deep pink behind the fingers hiding her face . The “experimental” fiction the one guy had been boasting about turned out to be really stupid too… something about a talking cigarette lighter. Patrick didn’t have a college education, but he knew what he liked.
Sara ended up reading part of Patrick’s memory about his first kiss. He was relieved she’d changed the name of her characters –Ginny had known Brenda, which might have been a little weird if she made the connection , although it seemed like a long shot .
Ginny lingered near the couch while the other group members left, and when she and Sara were finally alone, she gathered her bag and approached the door.
“Thanks for letting me wander around the house,” she said, eyes tightening around the edges. Her smile seemed genuine, but the set of her face was off .
Sara smiled. “Of course, Ginny. I still can’t believe someone died here and you dated him.”
“I can’t tell you how shocked I was to see his photo in your bedroom. Where did you find it?” Ginny took another step toward the door, glancing around. Maybe he really had spooked her earlier.
“What photo? I have a photo of…” Sara’s forehead crinkled, and she stared at Ginny.
Patrick moved closer until he stood almost between the two women. He held his unnecessary breath as the moment stretched on.
“Patrick,” Ginny supplied. “Yes, there’s a photo of Mr. and Mrs. Boyle with Patrick on your nightstand.”
“Oh my God,” Sara whispered, peering up the stairs. “That’s… it… fell out of a book I found in the house. The Turn of the Screw .”
Ginny chuckled, turning and stepping out onto the porch. “Mrs. Boyle must have left it accidentally –that was Pat’s favorite.” She waved at Sara before moving across the walk and out to her car. She drove some tiny, red car he’d seen once or twice before , driving down the street.
Sara closed the door and sagged against it, sighing deeply and closing her eyes as her head thumped on the wood. “Patrick,” she said slowly, each syllable distinct.
He brushed his fingers against her shoulder. She shivered, and Patrick’s eyes widened in shock.
* * * * *
CHAPTER FIVE
“Down the shore? What does that even mean?” Sara asked with a laugh before shoving a forkful of lettuce into her mouth.
“It’s just what the locals call going to the beach,” Megan answered, a dribble of dressing clinging to her lip. “It took me forever to figure out what people were saying.”
Patrick thought about the sand under his toes, and he could almost smell the sea air. He’d give almost anything to have the scent of salt in his nose, that faint odor of fish in the background. It was such a big part of his life each summer, and he missed swimming in the ocean. He and his friends used to hang out on the beach, play Frisbee.
“Well, I suppose that’s good to know. I wrote a scene that’s set at the beach. I guess maybe I should actually visit one this summer since the coast is pretty close. It is, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Roger and I go to Long Beach Island – it’s maybe a two hour drive if the traffic isn’t too bad .”
Megan had been over once or twice since Sara moved in, but in the couple of weeks since the writers’ group meeting, Sara seemed to make more of an effort to get out of the house.
Patrick was bothered by it on some level; he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could. He continued to hope one day he’d just wake up and be… well, if not in Heaven , then in some form of the afterlife, so he wanted to enjoy her company while it was possible .
He liked the idea of reincarnation. He’d reread that chapter of his religion book a million times. Maybe he wasn’t a believer in Hinduism or Buddhism, but the idea of creating his own religion was attractive in his darker hours. It wasn’t as though it mattered. Not really. Even though he’d been stuck exactly in the same plane of existence –another idea
Sara ended up reading part of Patrick’s memory about his first kiss. He was relieved she’d changed the name of her characters –Ginny had known Brenda, which might have been a little weird if she made the connection , although it seemed like a long shot .
Ginny lingered near the couch while the other group members left, and when she and Sara were finally alone, she gathered her bag and approached the door.
“Thanks for letting me wander around the house,” she said, eyes tightening around the edges. Her smile seemed genuine, but the set of her face was off .
Sara smiled. “Of course, Ginny. I still can’t believe someone died here and you dated him.”
“I can’t tell you how shocked I was to see his photo in your bedroom. Where did you find it?” Ginny took another step toward the door, glancing around. Maybe he really had spooked her earlier.
“What photo? I have a photo of…” Sara’s forehead crinkled, and she stared at Ginny.
Patrick moved closer until he stood almost between the two women. He held his unnecessary breath as the moment stretched on.
“Patrick,” Ginny supplied. “Yes, there’s a photo of Mr. and Mrs. Boyle with Patrick on your nightstand.”
“Oh my God,” Sara whispered, peering up the stairs. “That’s… it… fell out of a book I found in the house. The Turn of the Screw .”
Ginny chuckled, turning and stepping out onto the porch. “Mrs. Boyle must have left it accidentally –that was Pat’s favorite.” She waved at Sara before moving across the walk and out to her car. She drove some tiny, red car he’d seen once or twice before , driving down the street.
Sara closed the door and sagged against it, sighing deeply and closing her eyes as her head thumped on the wood. “Patrick,” she said slowly, each syllable distinct.
He brushed his fingers against her shoulder. She shivered, and Patrick’s eyes widened in shock.
* * * * *
CHAPTER FIVE
“Down the shore? What does that even mean?” Sara asked with a laugh before shoving a forkful of lettuce into her mouth.
“It’s just what the locals call going to the beach,” Megan answered, a dribble of dressing clinging to her lip. “It took me forever to figure out what people were saying.”
Patrick thought about the sand under his toes, and he could almost smell the sea air. He’d give almost anything to have the scent of salt in his nose, that faint odor of fish in the background. It was such a big part of his life each summer, and he missed swimming in the ocean. He and his friends used to hang out on the beach, play Frisbee.
“Well, I suppose that’s good to know. I wrote a scene that’s set at the beach. I guess maybe I should actually visit one this summer since the coast is pretty close. It is, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Roger and I go to Long Beach Island – it’s maybe a two hour drive if the traffic isn’t too bad .”
Megan had been over once or twice since Sara moved in, but in the couple of weeks since the writers’ group meeting, Sara seemed to make more of an effort to get out of the house.
Patrick was bothered by it on some level; he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could. He continued to hope one day he’d just wake up and be… well, if not in Heaven , then in some form of the afterlife, so he wanted to enjoy her company while it was possible .
He liked the idea of reincarnation. He’d reread that chapter of his religion book a million times. Maybe he wasn’t a believer in Hinduism or Buddhism, but the idea of creating his own religion was attractive in his darker hours. It wasn’t as though it mattered. Not really. Even though he’d been stuck exactly in the same plane of existence –another idea
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