"So a she's going to be relentless, and it's not exactly like I can introduce the two of you. Can you imagine how that woul d go over ?"
His wry grin got her attention. "Yeah. I, uh, I wasn't going to tell you this, but she tried to exorcise me or something last time she was here. She blessed the house."
She laughed, her tone incredulous. "I don't know why I'm surprised. She wasn't always like this, you know. She used to be really funny... she was always the first person I went to when I had a problem."
"What changed?"
"I don't know. Her husband, I guess. She met him, and she got sucked into his crazy church. Now, it's like she's convinced she's a bad Christian if she can't convert you. Even my mom gets sick of her shit, even though she'd never say anything a my mother is the nicest person on the planet."
A breeze blew through the open door, ruffling Sara's hair, and the screech of a child echoed in from somewhere down the street. "Don't let the bad blood there get you down. If you don't want to see her, just tell her not to come," he said, ducking his head to look directly into her eyes. "This is your life ."
"Oh, I know. It's just... it's simpler this way. If I say no to her, she'll claim I'm under the influence of Satan or something. She'll start harassing my parents, trying to convince them I'm going crazy again."
"Yes, because your sister seems to have cornered the market on sanity."
Sara's smile appeared, and she laughed. "True enough. Sometimes I do think it's me, though... maybe there really is something wrong with me that I can't get along with her. I just can't connect..."
He grasped her by the shoulders and shook her lightly. "I'd be worried if you could, but you shouldn't worry ayou connect with me . You sensed me immediately, I think... you found stuff of mine, and we had things in common... you seemed to like me before you even knew I was here. I don't know, Sara. If there's really a problem, maybe we both have it . My own parents couldn't sense me , but m aybe if I could have figured out a way , I could have convinced my parents to stay. Maybe things would have really been different."
"That's a lot of maybes."
"Yeah, I suppose. In the end, it really doesn't matter because I have you. You're better than anything I've ever had in my life."
"Wow, that's saying something."
"Huh?"
"You saw The Doors in concert," Sara teased, eyes lighting. "Coming in ahead of Jim Morrison is a serious compliment."
CHAPTER NINE.
Jules bustled into the house, dragging a small, black suitcase behind her. Patrick guffawed at the sight of her hair, half matted to her head and the rest of it sticking up on the other side. He'd never flown anywhere, but he imagined it had something to do with airplane travel and being trapped in a tin can for hours. Or maybe it was some new fashion trend. He shook his head aSara had shown him photos of some of the clothes he'd missed over the years; sometimes he was glad he'd died when he did.
He wasn't sorry to have missed his first airplane ride, that was for sure. Being crammed into a military plane with dozens of other guys on their way to fight a war had never been his idea of a good time, and it seemed even less attractive now . He'd take an evening with Jules trying to abracadabra him out of the house over getting shot up in Vietnam.
Sara followed shortly after her sister, smiling at Patrick when she saw him waiting by the stairs. That tiny grin spoke of secrets, and it took everything he had not to throw himself across the room and hug the crap out of her. She was his, and she took every opportunity to let him know how she felt. Her smallest gestures a a smile, a touch awere full of her feelings.
"Welcome home," he said, settling himself onto the bottom step too keep himself still. No need to get in the way. Sara couldn't step through him anymore but Jules could, and the discomfort of the sensation that went along with it never really went away.
"I don't know," Jules said, pushing her hair back. It didn't make a difference a it still spastically fl ew around her head. "He's just lucky I didn't hit him with my bag . You just don't stand close to someone like that. If he wanted to know what time it was, he could have asked me from a respectable distance. There's no reason to invade my personal space like that."
"Give the guy a break. He obviously wasn't from the area." Sara crossed the room, making sure to move close enough to Patrick to touch his hair , rolling her eyes in Jules' direction, and then casually walked away.
"Why do you say?"
Sara grinned and sank onto the couch as her sister tossed her purse down on the rocking chair. "Because Philadelphians know better. People carry guns around here."
"Good reminder. They're probably a bunch of heathens too. No offense," she said, sniffing loudly and glancing at the painting behind the couch with disdain.
"Had a problem at the airport?" Patrick asked, narrowing his eyes at Jules. He hated the way she talked to Sara and the way judgment oozed from every pore .
A glance out the window surprised him; it was getting dark so much earlier now. The sky had already faded to a soft purple, but t he clock on the mantle said it was only seven o'clock. Even though it was still warm, signs of the change of seasons still came. Soon the leaves would start to turn colors, crimson and yellow blowing around the yard.
"Yes, because we're going to be spending so much time at the airport while you're here." Sara giggled and waggled her fingers in Patrick's direction.
Jules stared hard at Sara, then shook her head. "Uh huh. Well, I'm hungry. Are you going to feed me?"
"Yeah, alright. What do you want? I can make you a salad or a grilled cheese."
"Wow, pulling out all the stops!" Jules snorted. Patrick wished he could tell her to shove it.
"Well, it's not like you're an invalid. If you want something else, feel free to invade my kitchen." Sara cocked an eyebrow at Jules and grinned, crossing her arms over her chest.
Jules smiled and sprinted into the kitchen. "If you insist!" The sound of drawers and cabinets being opened and shut followed a few moments later.
"She's going to dirty every dish imaginable," Sara muttered, "and probably break a few, too, just out of spite."
"Better get out there," Patrick teased, walking across the room to crouch next to her. Her hand was in his hair in an instant , combing her fingers through. "Besides, you should eat something. You didn't eat much for lunch."
She stuck her tongue out, and Patrick laughed. She'd regained some the weight she'd lost before, but he was still serious ashe was too thin , and s he knew it as well as he did . He pulled her to her feet and kissed her mouth, brushing his lips over hers.
"Yeah, alright," she whispered.
"Quit talking to yourself and get in here!" Jules called.
Sara rolled her eyes again and dragged her feet as she went, blowing Patrick a kiss. He smiled, watching her disappear into the kitchen, and shook his head. He had en couraged Sara to consider allowing her sister to invade her space , despite his dislike of the woman a it seemed as though Sara was never overly excited to hear from her sister, although she really tried to get along with her. He just didn't like to see her suffer in silence as Jules talked crap about her. It was worse than the first time she'd been here anow all he wanted was for her to be gone so he didn't have to share his girl .
On any other night they'd be curled up together on the floor of the living room, watching a movie or talking; she had to be uncomfortable on the hard , wood en boards, but she insisted aif Patrick couldn't sit on the couch with her, she would endure it. He loved sprawling across the ground with his head on her stomach, her hands absently stroking his hair. He'd never realized before just how good that felt. It was comforting yet sexy at the same time, which confused him on a few levels.
It was just how he felt most of the time now a reassured but turned on. It was strange . He felt more like a nineteen -year-old guy now than he had even back in 1970. There was none of the promise of what his life might have to offer, though... Sara was the only thing. He would never have the choices he had back then , before he'd bitten the dust . Even though he'd felt trapped by working with his dad and penned into that whole Army thing, he'd really had options, alternatives he could have taken. Instead of going to his stupid physical exam and shipping over to Vietnam, he could have taken off. It wouldn't have had to be Canada, although maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad scene. There were a million things he could have done back then to change what he'd assumed would have been a dull life stuck in Media.
Still, despite his wasted choices and the loneliness, the pain of losing his parents not once, but twice... the confusion over why he was stuck in this house... he was relieved it had worked out that way. His mother's voice filtered through his head, and he could just see her, sitting on the couch and doing needlepoint.
"Everything happens for a reason, Patty," she'd been fond of saying, a smug and knowing smile on her face. She'd obviously been right, of course . More than anything, he felt as though this ameeting Sara, making her happy awas what he was meant for. It was his destiny. Maybe this was all part of something bigger for him, or maybe it had more to do with what Sara was fated for. Ginny had talked once about the wheel of fortune and how everyone had a part to play. He didn't really care so much anymore about whether it was him or Sara who was spinning the ring; he was content. It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn good.
Sara's laughter floated out of the kitchen, and he smiled, wandering to the door and leaning against the frame. They cracked up, Sara crumpling a napkin and tossing it at Jules' chin . He shook his head, grinning wider simply because they seemed to be getting along better a a good thing a before he turned to head upstairs.
"You just seem, I don't know, happier or something," he heard Jules say.
"I am. I'm very happy," Sara answered. Those five words stayed with him, banging around in his chest, as he took each step and walked into the office. The light shined over her desk, illuminating a bunch of laid out pages. While talking about The Turn of the Screw with Sara one day, he 'd mentioned how much he missed being able to read new books and told her about checking out a few pages of whatever book she 'd left open on her desk. She'd gone out one day and come back with a stack of white paper , telling him she'd photocopied half of a book called The Shadow of the Wind . He'd had no idea what "photocopied" meant, but she taped the pages to the wall of her office and spread a bunch on her desk when she wasn't using it , so he'd be able to read it.
"You'll like it," she'd told him, so full of hope. "It's one of my favorites."
He had, too. He was about halfway through the pages she'd made for him, and he felt so connected to the idea of a Cemetery of Forgotten Books. He felt that way himself so many times over the years alike no one remembered him. He knew Ginny and Mrs. Stout and probably other people, too, had memories of him, but when Sara had asked her question about everything he'd known over the last forty years being nothing more than a post-death, pre-brain death fantasy, he'd considered new options. For instance, if he ended up trapped in this house forever, if Sara died and the rest of his old friends passed on, and there was no one alive who'd ever known him, would he cease to exist? He wasn't so sure he existed even now. Did he need someone to think of him in order to keep going or move on?
If this was Sara's taste in novels, he had a feeling he'd never want for decent reading material or new theories about why he was alive... well, undead or a ghost or whatever.
Patrick wondered aloud to Sara earlier in the day if they should take the pages off the walls, at least for the next few days aif Jules saw them, she'd wonder what the Hell was going on, but Sara had laughed it off.
"Jules already thinks I'm more than a little strange... and possibly borderline evil ," she'd said, the two of them standing in the window, Patrick's arms around her and her cheek against his chin. "This," she gestured toward the wall to her side, "isn't going to hurt her opinion."
It went unsaid, but Patrick knew at least some of the reason Jules thought she was "a little strange," and it had everything to do with him. Not him, per se, but the way he'd made Sara feel as though she was losing it. Sara still wasn't convinced she wasn't completely nuts anot entirely abut she had accepted him in a way that didn't matter whether she was sane or not. She mentioned it every now and then in a joking way but said she didn't care because life was good. He agreed aeverything was damn near perfect.
He leaned over the desk and lost himself in the pages of the book, startled when Sara poked her head into the room later.
"Hey," she said, voice hushed as she flipped on the overhead light. "You're probably ready to start the pages on the wall, huh?"
He flashed a grateful smile. "Thanks, angel. How's everything going down there?"
"Good. We're going to watch a movie. Wanna join us?"
"Maybe later." It felt good to say that, to be able to give her time alone. For so many months, he'd just followed her around. He still didn't want to miss even a moment with her, but having something new to focus on, something he could do by himself, was nice. It made him feel kind of normal , even more than being able to make out with Sara . Kissing her was more fun, but that was another story.
Sara laughed and shook her head. "I'd tell you not to strain your eyes, but I guess that's not a problem."
He grinned as her head disappeared into the hallway. He immediately lost himself in the words, but at the same time he missed the feel of a new book in his hands, the spine cracking as he opened the cover and turned the first page. There were just some things he wouldn't be able to ever experience again.
The dim lights of Sara's bedside lamp cast shadows over her face, covers pulled up to her waist. Patrick tried not to stare at her nipples poking at the thin material of the tank top she wore. He'd heard her say goodnight to Jules from the hallway, and he forced himself to give her some time to change her clothes and brush her teeth before he went to her.
"I'm beat," she said before yawning so wide Patrick swore he could see her tonsils, although he didn't really care about them so much... not with her boobs on display.
"You should go to bed then. We don't have to talk now."
"I want to, though. I missed you tonight." She pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the side. His eyes went to the pale length of thigh showing below her shorts.
"I missed you, too."
"You did not," she said, giggling and crooking her finger at him. "You were lost in that book. So you're liking it?"
He stepped toward her, kneeling next to her bed and crawling in between her legs to slip his arms around her waist.
"Yeah, you've got good taste." He'd talk to her another time about it. Right now he just wanted to focus on the feel of her skin before he said good night.
"Well, obviously," she joked, running her hands across his shoulders. "I had a feeling you'd like it." She turned her face to the side, trying to stifle another yawn with her hand.
"I should go."
"I want you to stay." She tightened her hold on him, sliding forward until she was wrapped around him, her face buried in his neck.
"Okay. I can sleep on the floor." He would have loved to crawl into bed with her, snuggle with her on the soft mattress, but the only thing that would happen, if he tried, was he'd sink through the mattress and land on the floor. But being near her was enough, and he was thrilled she'd asked for him, wanted him close by.
"No, I want to drag my comforter and pillow down."
"Oh, we've graduated to sleepovers, have we?" he teased, his voice light, although his heart pounded in his chest. Well, not literally, but it felt like that. "Are you going to braid my hair?"
"I... want you with me," she answered. Her gaze was so earnest, and he smiled, overwhelmed by his feelings. He loved everything about her, but her honesty, the way she never seemed to hold back her thoughts... he felt loved, trusted. "I'm sick of waking up without you, knowing you're down the hall."
"I can't let you do that. You shouldn't have to get a backache because I'm," he gestured to himself and made a face, "me." Please don't mind, please don't mind , he chanted in his head.
"You think I care?" Her voice was soft, the tone pleading, although he didn't understand why she thought she had to beg . He would give her whatever she asked if he could. "As long as you're with me, I'd sleep on a bed of nails."
"Are you sure? Not about the nails a no need for that." He grinned and ran his fingertip down her cheekbone. He tried so hard to be cool and casual with her, not to come off like a clingy dork. It wasn't about playing games . She had to know how much he adored her. He just didn't want to turn her off and make her run from him.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I want to wake up with you." She shrugged and bumped Patrick back, picking up her pillow and standing. "We should have plenty of room next to the closet."
He led her to the spot and knelt down, feeling useless as he watched her position her comforter and blankets on the floor next to him. He couldn't help the frown on his face. Some things bummed him out , and this was one aas much as that Kevin guy she'd gone out with that one time had been a jerk, he had the ability to help her arrange her bedding, and it wouldn't have been necessary to crash there in the first place.
Patrick lay down on his back, his hand behind his head as he brooded about what a bummer all this was. Sara pulled the comforter over her and snuggled into his side, cheek resting on his shoulder.
"What are you and Jules doing tomorrow?" he asked, frown transforming into a smile. This felt so good, just lying here like this next to her. Still, he felt the weight of what he couldn't do for her and with her . He tried to brush the crushing guilt of it away as he took in the warm smell of her hair and brushed his thumb over the cap of her shoulder.
In a weird way it reminded him of coming to sleep with his parents when he was little. He'd curl up between them on their bed and create patterns in the plaster, following the whorls with his eyes. This wasn't really like that, though ait was better... different. And he hadn't wanted to kiss either of his parents the way he wanted to kiss Sara. The second the thought crossed his mind, he frowned again . That was gross.
"I don't know. Jules kind of wants to head into Philly for the day and do some shopping. Not like there's anything she can get here that she can't get at a"
"What are you doing?" Jules interrupted, staring at Sara from the doorway.
Patrick hadn't even heard her come up the stairs. He froze, feeling like he'd got ten caught doing something wrong. In a way, he supposed he had ahe was relatively certain there had to be a rule somewhere that ghosts weren't supposed to be able to kiss the living, although he had no clue who was making the rules. He sure as Hell knew Jules would think it was wrong. A feeling of stupidity washed over him; not moving certainly wouldn't accomplish anything. It wasn't as though Jules could see him anyway, and even if she could, it wasn't as though he turned invisible while holding still. He relaxed, but Sara stayed rigid in his arms.
"Oh, uh, nothing." Sara sat abruptly and rubbed her eyes. Patrick ran his fingers against the sliver of skin showing in the spot on her back where her shirt had ridden up, making sure she knew he was there and he loved her.
"But why are you sleeping on the floor?"
"Huh?"
"You're on the floor, and who are you talking to?"
"Guess we'll have to keep it down," Patrick murmured. Sara tilted her foot to the side, nudging his ankle. He probably should have been more concerned Jules had heard Sara talking, but it didn't really seem like that big of a deal. It could have been the radio or even noise from outside.
"I-I'm just talking to myself," Sara stammered.
"Still?"
Patrick glowered. "Stop being a bitch." Now that he thought about it, though, he was sure Sara had told either Jules or her mother she talked out loud in the house anyway... maybe even that she'd talked to him. Well, the idea of him, anyway. He couldn't quite remember what she'd said or to whom she'd said it , but it didn't matter aJules appeared to accept Sara's explanation without question.
"Well, yeah. It helps keep things sorted out in my head."
Jules shook her head. "It still doesn't explain why you're camped out on your floor."