I sit up, and we get back into regular sitting position instead of draped all over each other. To be honest, I miss his warmth. I grab his hand to hold on to his closeness a little while longer. “What are you talking about? You’ll go pro. Everyone knows that.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s not like skiing is a year-round job. What do I do with the rest of my time? I guess I can work for my dad, but I’d like something that’s just mine and not forced on me, you know?”
I squeeze Jay’s hand. “I know how you feel.”
We’re silent, watching the stars blink into view. I allow myself to enjoy the moment for as long as I can. I know asking to borrow the car will destroy the fragile understanding we’ve rediscovered, but I have to ask it now, or I’ll lose my nerve. I need to speak out. I need to have my voice heard. I don’t want to be a silent doormat of a person forever.
“Jay? Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head.
“I need to borrow your car tomorrow after class so I can go to a past-life regression appointment in town.” He opens his mouth, lips forming the word “no,” so I plow on before he gets the protest out. “You don’t have to come with. I know you don’t believe in all this new-age, fate’s-hand-at-work stuff, but I need to see if it’s true or not. I need to know, Jay. You can understand that, right? I feel like my life is a puzzle with pieces missing. I want to find the missing pieces. With this appointment, it feels like one of those pieces is dangling in front of me. I need to grab it while I can. I need to fill everything in so I can see the big picture.”
“And if I say yes?” Jay’s eyes go squinty like he’s trying to gauge my real reason for asking. “What then?”
“If you say yes, I get my answers, I find my puzzle pieces, and we get back on with normal life.” I scoot closer until I press my left side to his right and lay my head on his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Jay. I’m sorry if it’s too much. I know what your car means to you.”
“Is Vale going with?”
“Of course Nathan is going with. He’s a part of this,” I say. “You’re a part of it too, Jay, even if you don’t want to admit it or have any part in it. Mrs. King didn’t doctor those photos. They were real. This is all real. We need to figure out why it’s happening to us. That’s why we need to go to this appointment tomorrow after class.”
“I’m coming if he’s coming,” Jay insists.
Jealousy. I should have guessed earlier jealousy is the best way to get Jay to agree to my and Nathan’s plan.
“I’m not leaving you or my car alone with him,” he adds.
“Thank you, Jay.” I decide not to acknowledge the flare of jealousy I hear in his voice. “I appreciate you helping us out. I appreciate you. Even if I don’t always say it or show it as much as I should, I really do appreciate you.”
Jay stands before pulling me to my feet. “It’s settled then. We get this done, and things go back to the way they were before. Tell Vale to meet me in the parking lot tomorrow afternoon. I hope you find your answers, Mer. I really do.”
“Thanks. I hope so too.”
Jay slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close as we climb down from the Widow’s Walk roof and back to the dorms. It’s past seven, so he can’t come onto my floor. We say goodnight at the grand staircase instead. I wave and blow him one final kiss as I disappear through the locking staircase door. On my climb to the third floor, I suddenly feel scared instead of excited to explore the past. This is what you want, I tell myself. No, more than that. This is what you need.
True to his word, Jay is waiting for Nathan and me in the parking lot after classes finish the next day. He doesn’t look happy about going, but he’s here and not complaining (for now). Just like the drive to Psychic Square, I climb in the front seat, Nathan slips into the back seat, and we’re off.
The layout of the town of Haunting is a little weird. The hotel-turned-school and surrounding historical district are separated by downtown and the lake by several miles. It’s too far to walk between them, though I know some people who bike or bus. Despite Jay’s less-than-sunny disposition and the horrendous state of parking downtown, it’s just easier to drive, in our case. Parking of any kind in downtown Haunting is hard to find. You might as prepare to sell your soul if you want free parking. The best-kept, free-parking secret that only the locals know about is next to the rec center tennis court. It’s a little bit of a hike to Main Street where Open Closed Doors is, but it’s worth it to avoid the annoying tourist pay-by-the-hour parking lots, and the even more annoying tourists who ask anyone who looks like they may be a resident for directions to the graveyard or where to sign up for ghost tours.
“You’ve been stuck on campus since you got here.” Jay turns to Nathan after we park by the tennis courts, acknowledging his presence for the first time since we started the short trip across town. I notice a new edge to his voice. Even though he’s trying to control it, it feels like he expects Nathan and me to mug him, steal his car keys, and drive off into the sunset together. “Have you ever been to downtown?”
Nathan shakes his head. “It seems familiar like I could find my way around if you asked me to. Maybe I watched a tourist video with my application packet or something.”
Or maybe we all lived here in the 1800s, I want to say but don’t. We’ll find that out soon enough.
We walk in the graveyard’s direction and, by extension, Open Closed Doors to make it to our appointment on time. I walk in the middle of the boys because the more space between them, the better. The buildings on Main Street look almost identical to any other street you may walk down in the heart of Haunting with its mix of Victorian and Edwardian architecture. They rise from the sidewalk close together, giving the impression of row houses on the East Coast like Boston or New York. Since many of the turn-of-the-century inhabitants were from the East Coast, it makes sense they would want their houses to look like the ones they left behind. In present times, any building near the pedestrian shopping district of Main Street is someone’s home and business. The business is on the ground floor, and the apartment is on top. Open Closed Doors looks like it’s no different.
There’s no bell to signal our entrance when we step inside, but the waiting area is small enough that we shouldn’t have an issue getting the receptionist’s attention.
“Very Feng Shui,” Jay comments as we glance around the decorated reception room with its black leather couches, low wood tables, potted plants, and framed Chinese symbol artwork on the walls.
The receptionist looks ten years older than us, max. She looks up when we come in, watching us with the same “I knew you would come” blasé attitude Mrs. King sported when she found us in Psychic Square. She’s dressed all in black with silver pentacle earrings and a matching necklace. Her hair is the bright pink of an anime character.
“May I help you?” she asks.
Nathan does the talking for us. “We scheduled an appointment with Catalina for a past-life regression session.” He takes the permission forms out of his backpack and lays them on the counter. “We got these signed too.”