MYSTERY
OF THE SINGING GHOST
By Ana Riley
© Ana Riley 1999
CHAPTER 3 – Page 22
Chapters 2 and 3 are both on this page.
If you want to read Chapter 1, please scroll down and click on Chapter 1.
Enjoy!
I dial the number again. My palms are filled with salty sweat. My fingers are moving but it seems like they’re heavy and thick. “Still busy! What am I going to do?”
Ethan’s voice is calm and soothing. “Gia, what would your dad usually do in a situation like this?”
“Ground me for eternity! He’ll cancel Jenny’s trip. I’ll have to become a nun!”
“I’ll try phoning.” Ethan doesn’t ever get flustered, or if he does, it never shows. “Hi, Alex…”
He can’t be talking to Alex. What if Alex does say something terrible, like he threatened to? This is a disaster. I NEED to disappear. God, if You really do love me, then now is a great time for a miracle. Please help me disappear into thin air. Then, I’ll never be a problem for Dad ever again. Tell Mom that I love her very much and I wish I could have said ‘Good-bye’. Tell Alex that though he’s the world’s worst brother, that down deep, down very deep, I hope he has a great life. Help Dad to forgive me and please keep Shakespeare safe and healthy.
“... Gia …she’s here, with me now…”
Don’t tell him I’m here with you. I’ll never hear the end of this!
“Gia, Alex wants to speak with you.”
God, zap me now! “Sure – Hi, Alex.” I’m trying to sound serious. “Is Dad home?”
“I, uh, I…Alex, I’ll deal with Dad on this. Bye.”
I wish I could tell Ethan how unbelievably ignorant my brother is.
“So, what’s up with your Dad?”
“When I didn’t make it home, he decided to ride his bike.”
“He cycles?”
“Whenever possible, though mostly for leisure. I can imagine how thrilled he’ll be arriving at his meeting, late, sweaty and smelly. I may as well bid you farewell right now, Ethan. My life has just ended. If my father doesn’t send me to a convent in Pakistan, it’s because he showed mercy and decided Montreal would be closer. Either way, I can kiss the car adieu and pray that celibacy and language studies are not painful.” The joy I was sharing with Ethan over the burger is now but a memory. "I’ve got to go. The sooner I’m home, the better.”
“I have a suggestion. Do you know what meeting your dad was going to?”
“Something to do with town council.”
“There’s only one town council and my mom knows everyone on it. Let’s talk to her and find out where the meeting is being held. You could deliver your dad’s car to him there, saving him the trek home on his bike. I can drive you home afterward.”
“The idea sounds marvelous with one exception – I have to face my father earlier rather than later. By going home now, I can postpone the inevitable.”
“He’ll be double mad if he has to bike home.”
“Yes, but biking will cool his jets. Maybe Montreal convents won’t look that bad. At least there, I could visit my friend, Monique, and I’ve studied French for ninety-nine years – it would be easier than having to learn some Pakistani language.”
“Whoa, girl! You’re way ahead of yourself. It’s worth a call to my mother. She’s raised five kids, remember? She’ll know what to do. Besides, I’ve got to get her a burger. She’ll be starving by now”
Trusting Ethan is the only thing I can do. My mind is bewildered with what I’ve done. I’m dreading having one of ‘those discussions’ with my father. Ethan’s mother may have some suggestions on how to maturely handle this situation. It’s worth a try.
Watching him get his mom some food is somehow calming. I’m actually breathing. I can feel my heart slowing down – a little, anyway.
“I’ll follow you with my dad’s car. Thanks for helping, Ethan.”
Remember
when I told you how much I enjoy driving on the highway?
This is NOTHING like that. My
hands are so tight on the steering wheel; my fingers are turning
purple from
lack of circulation. My knuckles
are white! I’m cold and for some
reason, I can’t see as well as I normally can.
I look and feel like the guy in
this picture. 
I’ve usually got exceptional vision. Night driving is never a problem for me, except for tonight. Maybe it’s the tears. The swelling – I look ghastly with cry-eyes. If Ethan ever knew I was crying now, he would certainly think I was puerile. Great word, “puerile”.
So,
this is where she works. I’ve
walked by here a zillion times and never knew it was her shop. Ethan looks happy to be here.
He must love his mom a lot.
“This is it. Mom’s been wanting to meet you.”
Great! Meeting his mom when life is drawing to a close for me. How convenient.
“Hi, Son. You remembered dinner. Thanks! I was famished. This burger still feels warm.”
“Was the shop busy today?”
“Non-stop.
This year’s weddings are bigger than ever.”
“I was at the Library when I ran into Gia. Gia, this is my mother.”
“How do you do, Gia? I’ve heard so much about you.”
I hate it when people say that. What has she heard about me and from whom? Ethan? What did he say about me? She’s smiling, and her handshake is warm, so maybe what she heard wasn’t all that bad.”
“Hi,
Mrs. MacDonald. I’ve heard a lot
about you too. It’s nice to
finally meet you.”
She is beautiful. Her skin
is flawless. She hasn’t got one
wrinkle. And she looks happy
running a business. How does
she do it? “Your flowers are
wonderful. What a beautiful
shop.”
“Thank-you, Gia. I enjoy it here very much. It’s a pleasant break from kids and housework.”
“Mom, Gia’s dad is at the town council meeting. Do you know where the meeting is being held?”
“Yes, at the Gustafson farm.”
“Gia needs to take her father’s car to him, so I’ll take her to Gustafson’s and then I’ll drive her home. I’m supposed to connect with Jarod, so I’ll be at his place later.”
“Thanks for dinner. It will hit the spot.” Mrs. MacDonald has the same voice that Ethan has – maybe he got it from her.
“See you.” Ethan just gave his mother a kiss on her cheek. Isn’t he just too cool?
“Your
mother is very nice. Is she always
this composed?”
“Generally. Sometimes she’s frustrated with work and all, but usually she keeps it together. Ready to face the music with your dad?”
“I guess so. Lead the way to doom and gloom.”
I like Ethan’s jeep. I’d prefer to be with him in his vehicle, but c’est la vie. I’ve got to focus on what I’m going to say to my dad. We’re almost at our turn. The Gustafson place isn’t too far from ours. Maybe dad wasn’t super late for his meeting.
Ethan is such a steady driver. Is there anything he doesn’t do right? I doubt it. He seems perfectly adept at all of life’s basic skills. I wonder what he’d be like if … I need to concentrate – Dad – I love you, I’m so, so, so, so sorry, but I had a flat tire, the Library was closed and I didn’t know where the phone was… I lost track of time… I ran out of gas… Truth. I’ll just tell him I’m a dipstick – I saw Ethan and lost consciousness. Dad probably figured that out already.
We’re
here. God, I promise I’ll be a
good nun. I’ll work in any
mission field that you send me
to and I’ll learn whatever language I need to
do my nun work, and that includes Chinese and Russian.
They’ve got to be the most difficult.
Walk slowly, Ethan. I’m in no rush. I love it when he opens the car door for me. I feel special, almost like a star.
“Thanks.” Gulp. “Ethan, when I’m a nun, it’ll mean that I’ll never see you ever again, unless, of course, you plan on visiting Pakistan or Montreal.” [Click to learn about Montreal and Pakistan]
“Relax. Your dad’s a reasonable man, and one advantage of facing him here is that he’s not about to make a scene in front of all these people.”
“You have a point.” That has to be the loudest doorbell in the world.
“Hello, Mr. Gustafson.”
“Ethan – what brings you here, boy?”
“I was wondering if Mr. Cooper made it for the meeting?”
“He arrived a short while ago. I’ll get him for you?”
“Thanks. Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not
at all. We were just getting
started. Come in.
You too, missy.”
From outside, the Gustafson home looks like a regular farm house. But inside, it is stunning. The décor is perfectly done. It’s artistic, full of character. I love it.
“Hi, Dad.” He doesn’t look thrilled to see me.
“Hello, Mr. Cooper.”
Ethan knows how to make an impression with my father – by shaking hands with him. That’s one point for me ending up in Montreal instead of Pakistan.
“Ethan. Gia.”
“Dad, I brought your car. I’m sorry for not getting home in time.”
“That’s it?”
“What …? I mean, please don’t be too angry with me. I’ll give up my privileges on your car. I promise I won’t…”
“We’ll discuss this when I get home. Speaking of getting home, how do you plan to do that if you leave my car here?”
“I’ll drive Gia home, sir.” Ethan called my dad ‘sir’. It’s Montreal for sure!
“Okay. I’ll see you later, Gia.”
It’s over. I’m still on Earth. God didn’t zap me and my dad is quietly walking away. He has a stream of mud up the back of his pants and sweater. I wonder if he knows. Should I tell him? No. That’ll only remind him that he got it from the bike ride over here. Besides, it could embarrass him even more. Best to let things chill for a while.
“Wasn’t that bad, was it? Maybe you won’t have to become a nun after all.” Ethan is as calm as ever.
“Had I been alone, it would have been much worse. Thanks for being here.”
“Let’s get you home.”
Riding beside Ethan in his Jeep is delicious. He keeps the interior spotless and there’s this masculine scent about the leather seats. He’s a careful driver too. I think he’s been driving since he was eight or nine. Farm kids have to learn those things early. Too bad I didn’t live further from Gustafson’s.
Alex
must be on the computer. The study
lights are on. There’s
Shakespeare.
“Hi, darling. You’re all alone. Oh, I’m happy to see you too. Have you been a good puppy? Yup, no quills in your nose.”
“He looks super for a little guy who tangled with Spike.”
“Dad knew how to take out the quills and everything. It was amazing.”
“See, I told you your dad can handle crisis. He was cool at the Gustafson’s house. He’ll be alright when he gets home.”
“Want to come in?”
“For a minute. I need to get to Jarod’s.”
“Want coffee, iced tea, milk?”
“Iced tea, if it’s no trouble.”
“Hey, Ethan. Long time no see.”
“Likewise, Alex. What’s happening?”
“I’ve been designing this trap. Wanna see it?”
“Love to. Where is it?”
“In the old grain bin. Dad’s allowing me to use it as a workshop.”
“Can we check it out tomorrow? I need to be going in a few minutes.”
“Tomorrow’s good.”
“I’m off work by three. I’ll see ya then. By the way, Gia said you’ve been looking for a job.”
“Yeah, but no one wants to hire someone without experience. So, how do you get experience if you can’t get a job?”
“My mother needs extra help in her shop this time of year– someone to clean the back where she does all her floral arrangements. It’s a good job. It got me through high school.”
“I could go to her shop tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow it is. See ya, Alex.”
“You worked in your mom’s flower shop through high school?” Ethan doesn’t look like the type to be around flowers. He looks more like the kind of guy that would be bailing hay or working on a ranch. I can’t visualize him in a flower shop. Am I sexist?
“All
four summers.”
“Can you arrange flowers?”
“Carnations are my thing.”
I love his dimple when he smirks. “I’m serious...about you arranging flower.”
“So am I.”
“You’re into carnations?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m ‘into carnations’. Of all the flowers, they were the easiest to work with.”
“What about roses?”
“Thorns – get you every time.”
“Here’s your iced tea. It’s the real thing. My parents won’t buy that mix. They say it has too many chemicals and additives. If you need more honey – “
“This is good! My mom makes herbal iced tea as well.”
“She ought to get to know my mom. My mom’s into ‘au natural’ everything.”
He’s staring at me again. I can feel myself leaving earth. I must remain planted. I’ve got to have my wits about me when my father gets home.
“I’m glad you screwed up the car thing with your dad. It gave me a chance to see you tonight.”
Stop beating so loudly, Heart. He’ll hear you. “I, well, I…” I’m stuttering. My mouth is dry. Breathe. Sip cool refreshing iced tea. “Sorry to mess up your study plans.”
“I had more fun with you than I would have at the Library. Say, if I can get a day off this weekend, would you like to do something?”
Heart,
I told you to slow down, not speed up. Breathe.
Don’t answer too quickly. Don’t
sound too eager. Hold back, girl. “Sure. What
did you have in mind?” I don’t
think my voice quivered. I sound
together.
“I’ve
been wanting to do a road trip. Are
you up to it?”
“Anywhere particular in mind?”
“We could drive north and check out a ghost or two.”
My breathing is so fast. My heart is racing – skipping. I think it missed a beat. Dying now is not an option. When in crisis, breathe. Breathe. I’m breathing. My lungs are working too hard. It’s not just my heart. With both major organs in stress, I may not make it to sixty. No grandchildren. No major novels or memoirs. The only thing positive about all this is that if Dad comes home and finds me dead, I won’t have to become a nun and move to Pakistan.
“Gia, are you okay? You’re all flushed.”
“I – I’m fine. Really. I was just trying to remember what I had planned for the weekend. I seem to be forgetting plans lately, especially my dad’s. Two screw-ups in one week would see me banished to Kazakstan [CLICK to learn about Kazakhstan]. Have you ever been to Kazakhstan?" [By the way, it can be spelled with or without an 'h'.] "It’s in the middle of nowhere. I’d be lost forever, riding some camel in an endless desert, living on shrubs and eating snakes.” There, that sounds convincing. “I better check the calendar.” Ethan’s snickering again. Why does he always snicker when I’m serious?
“Calendar’s clear. What day did you want to go?”
“Sunday – noon – how’s noon?”
“Noon’s fine.”
“I’ll be here at noon. Bye, Gia.”
Is he going to kiss me? What if Alex walks into the kitchen? He’ll tell the whole world and my life will end. What a great way to die – being kissed by Ethan. I guess it’s okay if Alex walks in. At least I’ll die happy and fulfilled – enriched. Kiss me, Ethan. I’m all yours.
He’s
leaning over. He’s staring at me
again. His hand is on my cheek.
He’s lifting my chin. I
forgot to wipe my lips. What if I
have dribbles of iced-tea on them? My
heart is
thumping in my throat! Slow
down, heart. I don’t want to gag
in the middle of this. I’m hot.
I’m sweating. What if sweat drips down my hair, onto my nose and then drops
on him when our lips meet? He’ll
know for sure that I sweat. That
wouldn’t be cool. Get a grip,
Gia. Enjoy the process.
Our lips are touching. His are so warm. They’re pressing firmly. He really wants this kiss. His eyes are closed. I shouldn’t be looking, but I need to know these details. I’ll close my eyes. Stay out of here, Alex. This is only for mature people.
We kiss – on the lips! Wow!
“Bye, Ethan.” I’m whispering. My voice is hardly audible. He’s smiling at me. He’s leaving. He’s quiet. He’s – fabulous!
I’m still here. My heart is still pounding. And I don’t have sweat on my forehead.
Thanks,
God, for not zapping me earlier. I
would have missed the best moment of my entire
life. Kissing Ethan is the only thing that will give me the
strength to face my dad tonight. I’ll
remember his lips on mine for the rest of my life.
Nothing can erase this memory – not even learning Pakistani.
Do nuns have to be celibate?
MYSTERY
OF THE SINGING GHOST
By Ana Riley
© Ana Riley 1999
CHAPTER 2– Page 10
“Shakespeare,
come on, sweetie. You’re just a
puppy. You need to stay close to
me. Where are you, Shakespeare?
Shakespeare, Shakespeare – I hear you.
I’m coming. Don’t be
afraid. What happened?
Are you crying? Oh, Shakespeare, keep making a noise. I hear you but I can’t see…
“Oh, Shakespeare, my darling puppy, what happened? You’ve got quills in your nose. You met Spike. You weren’t supposed to sniff Spike. He was only protecting himself. He was more afraid of you – that’s how he protects himself. Let’s get you back to the house. Oh, Shakespeare, I know it hurts. Good puppy. Keep still. We’re almost there.
“Dad! Dad! Bring the peroxide. I need help! Shakespeare got quilled.”
“Hold him steady. I’ll get my pliers.”
“He’s crying so much, Dad. Hurry. He’s really hurt. Maybe I should phone the vet. I’ll get the number.”
“Gia, Shakespeare’s going to be okay. Hold steady, little fellow. Gia, grip his jaw gently, but firmly with your hand. Hold his body close to you and try to keep hold of his paws. Good. Now, little fellow, this is going to hurt, but you’ll feel better when these things are out of your nose.”
“Dad, he’s hurting. Look, some blood came out with that one. Shakespeare, you shouldn’t have gone near Spike. I told you to stay close to me. Dad, he’s shaking. He’s crying. It hurts too much. Let’s call the vet, please?”
“Honey, there are only two quills left. Get ready for me to put the peroxide on. That’s it. Hold him steady. Good, puppy. Gia, dab the peroxide where the quills were. Shakespeare, you’re a trooper. You’ll be as good as new in a couple of minutes. Relax now, little fellow. It’s all over. You’d think after all this pain, that dogs would learn to stay away from porcupines, but they don’t.”
“What do I do? Tie him up all the time? Maybe we should buy one of those large kennels. That’s it. We’ll keep him in a kennel.”
“One of the reasons we moved here was to have space. Shakespeare’s going to be a big dog. Putting him in a pen would be worse than his having the run of our back yard in the city. Remember how confining it was for Thoreau? He was always trying to jump the fence.”
“But, what if Spike quills Shakespeare all over – in his heart or eye? Maybe he’ll die from infection, or something.”
“Shakespeare isn’t going to die. Look, he’s already forgotten about the quills. In fact, he’s decided to chew on your boot.”
“Shakespeare, drop it! Drop it NOW! NOW, Shakespeare. Drop it, or else… Good puppy. Dad, how do you know he’s not going to get an infection?”
You were only two
years old when Thoreau went hiking with us one 
summer.
He was a little older
than Shakespeare – maybe seven or eight months.
We were hiking around Lake
Louise when we saw this porcupine. Thoreau pulled the leash right out of our hands.
He was gone. We called and tried to stop him, but he was determined
to get that porcupine. By the time
we got to Thoreau, he had quills between his teeth, in his paws, through his
lips, in fact, he had some stuck into his tongue and to the inside of his mouth.
We had a hard time getting him to the vet, but when we finally did, they
put him under, removed the quills and sent us home.
Those quills had been in Thoreau for an hour or more before they were
removed. Some had gone so deep that
we were sure there were going to be serious complications.
The vet swabbed the spots, but there was little we could do for
the dog’s gums or mouth. Your mom and I took Thoreau home. We fell into bed exhausted that night while Thoreau chewed
his bone as if nothing had happened. I’m
sorry to say that the next summer, he went after a porcupine again, but that
time, he only managed to get quills in his nose and lips.
Maybe he did remember how terrible it had been the first time.”
“Did you take Thoreau to the vet the second time?”
“No. We did just what we did here. Thoreau was fine and so will Shakespeare be. Look at him. He’s content. His mouth can’t be too sore for him to be chomping on that rawhide bone.”
“He does look fine. Is his nose swollen? Is that puss oozing out?”
“Wipe it. It’s the peroxide foam.”
“Hold still, Shakespeare. I just want to see if this is okay.” I believe my dad but I want to see for myself if Shakespeare is hurting. “He’s fine. It was the peroxide. Should I put more on?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“What am I going to do? How
can I teach Shakespeare not to run after Spike?”
“You can only keep an eye on the pup. Nature is nature. There’s little we can do to change those instincts without damaging something else in turn. Why don’t you keep Shakespeare in the porch? Take him out again later.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad. I was really scared when I saw those quills. I thought he might die. The thought of losing him in my lifetime, is horrible.”
“Shakespeare might make it to twelve or thirteen years. For a dog his size, anything over ten years would be a gift. That would make you somewhere between twenty-seven and thirty. Don’t you want to live longer, at least until thirty-five, and experience a bit more of Earth?”
“Stop teasing, Dad. I have no intentions of dying young. In fact, I think the older I am the better I’ll be. I think fifty will be amazing!”
“Fifty is definitely old! I hope I’m walking by then.” My dad has this snarky little grin when he’s serious but having fun at the same time.
“You’re teasing again. Dad, I’m serious about this. I want to live to be very, very old. I want to experience all I can and then tell my grandchildren about my adventures and escapades. I want to write all about my life. I think people would find my writings interesting. I can’t die before fifty. Stop laughing, please. I told you I was serious about this.”
“Do you realize I’ll be fifty years old in a few years? Fifty is not that old.”
“Uh, oh dad, I’m sorry. I forgot you’re almost fifty. Okay, sixty. I don’t want to die until I’m sixty.”
“Well, Gia, if you plan to live until sixty, then you will definitely see Shakespeare die.”
“That thought is unbearable.” I look at my puppy and tears start stinging my eyes. I won’t cry, especially in front of my dad. It wouldn’t be mature. He’d think I was his little girl again. I need to be alone for a while.
“May I use the car? I have to pick up a library book that I have on hold.”
“Be back by dinner. I have a meeting at seven and I can’t be late.”
“Thanks, Dad! Thanks a bunch!”
The Library is one of my favorite places to go and now is a perfect time to get the book on ghosts. I need something, anything to get my mind off Shakespeare and how much he hurt when the quills were in.
The town library isn’t as big as the one we had in the city, but it’s
adequate. 
Getting
there is half the fun. It takes
fifteen minutes and it’s all highway driving.
I feel free when I drive on the highway.
I’m less worried about hitting another vehicle or maybe even a person. I’m also not as worried about getting a ticket for doing
something wrong, like missing a stop sign or something.
I speed a little, but not all the time. Generally, I’m careful. I don’t want to ruin my dad’s car. I like his car. It’s sporty and the color suits me. In a way, I’m surprised he’s got a car like this. At least it’s not a mini-van. That would be horrible – driving to the Library in a mini-van. And Ethan – Ethan would never date me if I drove a mini-van. Good, the Library’s still open.
“Gia! Gia!”
“Hi! Uh…Ethan! Uh…Hello, uh…?”
“I saw you park. I’d
recognize that car anywhere. Great
wheels. 
How
come you’re here?”
This is incredible luck! “I have a book on hold. What about you?”
“I’m trying to get a jump on one of my courses. It looks like a cinch, and if I can get it under my belt, I’ll have more time to concentrate on some of the tough subjects in this term.”
“College sounds so wonderful. You’ll do brilliantly. You’ll probably make the Dean’s list every term.”
When Ethan smiles, it’s as if the world lights up.
He is so handsome; I wish you could actually see him.
Even if the layout artist for this novel attempts to do a picture of him,
like on those romance
novels
some people read, his looks would never be fully captured.
He’s divine, almost inhuman.
Jenny saw a picture of Ethan once and she didn’t particularly think he was hot, but then, I saw a picture of the guy she’s crazy over and I didn’t think he was that terrific. Ethan can’t be limited to a photo. It’s how he moves his mouth when he talks, how his hair falls over his eyebrow just perfectly, it’s his hand gestures, his fantastic eyes that make him a complete picture. Maybe a movie camera could capture that, but then, I’ve seen photos of some stars, and they look great. but, in film, they’re not that hot.
Ethan is beyond anything that doesn’t capture his spirit. He’s the only man I know that causes me to come undone a little. I’m generally composed, serene and pulled together. When Ethan’s around, I drop things, I forget things, I feel like my teeth are going to fall out when I speak to him.”
“I’ll walk you in. You’re looking great, as usual, Gia. How’s Alex?’
Why is he asking about Alex? “Alex? Fine. Why?” Ethan’s face doesn’t show any signs of being mad at me because Alex said I was a cruel person. Maybe Alex was only bluffing about calling Ethan. Of course he was. Alex would never have the guts to follow through on something like that.
“He hasn’t been around much. He’s a neat kid – good mind. I was wondering how it’s going for him, that’s all.”
A good mind? How could Ethan know Alex’s mind, how warped and immature it is? Ethan isn’t around Alex that much. Alex has the ability to fool everyone he meets. They all think Alex is so well mannered, such a gentleman. Little do they know.
“Alex’s fine. He’s looking for a job. It’s hard to get a job when you’re only fifteen and half the summer is over.”
“I didn’t know he wanted to work. Maybe he could help my mom at her shop. I can ask her – she could use some part-time help.”
“You’d do that for my brother?” That’s kind of Ethan but I’m the one here that needs the job. I have important needs and goals. I spend money wisely. Alex blows all his earnings on stupid things like missile launchers or model cars.
“I’d also be doing it for you. He’s important to you and you’re important to me.”
The sound of Ethan’s voice is absolute velvet, especially when he says things like that to me. If we weren’t standing in the Library, I’d kiss him. “You’re terrific. Thanks for thinking about Alex. I’ll tell him when I get home.”
“Do you have time for a burger after you get your book?”
“What about your studying?”
“That can wait. I hadn’t called you because I knew if I did, I’d never get to work on this material. Now that I’m here, studying doesn’t seem that important.” All Ethan does is look at me and perspiration starts forming in huge droplets right under my nose, over my top lip. Then it drizzles down my mouth, chin, neck, and then starts all over again, this time from my forehead.
When Ethan tells me things like this, my stomach dances and my mouth goes dry. His curly lashes over his incredible blue eyes dissolve me into human mush.
“I have time for a burger. I’ll
just grab this book and we can go.” 
“Ghosts again, huh?”
“Yah, ghosts. I found this web site that’s full of great information. There’s a man at one of the universities, who actually believes we have ghosts in Saskatchewan. He cites various cases, some of which take place near here. When my friend, Jenny, comes next week, I’m hoping she and I can check out some of these incidences ourselves. Maybe we can actually talk to people who have had personal experiences with ghosts.
“You believe in ghosts, don’t you?”
I’m not sure by the tone of Ethan’s voice on how to answer. If I say ‘yes’, will it turn him off and have him running to the next girl? Losing Ethan over a ghost wouldn’t be worth it.
“I need to do more research before I can answer you, Ethan. Ask me again at the end of August.”
“You’d make a fine researcher. Maybe one day, you'll be an expert in the paranormal.”
“Do you think I’m crazy to be caught up in this ghost thing? I mean, I’m not completely caught up in it. I have a life outside of the singing ghost.”
“Gia, if you weren’t completely caught up in it, I’m not sure I’d be ordering this burger with you right now. It’s your passion and your commitment to things that attracts me.”
I hope they don’t bring the burger right away because if they do,
I’ll be sure to drop everything.
He’s doing it again – lifting his left cheek with that little dimple,
the smirk on his beautiful lips, the way his teeth glisten in the window
light. My mouth is so dry.
I need water. Sip slowly.
Now I have water dribbling down my shirt. I can feel it beginning to slide off my lips. Too late. It’s dripped off my chin, mixed with the salty sweat beads and now my shirt is stained with water droplets. What’ll I do? Oh no, the burgers are coming. I have to try to say something, anything, as long as it is mature and intelligent.
“Research takes time. I
don’t think I’d be able to unearth the causes of this mysterious
happening in our garden each night, if I was involved on a full-time basis with
a regular job, though, don’t get me wrong, a full-time, regular mundane job
like you have, would be perfect for me right now, but I have specific
goals to meet and financial obligations because I need to increase my cash flow
at this particular point in my life which would substantially assist me
towards meeting those responsibilities.”
The burger is in front of me. If
I lower my eyes and divert my concentration onto the food, I’ll gain some
self-control.
Why is he pausing and staring at me? Did I say something wrong? All I said was that if I had a real job, I’d be able to meet my goals. Maybe water is still dripping from my face.
“We need wapkins.”
“Wapkins?”
“Yes, w--napkins.”
“Here, use mine.”
His hands are so strong, so masculine. When he holds my hand, I feel safe, entirely safe. I feel nothing could hurt me. When he wraps his arms around me and his hands are on my back, I feel protected beyond anything I can imagine. I’m positive that if I were to stay with Ethan for the next few years, I’d have an enriched life. That’s what my parents want for me. That’s why we moved here and Ethan is a part of ‘here’. He’s enriching for me. My parents should never object to me being with Ethan. And since I’m obeying my parents, God should be happy.
“Thank-you. Wow! These are huge burgers. It’s going to take forever to eat all this.”
“I have forever, Gia. Dig in.”
What does he mean by that – ‘forever’? Is he serious about me? Maybe he likes me more than just a girlfriend. Love? Maybe this is ‘the one’. I wish mom was home.
Eat slowly, Gia. Don’t
take large bites. Chew thoroughly.
Swallow silently. Sip some water. Smile.
Look up at him briefly. Wipe
your lips with a small motion. Another
small nibble…
“These are delicious! Do you eat here often?”
“A lot, lately. Whenever I’m at the Library, I come here to eat. They make the best burgers in town. They also have great shakes. Want one?”
Why does he have to ask me a question just as my mouth is full of meat, pickles and the slice of tomato that almost slid out of the bun? If I grunt a response, I’ll be no better than Alex. Smile. Let him see that my mouth is full. He’s waiting. He’s watching me. He’s smiling. Do I have ketchup on my chin?
Swallow silently. Sip the water. Throat clear – good.
“A shake? Uh, no, I uh, I’ll pass, thanks. Besides,
the beach party is next week. I’ll
have to run seven klicks just to wear
this burger off.”
“Should be a fun party. I hear many of the students from last year will be there. It’ll be great seeing some of the old gang again.”
“Have you always gone to school in this town?”
“All my life.”
“Wasn’t it a big switch going to the city for university?”
“Major shift. It took all I had to focus on studies and not wander off exploring the city and other campus life. That’s why I want a jump start on this course for next term.”
“But you’re so smart. You won’t have any problem with the work. Look at what you did last year – you pulled in top marks.”
“How do you know about how I did in school?”
He isn’t angry, but there’s a very earnest look in his eyes. Whatever I answer is critical to my relationship with him.
“Gossip. All anyone can talk about is college.”
“Sixteen in grade twelve is no slouchy accomplishment. How does it feel being the smartest girl in the school?”
“How did you know that I’m the smartest girl in school?”
“Gossip.”
“Got me.” Smile. I’m doing a lot of smiling. Wipe my face gently with the napkin. Thank goodness the server brought extras. Sip a little water. Time for another intelligent question.
“What time is it?” I forgot my watch.
“It’s almost seven.”
Why are there so few gestures that are appropriate when eating?
I think I’ll write a book on gestures befitting women while eating mammoth
burgers in the company of gorgeous, intelligent men, ‘intelligent’ being the
operative word. Who cares what
gorgeous, stupid men think about women? 
“Seven? Time has flown.”
“After we eat, would you like to drop by mom’s shop? I told her I’d bring her some dinner.”
“I’d love to see your mom. Mine’s with my aunt, who finally had her baby last week. It’s her third, my aunt's, I mean. First she had a boy, then a girl, and now, another boy. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried for another girl, just to even the troupe. Can you believe having three or four children? There should be a law against it, or something. I mean, what a drain on social systems and parents…”
Children? What did I just ask the most flawless man in this solar system? That’s the last thing one should talk about with a potentially perfect companion! Can I disappear?
“It’s not so bad. There are five of us.”
“Five kids or five altogether in the family?”
“Five kids.”
“Five kids!” First my right foot goes in my mouth and now my left is following. “I didn’t know. Your mom – she looks divine for having five kids...” It’s impossible to visualize that svelte, young woman having five children like Ethan. “...Or are you a combined family?”
“They’re all hers.”
“How does she do it? I have one puppy and I’m worn out looking after it.” Good time to change the topic. Children to puppies – not the most flattering shift in conversation.
“Do you know what Shakespeare did today? I took him for his walk and he took off, found Spike, sniffed, got quilled, suffered miserably until my dad removed the quills, then rolled over – Shakespeare, I mean – and chewed on his bone, while I had to do major yoga to relax myself. I was as close to hysterical as could ever be possible for someone with my laid-back disposition. It was horrific! I can’t imagine your mother having to worry about FIVE children. And my dad says Shakespeare will likely live to be only twelve or thirteen years old. You’re already nineteen. She has to worry about FIVE children for decades! That seems quite impossible!”
I need to take a breath. The thought of Shakespeare whimpering this afternoon brings back the anxiety that gripped me when I saw those quills in his little, pink nose. “What time did you say it was?”
“It’s now seven PM.”
“Seven PM!”
“Seven – o-four, to be exact.”
“There was something I had to do by seven tonight.
Have my book from the Library. What
else could it be? I’m feeling
like I left home and forgot something. Maybe
It’s…oh, Ethan, it’s…I can’t stay another minute. My dad has a meeting
and needs his car! I need to use
the phone. ”
“Use my cell.”
“Thanks…Oh no! Our line’s busy.”
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