Page 35 of Ghostly
“You’re not hysterical.” Gabriel walked to the living room, sat down and rubbed his forehead. “You have obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
“I know.” Ida glided around. “Richard, the tenant, brought an entire stack of books on medicine, including mental conditions. Not that it helped me.” What good was knowing it now? Or even back then? She wouldn’t have swayed Harry or Jacinda’s opinions.
Besides, it didn’t matter anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said.
She turned to him. “For what?”
“You were doing that thing. With the book. Putting it in and out three times. And the statues, and the knocking, and stepping over the doorway… and I snapped at you. Because I wanted peace.”
“It’s a natural reaction. In a way, my compulsions are worse now.” She sat on the sofa and counted to three, out of habit. “My intrusive thoughtsare gone”—and that was a huge relief, like a permanent vacation from the monster in her head—“but the things I used to do to satisfy those thoughts remain. It’s like muscle memory. I’d step over a doorway and whatever still remains of me would remember I used to do that three times, so I do the same now. Sometimes I even get stuck in a loop.”
“I saw that.” Gabriel sat next to her. “But, intrusive thoughts or not, your brother and sister-in-law were wrong to try to put you into an asylum. You’re not weird.”
No words would cover her relief. She hadn’t intended to reveal her past to Gabriel, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t give up, and a part of her was curious about his reaction. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped he’d understand.
“Hell, if anyone, I’m weird.” Gabriel scoffed. “You know we charge for our work in increments? Usually six to fifteen minutes. I’d gotten so used to it I’d do everything in sixes. Six minutes to dress. Six minutes to wash.”
“I like to do it in threes.” She smiled. “Two threes makes six.”
He smiled back. Not a polite, or a fake reassuring smile, like she imagined he gave his clients. A real one.
With the position of the sofa, he sat nearly at the same place Mr. Abrams did, on that last visit to her. Ida felt a strange impulse to reach out for his arm, to see if a spark—
Oh, stop it.One, she couldn’t properly touch him. Two, that “a touch will tell if this man is your destiny” thing was nonsense. Not a feeling; pure fantasy. Three, regardless of what he said, she didn’t need to get weirder. But as Gabriel got back to work and she continued watching him, she couldn’t help but wonder, or perhaps, regret. How would things have turned out if she met someone like him back when she was alive? If he sat there instead of Mr. Abrams? The other day, after dinner, she could’vesworn he leaned toward her, almost as if he tried to kiss her. She knew how that looked—when Rhonda was living here, she watched a romantic comedy every day.
Ida shook her head. She was mistaking fiction for reality again. It was easy to do, when one felt like fiction, anyway.
Chapter 9
“Someone’s knocking,” Ida said outside the bathroom door.
“Two minutes!” While Gabriel was almost done washing up, he was only at four minutes—and one had to make the best use of six.
“I really think you should answer.”
“Fine.” He tossed a towel away, pulled on a deep purple shirt, and opened the door. “Someone should fix that doorbell,” he said as he bound down the stairs, with Ida following.
From the covered-up cough behind, he assumed what the problem was. “Was it you?”
“The wire that connects to it is so snug. Wonderful to haunt. They fixed it before, but I can’t help it.” Ida glided toward the living room. “She’s waiting. I need to go back to the garden—there’s a ladybug!”
She?
Gabriel opened the door as Ida disappeared through a wall. One of the Schuyler Sisters waited on the porch. Yellow dress, library—Marge! “Morning, Marge.”
“Mr. Buren.” Sporting a wide smile, Marge shook his hand like one would a president’s. She waited.
Gabriel waited. “Is there something you need?”
“Since you asked, I was hoping you could help me. You being a lawyer and all that.”
“Like I said, I’m not currently practicing.” He could lose his license for good if he offered her advice and word of this got back to court.
“Oh, but, it’s just a simple matter. It’s about Rex. See, he’s behaving strangely. He doesn’t like to eat what I make him, and he keeps sleeping on the couch despite me telling him not to do so. And the other day, I was—well, perhaps I used a slightly strict tone with him, and he ran right onto the street, could’ve been hurt!”
“Rex is your dog?”
