When the spirits seem intent on contacting James, Trey has no choice but to share his secret, risking their friendship. If they work together, maybe they can figure out what the clues the spirits are giving them mean. And maybe they can find family in each other.
I drove the short distance to my parents’ house without much thought other than I’d have a few weeks off school and knowing my mom would make sure I had a hot meal that wasn’t fast food. The semester was over and I was officially on summer break. Now, instead of work and school, I’d just have work full-time instead of part-time. But before that, for the next two weeks, I’d stay at my parents’ and spend some time doing jobs around their house, and swimming in the pool.
When I passed Miss Hattie’s house, I noticed a car in the driveway, and the front door was open. She waved to me from her bedroom window, and I waved back, thinking nothing of it.
“I hope you’re ready for some company,” I whispered to her under my breath, knowing she wouldn’t hear me. She’d been gone a while now, but the stories my grandfather had told me were true. He’d said his great-grandfather could see spirits and talk to them, and that he was even friends with some of the spirits he interacted with. He also said he had the gift of sight, and that maybe I’d get lucky enough to inherit it. He must have told me that story a million times, and the older I got, the more I thought he was just spinning me a tall tale. But as the years passed, the more I started to take notice.
I never told Miss Hattie about it, not wanting to change her feelings about me, because when I was little she was my best friend. We spent so much time together, baking or doing all sorts of things to keep us both busy.
“Mr. Keen lost his watch, he was sure he was wearing it when he went to the post office. Let’s go retrace his steps and see if we can find it,” Miss Hattie would say with a twinkle in her blue eyes. She loved a good mystery.
After she passed, I saw her. I knew it wasn’t really her but her spirit, and she was always standing at the same window when I’d drive by, looking a lot like she did when I was a kid—dressed in that same pink flowered dress she seemed to wear all the time, her white hair combed into perfect waves on top of her head, and her wire-rim glasses pushed up on her nose. She smiled and waved at me as though it was just any other day and I happened to be driving by and caught her looking out her window.
But it wasn’t like any other day. Miss Hattie had been dead for a while now, and her last months had been spent in a hospital. She’d had a stroke and never recovered from it.
I waved back to her, unable to stop myself, and parked in front of my parents’ house.
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