Ghost Writer by David Connor

Author:David Connor [Mulder, David Connor and E.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2018-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

I told my sister where I was headed via the hands-free option I’d jerry-rigged in my Subaru.

“Why are you going to Massachusetts?” she asked.

Damn it. I should have known she’d want to know that. “Just a little trip for Wilbur. A ride in the car. The weather is beautiful. You know I love fall, and I still feel bad leaving him while Rip and I were down south.”

“You were gone ten minutes, and he wasn’t alone. I was with him.”

“I know. Still, some Daddy and Wilbur quality time seemed like fun.”

“Okay.” I could hear the doubt in Shelby’s tone. “A ride in the car is usually to McDonalds and back, though.”

“I know.” I put the window down partway. The evening air was cool and crisp, with a faint smell of wood smoke and fallen leaves.

“Is this a hookup?”

“Oh, shit!”

“What?” Shelby asked.

I put up the window. “You didn’t fly out, did you, Jefferson?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” That was from Shelby. Jefferson assured me he and his aura hadn’t been swept out in the breeze.

“Ah, shit. You guessed it.” I tried to cover. “I’m hooking up with a guy named Jefferson, who flies kites and works on computers…Windows and all that.”

“Oh.”

The only advantage there was to people thinking I was nuts was that sometimes they accepted my nonsensical answers as a flair toward the eccentric.

“Did you meet him in Tennessee?”

“Yes!” My answer was really loud. “I did meet him in Tennessee.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Shelby asked. “I’m glad you’re going on a date. Can we call it that?”

“Sure.”

“Although, I thought you’d be in bed for days recovering after Tennessee,” she said.

I cringed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Goose. Not like you’d be…”

“Yeah. I know. I was going to rest up, but then I just got the urge to go.”

“Okay. Good. Thanks for letting me know.”

“I might stay over,” I said. “I don’t know. Just playing things by ear. Either way, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said. “Bye.”

“She does,” Jefferson said. “I can tell.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Speaking in the present tense just seemed right.

“I do. Five brothers and three sisters.”

“Wow. That’s a lot. It’s just me and Shell.” I turned to the passenger seat when I talked, as if Jefferson was there. Wilbur was in the back in his little carrier, no doubt looking up and out the window as we passed cornfields gone brown and rows and rows of trees, already mostly bare. Sporadically, one would still be holding onto a smattering of red or copper leaves precariously dancing, until one more jumped ship and fluttered down upon the pavement. I wished I could dance with them sometimes.

Jefferson told me more about his family, about his siblings, a dog named Jack, the pond he swam in, and working the fields from sowing to harvest. We talked about the books at the museum. Jefferson told me he’d never been an avid reader but loved to listen when his ma or pa told stories.

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