Page 16 of Ghost's Obsession

I shouldn’t know that. I shouldn’t care about all the trivial details of this new employee of mine. Yet, I do. I can’t seem to clear my head of everything to do with her.

She’s here to do a job. And yeah, we work well together. We get into a rhythm fast. But something in me has started tracking her. Subtle things. Small shifts. Like I need to know how she’s doing in order to get on with my own life.

This budding obsession is full-on stupid. And if I’m honest, it’s getting worse.

I exhale slowly, then rub the back of my neck. I’m reading too much into it. She’s just tired. But that knot in my gut—the one that flares when something is wrong? It’s been sending me twinges since she moved in. And now? It’s twisting tighter.

***

She’s already up when I get to the garage the next morning. The side door is unlocked, the lights are on, and the smell of sawdust hangs heavy in the air. But the usual sound of her bootsmoving across concrete, the faint music playing off her speaker, or the steady tap of a pencil hitting paper is absent. Instead, there is just silence.

I see her crouching near the far wall, quietly measuring spacing between the joists for the new paneling. Hood up. Head low. Like she doesn’t want to be seen.

I stand in the doorway a few seconds longer than usual before speaking. “Morning,” I say, in a quiet tone, not wanting to disturb her.

She startles. Just barely, but I catch it.

“Hey,” she says without looking up. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

I cross the space, setting her coffee down on the table. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she responds. “Just tired.”

It’s the same damn answer I’ve been getting for a week, but this morning it sounds less truthful than ever before.

I lean against the worktable, watching her mark lines on the frame with a carpenter’s pencil. Her hand is shaking. Barely. Just enough to make the graphite skip.

“Did you eat yet, Heather?” I ask, trying to control my tone.

She shrugs, still not looking at me. “I’m not really hungry.”

“This is the third day in a row. You’ve got to eat to keep your strength up, especially for this kind of work. Tell me you understand that.”

She stands up a little too fast and has to catch her hand on the wall to keep her balance. “I didn’t know you were keeping track of my intake, boss.”

She winces and closes her eyes for a brief second before the words even finish coming out of her mouth. She’s annoyed with herself, not me.

I don’t react. Just let the silence stretch until she looks up and finally meets my eyes.

She looks like hell.

Not in a way I’d say out loud, but in a way that claws at something inside me. Her eyes are rimmed with shadows. Her lips are pale. Shoulders hunched like she’s carrying something a hell of a lot heavier than framing plans.

I keep my voice even. “You sure it’s just tired?”

She hesitates. That pause speaks volumes about how she’s not okay. Why does she insist upon lying to me when all I want to do is help?

I don’t press her because she seems fragile enough to break. But my mind is already running away with wild ideas. Is she sick? Terminally ill? Hurt? Scared of someone? Scared of me? I have a million questions and no answers.

“If you want, I can pick something up from the store for you,” I suggest. “Maybe crackers? Ginger ale?”

She blinks. “Why ginger ale?”

I lift a brow. “Because you’ve been pale all week and have been eating like a bird. Both of those things would go easy on your stomach.”

When she doesn’t answer, that’s fine. I decide right then and there to do a store run for her. “I’ll get some anyway,” I say. “It doesn’t hurt to have it around.”

She turns away and grabs her notebook like the conversation hasn’t just happened. Like I haven’t just peeled the edge off whatever she’s trying to hide.

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