condos, a poor substitute for the stars that couldn't be seen with so much light. "I stood in front of the subway tracks for—God, it must have been over an hour, willing myself to jump every time a train pulled into the station."
She considered it a moment, scowling off in silence, at her own foolishness or the thought of how close she'd come to death, Owen wasn't sure. "But I couldn't do it. You know, it's funny, I used to worry every time I stood close to the tracks and someone passed behind me, I'd keep them in my peripheral vision to make sure they couldn't push me, and if they tried, I'd see them and be ready. I'd steel myself for the push, make sure I had my footing and wouldn't fall out onto the tracks if it came. But that day, I prayed for someone to see me there and just… give me a little nudge. Just a little shove and all of my stupid little troubles would be over." She chuckled softly, perhaps at the dark simplicity of it. "But nobody did. Eventually, the station attendant or someone came over and asked me if I was all right. I told him I was lost, so he gave me directions." She shook her head, a very slight movement. "I really was lost, but not in a way directions could've helped." Looking up, Sophie held his gaze. "I was lost from myself ."
Owen nodded. He let the silence draw out again, because it seemed a moment of silence was required. Then he said, "Well thanks for not letting me throw in the towel," indicating with a nod the towel she must have wrapped around his naked waist. She laughed again, a big, hearty laugh that apparently surprised her so much she tried to stifle it with her hand. It wouldn't hold back her snickering, so she snorted and made noises in her throat behind a balled-up fist.
Owen grinned, pleased to be able to lighten the mood, while proving—he hoped—that he wasn't in a suicidal mood. But he didn't laugh with her. When her giggle fit was through, he said, "Sorry."
"It's okay," she said, and chuckled again. "After what happened in there," she nodded toward the bathroom, "I guess I must have needed a good laugh."
"Thanks again," he said. "Honestly."
"Just thank your lucky stars I know CPR."
"Sorry if I wasn't the best kisser," he said. "I'm much better when I'm conscious, I swear."
She laughed again, not quite as heartily, and her cheeks flushed a little. She'd pulled him naked from the tub and resuscitated him before drying him with the towel, and mentioning it clearly embarrassed her.
"Why did you come here?" he asked her. "I mean, I'm glad you did, obviously. It just seems a little—"
" Deus ex machina ?" she said, and grinned.
"Exactly."
"I found this mixed in with my mail." She picked up what looked like a postcard and held it out to him. Owen took it from her. "It's weird, I was going to give it to you the next time I saw you in the mail room, but my mother told me to get moving, and when mother talks, I listen."
Owen nodded before her words had a chance to sink in. "Wait… your mother told you?"
"Uh-huh," she said, then tilted her head. "I take it you don't believe in ghosts."
Owen scowled. "No. I don't. But thank your mother for me next time you see her." He realized how rude it sounded, and backtracked. "I'm sorry, I just—"
Sophie shrugged, expressionless. "You're a skeptic. I get it. It's tough not to be cynical these days. Anyway, you have to admit it was fortunate I came when I did."
"It was. Again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be dismissive."
Sophie brushed it off and launched into a monologue, but Owen only half-listened. The photo on the postcard had caught his attention: a lake nestled among some trees, sparkling with diamond glints of sunshine. At the center of the photo was the rotted crown of a white church steeple, its cross rising from the water. Printed across the top were the words, GREETINGS FROM CHAPEL LAKE!
Speaking of ghosts , he thought.
"You know, you shouldn't keep your door unlocked," Sophie was saying. "It's not the best
She considered it a moment, scowling off in silence, at her own foolishness or the thought of how close she'd come to death, Owen wasn't sure. "But I couldn't do it. You know, it's funny, I used to worry every time I stood close to the tracks and someone passed behind me, I'd keep them in my peripheral vision to make sure they couldn't push me, and if they tried, I'd see them and be ready. I'd steel myself for the push, make sure I had my footing and wouldn't fall out onto the tracks if it came. But that day, I prayed for someone to see me there and just… give me a little nudge. Just a little shove and all of my stupid little troubles would be over." She chuckled softly, perhaps at the dark simplicity of it. "But nobody did. Eventually, the station attendant or someone came over and asked me if I was all right. I told him I was lost, so he gave me directions." She shook her head, a very slight movement. "I really was lost, but not in a way directions could've helped." Looking up, Sophie held his gaze. "I was lost from myself ."
Owen nodded. He let the silence draw out again, because it seemed a moment of silence was required. Then he said, "Well thanks for not letting me throw in the towel," indicating with a nod the towel she must have wrapped around his naked waist. She laughed again, a big, hearty laugh that apparently surprised her so much she tried to stifle it with her hand. It wouldn't hold back her snickering, so she snorted and made noises in her throat behind a balled-up fist.
Owen grinned, pleased to be able to lighten the mood, while proving—he hoped—that he wasn't in a suicidal mood. But he didn't laugh with her. When her giggle fit was through, he said, "Sorry."
"It's okay," she said, and chuckled again. "After what happened in there," she nodded toward the bathroom, "I guess I must have needed a good laugh."
"Thanks again," he said. "Honestly."
"Just thank your lucky stars I know CPR."
"Sorry if I wasn't the best kisser," he said. "I'm much better when I'm conscious, I swear."
She laughed again, not quite as heartily, and her cheeks flushed a little. She'd pulled him naked from the tub and resuscitated him before drying him with the towel, and mentioning it clearly embarrassed her.
"Why did you come here?" he asked her. "I mean, I'm glad you did, obviously. It just seems a little—"
" Deus ex machina ?" she said, and grinned.
"Exactly."
"I found this mixed in with my mail." She picked up what looked like a postcard and held it out to him. Owen took it from her. "It's weird, I was going to give it to you the next time I saw you in the mail room, but my mother told me to get moving, and when mother talks, I listen."
Owen nodded before her words had a chance to sink in. "Wait… your mother told you?"
"Uh-huh," she said, then tilted her head. "I take it you don't believe in ghosts."
Owen scowled. "No. I don't. But thank your mother for me next time you see her." He realized how rude it sounded, and backtracked. "I'm sorry, I just—"
Sophie shrugged, expressionless. "You're a skeptic. I get it. It's tough not to be cynical these days. Anyway, you have to admit it was fortunate I came when I did."
"It was. Again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be dismissive."
Sophie brushed it off and launched into a monologue, but Owen only half-listened. The photo on the postcard had caught his attention: a lake nestled among some trees, sparkling with diamond glints of sunshine. At the center of the photo was the rotted crown of a white church steeple, its cross rising from the water. Printed across the top were the words, GREETINGS FROM CHAPEL LAKE!
Speaking of ghosts , he thought.
"You know, you shouldn't keep your door unlocked," Sophie was saying. "It's not the best
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