“It’s just not fair,” I said. “I don’t want to do this.”
Ahead of me, up at the top of the dark stairs came a swishing, rustling sound.
It was at that point I had to stop and gasp in a big breath. I felt tears drop out of my eyes.
The door to one of the bedrooms clicked shut.
“Granddaddy.”
Keep going, I thought. If anyone knows where Momma is, it’s Granddaddy. He won’t hurt you. Dead things can’t hurt you.
But I wasn’t so sure of that. Thoughts of Momma cutting herself with a razor blade popped into my head. Me finding her squatting in the bathtub. Her watching the blood splat out on the enamel like thin, red quarters. Me asking why. Momma saying, “Granddaddy told me to. Keeps us safe.” Momma looking at me. “Keeps you and me safe.” Aunt Linda gone. Me making Momma drop the blade. Squeezing her wrist. Squeezing it hard so she’d drop the razor. Then bandaging up the wounds.
A wave of nausea swept through me. I doubled over and held my stomach, willing myself to breathe in deep. The ray of the flashlight glowed on my foot.
“It’ll be okay,” I said to my toes. Even if Granddaddy told me something bizarre, it didn’t mean I had to do it.
“All I need,” I said, before straightening up, “all I need is information.”
He could give me that, and then I’d be outta there and looking for Momma.
XIV
If Granddaddy had been a nice ghost, you’da thunk he’d come out to meet me. Not forced me to get up to the second floor to search. But he was as nice as Momma made him out to be. He left me standing on the stairs till my courage filled up and I could walk.
Ahead of me, the hall between all the bedrooms seemed like a place I’d never been before.
“Good feelings. Good feelings,” I said. “Remember good times.”
Like Aaron.
I could smile because of Aaron.
And other good times. Good family times.
There were some. Aunt Linda and Momma and me, all up here in our jammies, playing hide-and-seek. All of us laughing so hard I wet my pants, and then the two of them laughing even harder.
Me waking up in the middle of night for no reason. Waking the two of them.
“Warm milk,” Momma would say.
“Cookies,” Aunt Linda would say.
And the three of us would come downstairs and eat a meal if we wanted, until we were stuffed and happy, then go back to our separate rooms and sleep until late in the morning. Even if it meant I missed a day of school.
The times before Aunt Linda left, when Momma and me and her made a tent in one of our rooms and told ghost stories.
Now, as scary as those nights had been—and I had done plenty of shaking and screaming and laughing—they seemed like nothing compared to this whole day.
At last I stood in the hall. The bedroom doors all shut. Only the bathroom was open. With an unsteady hand I shined the flashlight toward that room. No ghost that I could see. But the sink and tub and toilet looked strange and white.
It was while I looked at the tub that I realized Granddaddy wasn’t in Momma’s room. Why would he wait for me there? I knew, standing so weak-kneed, that he was in my room. If I wanted to talk to him at all, I had to go in my own room to do it, the place where he died.
“Go now,” I said, my voice coming out old and crinkled like thrown-away newspaper. “Go now for Momma.”
I took a step forward. “I can’t.” Kept walking somehow. Put my hand on the antique doorknob. So cold under my sweaty hand. Turned. Opened the door with a little push.
“Granddaddy?”
Heavenly Father? Momma didn’t believe in God. Only in ghosts. But Aunt Linda taught me to pray.
Heavenly Father. Help me. I don’t think I can do this.
I stood in my doorway. I made the flashlight beam trace over my room. Each thing. The lamp. My desk. Books. All around the room. Without meaning to, I gagged. I had to take deep breaths to keep from puking.
Unmade bed. Closet door opened a bit. The flashlight beam spilling onto the floor. Dresser with a jewelry box on it.
Nothing. No ghost. No Granddaddy.
But I had seen him
I had heard him.
He was up here. I knew. I just had to find him. And say …
And say what? She’s gone. Do you know where Momma is? Your oldest daughter? She ran off today?
“Look somewhere else, Lacey.” I spoke aloud, trying to make myself braver. It reminded me of a time Momma and I had come in late from somewhere. She had been terrified of a serial rapist who was hiding out in Florida. Way south of us. She thought maybe he was in the house even though we’d used a key to get in the front door.
“Follow my lead,” she had whispered into the side of my head as we stepped inside that day. And in a loud voice she had called out to me, “Lacey. You got the Dobermans?”
“Huh?” I had said.
Momma gave me a big wink. “The Dobermans? Our killer dogs.”
I got it! “Sure do, Momma. All three of them. And they haven’t been fed today.”
“Tear a man from limb to limb,” Momma said.
“Yes they can.”
Through the whole house we went, saying that kind of stuff. But there had been no one here then and we had ended up laughing.
Talking out loud might help me now. “Look in another room. Take your time. You don’t need a Doberman tonight.
