Those had been nothing compared to the pain of losing Matt.
At first she had lived in a stage somewhere between consciousness and dreams. One night she’d awakened in the hospital morgue, drawn there by a man who had lost his wedding ring when they’d rolled him down. All he had wanted was to have his ring put back on his finger. But she hadn’t known that, and she’d freaked. She was lucky she hadn’t wound up in the psychiatric ward that night. Luckily for her, the next day she’d discovered an article in a news magazine about a man named Adam Harrison and the group of paranormal investigators who worked for him. No matter how the reporter had tried to trip him up, the man had come off as intelligent and well spoken, and not at all like a kook. She had started to shake, reading the article. She had called Harrison Investigations immediately, and, to her amazement, Adam Harrison himself had shown up in the hospital. They had talked then, and again when she had been released. It was as if she had instantly acquired not only a new best friend, one she felt she had known forever, but as if she’d gotten her father back, though her real father had been gone since she was a little girl.
She’d called Adam right away when she’d started talking to the ghostly Colonial churchman, and soon after, she’d noticed a couple in the crowd of visitors hanging around the site. They’d stood out, and eventually they’d introduced themselves as two of Harrison’s employees. Brent and Nikki Blackhawk—he dark and strikingly handsome, his wife blond and beautiful—had gone back to the house with her and taught her how to become friends with the ghost, even chatted with him casually themselves. There really were others like her, she’d realized, and that meant she was sane.
“Leslie,” Brad said softly, recalling her to the present. “I told Laymon I’d work the new dig, so I’ll be there with you. You need to go back, to put the past to rest, to put the pain behind you.”
She stared at him. Smiled slowly.
Brad didn’t know about Adam Harrison, the Blackhawks, or that there were others like them to help her. Brad didn’t know that it was thanks to Adam and his associates that she had been able to sit calmly in a Colonial kitchen, talking to a long-dead reverend, and that she could feel entirely sane as she did so.
But as to going back, facing her own ghosts…That was something else again, something she dreaded but something she needed to do.
Brad let out a soft sigh. “Okay, I’m sorry. Too soon,” he said.
She stared back at him. “I didn’t say that,” she murmured quickly. “Maybe I should go back. I think…I think maybe I want to go back to Hastings House.”
He hesitated. “I know you have an apartment in Brooklyn, but…” He stared, paused, then said quickly, on a single fast breath, “There are a few rooms available for the workers at Hastings House.”
“What?”
Brad shook his head quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even have mentioned that.”
“Who is this work for?” she demanded.
“The Historical Society, of course. Greta will be the official liaison between the society, the contractors and the workers. And once again, it’s Tyson, Smith and Tryon who bought and are developing the property. They’ve been legally blocked from building until the significance of the site is established and any necessary excavation is done. Laymon says they’re taking it well, though, basking in their national publicity as good guys. But the lost time must be costing them a bundle. Anyway, the site is really close to Hastings House. It’s in the next block, actually.”
“And that’s why they’re offering the rooms at Hastings House?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know why I even mentioned that, honestly. Hell, I have an apartment in the city, and you have your place in Brooklyn.” He took a deep breath. “Of course, you lived there with Matt, so maybe you don’t want to go back there. But I’m glad you’re holding on to it. Real estate in your neighborhood is rising sky-high. Oh, God, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I’m stumbling all over here.”
“It’s all right, Brad.”
“Yeah. Right.” He tried to smile.
“I didn’t even get to go to his funeral. I was in the hospital,” she murmured, staring at the flames.
Suddenly a massive ache seemed to tear through her heart.
Ghosts came to her, sought her out sometimes, asked for her help.
But not Matt.
The ghost she wanted to see, desperately longed to tell—one last time—how much she had loved him, how he had been her life, how he had filled the world with wonder with his simple presence…that ghost she never saw.
“I want to stay at Hastings House,” she said.
He lowered his head. He was smiling, she realized. He was convinced that he had handled things just right, and that by talking about lodging, he had tricked her into deciding to go back.
Maybe he deserved his self-congratulations.
Or maybe it was just time for her to go back.