Page 42 of Ghostly
But Ida didn’t care, because it’d been a long time since she’d seen Armando —and Jane, his love interest, who presently trudged behind him, complaining about the uneven forest path.
“You’d require a path first for it to be uneven, missy.” Dark, wet locks flicked around Armando like in a cologne commercial as he looked back.
Oh, how Ida had missedEmerald Fever. She hadn’t seen the movie since before the internet was a thing, but back in the eighties, she loved it. Even with remembering every beat and every line, it never grew old.
Just like her, in a way.
Gabriel had left the TV on for her to be entertained while he ran an errand, and Ida couldn’t believe her luck whenEmerald Fevercame on. She haunted the TV, and therefore the movie, experiencing each scene as if she were on the set, only anything that didn’t make it onto the camera appeared as a blur. Trees and leaves and roots burst into existence as Armando and Jane pushed their way forward, and dissipated into a light gray mist behind them.
“How much longer is this going to take?” Frowning, Jane extricated her hair from a spider web and shook her hand.
“As long as it needs to.”
“I thought you were an expert.”
“And I’m sorry, but my expertise doesn’t extend to skipping ahead to a more interesting part, like we’re in one of your books.”
Ida laughed as Jane huffed. Jane was a successful novelist, who’d come to South America to research her next novel. Armando was a dashing adventurer, helping her on a treasure hunt. Romance blossomed like the vibrant tropical flowers around them (in ten minutes, Jane would attempt to pick a poisonous one, and Armando would save her) and Ida had the time of her life, going along as the invisible passenger.
Sometimes, she positioned himself in front of Jane and pretended Armando was speaking to her.
Off they went: to the edge of the jungle where a view of a magnificent waterfall opened up (and for a moment, Armando and Jane didn’t bicker but only enjoyed the beauty), down to that waterfall to find a secret cave with the next clue toward the treasure, to the ancient ruins nearby where the baddies caught up and this time, Jane saved Armando—and bandaged the scratch on his arm afterward, using the five different disinfectants she’d brought along. But sparks flew faster than bullets, and two days later, Armando and Jane’s bickering turned into a heartfelt conversation and soulful glances across the fire.
Ida perched on a log next to them, supported her chin with her hand, and sighed. The look in Armando’s eyes could turn water into steam. How would it feel to have a man look atherlike that?
Armando hauled Jane onto her feet. Their bodies touched and she tilted her face upwards, lips parting. Ida stared, rather unabashedly, as Armando’s lips covered Jane’s, fingers touching her own. Armando led Jane to the tent, and the scene changed, with sensual saxophone music playing out of nowhere.
Usually, she’d skip out of the TV at this scene. Not that it showed anything revealing, at least for modern sensibilities. But this time, she remained, entranced by Armando’s hand, his fingers caressing Jane’s naked back, traveling down the indentation of her spine, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as he kissed her neck. Only a soft glow from the fire outside illuminated their intertwined bodies.
Ida didn’t get to learn much about sex when she was alive; her mother died when she was too young, and Harry would sink into the ground before he breached the topic with her. What happened between a man and a woman had seemed mysterious and scary. As time progressed and people shed their inhibitions, Ida gradually learned more through conversations,books, and movies, and what happened between a man and a woman seemed mysterious and fascinating.
When she watched Armando’s strong fingers press into Jane’s silky skin, it seemed mysterious—and desirable.
A warm, fuzzy, shimmering feeling spread in her chest. If she ever found a man who would make sparks fly just by a touch of his hand, she’d have loved to experience the mysterious and desirable. If she ever found anyone who gave her a glance, as scorching as Armando’s…
Something crashed in the jungle. No, not there—outside the movie. The saxophone music screeched and blurred as Ida jumped out of the TV.
Gabriel strolled into the living room just as the sensual tent scene ended and cut to the morning after, with Armando poking the fire.
Oh dear, oh dear, ohdear.
She knew she didn’t look any different, but she felt like a child caught doing something forbidden.
Gabriel paused by the sofa, not so different to Armando with dew drops clinging to the tips of his hair and splotches of dirt and grass on his knees and the sleeves of his jacket. Wherever he’d been, it looked as though he may have needed a machete.
“Did you feel it?” he said.
Ida froze, unsure where to begin her explanations. Orhowto explain she liked to spy on love scenes and imagine—
“The enlightenment?” Gabriel strode to the bookshelf, paying no attention to the movie still playing, and brought out the contract.
The shimmering feeling! It wasn’t Armando. Well, notonlyhim. It was Gabriel. Ida raised her eyes to his and whispered, “What did you do?”
***
Was the contract having an effect already, or was he only imagining Ida looked different? Her dress and hair hadn’t changed, but something about her had. The wave of feelings that hit him felt almost as if she were shining. And itfeltbeautiful.
“I lit a candle at your grave,” Gabriel said.
