Wake the Hollow Page 11

  Lela, please come home. It’s urgent.

  Yes, there has to be more. What is it, Mami?

  Quickly, I riffle through more photos for something—anything that might validate, separate fact from fiction. I almost flip right past it. A folded piece of white copy paper—a piece of modernity tucked right into the middle of decaying evidence. Unfolding it, I spot the familiar typeset I internalized after so many hours in the Sunnyside gift shop, looking through Irving’s published journals. Phrases strung together with long dashes—the words doused in yellow highlighter—

  I could not allow that to happen; already frowned upon as she is; it would be the end of her—so I convinced her I would take him, and so he is here, as is the double creation, and we are in Madrid where I am ambitiously translating some works into English.

  Then the words:

  El niño se llamará Cristóbal—the boy will be named Christopher, in honor of my fascination. Madrid, Sept. 1826.

  Juan Cristóbal de Medina was Irving’s flesh and blood son, named after the subject of his greatest work—a biography about Christopher Columbus. Fitting, that he should name his son after one of history’s biggest names, as his own father named him after the great American general.

  I sink back into the sofa and let out a long breath. Whoa. Stay calm.

  Yes, it’s shocking that I might be a direct descendant of the Washington Irving, but was it worth Mami staying in the Hollow and ruining her marriage, never seeing me again, just to show me?

  I look at the typeset on the page. The double creation. Dane mentioned that in class. Has he seen this journal page, too? Who else has seen it? The top edge of the page appears to be the photocopied words of a label—property of Historic Hudson Library Services. This must be part of that rare journal. Jonathan’s grandfather must know about this, which means so does Jonathan, and probably everyone from Historic Hudson.

  I’m the odd man out.

  “Mica?” Bram calls from the bedroom.

  “Just a minute.”

  The last item in the pile is another old photo—a woman—black hair pinned into a loose knot. Dark dress and petticoats. A boy of about six or seven stands next to her in knickerbockers and a dark vest. In the woman’s arms is a bundled baby. Her eyes are familiar—dark, pained—misunderstood—a visage that comes to me every other night since my mother died, though how I know this, I’m not sure. I’ve never seen her face.

  But my mind spins. I almost throw up when I realize who it is.

  On the back, one last sticky note from my mother—

  Follow her, Lela. She will guide you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Oh these women! These women!”

  It’s her. The woman who haunts my dreams. Except her face is so clear and before my very eyes, I feel I’ve always been able to see it. My stomach hurts like I swallowed ten pounds of pure sugar.

  “Bram?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you stay here with me tonight?”

  He pokes his head out the doorway. “Mica, don’t mess with me.”

  “I’m not messing. I’m scared!” I slam down the packet on the couch and bury my face in my hands. I hate the thought of being alone in a house I barely know after my mom told me to run and run fast with these papers. God only knows who might be after them…and me. “If Nina’s not going to be here, I don’t want to stay alone with all this.” I gesture to the strewn pile of papers.

  “Is it bad?”

  Don’t tell him yet. “It’s important.”

  “Then stay with me at my apartment. Bring all this and enough clothes for a few days. I can’t bail on Jonathan again after I postponed the beer and pizza thing. We’re supposed to work on decorations before our HollowEve meeting. Come on, I’ll make dinner.”

  I really don’t like the thought of taking these things around a real, live Enger, but I guess I can hide it all. He’ll never know the difference. “Okay.” I breathe in and let it out slowly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  ...

  Dragging myself into Bram’s apartment, the first thing I notice is it’s piled with more Halloween decorations than ever before. Coconut jumps off the couch and stretches, digging her claws into the carpet. I also notice Jonathan’s glare from the kitchen as I walk in with my weekend bag, my backpack, and a few things shoved into grocery bags, as if to say, What, you live here now?

  I spend the day on Bram’s bed, away from Jonathan and Bram’s beer and pizza hangout, trying to recuperate from the blow my mother dealt me. I keep it all to myself, not ready to share any of it. Occasionally, Bram comes in to make sure I haven’t died, offering beer, soda, and homemade pizza that’s actually not half bad.

  In isolation, I try to understand how any of this is even possible. How did my mother know about the ghost woman haunting me, enough to say, follow her, Lela? How did she happen to have a photo of her? I think back to when I first saw her in my dreams. It was the night after Mami died.

  Could she have been Mami’s spirit guide who moved on to me once she died? Emily has mentioned spirit guides before, when talking about chakras and new age stuff, how they sometimes stay within the same families.

  At night, the ghost woman filters into my dreams. Cross-legged, she sits quietly in the corner, seething, wondering how to talk to me to make me listen. Her face is a tiny bit more visible this time, and her attitude more impatient as she rocks in the corner. Finally, she floats up, muttering the house, the garden, the river... And her eyes. Her eyes are frantic, demanding, vacant.

  Leave me alone, I yell, though I realize now I should listen to her. She’s trying to tell me something, and like an idiot, I’m ignoring her. But maybe if she wouldn’t stare at me that way or hover in my face, I wouldn’t be so damned scared of her. I wake up sweating, stare at the walls and ceiling for a good two hours, while Bram and Jonathan snore in the other room, then turn off my alarm before it has the chance to wake me up for school.

  In the morning, I don’t dress for school. I need sleep and to figure all this out. Sitting on the bed with Coconut curled up against me, I absorb every photo, every scrap of paper, every sticky note, over and over again, until I can see everything in my mind by heart.

  At three p.m., an email zings in from Dane: Hi Micaela, didn’t see you in class today. Hope you’re all right. Dane.

  For the first time since yesterday, a smile materializes on my face. Thin smile, but I’ll take it. I hit reply and think about what to say. The house, the garden, the river, the ghost woman said to me last night. The only place I know of where those three intersect is Sunnyside. I type: Hi Dane, sorry I missed your class. I have a lot to sort out. You said you wanted to visit Sunnyside. I think I’m gonna take a trip down there tomorrow…

  I stare at the cursor blinking on the screen. Shit, what am I about to do… Here goes nothing.

  Care to come along?

  I wait, obsessively refreshing my email over and over again. Finally after a few minutes, his reply arrives: That would be fantastic! I’ll pick you up. What time and where?

  ...

  I shove all my papers back into the envelope, bury it under Bram’s mattress, and tag along with him and Jonathan to Philipsburg Manor for the HollowEve meeting. It’s the least I can do after he searched for and found Coconut, drove me to the bank, and took me in like another stray.

  While the boys unpack the car loaded with decorations, I stand by a column and attempt calling my dad again, but he doesn’t pick up. His voicemail beeps. “Dad, call me when you can. I need to talk to you.” I hang up, about to call again, when Jonathan walks by, carrying a big black box that says ProFogger on the side. He sees me, shakes his head, and mutters something.

  Pfft, what’s his problem?

  Inside a big ballroom, I help by painting a giant chandelier made out of plaster to look like dark iron and twisted metal. I add light silver streaks to create the appearance of highlights. Halloween is all about illusions. Not unlike the lies my mother was
probably feeding Betty Anne about trying hard to contact me in Miami. Or the ones my father seems to be feeding me. Who’s telling the truth?

  I spot Bram at the end of a hall supervising a giant spider decoration workgroup. He catches my stare and smiles that boyish-man smile I love. I have to say, it’s been nice having one solid friend by my side throughout this, even if he is a little crazy.

  I smile back.

  At the end of the night, when the volunteers go home, I wait by the car for Bram while he finishes up inside the ballroom. I try calling my dad again and get his voicemail. Again. “Dad, please call me. I need to talk to you.” I hang up and smack the car’s trunk. “Ugh!”

  Suddenly, the scent of weed wafts in on the breeze, and someone sneaks up behind me. “So…” John is there, folded arms over scrawny chest. “Your dad out of the country again, huh?”

  “Yeah, so?” I recoil, eyebrows drawn together. “He has clients in South America.” Not that I have to explain anything to Jonathan. How my father chooses to handle his business is none of his concern.

  “You know, he owes my parents a visit real soon.”

  I stare at him. What does he mean? “He’s coming. He has new contacts here.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Jonathan half laughs, mostly a huge scoff.

  “Yes, that’s what he said. Is there a problem?”

  “He hasn’t mentioned his existing investors here? People getting a little sick of trying to track him down?” He shakes his head. “Man, you’ve really been living in a freakin’ golden tower, haven’t you?” He walks off toward the bushes to light a cigarette.

  I can’t even speak. So that’s it? He thinks I’m naive? So my father has always taken care of me. So I don’t have to struggle for a paycheck. How is that a bad thing? “Asshole,” I mumble. Still, I can’t help but feel like I’m taking some kind of unfair treatment on behalf of my dad’s business dealings here.

  Bram comes out of the ballroom, talking on the phone through his ear buds, flustered and annoyed. He carries a box piled with more Halloween decor, sees the look on my face, and stops next to me to open his trunk. “Fine, fine, let me go. I gotta go.” Hanging up, he looks at me. “What happened? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, chewing on the edge of my nail, looking away. From the way he sets his box on the ground and holds onto my upper arms, I know he’s not buying it.

  “That’s bull, Princess. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing. It’s…just John.” I sneer in the direction of the smelliest Enger across the parking lot. He looks at me over his shoulder, like he can hear me talking about him. I shake out of Bram’s hold. “And please stop calling me Princess. I’m not a princess.”

  “Ouch. Okay, okay… What did he do?” Bram puts himself between me and John, his back to his friend. The concern in his face is overwhelming, like he might just go and beat Jonathan up if I give him the go-ahead.

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Listen, Mica…” He tries again to hold my arms. I let him. Only because he used my real name. And because he genuinely cares about me. “You know how stupid John can be. He’s a grump, all because you dissed him in fourth grade. Besides, you’ve always liked me better.” He tries getting me to smile, peering down into my face. “Am I right?”

  I bend down to pick up a dirty rag that fell out of his pocket, trying not to let him see my smile.

  He drops to help me, taking my hand again. “It’s true, though, right? You do like me, Mica?” He cups my face, the touch of his hand sending shivers into my body.

  “Of course I do,” I whisper. I do love the warmth his hand transfers to mine in the cold night. “I always have.”

  “You have?”

  “Well, Bram, you’re my best Hollow friend. I mean, the circumstances that brought us together this time sucked, but if things were normal right now…if my mom hadn’t died, if I’d never left…” I trail off, not knowing exactly how I want to end that statement.

  “Yes?”

  I sigh. “We’d probably be together now,” I finish. It’s true. All those people who said we’d end up together were probably right. There’s no reason not to give Bram the benefit of the doubt. He’s made himself available for me. No, he’s not the only guy I find attractive. Dane Boracich watches me in that compelling, protective way, but he’s older, more of a fantasy. Bram is the real deal, the one who’s known me most of my life.

  He stands slowly, hoisting me up with him. “Good, because I want to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve been arguing half the night with my mom, Lacy, you name it. Maybe it’s the full moon, I don’t know, but everyone’s on my case tonight. But I’m ignoring them. You know why?”

  I shake my head. “Why?”

  His finger slides along the underside of my chin. “Because. Damn, I don’t know how to say this. I’ll just come right out and say it.” His deep brown eyes gaze at me, his fingers paused on my cheek. “Because I don’t care what they say. Not my mom, not Lacy, not the people who talk shit. Since you called me last month, you opened something up inside of me.”

  “A wound, probably.”

  He lets loose a relieved, rough chuckle. “No. Well, maybe a little. The thing is, Mica, I’ve always cared about you. Now, seeing you here is doing strange things to my brain. You’re stirring me up, and…well, I’m excited again for the first time in a long time. I care about you. I really do.”

  “I care about you, too.” I can say that much and mean it. There’s too much going on to know whether or not Bram and I will ever turn into love, but I know I’ve always cared about him. I close my eyes, fighting back tears. His face is an inch from mine. Don’t think, Mica. Whatever happens, it’s just Bram. “I just…”

  It’s the timing of the situation. Maybe if I weren’t dealing with the loss of my mother…

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He leans in gently. I don’t mind it. At all. “I just wanted you to know how I feel.” His lips press against my cheek, nothing more, nothing less. He leaves a kiss—a tingling, cooling signature—where my dimple is. Not quite where my body wanted it, expected it, but not where a best friend dares to linger either.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace.”

  I don’t know if Bram is playing his cards right or what, but he doesn’t push for more physical contact the rest of the night. In fact, he lets me retreat into his room again, where I check the mattress’s underside to make sure my things are still there, which they are.

  I slide into bed with a sigh.

  If the ghost woman tortures me again, I will lose my shit. I breathe deep, letting the oxygen relax my muscles, and hope for a good night’s sleep. No such luck. This time, she slips into my dream and begins pacing, muttering, desperate. She says “garden” and “river” again, wringing her hands. The Hudson River is the only river near me, and I’m going to Sunnyside tomorrow, which is right on it.

  I’m hit with a moment of clarity. If I go to Sunnyside, to the river, the house, the garden, like she wants, maybe she’ll leave me alone. “I’ll go,” I tell her calmly, swallowing back my fear. “Then will you leave me alone? I need sleep.”

  She backs away, ghostly eyes fading through her countenance-less expression. And I get to sleep. Accompanied and under surveillance, maybe, but it’s sleep nonetheless.

  ...

  In the morning, Bram and Jonathan leave early for the last days of HollowEve prep before rehearsals begin. I dress quickly, down a simple breakfast of OJ and a granola bar, then stand outside on the balcony to wait for Dane. We still communicate through email, as if texting is just one layer too intimate. I finally get a message saying he’s on his way.

  I’m excited beyond belief. I don’t know why. Maybe because, for once, I get to be the expert. I know Sunnyside like the back of my hand
and will get to show Dane, Harvard scholar, a thing or two. When I see his car roll around the corner, I tighten the belt on my gray sweater and head downstairs.

  “Hey, thanks for picking me up.” I slide into the front leather seat, cold even through my jeans.

  “Thanks for inviting me. I’ve been looking forward to this.” He smiles wide, throwing the transmission into first gear. “Do you miss it?”

  “Actually,” I say, staring straight ahead, the nostalgia starting to hit me. “I do.”

  After a few minutes down Route 9, Dane slows and makes a quick right into the familiar snaky road that slithers through trees all the way to the riverbank. My hands begin to sweat. Who will be there who might remember me? Ellen, the other tour guide my mother shared shifts with? Janice, Bram’s aunt, who was a bitch to everyone?

  The Hudson’s gray surface reflecting ashen sky slowly comes into view. Slow-moving boats and a sense of isolated tranquility brings a smile to my face I haven’t felt in weeks. Above the gentle hillside, the red roofs of Sunnyside peek out at me.

  The parking lot is full of cars. “They’re probably having their shadow puppet performance, a tradition here.” I can still see it fresh in my mind—black cardboard cutouts silhouetted against a lit background, depicting “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” My heart starts a little dance of excitement.

  “Sounds lovely already.” Dane pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine.

  Most boys I know would never use the word “lovely.” There’s something so refined and mature about Dane Boracich that I adore. No leering glances at my body, no dorky sexual innuendos. I feel safe around him.

  The sound of our car doors shutting is out of sync with the surrounding woodsy silence. To my right is the little garden house on the property. To my left, the walkway down the grassy knoll to the courtyard and gift shop where tour tickets are sold. Dane offers me his arm with a gentlemanly stance. “My lady?”

  “Thank you, sir.” I giggle, taking his arm.