with blackmail! Not a
nice thing to do to your best friend.
So although part of her wanted to, she didn’t
make the call.
But after a few days, when she was pretty
much all packed and organized, Jo decided she had to. She couldn’t
leave the country without at least trying to apologize.
So one evening, she called Brenda at
home.
“Hi, Bren? It’s me.”
“I know.” Brenda’s voice was ominously devoid
of any emotion.
“How are you?”
“Uh, good.” Brenda paused and Jo could almost
hear her sharp mind revving as she planned her attack.
But it didn’t come.
“I’m doin’ pretty damned good, you could say.
Where are you?”
“At my mom’s. I’m flying out in a few days
and I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Bren.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Brenda said, her voice
softening.
Jo caught her breath in her throat. Then she
said, “I’m so sorry, Bren.” She could feel the tears threatening to
spill.
There was another pause, then she heard,
“Yeah. Me too.”
Jo didn’t expect that. It wasn’t Brenda’s
style. Loyal, yes. Forgiving, not so much.
“It would… um, it would really mean a lot to
me if you would come to my wedding.”
Jo was shocked as she heard the words come
out of her mouth. She hadn’t intended to offer them.
“Uh, well… sure. I mean, I think I could do
that. When is it?”
Jo gave a nervous little laugh.
“Christmas.”
No one wanted to travel during the holiday
season if they could help it. Brenda was certain to turn her
down.
“You mean next month?”
“Yeah. It was kind of sudden.”
“Are you knocked up?”
Jo was surprised at the assumption, and
couldn’t help laughing. “No, no. Christmas was Luc’s idea, and it
works for me, so there it is. Can you come? It’ll be in Nice.
Please?”
“Yes,” said Brenda. “I’d love to come to your
wedding, sweetheart. But only if I can bring a date.”
Chapter Five
Jo didn’t believe in ghosts. Or at least she
didn’t think she believed in ghosts. In truth, growing up in
Seattle, on the rain-washed Pacific coast, she hadn’t really
thought about the supernatural world at all. But now that she lived
in France, in a two hundred-fifty-year-old house, she found herself
thinking about ghosts a lot.
She wouldn’t admit it to Luc, but their new
home frightened her. When she’d first seen the house, she felt an
unconscious repulsion. It was as if her skull was suddenly too
tight for her brain. Her skin prickled as she looked from shuttered
window to shuttered window to the half-dead vines clinging to the
rough stone facade. Everything about the property seemed abandoned,
unloved. It was certainly not the kind of place to start their
happy life together.
Then there’d been the smell. When she’d
walked into the house, stuck all by itself in an overgrown field at
the edge of a lonely rural road that ran through the middle of
marginal farmland, the smell struck her as an omen. And not an
auspicious one.
She’d wrinkled her nose. “It smells old,” she
said to Luc, as she peered down the dark hallway. “Really, really
old.”
“What does old smell like?” he’d
asked, humoring her. She could feel his hand pressing into the
small of her back as he nudged her inside.
“Like somebody died in here,” she answered,
with a straight face. She was in no mood to pretend she liked the
place.
“Someone probably has ,” he said
matter-of-factly. “Others have been conceived under this roof. And
then born here. That’s what a home’s for—to live in.”
Jo felt her face redden. She was being a
snob.
For the past month Luc had been searching for
a rental, and this was the best he’d come up with. They didn’t have
many choices this time of year, he’d explained—it was either a
rural property or an apartment in town. And because he didn’t want
to live in town, this was it.
It was rural, all right. And alarmingly
uncomfortable, Jo thought. With its crumbling stone walls and
peeling woodwork,
nice thing to do to your best friend.
So although part of her wanted to, she didn’t
make the call.
But after a few days, when she was pretty
much all packed and organized, Jo decided she had to. She couldn’t
leave the country without at least trying to apologize.
So one evening, she called Brenda at
home.
“Hi, Bren? It’s me.”
“I know.” Brenda’s voice was ominously devoid
of any emotion.
“How are you?”
“Uh, good.” Brenda paused and Jo could almost
hear her sharp mind revving as she planned her attack.
But it didn’t come.
“I’m doin’ pretty damned good, you could say.
Where are you?”
“At my mom’s. I’m flying out in a few days
and I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Bren.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Brenda said, her voice
softening.
Jo caught her breath in her throat. Then she
said, “I’m so sorry, Bren.” She could feel the tears threatening to
spill.
There was another pause, then she heard,
“Yeah. Me too.”
Jo didn’t expect that. It wasn’t Brenda’s
style. Loyal, yes. Forgiving, not so much.
“It would… um, it would really mean a lot to
me if you would come to my wedding.”
Jo was shocked as she heard the words come
out of her mouth. She hadn’t intended to offer them.
“Uh, well… sure. I mean, I think I could do
that. When is it?”
Jo gave a nervous little laugh.
“Christmas.”
No one wanted to travel during the holiday
season if they could help it. Brenda was certain to turn her
down.
“You mean next month?”
“Yeah. It was kind of sudden.”
“Are you knocked up?”
Jo was surprised at the assumption, and
couldn’t help laughing. “No, no. Christmas was Luc’s idea, and it
works for me, so there it is. Can you come? It’ll be in Nice.
Please?”
“Yes,” said Brenda. “I’d love to come to your
wedding, sweetheart. But only if I can bring a date.”
Chapter Five
Jo didn’t believe in ghosts. Or at least she
didn’t think she believed in ghosts. In truth, growing up in
Seattle, on the rain-washed Pacific coast, she hadn’t really
thought about the supernatural world at all. But now that she lived
in France, in a two hundred-fifty-year-old house, she found herself
thinking about ghosts a lot.
She wouldn’t admit it to Luc, but their new
home frightened her. When she’d first seen the house, she felt an
unconscious repulsion. It was as if her skull was suddenly too
tight for her brain. Her skin prickled as she looked from shuttered
window to shuttered window to the half-dead vines clinging to the
rough stone facade. Everything about the property seemed abandoned,
unloved. It was certainly not the kind of place to start their
happy life together.
Then there’d been the smell. When she’d
walked into the house, stuck all by itself in an overgrown field at
the edge of a lonely rural road that ran through the middle of
marginal farmland, the smell struck her as an omen. And not an
auspicious one.
She’d wrinkled her nose. “It smells old,” she
said to Luc, as she peered down the dark hallway. “Really, really
old.”
“What does old smell like?” he’d
asked, humoring her. She could feel his hand pressing into the
small of her back as he nudged her inside.
“Like somebody died in here,” she answered,
with a straight face. She was in no mood to pretend she liked the
place.
“Someone probably has ,” he said
matter-of-factly. “Others have been conceived under this roof. And
then born here. That’s what a home’s for—to live in.”
Jo felt her face redden. She was being a
snob.
For the past month Luc had been searching for
a rental, and this was the best he’d come up with. They didn’t have
many choices this time of year, he’d explained—it was either a
rural property or an apartment in town. And because he didn’t want
to live in town, this was it.
It was rural, all right. And alarmingly
uncomfortable, Jo thought. With its crumbling stone walls and
peeling woodwork,
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