Shadow of a Life Page 2

  “Not right now. I’ve finished everything I checked out during my last trip to the library,” I said between bites. Dad hated it when I talked with food in my mouth. “I planned on biking over there this morning. I still need to finish an English report, too. I’m sure I can keep myself busy.”

  He folded his newspaper and gave me a look mixed with both love and pity. Leaning down, he kissed me on the forehead before grabbing his car keys and briefcase and hurrying out the door to the garage.

  Dad, or Randall Peters to his colleagues, was the Dean of Academic Affairs at Newton University in nearby New Bedford. He was a good father and he tried hard, but I think he sometimes hid at work so he wasn't reminded of his loneliness. My mom left us when I was only six. I had a few happy memories from when she was still around, but mostly I just remembered her fighting with Dad all the time. When she left they didn’t get divorced—they separated. It only made matters worse. Dad wouldn’t even consider dating anyone else since he was technically still married. I think he secretly hoped she’d return for good someday. Anyway, Dad was an economics professor at Newton University, but shortly after Mom left he was promoted to Dean of Academic Affairs and left me with the task of raising myself.

  I carried my empty cereal bowl to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher along with the dishes Dad left. Gazing out the kitchen window, I let out a deep sigh. I felt dull. It was as if life was passing me by and I just watched, waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did.

  While in junior high, I read all the Nancy Drew mysteries. I used to think of myself as Nancy Drew. She was raised by her father like me, but Dad and I don’t have the luxury of a full-time housekeeper like Nancy did. In our home, I was the housekeeper. I wished that there would be some mystery that would fall into my lap so I could go on fact-finding journeys with my friends George and Bess. In my case, it would be Camille and whichever other friends we could persuade to come along. I wouldn’t even mind having a hot boyfriend like Nancy did. I really did live in a fantasy world.

  I wandered back upstairs to my room and plopped onto my bed, sitting cross-legged with my laptop in front of me. If I started right then, I knew I could finish my English report before the library even opened for the day. I was writing a report on the John Steinbeck novel, Of Mice and Men. We’d been given two weeks to read the book and then another week to write a three-page paper about it. I finished the book in two days. I was pretty sure Camille was still somewhere in the first half.

  At eleven o’clock I hit save on my computer and printed the final copy of my report. Probably not my best work, but I was confident it would get an ‘A’ anyway. I stretched my arms over my head and twisted in my chair in an effort to straighten my back, stiff from being hunched over the computer for an hour. I emptied the contents of my backpack onto my bed, refilled it with library books ready to return, and headed for the garage. At least Dad had gotten me a nice bike a couple of years before. I would have hated to ride the same purple bike with a basket and a bell that I had when I was a child. Talk about a reputation killer. I got plenty of exercise riding my bike everywhere. If there were frequent flyer miles for library addicts, I’d be traveling free for the rest of my life. I think there’s even a rut on the sidewalk—thanks to me and my Schwinn—between my house and the library in town. It’s not that I didn’t like to do anything else but read, I just got bored by myself. A lot. And books could take me to places I couldn’t go in reality.

  I let myself out through the garage using the keyless entry and headed down the driveway. That morning felt much more like spring than the previous day and my light jacket was more than enough to keep me warm. I even heard birds chirping in the trees. I could feel my mood getting better with every turn of my wheels.

  The Elizabeth Taber Library is an older multi-story building with mature trees shading the front of the structure. Its white and gray exterior welcomed me as it always did. I chained my bike to a rack on the rear side of the building and went inside. I browsed through the young adult section, looking for any good mysteries that I hadn’t already read a million times. Since nothing jumped off the shelf at me, I made my way to the adult section in hopes of finding something more intriguing.

  As I moved up and down the aisles, pulling out books and reading their covers, the familiar creepy feeling returned. I felt like I was being watched. The hair on my arms stood up and I shivered unexpectedly. Slowly, I lifted my head and turned my gaze toward the end of the aisle. I gasped and dropped the book I’d been holding when I saw who was standing there. Aphrodite.

  Okay, things were getting a little weird. Other than Dad and kids from school, I didn’t usually see people I knew three times in two days, let alone complete strangers. Our town was small so it was odd that I didn’t know who the new girl was. Aphrodite disappeared around a shelf as quickly as she’d appeared and I went back to making my book selections, shrugging off the incident. I finally chose three that sounded promising from the descriptions on their book jackets and weaved my way to the circulation desk. You know you’re a library freak when all the librarians can greet you by name before you even pull out your library card.

  There’s a cushiony chair near a window in the back of the building that I usually sat in while reading. It had a permanent butt imprint and I was almost certain it was made entirely by my rear end. I could always go home and read, but there I would be alone. At the library, I could read and watch as the world moved by around me. Occasionally I’d even see someone from school and get invited to “hang out.” Hey, I wasn’t a complete book nerd.

  I was pulled from a story of sabotage and blackmail by the sound and feel of my stomach growling. Smells from Grandma’s Café and Bakery across the street drifted in through one of the open windows of the library. I glanced at my watch, shocked to see that it was almost one o’clock. It occurred to me that I could read at the café just as easily as I could at the library, except at Grandma’s I could eat a grilled cheese and greasy fries while I read. And, who was I kidding? I was definitely getting a milkshake, too.

  CHAPTER 3

  Dad said that Grandma’s Café and Bakery already existed when he was a kid growing up in Marion, Massachusetts. Of course, back then “Grandma” was actually alive and running the joint. The café had changed hands many times over the years, but it was still a favorite local hangout. After placing my order I chose a table in the back where I could spread out and not be in the way. There were a few families finishing up lunch and a couple of older classmen from my school polishing off burgers at the counter. I didn’t recall their names, but I’d seen them around many times before.

  When my order number was called I meandered through the maze of tables and booths to claim my food. As I turned away from the counter, the bell above the door signaling someone entering chimed. Instinctively, I looked up and again found myself staring at Aphrodite. At that point I was determined to find out her real name so that I didn’t slip and call her by the imaginary name I’d given her. I didn’t have to wait long for my opportunity.

  After scanning the restaurant, her eyes stopped on me and she headed straight for where I stood at the counter. “Hi,” she said upon arrival.

  I turned to make sure there wasn’t someone behind me she was greeting before I quizzically responded, “Uhh . . . Hi?”

  “I’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?” she asked with a sunny grin.

  “Everything’s great,” I mumbled.

  “Your milkshake looks delicious. What flavor is it?”

  I looked down at my tray. Apparently the pink color wasn’t a dead giveaway.

  “It’s strawberry,” I answered. “And you are?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I’m Sophia. I’ve seen you around. I think we go to the same school. You always have a lot of books with you.”

  The words coming from Aphrodite’s mouth sounded rehearsed. I stared at her for a minute, trying to figure out why she was talking to me, before I responded.


  “Yeah. I’ve seen you, too. There is only one high school in the area so I guess it’s not surprising.” I didn’t count the snobs at the prep school across town.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  I finally caught on to what I assumed was her motive for talking to me. I’d dealt with the blonde-cheerleader-type before.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m flattered that you think because I carry a lot of books that I’m smart and that I want to do everyone’s homework, but I don’t. I know it’s the end of the year and that you’ve probably been told you won’t graduate unless you finish a bajillion assignments before next week, but that isn’t my problem.” The whole thing bubbled out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop it. Again, I wasn’t in the world’s best frame of mind.

  The look on Sophia’s face was one of confusion and then it quickly changed from realization to pure enjoyment. She laughed, a beautiful, lyrical laugh. Of course her laugh is perfect, too.

  “I think you’ve misunderstood me. I do want a favor, but it doesn’t involve school work.” Sophia paused, trying to put something into words. She looked up and proclaimed, “I think you might be my soul saver.”

  My face burned red as I began to back away from her, slipping over my words as I muttered, “Umm . . . I . . . uh . . . think you got the wrong impression from me. I didn’t know I gave off that kind of vibe, but I’m not really into those weird super hero role-playing games.”

  Sophia looked stunned and then burst out laughing. “That’s not what it means. Believe me. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just feel drawn to you. I think maybe you can help me. Can we sit down so that I can try to explain it to you?”

  “Sure—I guess. I have a table in the back.” My face color returned to its normal shade, but I was still apprehensive. I sat down and dug into my burger and fries while I waited for Sophia to join me with a shake of her own.

  “Sooo . . . you think I’m your soul saver. What exactly is that supposed to mean?” I asked rudely. Geesh, what is my problem?

  “Sometimes people have predicaments that they can’t necessarily fix on their own. They need a little push from someone else. That someone else is called a soul saver. I didn’t think I had one, but then a few weeks ago I saw you and your dad on the subway in New York and I felt compelled to follow you. I’ve been watching you and the feeling hasn’t gone away so I decided it was time to talk to you.”

  Dad and I had been in New York a few weekends ago. He was speaking at an educator’s conference so I tagged along and hung out at a second-hand bookstore until he was finished with his work commitments. He surprised me and took me to a Broadway show afterwards.

  “Wait . . . are you stalking me?” I asked in horror as Sophia’s words sunk in. “That is really creepy.” Apparently I’d found the source of my so-called anxiety.

  “Listen. I’m going to tell you something and you’re going to flip out, but you can’t. Okay? I mean, you really need to just hear me out. It’s hard for normal people to understand all of this.”

  “Understand what?” I was getting frustrated.

  Sophia leaned in over our trays and whispered seriously, “I’m a ghost.”

  It was my turn to burst out laughing. “A ghost? That’s the best excuse for stalking that you can come up with? Come on, tell me something believable. How about ‘I’m a princess from the planet Jupiter,’ or how about ‘I raise pink elephants in my garden.’”

  Sophia just sat there without smiling. “Are you through?”

  I thought about it. I couldn’t think of any more good comebacks so I told her she could continue.

  “Believe me, when I was alive I thought that ghost stories were strictly to scare little kids . . . and then I became one.”

  “And when exactly was this?” I asked.

  “When was what?”

  “When did you become a ghost?”

  “After I died.”

  I rolled my eyes. “When were you living?”

  “Oh. I was born in 1870. On Halloween, actually. Pretty funny that I became a ghost, isn’t it? Of course, back then people didn’t celebrate Halloween like they do now. I certainly never did anything for it.”

  “So if you were born in 1870, when did you die?”

  “In 1888, a few days after my 18th birthday.”

  “Okay, but if you’re a ghost, why can I see you?” I asked skeptically.

  “Have you ever heard the saying that behind every myth or legend there’s some truth? Well, that is true, but legends rarely have all the facts straight.”

  Sophia reached across the table and rested the palm of her hand on my face. My body tensed. I wasn’t a fan of being touched by people I didn’t know.

  “Is something supposed to be happening?” I asked as I pulled my face away.

  “I was trying to show you that even though I’m a ghost you can still feel me.”

  “Oh wow. That’s impressive,” I mocked, “but I have news for you. I could feel any one of the other people in this restaurant right now. That doesn’t prove anything. Look, I’m not sure why you decided to follow me, but this is all just a little weird, don’t you think? You should probably be careful what you walk around blabbing to people or you’re going to end up in an institution. I need to leave.” I grabbed my tray and stood to go, but Sophia reached out one of her perfectly formed hands and gently laid it on my arm.

  “Please,” she pleaded softly, a desperate look in her bright eyes. “That’s why more ghosts aren’t known. We don’t like to be rejected. Everyone threatens to put us in institutions—as if they could actually hold us there. Very few people really believe in ghosts and even fewer take the time to actually listen. I know it sounds dramatic and cliché, but you really are my only hope. I’ve been waiting around for more than a hundred and twenty years to find my soul saver and I don’t want to lose the only chance I might have. Is there somewhere we can go where I can prove to you that I am what I say I am? Somewhere that is void of people? If you still don’t believe me, I promise I’ll stop following you and you’ll never see me again.”

  I sighed. “Fine, but I can only talk for a few minutes. I have plans later.”

  She looked at me doubtfully. “No you don’t. Tonight is the school prom and no one asked you. Your dad is working all weekend and the only plans you have involve those library books you just stuffed in your bag.”

  Wow. That was blunt. Most people who knew me even a little could probably figure out that I didn’t date much. It wasn’t for lack of desire; it just all boiled down to supply and demand. Why date the friend when they could date Camille? I had guy friends, but that’s all they were . . . friends. When we were in elementary school I often played sports with the boys at recess. Sometimes I was even better than they were at whatever game we were playing. I think they still thought of me as one of them even though many years had passed and I hadn’t played baseball or soccer in years. I’d been on exactly two dates in my life. One with a nephew of one of Dad’s coworkers whom he owed a favor. The kid was so vain that he spent the entire date talking about himself. The other date was when Camille set me up with a friend of the guy she was dating. Again, I was the sidekick. He was weird and kept picking at the bottoms of his shoes and then chewing on his nails. It was really gross.

  “Alright.” I gave in. “I know a place where we won’t be seen. Come on.”

  As we exited the building I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake. I felt for my cell phone in the pocket of my jacket. Dad had given me pepper spray to carry, but that was safely zipped away in an inside pouch of my backpack. If Sophia turned on me, I didn’t think I’d be able to get it out fast enough. Like I mentioned before, I was pretty tough, but Sophia was a good three or four inches taller than me, and obviously a little psychotic. I wouldn’t have gone with her except I thought that it might be a way to pull myself out of the doldrums. I had hoped for adventure. Besides, odd as it may sound, I felt strangely drawn to her, too.

  I took Soph
ia to a favorite spot of mine by the Sippican River. There’s a small grove of sycamores that I used to hide in while I lost myself in a book. I went there often during the warm summer months.

  I led Sophia underneath the branches of the tall trees to my “secret hideout.” Inside the cluster of trees the ground was still moist from melted winter snow, the air musty and damp. The branches of the trees shaded the area from the view of outsiders and made it an ideal place to pass a few hours on a long summer day. I removed my backpack and sat on it so that I wouldn’t have a muddy butt when I stood up. Sophia looked around expectantly and then awkwardly sat on her hands.

  After taking a deep breath and exhaling it loudly she plunged forward with the story she’d started back at Grandma’s Café.

  “Jamie, I know this is odd and it’s a lot to take in, but I really want you to hear me out. I’m thinking the only way to convince you is to just show you. I’ve never shown anyone that I was a ghost before so don’t freak out, okay?”

  I didn’t respond.

  She stood up again, breathed in and out a couple of times, and said in a sing-song voice, “Now you see me . . .”

  With her words she vanished before my eyes and the world around me was completely silent, except for the sound of my heart that pounded so hard it threatened to burst through my chest. I sat motionless, not knowing what to do, until I heard a whisper in my ear, “ . . . now you don’t.”

  I cried out and half jumped, half rolled across the ground turning my head in every direction trying desperately to see where Sophia had gone. A ghostly cry of pain and misery erupted from the branches above me. It encircled the entire grove of trees, echoing in all directions. As quickly as the cry had begun, it ended, followed by the soft laugh I recognized as Sophia’s. I looked up to see her perched on the edge of a tree branch twenty feet off the ground, swinging her legs just as she’d been doing while sitting on the counter the day I saw her in the girls’ restroom at school.