Page 13 of Ghost Town Boogie

Jack didn’t drift into view, he appeared fully formed and almost solid, directly behind his mother.

Colt couldn’t help it; he jumped a little. He’d never get used to this.

Jack noticed. He smiled widely, and then he said in a voice no one else could hear, “You do see me.”

They always knew. How the hell was that possible? He’d tried to ignore ghosts before, hoping they’d go away. Did he have a glow for the spirits, the way they did for him? The fact that he’d reacted when Jack appeared would’ve been a clue, he supposed, but he didn’t think that was it. No, they simply knew.

He needed time alone with the ghost somehow.

If his assumption about spirits going into the afterlife in what they’d been wearing at the time of death was correct, Jack hadn’t died while on a date or at a business dinner. He wore a pair of baggy shorts and running shoes. That was it. Not quite as bad as dying in the shower, but still, less than ideal for an eternity.

Colt tried to keep his focus on the living occupants of the house. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Nina,” he said, doing his best to ignore Jack, who’d started talking at full volume. The ghost had things to say and he wanted his old friend to hear every word. Colt held up a silencing finger and shook it, which he hoped the living in his presence would take as a quirk, not a rude gesture to them. He continued to smile, which wasn’t easy.

Nina returned his smile and seemed not to notice the finger, which Jack, surprisingly, obeyed. The ghost being shushed didn’t like it, though. Not at all.

“Well, I don’t get out much since Donnie passed,” she said, “and if I did I don’t suppose I’d need another old vinyl record. I don’t know what to do with the ones I have!” She laughed at that, though it wasn’t exactly funny. The laughter didn’t last. “To be honest, I don’t leave the house much at all. These days I can get everything I need delivered to the front door. It’s so convenient. What if Jack calls and I’m not here? What if he comes home and… Oh, what was I thinking? I can’t move to Florida! Sally will just have to come here.”

“Mom,” Anna said gently. “We’ve talked about this. If Jack decides to reconnect with us he can find you at Aunt Sally’s. She’s been in the same house for thirty years. Her house is bigger than this one and it’s already been remodeled to accommodate her wheelchair. Your room is so nice! I loved those pictures Emily sent when we started planning the move. It’s much bigger than your bedroom here.”

Nina sighed. Jack dropped his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry I missed Mr. Miller’s funeral,” Colt said. Sorry, not sorry. Funeral homes were the worst. He avoided them at all costs. “He was a good guy.” Had a temper, could be moody, but now wasn’t the time to point that out. They knew better than he did.

She didn’t say a word, but he could tell what Nina was thinking. I thought Jack would be here for the funeral, at least.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, talking about the weather and the new restaurant in town, then Colt said, “Let’s have a look at these records.”

Anna led Colt upstairs to Jack’s old bedroom, where she’d dumped the records she’d found here and there. Since many of them had been in the small closet in this bedroom, the placement made sense. Jack had been the one in the family with the record player, after all. He’d even listened to their parents’ old records, on occasion.

The room was small, as hers was. The bedroom in her Nashville apartment was easily twice the size. A double bed where boxes of records and a few loose ones had been deposited, a dresser, and a battered end table pretty much filled the room.

It had never been good enough for Jack. This room, this house, his family, Seawolf Beach. The life he’d been born into had been too small and ordinary for him.

Anna hid her feelings from her mother, but she was still angry with her brother. So he’d never gotten along with their father, so Mom had always sided with her husband. What about her? He could’ve reached out to her at any time, he could’ve let her know where he was, but he hadn’t.

“Where do you want to start?” she asked. There were four cardboard boxes on the bed. Colt shifted the one on the end, which seemed to be a bit precarious, toward the middle. “Want to look through the records here, or take them all back to your place? We can load my trunk and I’ll drive you to the door, if you’d like.”

“Let me look at them here, if you don’t mind, to get a feel for what you have. They might not be worth the hassle. If they are I’ll come back with my truck.”

“Well, if they need to be disposed of we’ll have to use your dumpster again. Mom is having a hard time accepting that any of her things aren’t worth saving. Interested in a cranberry sauce dish? She has four.”

Colt looked at her and grinned. It was a good smile, always had been, but it was different now than it had been all those years ago. She saw the hurt in him, the darkness that comes with years of living, loss, and life’s disappointments. But still, it was nice. Maybe he didn’t know it, but there was optimism in his smile. He’d suffered, but he had hope.

Ooh, that would make a good song.

“Let me take a look. Once I know what we’re dealing with we can make a plan.”

The room suddenly seemed even smaller than usual, with both of them in it. How did Colt suck all the air out of the room? “I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Holler if you need anything.”

Anna returned to the ground floor and found her mother in the kitchen, cooking. They could easily eat out every meal; Seawolf Beach was home to more good — some great — restaurants per square mile than was normal, and many of them delivered. But Nina insisted on using up every can of food, every expired spice, every old hunk of freezer-burned meat she’d found among the ice cube trays — actual ancient metal ice cube trays — and frosty frozen veggies.

Tonight something that looked to be a take on Hamburger Helper simmered in a big pan. Ground beef, peas, some kind of unidentified sauce and a curly pasta. She hoped there was cheese somewhere in that over-loaded fridge. Cheese saved everything.

“We should ask Coltrane to supper,” Nina said. “To thank him.”

Could the pan of whatever that was be considered a thanks? That was a stretch. “I’m sure he has plans.”

“It won’t hurt to ask,” she said, a little snippy. “He’s doing us a favor, after all.”