Falling Into Forever Page 10

  This felt like one more part of the feud, except Lottie wouldn’t have pranked her own daughter just to get me, would she? “How does Lottie know about spirit cleansing?”

  “I think she found them on the internet, actually. But they were on that Ghost Hunters show. They’re legit.”

  One of the women took this opportunity to raise her warbling chanting to an impressively high note, causing me to cringe. They were legitimately kooky, that was for sure. “Are you paying these people?”

  Addie nodded, looking sheepish.

  “A lot?”

  She raised a shoulder. “I mean, I don’t really know what the going rate is for this kind of service. I was desperate, Michael. I can’t stay here and be terrified all the time!”

  I didn’t believe for one second that brewing potions and waving a stinky stick around the house would stop whatever was making the screaming noises, but if it made Addie feel better about staying in the house, I guessed it wouldn’t hurt.

  “Fine,” I said, resigned to whatever it was the crazy ladies were doing in there. “Hey, do you know anything about my store? About a sale I was supposedly having today?”

  Addie looked completely confused, which secured my confidence that she had not been involved in the attempted liquidation of my stock. “What?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said.

  “We have finished,” said one of the old women, appearing in the hallway. “Lucrecia will finish the perimeter of salt outside and we’ll hang the talisman on the front door. Do not disturb it until you are sure your spirits have departed.” I hoped all the chanting and smelly smoke hadn’t pissed our ghosts off more.

  “Oh, thank you,” Addie said. “And you’re sure they’re gone?”

  “The spirit world is mysterious,” the woman said, narrowing her eyes at us. “I conversed with your spirit, but she will have to choose to leave on her own.”

  “You talked to the ghost?” This was a little much for me.

  The woman’s spine stiffened. “I did.”

  “What did it say?”

  “She told me that this is her beloved family home and that she is uncertain about the intentions of the intruders.”

  I stifled my irritated laugh.

  “That’s us?” Addie asked.

  “Correct.” The woman bobbed her head.

  “Okey dokey, then,” I said, ushering the spirit sisters down the stairs and to the back door. “Be careful out there on the porch when you’re hanging the voodoo doll or whatever. Some of those boards are rotten.”

  “I see you are a non-believer, sir,” the woman said, squinting up at me.

  “Yep.”

  “Then you have more trouble here than I’d imagined,” she said to Addie. “Good luck to you.” With that, she bustled out the back door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll invoice the rest on Venmo! Don’t forget to review us on Yelp!”

  Addie avoided me for the next half hour, tidying up the things the spooky sisters had used around the house. I took a quick shower and changed out of my dirty work clothes, and then went down to the kitchen, planning to eat something before I dove into cleaning the old-fashioned way.

  “So,” I started, “do you think it worked?”

  Addie stopped wiping down the counter and sighed, turning to face me, arms crossed. “I don’t need you making fun of me, okay?”

  I hadn’t planned to make fun of her. Or at least not a lot. “Sorry,” I said, sitting at the little table. She watched me warily for a moment, and then crossed the space to take the seat across from me.

  Outside the sun was beginning its fall through the turning leaves and it cast the little kitchen in a warm glow.

  “Do you really believe in ghosts, though?” I asked, figuring this could actually impact the speed at which we could get through the projects ahead of us.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I do. I know you probably think that’s stupid.”

  “No, I don’t.” I thought for a moment about what I really believed, Addie’s dark eyes watching me. “I guess I just have a hard time believing in things I can’t see. Or prove.”

  Addie traced a circle on the old wooden tabletop, a scar from a long-ago glass of water or lemonade. “I get that,” she said. “I just don’t think everything can be explained easily.”

  “So if ghosts are real,” I ventured. “What do you think causes a person to become a ghost? Does everyone’s spirit stick around when they die?” I’d always wondered about the logic governing this topic.

  Her eyes met mine across the table then, and I could feel her measuring, weighing whether she wanted to talk about this. There was something wary in her look, and I wondered if someone had hurt her before after she’d admitted to believing in something they didn’t. I had a defensive spark light up inside me on her behalf—I didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting Addie.

  “No, I don’t think everyone’s spirit stays,” she said finally. “I’m not an expert, but what people seem to think is that ghosts stick around because they had something unfinished when they died. Something they needed to complete.”

  “Like a jigsaw puzzle?” I smiled as I said this so she’d know I wasn’t really poking fun.

  Addie rolled her eyes at me, but the corners of her lips curled up slightly, and the almost-smile had me wanting to work harder to make it happen again.

  “No, not like a puzzle. Like important life stuff. An apology, or a declaration of love, or revenge. Stuff like that.”

  “Speaking of revenge,” I said, “you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a giant sign in the town square advertising liquidation of all the inventory at my store, would you?”

  She sat up straighter, her eyes widening. “What? Is this what you were talking about earlier?”

  “Yeah, whoever put up the sign also got into the store and put signs on everything that said, ‘free’ and ‘clearance, everything must go.’”

  “Oh no, Michael. That’s awful.” Addie’s wide eyes were full of sympathy. There was no way she knew about this.

  “Seems like a Tanner thing.”

  She frowned but didn’t deny it. “I can find out.”

  “Thanks. It doesn’t really matter who it was, though.”

  “You planning some revenge?” Addie sat back in the chair and crossed her arms. Her long dark hair was arranged behind her head in some kind of knot, and one long strand fell to the side of her face. In the sun’s fading light, she looked beautiful, like a goddess in a painting.

  “No,” I said. “But I can’t speak for Emmett and Virgil.”

  “You know your cousins are basically criminals, right?”

  That got my attention. My cousins were townies for sure, and maybe not at the top of the haystack in terms of intelligence, but they weren’t criminals. “What?”

  “What they did in Mom’s cafe was vandalism. You’re lucky she didn’t press charges.”

  “And what about what happened in my store today?” I asked, feeling my blood heat. “I spent the entire day offering discounts when the place barely breaks even as it is.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and my exhaustion and anger boiled over.

  “I was trying to avoid a riot!” I stood, my anger over the stupid prank spilling out of me now. I hadn’t really had time all day to process how pointless and mean-spirited it really was. “Someone broke into my store and set this up. And I don’t know why I’m a target. I’ve never once done anything to any of you!”

  “Any of us? Like we’re some other breed of human?”

  “You know what I mean. Tanners.”

  Addie rolled her eyes again. “Right.”

  “What does that mean?” I was vibrating with anger, and while I knew Addie didn’t really deserve any of it, I couldn’t help myself. This feud was ridiculous, and today it had hurt business. I didn’t have a lot of spare money lying around.

  “As if the Tuckers are so much better than us, like we started this wh
ole thing.”

  “I have no idea who started it,” I fumed. “And I don’t care! What I do care about is that today I lost thousands of dollars from a business I don’t have any interest in running in the first place! Is it too much to ask that I at least don’t go bankrupt because of someone else’s stupidity? I can fail perfectly well all on my own.”

  Addie’s eyes widened as I spat these words at her, and she stood up from the table, her expression less imperious than it had been a second before. “Look, Michael, I’m really sorry for what happened. But—“

  “I don’t really want to talk about it anymore,” I said. I’d told her far more than I intended and now I wished I could just reel the words back in. I felt my face flush, with embarrassment and anger—at the prank, but also at the state of my life and the fact I’d just given a beautiful, successful women a bird’s eye view of my pointless existence.

  “Okay,” she said, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Well, I think I’m just going to walk down to the square and get some dinner at the Shack.”

  I stood there, feeling stupid for a beat too long, and Addie turned to pick up her purse from the hook by the back door. I watched her pull her coat on, letting the anger dissipate from the atmosphere around me. Just as she put her hand on the knob, I managed to find my voice again. “I’ll walk you.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, the dark eyes finding me as she turned her head over her shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

  “Do you mind the company? I’m hungry.”

  She turned to face me, her smile tentative and those wide eyes questioning. “As long as we don’t talk about the feud.”

  “Deal,” I said. I’d had more than enough of it anyway, and I knew it was Shelly’s night off, but I also knew she’d have words for me about eating at her place of work with a woman. At that moment, I didn’t care. “Let’s go.”

  We stepped out the back door and walked around to the front gates, leaving the old house standing in shadow for the ghosts to claim for the evening.

  14

  Old Bay Strikes Again

  Addison

  If you’d told me a month ago that I’d be sitting at The Shack in Singletree with Michael Tucker, eating fried clams out of a bucket today, I wouldn’t have believed you. Partly because my life was all planned out already, and there was no room in it for my tiny hometown, and certainly not for anyone named Tucker, no matter how handsome he looked with his dark red hair glinting under the glowing lights of the bar. But the other reason I would have said this was impossible was because I was in the middle of an eight-year-long delusion that involved my long-time boyfriend finally sacking up and proposing. It involved kids and a bigger apartment and some form of happily ever after.

  But now, I was here. In a place where food was served in a bucket.

  “I didn’t miss the Old Bay,” I confided, holding yet another fried clam before my lips.

  “Doesn’t seem to be putting you off these too much,” Michael observed, watching me devour another.

  “I can handle it,” I told him. “Just wouldn’t be my first choice of spice blend, that’s all.”

  “Do you have a first choice in spice blends?”

  I had to think about that. “I mean . . . what are the choices, really? There’s Allspice, right?”

  “Not great on clams probably.”

  “Maybe not. There’s Italian.” I shrugged, knowing this one was a stretch.

  “That’s a culture, not a spice blend.”

  “You can buy a little bottle in the store that says ‘Italian Spice.’” When he just stared at me, I added, “I see that you are absorbing this new information.”

  “No, I’m just sad.”

  I dropped my latest clam onto my plate. “Sad? About Italian Spice?”

  He shook his head, and though his face was a mask of disappointment, there was a little glint in those dark blue eyes that both told me he was kidding with me, and sent a little pulse of giddiness through my stomach. “I’m sad that you think that’s a valid spice blend.”

  “Fine, what’s your favorite?” I asked him.

  “I’m partial to Garam Masala,” he said, and I kicked myself, wishing I’d thought of that one. “But my all-time favorite? Cinnamon sugar.” He smiled as if he’d won some kind of contest.

  “That’s not a blend. That’s just two spices that you’re naming.”

  “And they are delicious together. Which makes them a blend.”

  “Not.”

  “I bet Lottie would agree with me.” He raised his eyebrows and gave me a smug smile before taking another sip of the Half Cat Whiskey he’d ordered.

  “Do not bring my mother into this.” I took a sip of my beer and sat back into my chair. Despite the company and the weird train of conversation, I found myself relaxing in his company, enjoying it even.

  “But you and your mom are close, right?”

  “Like she’d give me any other choice.”

  He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at me, and I had the oddest sensation as he did it. Michael Tucker was listening to me. Really listening. A warm wave of emotion passed over me. I liked it.

  “Tell me about it,” he said. “About life with your mom and sisters.”

  I considered giving him a flip response, turning off this line of questioning before it could really get rolling. But hadn’t I spent the last many years wishing Luke would really listen to me? Not that I was comparing Michael and Luke, not at all. Luke was my boyfriend—my lover. And Michael was . . . so handsome as he sat and waited patiently for me to respond. His squared jaw was stubbled with fine golden hairs and his forearm, where it rested on the tabletop next to his glass, was tanned and muscular. He didn’t have the same fine hands that Luke had—a musician’s hands—but Michael’s looked strong and capable. My mind began to picture those hands at work, and maybe in the shower. Without meaning to, I imagined what that big firm hand might look like wrapped around my breast, or his cock—

  I nearly spit out the sip of beer I’d just taken as I realized where my mind had gone. I felt heat rise in my cheeks, and still, Michael just watched me with those penetrating eyes.

  “Life with Lottie,” I started, trying to cover the very inappropriate thoughts I’d been having with zero provocation at all. “Well, I’m the oldest,” I said. “So that means all the parenting practice happened on me. When I was little and my dad was still around, things were good. They were strict, but it was good, I think. But after Dad died, and Mom was so sad for such a long time. And by then, we had Paige and Amberlynn, and it was almost like I had to be the parent. She checked out.” Lottie would kill me for sharing so much with anyone, especially a Tucker. But there was something so understanding in Michael’s gaze, I didn’t think he’d judge us.

  “That must have been hard,” Michael said quietly. “How old were you?”

  “I was ten.” I took a sip of my beer, remembering how I’d felt all those years ago, like if I slipped up or screwed up, there was a chance Mom would just leave. She was already so distant in her sadness, sometimes I wondered if she even knew how much I’d been doing to try to help.

  “How long was your mom depressed?”

  I sighed. It had taken me so many years to realize that Mom had been depressed. “A long time,” I said. “As a kid though, I didn’t understand that’s what it was.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I just thought that maybe without Dad around, Mom wasn’t interested in being a parent anymore.” A shadow of the fear and sadness I had felt as a little girl awoke inside me and I tried to press it down. I had purposely put those feelings away. It was odd that I was talking to Michael about something I’d never even mentioned to Luke.

  “Well, it wasn’t what she signed up for, right? Raising three girls alone?”

  “It wasn’t what any of us signed up for.” A wave of sadness threatened to wash through me, and I ignored it, pasted on a smile.

  “And so what about you?” He a
sked.

  I shook my head in confusion. “What?”

  “You. You became this super successful career woman. So, no kids for you?”

  “You might have missed the part of my super successful career where I had something close to a breakdown and ended up sitting in a shack eating clams out of a bucket.”

  Michael’s face changed then, and I thought I might have offended him. I rushed to apologize.

  “I mean, tonight is fun, this isn’t what I meant. It’s just—”

  “Addie, I get it.” He smiled, waving away my apology. “If I’ve learned anything about life, and honestly, I don’t think I have learned much—no one’s coming to me for tips, at least—but it’s this: nothing ever goes the way you want.”

  “Wow. Cynical much?”

  “Yeah. Well, I guess I learned pretty early that making plans is pointless. Or maybe I just suck at execution.”

  I frowned at him, surprise making the wheels in my head turn as I tried to figure out what he meant. “You own a huge farm supply store. You’re your own boss. You have a wonderful son. What plans did you have that went so wrong?”

  He sat back in his chair and his face completely changed. He reached out, lifted his glass, and downed the remaining whiskey. “Nothing.”

  I sensed that we were finished. I felt a little cheated—I’d told him so much, and when it was his turn, he clammed up.

  “Should we head back and see if burning a bunch of crap made the spirits decide it smelled too bad to stay in the house?” He asked.

  “Funny,” I said, though I did feel a little silly about my knee-jerk decision to try to cleanse the house today.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, his tone softening. “That noise is terrifying. Especially if you’re there alone.”

  “And there’s something else,” I said, deciding to just tell him. He had to live in the house too.

  He cocked his head as he signaled for the check, still listening intently.

  “When I was reading those letters, I had this feeling,” I said, dropping his gaze because it was just too embarrassing to hold. “Like someone was right there with me, reading over my shoulder. And in a way, I felt like maybe they were mad, like I was invading their privacy or something. That was when the scream came.”