Ben smiled. “Feel free to say it whenever the urge hits.”
We kissed and then he left. Nan appeared at almost the exact moment I closed the door behind him. It was like she had some sort of silent alarm set up to alert her when it was just me and her—and usually Wren—again.
“I like that boy,” she said as she opened the fridge and starting taking things out to cook.
I smiled. “I like him, too.”
“He’s very respectful.” She glanced over her shoulder. “How does pad thai sound for dinner?”
“Sounds awesome,” I replied. “Can I help?”
She gestured to a paper-towel-wrapped block on the counter. “You can cut up the tofu and start cooking it.”
We worked together, side by side, for the next half hour, putting all the ingredients together—crushing peanuts for garnish—and then I set the table.
“Where’s Wren?” Nan asked as she drained the noodles. “She hasn’t been around much the past couple of days.”
With Nan honesty was always the best route—mostly because she seemed to know I was lying before I did. “She met a boy.”
Nan’s head came up. She seemed momentarily transfixed by something she saw through the window above the sink. Then she turned toward me. “A ghost boy?”
I nodded.
“Huh.” She turned on the tap and stuck the colander beneath the flow of water. “How does that work, I wonder?”
“I don’t know and don’t want to,” I announced.
“Probably a wise decision. Get us some drinks, will you, dear? Is he a nice ghost boy?”
This was such a weird conversation. I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of the fruit-flavored seltzer she liked, and a diet soda for myself. “I’ve only met him once. He seemed okay—if you like the pompous British lord type who looks like he ought to be on the cover of a Bront? novel.”
“Which one?”
I shook my head. “One what?”
“Which Bront? sister? They had fairly different styles, you know.”
What the hell? I didn’t know which of them wrote what. I didn’t even know how many Bront?s there were. “Whichever one wrote Jane Eyre.”
My grandmother smiled dreamily as she plopped noodles onto each of two plates. “I’m a Rochester girl myself.” She shook her head as she set the colander in the sink. “Everyone always goes on about Heathcliff, but he was something of a psycho in my opinion.”
I’d read Wuthering Heights in English and wasn’t really a fan—for the very same reason my grandmother just mentioned.
“Well, as long as this boy makes Wren happy, I suppose it doesn’t matter what either of us think.”
That was the problem. I couldn’t remember there ever being a time when my opinion hadn’t mattered to my sister. The only time we’d come close was when I’d tried to kill myself and she found help rather than letting me join her in the Shadow Lands.
After dinner, I helped clean up, did what little homework I had and then asked Nan if I could borrow the car.
She took one look at me dressed all in black and shook her head. She knew I was up to something. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
She didn’t look 100 percent committed. “Will you be taking your sister with you?”
“She’s meeting me there.” It wasn’t really a lie, so I didn’t feel guilty and Nan didn’t notice. Wren would be meeting me at Haven Crest, she just didn’t know it yet.
“Drive safely. Don’t get arrested, and be home by midnight. I don’t care how tired you are in the morning, you’re not missing school tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes, yes and nope.” I grabbed the keys from the counter, slipped my arms through the straps of a small backpack and gave her a kiss before I left.
I drove the “grape” to the town cemetery that bordered Haven Crest property. The parking area was empty except for me. It was a prime make-out spot for local teenagers, but with school in session it was really only busy on Friday and Saturday nights, which meant I had my pick of a prime parking spot.
I chose to leave the Beetle beside an old giant of a tree that had spots where its bark had been slowly stripped away by the toes of sneakers as kids climbed it to sneak over the fence. This was the best way onto Haven Crest property if you didn’t want to get caught. Security guards patrolled the grounds, so any strange cars would get attention, as would a girl with white hair simply strolling up the driveway.
I’d worn a pair of thick-soled boots for the night’s adventure and easily climbed up to the heavy branch that stretched over onto Haven Crest property.