Passions Page 7

  Making her coffee was a friendly gesture, but not one done lightly. None of her old friends back in Atlanta knew exactly how she liked her coffee to be brewed. And just by the smell, she could tell that it would be perfect. Not even Brent could make her coffee just right. To Chloe, this might as well have been flirting.

  Gavin cared enough about whatever kind of superficial relationship they had to go out of his way to make her coffee. Chloe appreciated the favor, but would this lead to more? First, he offers to help her writing and now, he was making her coffee. Where would he stop?

  But she didn’t want to rely on Gavin for companionship. Perhaps this is what her parents had whispered so covertly about before. Did her aunt go crazy because of Gavin? Did he drive her to a madness that could only be remedied by leaving?

  Chloe didn’t trust herself to pour the coffee without spilling, so she sat down heavily in one of the dinette chairs and buried her face in her hands.

  This might be getting a little too far out of control. Suddenly, the idea to move back to Atlanta was in the forefront of her mind. But what waited for her there was far worse than a mere friendly ghost who appeared eager to help her finish her novel.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe Gavin was her ticket to becoming a famous author. And perhaps, in the end, she could help Gavin ascend out of Limbo so he would no longer be bound to this cabin. Then she could have the solitude she had been wanting all along.

  But her mind bucked at the notion. Part of her held tight to the idea that ghosts didn’t exist and that she was crazy for thinking so. What if a few of her screws were coming loose?

  The stress of the move and the grief of losing her aunt may have proven too taxing. One gentle mind could only take so much, and Chloe knew where her breaking point was. Brent had pushed her there on more than a few occasions.

  But then, on the other hand, what if she wasn’t insane? What if ghosts and goblins of fairytales really did exist? Then, that begged the question if everything else of myth and folklore were real? Chloe squeezed her eyes shut against the idea. She wasn’t a child anymore. She was an adult; a perfectly rational adult who held a correspondence with a ghost that may or may not be a figment of her deranged imagination.

  The last weakening hold on her sanity released, and Chloe felt almost relieved. If she accepted that Gavin was real, perhaps that would make things easier. She wouldn’t be so stressed and torn between two realities. This might not have been the wisest choice, but it was better than returning to Atlanta and sacrificing the future she could have by sticking it out in the cabin.

  For the time being, she would let Gavin be real, at least until proven otherwise. But there was still one way to find out if he were truly real or just a product of a stressed out psyche.

  Chloe had yet to confide in any living soul about all she had experienced. And, until further notice, she would hold fast to that ultimatum. However, she could still fish around to learn who Gavin was and what truly happened to her aunt. And, in order to fish, she’d have to go to a prime fishing spot.

  Checking the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall, she confirmed that it was Tuesday. Rosie would be hosting her Bridge game tonight in Carter Lake. Her mind raced to remember where she had stowed away that card with the old woman’s number on it. Chloe had no intention of being late.

  Chloe pulled her black jeep up along the grassy shoulder of the road and peered at the mailbox. Even in the dim evening light, she could make out the house number that Rosie had given her over the phone.

  The narrow street, nestled just off the main road of Carter Lake, was lined with tall shady trees and an aging concrete sidewalk riddled with cracks that were filled in with sprouting weeds. Beyond the sidewalk was a white picket fence that could use another coat of paint. But beyond that was a very cozy looking home with deep-set porch and white shutters.

  Rosie’s home was like many on that block, probably built at least a few decades ago, aiding the small-town feel that Carter Lake exuded so well.

  The walkway that led up to the porch steps was hedged with flowerbeds and lush bushes to hide the lattice paneling that wrapped underneath the house. The orange glow of the porch light illuminated the pale blue front door that was only a slight shade darker than the vinyl siding. Topped off with a gray, shingled roof, Chloe wished for a split second that this could have been the home her aunt willed to her instead of the cabin.

  Two other vehicles were parked in front of the house. Chloe took comfort in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be the only other person here. It wasn’t too surprising that Rosie had friends. Aided by her sweet demeanor, Rosie must be on good terms with everyone in town.

  She wanted to think that her aunt had been the same way at one point in time before she left for the nursing home. But Chloe’s memory was spotty when it came to remembering how Aunt Mary Anne interacted with other citizens of the town. She couldn’t recall if people gave her dirty looks or smiles. In fact, she couldn’t think of a time when she saw her aunt leave the mountain at all. Chloe was sure that she did, but she just couldn’t remember.

  Chloe slid out of the jeep and nearly tripped on the way to the pavement. She wasn’t used to the drop from the driver seat, which was much higher than her old car. That was something she would miss sorely. Other than that, the vehicle was in great condition, just like Bobby said at the hardware store, and it drove like a dream around those mountain roads.

  Making her way up the porch, she could already hear laughter coming from inside. It then occurred to Chloe that this was the first time she had been to anything resembling a party in such a long time. Would she know how to act? Even her last party was nothing like this. Her last party involved alcohol and dance music.

  She rang the doorbell, interrupting the riotous laughter. Rosie appeared in the doorway a second later, wearing a pair of dark slacks and a loose, flowery shirt that flowed with every subtle movement. A long, beaded necklace hung down from her slender neck, silver hair piled up on top of her head in a stylish coif, and lips painted a bright red. Chloe likened her to an elderly Hollywood movie star, glamorous even in her golden years.

  The two women smiled brightly at one another, and the younger presented a dish of peach cobbler to the elder.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should bring anything,” Chloe began hastily to explain herself, “so I just decided to go ahead and bake something since I had the time.”

  Not only did Chloe have the time, but she needed the distraction.

  Rosie seemed pleasantly surprised and touched by her offering. “That’s so sweet of you, honey. I wasn’t expecting this at all,” she crooned in her rich southern twang.

  Chloe just shrugged and was quickly invited in. The air inside the house was a few degrees cooler than the evening air outside and smelled distinctly of peppermint. She was thankful for the decision to wear her warm off-white sweater and jeans; otherwise, she’d be freezing.

  Stepping into the living room, wood creaking beneath her boot heels, she was amazed by the collage of pictures on nearly every wall. The walls were so arrayed with baby photos and wedding portraits that Chloe had to really look to see what color the wall paint was behind the frames.

  The furniture was truly vintage, complete with wooden rocking chairs and flower print upholstery on the sofa and wingback chair. Knick-knacks cluttered every surface of the home from end tables to the mantle above the fireplace, while a coo-coo clock ticked away on the far wall, its pendulum swinging rhythmically. The inside reminded Chloe of her paternal grandmother’s house in Idaho.

  Sitting on the sofa was a man and woman of similar age to Rosie, making Chloe the youngest attendee thus far. They both smiled to her in warm greetings. The woman was dressed in a long skirt and button up blouse, while the man wore a pair of khakis and a bright canary polo. If she hadn’t known any better, she might have thought they were dressed to go to church rather than a game night with a friend.

  “Marge… Jeff… this is Chloe. She’s Mary
Anne’s niece.”

  The couple lit up at the mention of her aunt’s name. They both began to exclaim over Chloe’s prettiness, suggesting that she looked just like her aunt. To give her cheeks enough time to pale out again, they went into how unfortunate it was the Mary Anne was no longer alive.

  It was apparent that they all knew each other, and upon further listening, she learned that Mary Anne had been another frequent member of Bridge Night at Rosie’s and a beloved member of the community. That set her mind at ease given what she had just been thinking about earlier.

  They reminisced on how the house used to be packed with friends from their school days. But, as the years came and went, attendance slackened due to health limitations and the general hindrances of daily life. Some moved away, and others were laid to rest in the local cemetery like Mary Anne. Only Rosie, Marge, and Jeff remained.

  Chloe found it exceedingly sad and hoped that perhaps youthful presence would brighten their gathering a little. But she soon found that their aging bodies were facades. Underneath, they were like children with energy and a zest for life.

  Marge and Jeff began to sort out the cards while Chloe trailed behind Rosie, following her into the kitchen that was overly decorated with roosters and fat pigs dressed like chefs.

  Rosie set the cobbler down on the counter and went to pull out some small dessert plates from the cabinet.

  “My doctor was just getting on my case about having too much sugar in my diet,” Rosie said, a hint of humor in her voice.

  Still, Chloe blanched a bit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  The old woman laughed and took out a wide spoon from a drawer on the other side of the kitchen. “No, no. Don’t worry, honey. I haven’t had peach cobbler in years, and a few bites won’t kill me.”

  Chloe gave a breathy laugh and leaned back against the counter to hide her unease. She watched Rosie dollop junks of warm sliced peaches and crust onto four porcelain plates bordered with pink cherry blossoms painted around the border. Her fingers were restless against the counter, nails tapping sporadically against the laminate.

  She wondered if now would be a good time to ask about her aunt and the cabin. Bringing up the idea that the cabin is haunted and that her aunt was crazy might not have settled well with Marge or Jeff, seeing how fond they were of Mary Anne.

  “So how are you liking the cabin now? You’ve had a few days to form an opinion, I suspect.”

  Chloe was silently thankful that Rosie was the one to bring up the topic first. Giving a thoughtful nod, she said, “I’m really liking it. I spent a lot of time there as a kid. I’m just sorry the real estate company changed it so much to accommodate tourists and renters.”

  Rosie snorted and shook her head. “That cabin was gorgeous before those idiots tampered with it. There wasn’t anything wrong with it when your aunt lived there—besides the obvious, of course.”

  “The obvious being that it is haunted?”

  The clang of metal on porcelain stopped, and Chloe felt Rosie’s hard stare on her instantly. If there were a way to reword her question, Chloe would have taken the words back into her mouth and swallowed them down.

  “I know you must think it silly of me to believe the place is haunted, but I’m only telling you what Mary Anne confided in me years ago.”

  Chloe stood perfectly still as if the slightest wrong move would send the whole moment off kilter, and waited for Rosie to continue. This was exactly where she wanted the conversation to go.

  “What did my aunt say?” she asked.

  Rosie sighed and slid the spoon into the peach cobbler dish. Planting a fist on her bony hip, she turned to Chloe and wagged her head disapprovingly. “She talked about so many things. And I guess that should have been a red flag to all of us that she wasn’t all there anymore.

  “At first, it was little things.” Rosie flipped her free hand back and forth to address her point. “One night, she didn’t wash the dishes and left them lying in the sink, but the next morning they weren’t there. Someone had come in, cleaned them, and put them away. Mary Anne thought it was a burglar, but she didn’t do anything about it.”

  Rosie’s brows furrowed together. “And then things got stranger. She said she heard footsteps around the cabin in the middle of the night. But when she got up to look, no one was there. Things turned up missing all the time. Mostly books, paper, pens, and other office supplies, you know.

  “Mary Anne tried to talk about it with your mother,” Rosie said with a shrug, “but she didn’t help the situation by refusing to visit again.”

  Chloe slumped a bit and realized her assumptions had been true. They stopped visiting her aunt because her mother thought Mary Anne was going crazy, and no self-respecting parent would want their child to be under that kind of influence.

  “She got really lonely,” Rosie continued. “And she even disappeared for a while, staying locked away in the cabin for days at a time.”

  An unexpected laugh bubbled up from Rosie. The lilt of it suggested more disbelief than amusement at what she had to say next. “Then, all of the sudden, she was talking about a man named Gavin.”

  Chills skittered up Chloe’s spine at the name that had consumed her life for the past few days.

  “Mary Anne wouldn’t stop talking about Gavin, but I never met him.”

  “She had a boyfriend?” Chloe asked, playing dumb as if she had no clue who Gavin really was.

  “You know, I’m not sure. She never talked about him as if they were intimate, just very good friends. They talked all the time.”

  Chloe gripped the counter tighter as if she expected the room to turn upside down any moment. Her life was doing just that, so why shouldn’t this lovely house? She took a deep breath. “What else did she say about Gavin?”

  Rosie opened her mouth as if she were going to continue but then froze. Something in Chloe’s face caught her attention, and the old woman tilted her head curiously. “Are you feeling well, honey? You look a little pale.”

  Chloe touched her cheeks and found them a little cold. She just smiled and shook her head. “I’m alright. Maybe I just need a little sugar.”

  Rosie chuckled softly and handed her a plate loaded with the delicious dessert. “This will fix you up right good then.”

  That was when Chloe knew she would get no more information tonight. Miss Rosie proved to be an invaluable help, however.

  The two ladies took up the plates and headed back into the living room where the others were waiting. While passing out the servings to Marge and Jeff, Chloe couldn’t help but think about what Rosie said in the kitchen.

  No doubt, Gavin was the one causing all the strange happenings in the cabin. Chloe felt a little envious that her aunt had personal conversations with Gavin, while she was stuck passing notes like a grade school student. Although, she didn’t know what there was to be envious about. The idea of coming face to face with a real ghost wasn’t appealing in the least. Maybe it was the idea of finally meeting Gavin in person that made her stomach churn with suspense.

  Going over the order of events, and if Rosie was telling the truth, that meant Gavin had been communicating with Mary Anne even when Chloe was a little girl. It wasn’t until the happenings became too disturbing to keep secret that her mother stopped bringing Chloe to visit the cabin.

  It was all so extraordinary. And there was still the mystery of why Mary Anne went to live at the assisted living home. Chloe still wasn’t sure if it was because of Gavin. From what Rosie implied, Gavin’s presence was a Godsend to her aunt. He kept her company and gave her someone to talk to. Rosie described their relationship as strong friendship rather than intimate. In her old age, living alone, Mary Anne would have wanted a friend like Gavin.

  It was then that she found similarities in their situations. Mary Anne was lonely when her sister stopped coming to visit, and Gavin showed up to keep her company. Chloe had just moved to the cabin without a friend in the world when she received the first letter from her
ghost pen pal.

  Was Gavin merely there to comfort lonely women? Was that his purpose? At least Chloe was not the only one to experience Gavin’s manifestation. Then she knew she wasn’t crazy. This had all happened before.

  She found it hard to focus on learning the game of Bridge while all these thoughts swelled in her mind. But the carefree chatter of the elderly people was enough to make her forget her immediate troubles.

  Chapter 7

  Chloe’s head listed slowly to the side and she let out a groan. Even with her eyelids shut tight, she could tell there was a sunny morning outside waiting for her. Her arm lifted to cover her face. She didn’t want to get up. The bed beneath her was too plush and comfortable. In fact, it was the most comfortable it had been since she arrived at the cabin.

  Her leg slid against the wrinkled sheets, and Chloe noticed something. There was the faint inclination that her ankle should hurt, but it didn’t. Through her grogginess, she rotated the joint a few times and found it perfectly fine.

  Chloe moved her arm away from her eyes and looked around the room, so bright with a golden glow that filtered through the window. It looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same. Just like a house never felt the same after knowing that someone had been born or died there. It completely changed one’s ideas and feelings about a place after knowing something marvelous or utterly tragic had happened there.

  Then, all at once, her sleepiness dissipated, and she remembered the night before. She remembered running down the hill towards the creek and twisting her ankle when she gracelessly fell. There was the pain, and then there was the shadow that took the pain away.

  But it wasn’t a shadow. It was a man. Chloe could see the burning green eyes shining through the dark night like two beacons. She recalled his handsome face, so elegant in its lines and contours that he almost seemed unreal. But he certainly was real.