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  “Some of these symbols look like our rings.” Vivien lifted the book to show symbols forming a circle on the front cover. She pointed her forefinger and tapped a manicured nail against the symbol that matched her jewelry.

  “Let me see it.” Heather took the book and opened it.

  The smell of parchment reminded Lorna of the special collections room at the library. She and Vivien sat on either side of Heather as she turned the pages. “Warrick,” had been written on the title page in calligraphy. Decorative drawings lined the edges of the page.

  “This is drawn, not printed,” Lorna observed, touching the edge of the thick paper. “The handwriting is exquisite.”

  Heather turned a couple of the pages slowly, as if worried they would crumble.

  “It must have belonged to Julia,” Vivien said.

  “December 5, 1928,” Heather read the first line, “William Turner, ten dollars to contact daughter Lucy. Said their goodbyes, spirit has moved on.” She went to the second entry. “December 7, 1928, Mary Burke, two dollars and thirty cents to contact husband Holden. Spirit belligerent, as he was in life, told Mary he was sorry for how he treated her. Ex.”

  “Ex?” Vivien asked.

  “Ex-husband maybe? I have no clue but it sounds like maybe she lied about what the spirit said. I don’t see someone belligerent apologizing,” Heather answered, before reading the next line, “December 9, 1928, Fiona O’Leary, six dollars to contact three-year-old daughter Mirabella. Not earthbound. December 10, Franklin Mercer, twenty dollars to contact law partner for missing trust papers. Successful. December 10, Jane Benoit, three dollars to contact mother, Josephine. Hateful woman. Ex. December 10, two dollars…”

  Heather let her voice taper off but kept her eyes on the book as she began turning through pages faster than before.

  “It’s a ledger of payments and séances,” Vivien said. “These must be people Julia contacted.”

  “What’s that?” Lorna stopped Heather from turning as the format of the page changed into a list.

  “1930 to 1931. Suicides: T. J. Wells, P. G. Grant, Mr. Holcomb, J. J. Roark…” Heather frowned. “There have to be at least sixty names here.”

  “That was around the time of the Great Depression,” Lorna said. “The stock markets crashed and people lost everything. Suicide rates went up. Soil erosion caused farms to fail and left some two million people homeless.”

  “History buff?” Vivien asked.

  “Three kids, three middle school diorama projects and presentations on the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl,” Lorna answered.

  “It makes sense. The payments go down—five cents, ten cents, a dollar…” Heather ran her finger down the page. “Traded brooch, chicken, tomato, no charge…”

  “How sad,” Lorna whispered.

  “It’s a book of death,” Vivien said. “It’s filled with pain. Everything about it is sad.”

  “Life has value.” Lorna took a deep breath. Vivien was right. This book represented many sad things. “It’s old. I don’t know how I found this. I don’t know how I knew to reach for the switch to open the floor.”

  “I don’t know why we found this,” Vivien added. “I don’t want to start a séance business. It’s bad enough I can detect everyday emotions, but grief this deep in a constant dose? I’m not sure I can absorb that and keep my cheery disposition.”

  Heather used her arm as a bookmark and closed the pages to look at the cover. She placed her hand over the symbols. “I know I complain when people act like being in your forties is old and that once we hit midlife we’re all about to fall apart, but the truth is my hips are hating me right now. Someone help me off this hard floor.”

  “My place?” Lorna offered. “I have a couch.”

  “Let’s do it.” Vivien stood and reached down to help Heather to her feet. As their hands touched, both women inhaled sharply. Their hair began to lift from their shoulders.

  Heather pulled away first. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Heather pushed up from the stage, managing to stand on her own without help. She took a few stunted steps while still carrying the book, leaning side to side to stretch.

  “What about the floor?” Lorna asked, looking into the hole.

  “Leave it. We’re closed tomorrow. I’ll deal with it then.” Heather cradled the book to her chest as she led the way down the stairs. Vivien slipped her feet into her heels and Lorna offered an arm to help her down the steps. As soon as they made contact, the electric sensation flowed between them and they let go.

  “Ladies, I don’t think there is any denying something special is happening. The rings. The book.” Vivien looked meaningfully between Lorna and Heather. “Us.”

  Lorna shared a look with Heather as she handed Lorna’s vodka and soda to her. Yes, she felt the connection. She looked at her ring as she held the cup. A bond was forming between them, as real as if someone had taken a sewing needle and stitched them together with invisible thread. “What does it mean? Why?”

  “Julia said our pain joins us, and something about our heartaches calling to each other to be healed. We’re meant to help each other. She disappeared and isn’t saying more. Ghosts do that. Manifesting takes energy.” Heather walked up the aisle as she continued to speak. “Every time we touch, I feel your pain. But more than that, I understand it. I feel the loss of your husband, Lorna, and the embarrassment it caused. You weren’t allowed to grieve and can’t take comfort in a lifetime of memories.”

  Heather ducked between the curtains leading toward the lobby. She automatically hooked the material over the holdback to keep the path open for the other two women.

  “Viv, with you, I feel the emptiness left by Sam that you’ve never been able fill even though you try. You smile so brightly and laugh so loud to keep the world from seeing it. He was your great true love,” Heather said. “And I don’t have to say what you feel from me. I already know. I carry it every day. I think of him, my sweet Travis, whenever I see a playground, or hear the crack of a baseball bat, or breathe, or open my eyes. He’s always there. I think the only way we’re going to find out what all of this means is if we join hands and let whatever is happening, happen. I also think that once we do that there is no going back, so we better be ready to leap into the unknown.”

  “Oh, hey, you’re all here.”

  Lorna turned at the sound of William’s stunned voice. He came from the direction of the alley side door. When his eyes met hers, she saw his disbelief. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to run into all three of them. She had to wonder why he was there, though. It was late and he had no reason to be in the theater.

  Wait. He held a bottle of wine and flowers. Was he here for her?

  “William, what are you doing here?” Heather asked.

  “Did the two of you have a little…” Vivien took several steps toward William and gave a pointed look at what he carried. “William Warrick, did you bring Lorna sex wine?”

  “What?” His eyes widened in surprise and he took a step back. He stared at Lorna. “No. Hold on a minute, no.”

  “William,” Heather scolded. “What are you thinking? Lorna is a respectable woman.”

  “But—” He tried to protest.

  “Seriously, William, respectable,” Vivien insisted. “No chocolates? No strawberries and cream? Lorna is not some cheap booty call.”

  “Wait, no—” He looked helplessly at Lorna.

  Lorna felt her cheeks heating slightly in embarrassment. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t thought of William in the realm of a booty call on several late-night occasions. Even now, in his jeans and t-shirt, he looked terrific. Her heart did little flips in her stomach. He had clearly come to see her. That was the only reason he’d be here. She wondered if she should be worried or insulted by a man showing up late at night with wine and flowers. Was it presumptuous? Was that a standard dating ritual? She honestly didn’t know. What she did know was that the flustered way he eyed her as the
other two continued to tease him was endearing.

  “Mom is going to be so disappointed in you, Will,” Heather added. “You were raised better than this.”

  “Hey, now, just hold on,” he argued. “This isn’t that.”

  “So you don’t like Lorna?” Vivien continued to torment the man. “That’s kind of harsh. She said you asked her out on a date.”

  “I didn’t say that,” William countered. He made his way to Lorna and tried to hand her the wine and flowers. “It’s not sex wine.”

  “So romantic,” Vivien drawled before laughing.

  “Okay, Viv, enough. Let’s give him a break,” Heather said, finally taking pity on her brother. “Lorna, we’ll be upstairs if that’s all right with you?”

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll be right there.” Lorna slowly took the wine and flowers. The bouquet was an assorted mix of colors, the kind she’d find prearranged at a grocery store floral department.

  William watched the others leave and didn’t take his gaze from their direction until they heard footsteps going up the stairs.

  “Girls’ night in,” Lorna explained to break the awkward silence.

  “What’s with Heather’s giant book?” He turned to look at her. “Little light reading?”

  “Something like that. We found it in the theater,” Lorna answered. “It looks like it belonged to your grandmother.”

  “Ah, I see.” His gaze dipped to the floor. “Good ol’ Grandma Julia.”

  She knew he didn’t like talk of the supernatural and so decided not to press the topic. “What are you doing here?”

  “I swear it isn’t creepy. Looking at it now I was maybe misguided, but no creep intended. I saw your light on upstairs and thought I detected you moving around in your apartment when I glanced up from the street.”

  “We weren’t upstairs. We were in the theater. If you saw someone, it wasn’t me.” Lorna might have left a light on by accident, but the fact he saw someone moving up there was disconcerting. Was Julia roaming her apartment?

  “It was probably shadows from the headlights of a passing car,” he dismissed, not even considering an otherworldly option. “I was going to sneak in and leave this for you to find in the morning. In my head it sounded sweet. Saying it out loud it sounds… yeah, a little creepy.”

  “We’ll go with sweet,” Lorna said, letting him off the hook. His sister and Vivien had picked on him enough.

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I appreciate the gifts,” Lorna said. “It was very sweet of you.”

  “When you say it like that the sweet sounds kind of girly.” William gave a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m winning any points tonight with this romantic gesture.”

  “I appreciate your very thought out, manly, dignified gift,” Lorna amended. The fact that he admitted to his gesture being romantic sent a tiny wave of pleasure through her. It was always nice to be found attractive, especially by someone she liked.

  “Thank you.” William laughed harder as he ran his hand through his hair. “I mean, you’re welcome. Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve been tongue-tied around a beautiful woman. Any way I can get a second chance here? Maybe I can walk out and start this whole scene over?”

  “You want me to call Viv and Heather back?” Lorna couldn’t help teasing. William usually projected confidence and to see him like this was endearing.

  “Oh, please no. Anyway, it looks like you all are in the middle of some womanly mischief. I won’t keep you.” William reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small card. He slipped it into her hand. Their fingers touched. His gaze dipped to her mouth for the briefest of seconds as if he thought about kissing her. She wished he would. With a small smile that reached his eyes, he backed away from her and said, “Just do me a favor. Give me a head start out the door before you let your friends read that and you all make fun of me.”

  “I’d never do that,” Lorna said.

  “I know.” He turned to leave.

  Lorna ran her finger under the small envelope’s edge to open it. Pulling out the card, she read, “Lorna, Just in case you decide not to show Thursday… Please reconsider, William.”

  “I’ll see you Thursday,” Lorna called after him. He’d disappeared into the shadows leading toward the side door to the alley, so she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. She smiled toward the darkness as she leaned over to smell the flowers. They weren’t fragrant, but that didn’t matter. It had been a long time since anyone had given her flowers. Actually, the last time had been calla lilies from the funeral director.

  The soft petals brushed her cheek and lips. She held them against her in an imaginary kiss as she continued to watch the shadows. Her tight self-control slipped a little. Knowing he liked her seemed to give her body permission to experience its attraction and she felt desire stirring within her.

  William appeared outside, jogging across the street. She watched him through the front doors. When he made it to his truck, he glanced in the theater’s direction and smiled. She wasn’t sure if he saw her as she lifted her hand to give a small wave. He didn’t return the gesture.

  As he drove away, she curled her hand into a light fist. What was she doing? Nerves replaced the feelings of attraction. She’d come a long way in finding her independence but still didn’t trust herself to be a good judge of character when it came to men.

  Maybe she shouldn’t go Thursday.

  The flowers again brushed her cheek and she closed her eyes. The gesture seemed genuine and sweet. Not all men were Glenn. Surely her fake marriage had used up her ration of cosmic betrayal and she was owed something good, pure, sweet. What were the odds she’d find two cheating jerks in the same lifetime?

  Maybe she should go Thursday.

  Maybe she shouldn’t.

  Should.

  Shouldn’t

  Maybe she…

  Crap. Perhaps she should just hide and never talk to any man ever again. That seemed to be the safest bet.

  Chapter Seven

  “Pour me some more of that sex wine,” Vivien said as she held her glass toward Lorna. She sat on a thick pillow on the floor across from where Heather and Lorna sat on the couch.

  “Please stop calling it sex wine,” Heather begged with a soft laugh. She’d refused to drink any of it, staying with her vodka.

  “How are the hips, old lady?” Vivien asked. “Feeling better?”

  Heather nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I overdid it at a property renovation. I helped haul supplies up three stories and I’m feeling those five-gallon buckets of drywall plaster.”

  “That sounds awful. I’ll stick to my treadmill,” Vivien said.

  “I’m more of a go-for-a-walk exerciser,” Lorna admitted. “I never got into a gym routine.”

  Heather held the opened book on her lap. She’d been flipping through the pages. So far the front section had been a list of names, people who wanted to talk to dead loved ones and what they’d been willing to pay for the privilege. In the 1930s, the entries began to change. The requests became less about grieving parents and more about people trying to locate missing wills and trinkets. Since it was in the middle of the Great Depression, it was easy to understand that people had been desperate for money.

  “William has good taste,” Vivien said as Lorna poured more into the woman’s stemless wine glass. “This bottle isn’t the cheapest one in the store, that’s for sure. He must really like you.”

  Lorna had not shown them the card. The other two had teased the man enough. When they asked, she just said he’d wanted to ask her out properly and left it at that.

  Vivien stared into her glass. “I wonder what vodka chardonnay would taste like.”

  “And with that, you’re now officially cut off,” Heather decreed. To Lorna, she said, “When we were in high school—you know, drinking, um, oh so legally or whatnot—Viv decided to make beer floats. Cheap beer and vanilla ice cream.”

  “Ew.” Lorna wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Dairy and bee
r don’t sound like a good combination.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t,” Heather assured her, turning another page. “Not at all.”

  Vivien laughed, sliding off her pillow in her amusement. “I can’t believe you all drank it. Everyone threw up that night. It was so gross.” Her laughter died a little and she seemed lost in a memory as she whispered, “Man, I miss being young and stupid. Sam and I used to have the most fun.”

  “I miss being a mother,” Heather said. “I miss being annoyed at four in the morning because someone had a nightmare.”

  “What about you, Lorna?” Vivien prompted. “What do you miss?”

  “I miss…” Lorna rubbed the back of her neck. She never talked about this. No one had ever asked her to talk about it, at least not in a way that wasn’t trolling for gossip. “I miss the idea of having someone to grow old with. I look in the mirror and see the age sneaking onto my face. I feel like all the wrinkles are in there just waiting to pop out. I don’t feel ugly or old, just sad that I won’t have someone with me who experienced what I looked like when I was twenty, or when I skinny-dipped in a lake, or when I was glowing and pregnant. I know it’s silly, but I miss the possibility of that future. Even if I were to find someone again, not that I’m looking to remarry, I keep thinking that there is no way we’ll have that seventieth anniversary together with the slide-show memories and all our grandkids and great-grandkids around us. No one else remembers Jennifer and Jacob teething at the same time, or Nicholas asking to give his brother a bath in the toilet. It makes me sad. I can tell the stories, but no one else will remember them with me.”

  “You never suspected him.” Vivien’s words were more of a statement than a question.

  “Our marriage wasn’t perfect. There were times when I thought about leaving Glenn, or hitting him with my car, or taking off on a separate vacation to get a break.” Lorna felt tears welling in her eyes. She was so tired of crying about this. “I expected to grow old with my husband, rocking on the porch swing, talking about our legacy.”