13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

T he cathedral-length veil is perfect for swept-up curls tucked up and off the shoulders. I fluff it out so that it is partially wrapped towards the front of the white lace wedding gown.

“You look so beautiful,” I tell Caroline, smoothing the veil once more. We hadn’t planned to try on her wedding dress today, but the seamstress called last night, letting her know the dress was ready. Of course, we changed our morning plans (wedding dress fitting, then brunch) to try it on.

Caroline is going to have an early October wedding—just in time for the fall colors to come peeking out. She jokingly told me that it’s because her auburn hair will go best with a fall palette, but it’s really because Javi will finally be done with his schooling and officially be a doctor.

“Thank you.” Caroline is a bit misty-eyed, looking at herself in the mirror. “I can’t believe I’m getting married in less than two months!”

I snap a few photos of her in her gown before she shimmies out of it. She passes it to me through the gap in the curtain, and I have to hold it above my head so it won’t drag as I bring it across the changing room. It’s a creation formed of satin and lace and fluff passing by the rows of mirrors as if it’s its own entity. The image bounces off the opposite mirror, and for a second, I can’t see myself at all, just the puff of full skirts. It’s like I’m not even there at all. The image startles me, and I have to do a double take to reassure myself that it was just a trick of the lighting and angle.

With the dress alterations approved, a pickup date established, and brunch just minutes away, Caroline is on cloud nine. As we walk from the parking garage through the streets of downtown Rapid City, Caroline slips her arm through mine.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says, glancing at me. “How are things going with Henry?”

I wait until we’ve crossed the street before replying. I purposefully haven’t brought him up at all, avoiding the topic entirely. Why bring it up? I know Caroline wants girl talk from me—for me to spill out all of the feelings she knows I have for him, for me to tell her about every interaction and every touch, how my heart races and stomach clenches, but what’s the point? She doesn’t need to know about his quirks any more than I do. How he doesn’t wear socks with his shoes (because, according to him, socks are annoying to find no matter the dimension, and what’s the point since he’s neither cold nor sweating, nor does his skin rub against his shoes?). Caroline doesn’t need to know about how addicting his laugh is or how his cat Spectre constantly wants to be lying on his feet but sometimes deigns to curl up on my lap. She doesn’t need to know how the other day, he called me something in a language I don’t know, but how I knew it was soft and sweet because of how he looked as he said it—soft and sweet and so deeply affectionate himself.

“What do you want to know?” I say.

“Anything, Rency. Seriouslyyy!” She draws the word out, tugging on my arm. “I am dying here. I know you are Little Miss Play-It-Safe, but are you seriously telling me that the man can touch you after a century of ghosting through people and he’s been hands-off since then? That you two haven’t kissed?”

“We haven’t,” I promise. I don’t tell her how close we have been those two times.

Caroline lets out her breath in a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, the restraint you both have is just so annoying. Tell me something , Rency. Anything.”

I’m in love with Henry, I want to say. How do you convince yourself to fall out of love with someone? I’ve never been in love before, never taken the risk. I didn’t take it this time, either. Instead, I cracked the door to my heart and all of the emotions rushed in at once before I could shove it closed again. “We haven’t been able to find his aunt’s book, so there isn’t much to share on the curse-breaking front.” I’d told her about that development, focusing on the mystery and the puzzle of it all, and not at all on the way I’d buried my hands in his hair or how he had gripped my hips or the way he whispered my name.

Thankfully, we walk into the restaurant and our conversation is paused until we are seated and have two coffees on the way.

“That’s it?” Caroline asks, leaning in close. “That’s the only update?”

“Well, I told you about seeing Mallory and about Nathan. Oh! He ended up trying to drop off the market sale report in the mailbox like a coward.”

Caroline scoffs. “Isn’t that a federal offense or something? Putting things in mailboxes?”

“I have no idea, but I caught him in the act. Had an interesting conversation with him about Mallory, actually.” “Do tell,” Caro says.

I launch into the story. I’d been walking back from the barn when Nathan’s car had pulled up. He’d been so focused on trying to stuff the entire folder of information into the mailbox that I’d startled him. Without Mallory next to him, he was nearly a different man—still a bit jumpy, but less like a caricature of a salesperson.

“I told you not to come around and try to get us to put the house on the market,” I’d told him, pulling the folder out of the mailbox and dropping it into his lap through the open car window. He’d sighed, as if I was the one bothering him . “No need to act annoyed. Stop coming around here and you won’t have to deal with me or Henry anymore.”

“I think you’ve met my aunt before,” Nathan replied, putting his car into park. “She’s not exactly a woman to say ‘no’ to.”

“Well neither am I,” I’d replied.

Nathan’s expression was long-suffering. “Listen, I don’t know how you got caught up with Henry, but if he’s anything like Mallory, you’re better off getting out of here as fast as you can.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Nathan had lifted both eyebrows. “I’ve spent over half my life haunted by Mallory. When she was done manipulating my mother, she moved on to me. She loves nothing but herself and is obsessed with the allure of wealth, even though she can hardly enjoy it anymore. The thing is that very property we sell lets her wander farther and farther. What she wants, she gets, one way or another. The only thing she hasn’t been able to get is whatever cursed book you mentioned before. Ever since you brought it up, she’s been near obsessed, talking about it constantly. Anyway, she’s terrible. I bet your ghost is not any better, so figure out how to escape before you’re stuck.”

Caroline frowns at this moment in the story. “That doesn’t seem like Henry at all, though,” she says. “I mean, not just in personality but in the whole expansion-of-range thing. Didn’t you say Henry was stuck in the same little range for the past hundred years? ”

I nod. “That’s right. I told Henry about the conversation, and it confused him too.”

“Weird. I wonder what she has on Nathan that she’s able to manipulate him and his whole family for generations.”

I shrug. “Who knows. Either way, it was a strange exchange.”

The waiter comes, and we have to send him away so we can study the menu before ordering. Nothing looks good to me, my stomach churning at the idea of eating more than a few bites, and Caroline frowns at me when I order avocado toast and a poached egg instead of my typical fully indulgent brunch spread. Breakfast foods are my weakness—both of ours, actually.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I haven’t been very hungry lately.”

“Mmmhmmm,” she replies, lips thinned. “Well, don’t tell Javier. He’s already getting power hungry with all of his new medical knowledge and he’s liable to ask you about your GI tract.”

“Barf.”

“No, that’s part of it, so don’t say that either.”

I have to smother a laugh, but Caroline giggles along with me anyway.

“What did you say her last name was? Mallory?” Caroline asks, picking up her phone.

“vanVals.” I sip my coffee while Caroline taps away. It tastes strange in my mouth, like dirty water. I can barely swallow it, and instead of drinking more, I use the cup to warm my hands .

“Ah ha!” she exclaims. “I knew it sounded familiar. Look at this.” Caroline turns her phone so I can see the screen. A huge house is displayed, the images auto scrolling horizontally to show off the unique architecture, interesting stained-glass windows, and the detailed woodworking.

“A historical home?” I ask, watching the pictures slide by.

“Not just any historical home. The vanVals Mansion. It was made by some famous architect, has custom everything.”

I tap on the screen, pausing at an image of custom-carved built-ins. Henry had said his uncle had met Mallory while they were working on her family house in the city. Could this be his own work, preserved here in the city?

“We should go,” Caroline insists. “Check it out. Maybe there is a hint or something. A clue.”

“What?” I ask, brain catching up with what Caroline is saying. “Isn’t that… I don’t know, sort of stalker-y?”

Caroline gives me a flat look. “Woman. She killed your husband and cursed him to eternal ghosthood. I think she’s outdone you in the creepy department, don’t you?”

I shush her, looking around to see if anyone overheard. “Okay, okay, you’re right,” I say. “That’s obviously worse.”

She takes back her phone. “Exactly. Okay, it’s 10:30 now. I’m buying tickets for today’s tour at noon.”

“Fine. Just… let’s try to keep a low profile, okay? I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.”

Especially if she has her claws in other people who report back to her , I think .

“No problem,” Caroline chirps, grinning. “I’ll sign up with aliases.”

A sigh escapes me as I watch her flip her hair over her shoulder as she enters in her credit card information. I don’t think Caroline has ever kept a low profile in her entire life.

My grandmother’s house is a portal into the past; the vanVals Mansion is a shrine to it. It’s an altar to the past, to money and style and an artistic movement. It’s in a historical neighborhood of Rapid City but takes up as much space as three other houses on the same block. With its unique style, it’s no wonder that it is a museum; still, I feel strange walking through it. There are five other people on the tour with us—three university students and a couple who I think might be on a first date—and the tour guide is much more diligent than the woman who shushed us in the funeral home museum back in Oak River.

I trail behind everyone else, listening with half-attention. The guide explains the relationship between the family and the architect, the history of the architectural style and its evolution, the preservation and restoration of the house to its original style.

“Most of the house has remained unchanged,” the man says. “For example, the light fixtures are original, as are the handmade cabinetry and woodwork. Photographs of the carpets gave the restoration team insight into the original look, and so reproductions were an easy task. Upstairs, water damage in one room required designers to take samples of the original wallpaper and digitally design modern imprints of…”

I let the group wander away. The room directly to my right is a pantry, artfully tucked away behind a wood panel with distinct, stylized carvings. I let my hand drift down the woodgrain. Peeking in a cabinet, I’m disappointed when it’s empty, but as I ease it closed, a wood-burned signature catches my eye.

Bakker Cabinetry and Carpentry, in slanted script.

My eyes water as I close the door, emotion rushing up my throat. A piece of Henry, preserved.

What will I have left of him if we break the curse?

The thought sticks in my brain, unable to be dislodged for the rest of the tour and into the evening. Caroline can tell that the tour shook something loose in me, but she doesn’t ask what it is, instead reverting to worried glances she thinks I don’t see, interspersed with her usual happy chatter.

I’m thankful when we meet up with Javier for dinner. It’s a good distraction for me, and it shifts Caroline’s attention away from me and the grip of desperate melancholy that’s come over me. Javi greets us both warmly, kissing my cheeks in foreign-styled familiarity and slinging a casual arm over Caroline’s shoulders to pull her close against his body. They met three years ago when Caroline photographed his older brother’s wedding. He was the best man, and, as he tells it, it was love at first sight.

Javi is by far the best guy Caro has ever dated—and not just because he’s a foodie and picks out the best restaurants for us to try, although that’s a perk. Javi is her perfect match: his calm balances out her energy, and he’s joyously indulgent of her playfulness. Plus, he’s an excellent conversationalist. Tonight is no exception. He asks questions, stares down at Caro like she hangs the moon and stars in the sky, laughs at the perfect moments. Caro told me that she wasn’t planning on telling him about Henry’s status as a ghost (“I mean, I don’t want him to question my mental stability and break up with me, so no, I will not be telling him about Henry,” she’d informed me), so I’m not surprised when Javi brings up Henry the handyman instead.

“Caro tells me you might be in a little flirtation with a local,” Javi says, sipping on his drink. “Or is that old news now?”

We’ve moved from eating dinner to after-dinner drinks at one of the bars down the street, and it’s a tad too early for it to be packed with bodies, so we’ve easily parked ourselves in a corner with a trio of gin and tonics.

“A little bit, I guess. It’s not going to work out, though.”

“What? Why not?” Javi asks, leaning forward. “You’re amazing! So it’s gotta be a him thing, yeah?”

I shrug. “It is,” I say, thinking of Henry’s unique predicament. “But it’s a me thing, too.” I don’t want him to think poorly of Henry, though—not that they would ever meet, but I feel protective of him.

“So he’s not your type?”

“What? Oh, no, he is,” I say, thankful for the darkness of our corner to hide my blush.

Javi makes a “do tell” noise and Caroline jumps in. “He’s smart and a total history buff just like Rency. Has very nice manners. He’s also tall and has great hair. Nice teeth, too. Oh! And he has a very cute cat.”

“So what’s the problem, then?”

“I’m moving back home soon, for one,” I point out.

Javi makes a dismissive noise. “What’s an hour-and-a-half drive for love?” he says. “Please tell me a little distance between the two of you isn’t what’s holding you back from going out with a guy who, based on what Caro has told me, is pretty perfect for you.”

“It’s not,” I admit. “I just… I just know it’s not going to work out.”

Javi’s frown is a juxtaposition to his typically easygoing attitude. “Why are you always worried things won’t work out?” he asks. “That’s what you told Caro and me when you told us you weren’t going back to school for that master’s degree—that it wasn’t going to work out. Some things are worth the risk, you know? Like, look at Caro and me. What if I had never taken the risk to ask her out? My life would be way worse.”

I stare at the lime wedge in my glass, not knowing what to say. It’s what Caro always told me: That I play things too safe. That I’m missing out on the good things in life because I’m too scared about them ending badly. But isn’t this evidence of just that?

“I’ll think about it,” I say. Hadn’t I said the same thing to Caro at the start of the summer? Henry was just a man then, and I still wouldn’t take the risk. Where does that leave me now? Javier doesn’t need to know how impossible Henry and I really are.

“Good,” Javier says, wrapping an arm around Caroline. “I want you to find the sort of love that Caroline and I have.”

I smile, but I’m scared it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Cheers to that,” I say.

We all clink glasses, and my heart sinks.

“I’m worried about you, Rency.”

It’s late, and Caro and I are sharing her king-sized bed. Javi is long gone, having kissed Caro in the lobby of her downtown apartment and promised to see us first thing tomorrow. Now, just the sounds of the city rumble around us, and I’m lying awake, thinking about Henry, the veil, and the inevitability of heartbreak.

“You shouldn’t worry,” I tell her.

“I can’t help it. I feel guilty.”

I turn to face her, and she rolls towards me as well. “Why?”

“Because I can tell that you’re in love with him. I can feel it. I’m your best friend—your blood , even. It’s impossible for me not to notice. And I’m the one who told you that you should be open to dating him, the one who teased you about being Mrs. Henry Handyman. I… I can’t believe I told you to sign the marriage certificate.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell her. “If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. I wasn’t forced to do anything.” I chose to chisel away a small space in the walls of my heart. It’s not her fault that the man I decided to take the risk on turned out to have died a hundred years ago and turned into a ghost. “And besides, it’s not like you could have possibly known that he was a ghost.”

“I just really, really want you to be happy, Rency. And Henry… I know you don’t want to talk about him, and I get it. You’re trying to not make it worse by talking about it, but I know he’s just perfect for you, and that kills me. And I can’t imagine how much it’s killing you, too.”

A tear slips from the corner of my eye. Caroline sniffs, too.

“I don’t know how to… how to fall out of love. I’ve tried to ignore him. The fact that he’s—but I… and now, trying to break the curse… I just… I feel like I’m…” I have to pause so I can catch my breath. It takes nearly a minute to even it out, for each breath not to be a sob. “I know Shakespeare said that it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, but this is… it’s too much , Caro. And I—”

I don’t know if it’s worth it , I almost say. I don’t know if it’s true, though. Would I rather have never met Henry? Never have felt so deeply connected to another person?

I can’t regret that.

Thoughts of regret ricochet around my mind. What will I regret when he’s gone? Will I regret ever having known him?

“I’m so sorry, Rency.” Caroline reaches out and grabs my hand. “You deserve love. You deserve someone who is smart and interesting and nice.”

Like Henry, she almost adds. I can sense it in how the sentence dangles off at the end.

“I’m sorry too,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “I’m really sorry too.”