Page 62 of Paper Ghosts

“Is it really time to go?” she asked. “Don’t tease me.”

“Almost.”

“Thank goodness.” She got to her feet, exhausted. “I was about to get cranky about it.”

“About to?”

She gave him a look that made him laugh as she stepped out of the sunroom, leaving only a door full of sunshine.

Bailey had just finished washing the dishes from dinner when her dad walked back into the kitchen five minutes after he’d left with Mim’s food. He still had the tray, the contents untouched. “She wasn’t hungry?”

“No.” He set the tray on the counter. “She wanted to take her nighttime meds early. I think it’s because that storm is about to blow in, and she hates rain.” He motioned outside the kitchen window, where the evening sky was bright orange, the clouds like long peels of tangerines. Off in the distance, the dark edges of the storm could be seen.

He poured Mim’s soup down the drain and handed Bailey the bowl to wash. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’d bagged up all your things in your room. Are you taking them with you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They’re donation bags.”

“Is there anything you’d like to keep here?”

She rinsed the bowl and set it in the dish rack, then wrung out the dishcloth. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she was sure he knew the answer. “I don’t think so.”

“Not even the cloche?”

“I’d probably be checking it for the rest of my life for some magical communication from Mim if I took that.” She turned around and leaned against the counter. “What about you? Do you want anything?”

“Don’t tell your grandmother, but those recipe cards are now mine.” He went to the high cabinet above the fridge, opened it, and pointed to an old plastic recipe box. “I’ve hidden them here so she won’t throw them away.”

“And you trust me with this knowledge?”

“If they’re gone in the morning, I’ll know it was you.”

She shook her head. “All I can say is your friend in Chapel Hill is going to be very lucky. Or very scared.”

Silence. She watched a bloom of color make its way up his neck. He turned and put the rest of their leftover dinner in the fridge. “You know, she never wanted any of this stuff in the house, either,” he said. “I don’t think it ever made her happy.”

“I will keep one thing—the photo albums that were in my closet. And speaking of photos.” She took the Polaroid out of her sweatshirt pocket and handed it to him. “Mim gave me this at tea today. I thought you’d like to see it.”

Tug smiled. “What a blast from the past.”

“That is Jack. She apparently told me something about him as kid, and I named my imaginary friend after him.”

He looked at it more closely. “Is this a guitar case by his feet?”

“Yep. He was a musician.”

Tug laughed. “So the rumor was true! She was involved with someone in a band before my dad. One mystery solved, a thousand more to go.” He handed it back to her as they left the kitchen and he turned out the light behind them. “Did she say what happened to him?”

Bailey didn’t have a reliable answer, so she just shrugged. “It didn’t work out, I guess.”

They went through the dining room and into the foyer. At the base of the staircase, Tug paused awkwardly. “I’m going to tell you about my friend soon, Bailey. I promise.”

Bailey smiled and nodded. “I’d like that. You go on up. I’ll get the living room light.”

She crossed the foyer to the living room and reached in to flick the wall switch. As soon as the room went dark, a single note chimed from the piano.

Tug stopped halfway up the stairs. “Was that the piano?”

Bailey immediately turned on the light again. The grand piano stood large and elegant in the center of the room like a ringmaster in a spotlight. A childhood scene tinged the edge of her memory and she laughed. “Or maybe it was the piano man.”