was that the ghost was stuck in her feelings and couldn't move beyond them. Their bodies were gone ages ago, yet their feelings seemed to last forever. Would hers, too? And if she didn't tie things up with her life on earth or if she failed the tribunal, would she become just like that? A spirit stuck like a broken record, repeating one note for all eternity?

She shuddered, thinking about the answer.

“Clay, I came back,” Leigh said as Clay awoke. “I'm ready to hear you out.”

He jumped out of bed and ran out to meet her, still a little groggy. “I'm so sorry,” he said, and gave her a big hug.

Leigh hugged him tight. “Why does everything with us always have to be so damn insane?” she asked as a tear slid down her check.

Clay whispered into her ear. “Because we care.”

“I do, Clay. I do care about you.”

Clay wiped away her tears. “I'm so sorry for making you feel like second best. Because you aren't. You're the best. You always were. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Me too,” she said.

They hiked a bit more in the moonlight until they found the right spot. Clay crouched beside Leigh as he used wooden twigs to try to create a fire. It was rough going, considering a light drizzle of rain was tapping down, but he knew that once he got it going, they'd be fine.

They got a spark and Leigh kneeled close to the small fire and slowly blew on it, giving the fire more oxygen.

“Hey,” he said as he watched the fire grow. “It's a good fire you got there.”

“Just putting to use all those years as a Girl Scout,” she said.

“I'm just happy you brought hot dogs and marshmallows. Don't know what I'd have done without you.”

Leigh smiled. “You'd have starved.”

“Right.” Clay laughed. He noticed Leigh was shivering. “Here, take my jacket,” he offered, gently placing it on Leigh's shoulders. He smelled her hair as he put on the jacket and moved back, suddenly, as if he was burned.

“What?” Leigh said and turned to face him.

“Nothing . . . I just . . . ”

Leigh reached over and took Clay's hand. “Ever since that kiss at Carolyn's party, everything has been weird between us.”

Clay nodded. “I told you I was sorry, I—”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “It's not that, Clay. I'm okay with you not liking me that way—I get it. I can live with it.”

Clay shook his head. “It's not that at all, Leigh.”

Leigh continued. “But you really hurt me. To lose your friendship, Clay . . . that just kills me. You've been the best friend I have ever had, since we were kids—through my parents' divorce, my mom's accident—God, you were there for me all through high school and I know that couldn't have been easy . . . ”

“Leigh,” he said, “the last thing I'd ever want to do is cause you pain.”

Leigh held back her tears. “So why? Why have you been acting so strange lately?”

Clay sat back and gazed at the flames. “It's not you, Leigh, it's me.”

Leigh nodded. “So what's up? You know you can tell me anything, and I can take it.”

“Okay.” Clay stared at her. “But you're not going to like it.”

Leigh stuck out her chin. “What.”

Clay swallowed. “All right. You see . . . there's this woman . . . ”

Leigh raised her eyebrows. “Oh,” she said in a sad voice.

Clay cleared his throat. “Well there's a woman stuck . . . inside of me . . . ”

“Really?” Leigh's eyes widened and she sat back as if sucker-punched. “After all these years—I never would have guessed!” She regained her composure and punched his shoulder. “Hey, Clay, just know—I'm good with that. And I'm here for you no matter what.”

Clay looked at Leigh. “That's it? I tell you there's a woman stuck inside of me and you're just totally cool with that?”

“Well, what? I'm open minded, Clayton.”

“Huh?” Clay stared at the fire. Then it dawned on him what Leigh meant. “No . . . No, I'm not saying that I'm trying to figure out my gender. It's just that I've been possessed by a woman, like a demon or something.”

Leigh stared at him. “What in God's name are you talking about, Clay?”

“In my soul. There's a woman. She died. I met her that night after I drank too much and—”

“Whoa, you sure did—”

Clay shook his head. “No, I mean it.”

“I bet.” Leigh smiled. “Was that after how many drinks?”

“C'mon, Leigh, hear me out? She possessed my soul—but she's not evil. More like really and truly annoying . . . ”

“Okay? Dead, annoying woman in your head, who you say is from heaven?”

“Sort of. Well, more like New York.”

“Clay, that's it. You have got to give up drinking. You can't make this stuff up.”

“I'm not making it up!”

Leigh pursed her lips. “All right. So where is she now?”

“Who?”

“The dead lady from New York?”

“I think she's sleeping. It's like—when I'm strong, she's quiet. When I'm down or feeling unsure of myself, she just . . . appears. Talks in my place. Sometimes we talk at the same time.”

Leigh started laughing. “Gosh, Clay, would you quit with this shaggy dog story?”

“No, really . . . she was giving me a headache before, so I told her to be quiet.”

“And she listened.”

“Uh, yup.”

“And why would this ghost lady listen to you?”

“Because she needs me to go to New York to break up the wedding between her fiancé and his new bride.”

“You're really nuts.” Leigh smirked. “Maybe it isn't drinking? Is it true about what they all were saying about the pot?”

“No! You know I would never jeopardize my team—”

Leigh nodded. “That's true. You wouldn't. So do you think you might be, you know, schizophrenic, or something?”

“Sure, I did wonder about that. But then we got that call from her sister. Now how would I have known this dead lady's sister's phone number? Your phone showed that I called Mindy Fischer. That's Goldie's sister. She talks about her all the time. How would I have known her number if this is all just an illness in my head?”

Leigh started to chuckle. “Wow. You sure got it all figured out, huh?”

Clay's face reddened. “You asked me what was going on.”

Leigh started laughing. “And here I thought this was all about that kiss you gave me.”

Clay felt his face become a deeper shade of crimson. “Well . . . maybe that, too.”

Leigh looked up, and her eyes caught his gaze. “Clayton, you don't have to make up a crazy excuse to cover that. I told you that you don't have to say things that aren't true just to make me feel better.”

“Huh? Excuses for what?”

“You told me the other night you thought I looked pretty. You don't have to do this elaborate joke just to let me down nice after you changed your mind.”

“Leigh, I'm not backpedalling. I do think you are real lovely—I've felt that for years.”

Leigh stared at him quizzically.

Clay continued. “Remember that time we climbed up the trees on the Millers' property and then you fell off the branch and you ended up swinging upside down and your hair was flying in the wind—”

Leigh laughed. “Yeah, and you said I looked like a Muppet on crack—”

Clay laughed, too. “Yeah, and you also were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.”

Leigh suddenly paused. “I don't get it, Clay. Then . . . well . . . if you . . . ”

“Look. You said it right. I never wanted to ruin what we had, either. The girls, they all come and go . . . but you—you're really special to me, Leigh.”

Leigh slowly exhaled as she gazed at the fire. “I swear, I will never understand men. Or ones who are possessed by dead women from New York, anyway.” Leigh turned to Clay. “But why make up all this craziness to cover one awkward kiss?”