It balanced it all out.
“I’m sending this to the three Olivers, Yoda. Then we’ll take a walk before I come back and do a round on the florist.”
She composed the email, attached the files, and sent it off.
And sat back.
“Amazing what you can get done without distractions. From coworkers to ghosts.”
She started to turn off her music—she’d given the tunes over to Clover—rising as she did.
Yoda wasn’t napping by the fire, or curled under her desk.
With the music off, she heard the sound of the ball bouncing downstairs, and Yoda’s scrambling race over the wood floors.
She slipped quietly out of the room, and began to creep down the stairs.
Yoda ran after the ball, snagged it at the front door. He raced in two circles before he trotted back down the hall.
She heard it, faint but clear. Laughter, a young boy’s laughter.
The ball came bouncing back her way as she neared the bottom of the stairs.
And a tread creaked under her feet.
With a silent curse, she dashed down the rest, and caught a glimpse of a figure. A boy! Yes, a boy who sprinted away, fleet of feet down another hallway.
Ball clutched in his jaws, eyes alive with the game, Yoda chased after. Sonya did the same.
“Wait! Please. I’m not going to hurt you. How the hell would I hurt you?”
She followed the sound of the dog, running past sitting rooms, toward the solarium, beyond that to the morning room. When she neared the formal dining room, she heard the cabinet doors slamming, and slowed.
“Okay, all right.”
More than a little breathless, she stepped into the kitchen, where Yoda sat, head angled, the ball at his feet.
“There’s no need to be mad.” Briskly, voice even, she went around closing cabinet doors. “I’m glad you’re playing with him. He’s a really nice dog, isn’t he?”
Talking to a ghost, she thought, but since she talked to Clover routinely now, it didn’t seem all that strange.
“Sometimes I get caught up in work and forget he needs some playtime. I know he has fun with you. Honestly, I just wanted to say thanks.”
“Who are you talking to?” Cleo asked.
Sonya jolted so hard she nearly stumbled back and fell on her ass.
“Jesus! Make some noise! I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“The boy. I knew it was a boy. Playing with Yoda, opening the cabinets. I saw him, Cleo.”
“Here?” Cleo looked around. “Do you still see him?”
“No, and not here. In the main hall. I heard the ball bouncing and Yoda chasing it, so I tried to sort of sneak downstairs. But he heard me and took off. I caught a glimpse though.”
She grabbed a paper towel and a pencil, began to sketch.
“I’m going to say eight, nine, maybe ten. In there. Short-ish brown hair. About my color, I’d say. I didn’t really see his face, just a quick snapshot of his profile. He was wearing like—what do they call them—knickers? Brown pants that stopped below the knee, a white shirt.”
She set the pencil down. “That’s all I’ve got.”
“But you actually saw him, Son. When you were wide awake. That’s progress.”
“Is it? He ran. I actually chased him. I don’t have any idea what I intended to do if I caught up to him.”
“Have a conversation, like you were trying to do when I came in.”
“He’s so sweet with Yoda, I just wanted to … Oh well. Why did you come in?”
“Need my midday boost.” Turning to the fridge, Cleo got out a carton of yogurt.
“I don’t understand the correlation between yogurt and a boost. I wonder who he was,” Sonya murmured. “And what happened to him. Just a kid.”
“I don’t know when kids wore knickers. It might help to get a ballpark on when he lived here. He must’ve lived here.”
“He sure as hell died here. I’m taking Yoda out for a walk. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Are you talking to me or ghost boy?”
“Either or both.”
“I’m just here for the boost, then it’s back to the drawing board. Literally. See you at dinner.”
Sonya didn’t know if the boy joined them, but he didn’t make himself known. The walk convinced her despite the snow shower April meant business. Those brave bulbs poked up higher; the sun spread just a bit warmer.
The days, she thought, were getting noticeably longer.
And she was more than halfway through what she’d considered her three-month trial.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She glanced up at the third floor as she spoke. “I’m sticking.”
When she went in through the mudroom, Yoda’s box of treats stood on the kitchen island.
“You should give him one. I’ll go back up to work, and you give him one.”
Since Yoda didn’t follow her, she decided the boy made himself known there at least. By the time she settled back down to work, she heard the ball bouncing.
“What’s his name, Clover? Do you know his name?”
“Jumpin’ Jack Flash” rocked out of her tablet.
“Jack. Well, if you get a chance, maybe you could let Jack know I’m happy to share Yoda with him, and Cleo and I are happy to share the house.”
Not as if she had a choice, Sonya thought, but it made sense to keep the peace wherever possible.
She worked until five. Sometime during the work, Yoda made his way back upstairs and, clearly tuckered out by the play, snoozed by the fire.
When she rose, looked over at him, she saw the Poole family book on the table, open.
Yoda blinked his eyes when she walked over, thumped his tail.
She saw the facing page listed the children of Owen Poole—Agatha’s Owen—and his second wife, Moira.
Michael and Connor, twins.
Charles, born a year later.
Lisbeth, born the following year. Died at eighteen on her wedding day.
Alice, born three years after Lisbeth, married and moved to Virginia, where she lived until the age of sixty-nine.
And John (Jack), born a year and a half after Alice, who died at the age of nine. Scarlet fever.
Poor kid, she thought.
Yoda rushed out; the doorbell bonged.
As she went down, she thought of the boy, suffering, maybe delirious. His desperate parents, his frightened siblings. For more than a hundred years he’d lived this … could it be called a half life?
And now he played with her dog.
She opened the door to another dog, and Trey.
“There’s Mookie. You’ve got a friend, Yoda. And you’ve got a key,” she said to Trey.
“For emergencies, not drop-bys.”
Nothing, she thought, just nothing like Brandon. And wrapping her arms around him, held hard.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just feeling down, I guess. I read about Jack Poole—the boy who plays with Yoda and opens the cabinets. I saw him this afternoon.”
“Saw him?” Trey drew her back to look into her eyes.
“What you’d call a fleeting glimpse. Come on, you can have a beer while I tell you.”
Cleo, already in the kitchen, smiled at Trey. “Excellent, another victim. I’m doing this pork thing and trying my hand at scalloped potatoes. Is it glass-of-wine time, Son?”
“It could be. Did you bring the Poole book into the library today?”
“No.”