Page 7 of After Life
I wouldn’t be managing any four-minute miles, not now or ever, but a thirty-minute mile wasn’t bad for a guy with a bum hip. “It’s not quite lunchtime yet,” I said, spotting the green and white sign of Delia’s Café a block away, “but if you’re hungry, we could pop in there first?”
Oscar frowned; his eyes narrowed on something down the sidewalk. Two young people, teenagers if I had to guess, both with the same sandy blonde hair, were arguing outside of the grocery. Whatever they were arguing about was inaudible, but as we watched, a man came out of the store and waved them off, one of the teens stomping across the street toward Pirate Pete’s Antiques and Bait, the other slinking into the grocery, taking a green apron from the man’s hand. “You okay?” I asked Oscar when he kept staring even after the trio had dispersed.
“Hm? Oh. Fine. Just... Just lost in thought. Um, how hungry are you?”
He was staring down the sidewalk, his expression focused, lips pursed in an expression I’d come to recognize as concerned but cautious. One he tended to make when a ghost was acting up, I realized. Following his line of sight, I saw... nothing.
Well. The man from the grocery—Ray-Don—was staring back at us but other than that, not a single thing other than an empty sidewalk and some parked cars. “Oscar?”
“Oh, I was just thinking maybe a romantic walk,” he said, shifting attention away from whatever it was to point to the twee wrought iron gate wound ‘round with ivy (fake, I realized belatedly—far too green and shiny to be real in this climate) and a wood-burned plank reading Virginia’s Path Open Dawn to Dusk. A narrow, sand and rock path disappeared through the gate and down a gentle incline toward the shore, past a thick stand of shrubs and trees and he frowned. “I suppose that’s the nature trail?”
“I suppose so.” My hip and thigh twinged in protest, but I forced a game smile. “I have to admit, romantic walks along the beach featured heavily in how I envisioned our week away together.”
Oscar’s cheeks pinked and he dipped his chin, the edge of his lower lip disappearing between his teeth. “That’s very romantic of you,” he said, his tone oddly flat. He cleared his throat and tipped me a small smile that didn’t reach past the corners of his lips. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
A bitter flare of annoyance sparked beneath my breastbone but I kept that smile in place. “I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.”
He nodded and, linking his fingers with mine, led us through the gate and onto the sandy path. The first hundred or so yards were easy going—wide, smooth, and free of shells and gravel. After that, though, the trail started to pitch downward toward the beach and grew narrow enough for us to go single file, gravel and whitened shells crunching under our feet. We made it to the bottom of the path without incident, and I wasn’t sure if it was sheer luck or if I was just getting better with my new balance (or lack thereof). Oscar gave my fingers a squeeze and nodded toward a bench made from what looked to be large pieces of driftwood and smooth-polished boards. “Come on,” he murmured, not giving me a chance to argue.
“Virginia’s Overlook,” I read as we reached the bench. A small brass plaque was affixed to the back, bearing that legend and the years 1801-1824. “My grandmother had a memorial bench in Hermann Park back home,” I mentioned, carefully lowering myself onto the sand-speckled seat. “She said she’d rather have that than a headstone since she was more likely to have visitors that way. Really, I think she just wanted people to see the shiny plaque and think oh, she must’ve been rich to get a bench here.”
Oscar was standing beside me still, staring at the path behind us.
“Oscar?”
“Hm? Just... just a moment,” he muttered, and hurried the few steps back to the path. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was frowning deeply, talking in low tones.
Because of course.
A flare of annoyance lit in my breast and for a tempting moment, I almost called out to him, said something snarky about vacation, spending time together, no investigations. But I swallowed the acid-burning urge to call him out, feeling guilt and a hint of shame spread through me instead. Oscar shook his head, turning back to look at me, and froze for a moment before resolutely shaking his head again at whoever was there and heading back toward the bench. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, sitting gingerly beside me. “They’ve been following us since the pavement, trying to get my attention, and—”
“And,” I sighed, “you had to. I understand.”
“Do you though?”
I tilted my head, peering at his profile while he resolutely stared at the incoming tide. “I’d like to think so, at this point in our relationship. I’m not new at this, Oscar.”
“But you are,” he said with a trace of bitterness than made me recoil slightly. “In the grand scheme of things, you’re very new at this. And I know this is meant to be our week but I can’t ignore them. Not... not entirely,” he added, wilting a little around the edges. “I want to promise you that I can, but it’s impossible. It’s part of who I am.”
“Oscar,” I murmured, “I didn’t ask you to. I just asked that we don’t get involved in investigating anything this week.” Slipping my fingers around his, I waited until he looked at me before continuing. “You’re right. Compared to you, I am new at this. Very freaking new. And maybe... maybe I don’t understand everything still.”
“Maybe?”
“Definitely, you pedant.”
“Pot, kettle on line one.”
A small smile teased the corner of his lips. Something inside me loosened a bit at the sight, a tension I hadn’t been aware of releasing just a fraction, making it easier to breathe.
“The ghost,” he said after a moment. “Virginia Noonan.”
I felt a sharp prickle, electric and cold at the same time, down my neck. “Her path, her bench.”
“Ah, that doctorate isn’t just a pretty piece of paper. Well sussed.”
“I will totally leave you here with the barnacles, Oscar,” I grumbled, only to have him shoot to his feet and whirl around, inspecting the bench with a sharp eye.
“Are you fucking with me? There’re barnacles on this thing?” He shot a baleful glare at the path and I wondered if Virginia was just as bemused as I was. “That’s not funny, Julian,” he snarled, seeing the bench was free of barnacles and pretty much anything other than some errant sand. “God, my skin is trying to crawl from my body!”
