“Hello?” A bewildered Mr. Haglund was about to pop his head through the open doorway to peek inside, so I did the only thing I could think of and slammed the door in his face.

        “OUCH!” he cried out.

        Oops. We didn’t have a peephole, so I pressed my face through the door. Mr. Haglund was rubbing his nose.

        “I know you’re in there,” he said with a nasally twang.

        I withdrew my head and paced over the round Oriental rug in the entryway. “This is most unfortunate timing,” I said. “Most unfortunate.”

        “Who is it?” said father.

        “Our neighbor across the street. From the cemetery.”

        Mother gasped. “Cemetery?”

        “That horrid Mr. Haglund.”

        “Ah, yes.” She relaxed. “Of course.”

        “Who did you think I meant?”

        “No one, darling. No one at all.”

        The graveyard’s owner shouted through the door. “I have an offer you can’t refuse.”

         “Some people,” said father, “can’t take no for an answer.”

        “I’m sure he’ll go away,” said mother.

        But Mr. Haglund persisted. “I’m not going away, not ‘til you hear me out.”

        “Maybe I should charm him and be done with it,” I said.

        “Young lady, you will do no such thing,” said mother. “That is the path to perdition. Meddling with the minds of mortals is not the sort of thing to gain you entrance into the celestial kingdom come judgment day.”

        The clock kept ticking. Time waited for no man. Or ghost.

        “Fine,” I said. “We’ll do it the hard way.” I yelled through the door, “Just a moment.”  

        I rummaged through the hall closet, slipped into a long woolen coat, and pulled on a pair of mittens and long rubber waders that went up past the knee to disguise the fact that I had no knees. Finally I pulled on a hat and wrapped my face with a neon orange scarf I’d knitted back in the early 80s.

        “Any gaps?” I twirled around.

        “The only gap is the chasm between that man’s ears,” said father.

        I nodded in agreement and yanked open the door. The slack-jaw man was taken aback, greeted as he was by a pile of laundry.

        “Can I help you, Sir?”

         “I would like a word with the head of your household, young … lady?”

        “I’m afraid my parents are both out.”

        “Then who were you talking to?” He leaned through the doorway. I did my best to block his view, but he was a head taller.

        “Judge Rolando,” I said. “I never miss an episode.”

        “I see. And when do you expect them back? I have urgent business, and I won’t be put off any longer.”

        “They’re out of town.”

        “Where can they be reached?”

        “Oh they don’t have phones. Terribly old fashioned.”

        His eyes wandered over our ancient belongings and antique furniture. “I see,” he said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why, if they’re so old fashioned do they have a TV?”

        “My parents might be stuck in the past, but I’m a thoroughly modern girl. Besides, it’s a terribly old television set.”

        He craned his neck toward my face, and I hiked my scarf even higher.

        “It’s nearly 80 degrees out. Why on earth are you wearing that get-up?”

        I was ready for that question. “I’ve been a little under the weather lately,” I said. “Probably the flu.”

        His face went ashen. “Flu?”

        “Terrible ailment the flu? Few people realize how dangerous such an itty-bitty thing as a virus can be.” I coughed and made some sniffling noises. He took a large step back, covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. “Now if you don’t mind,” I said, “we’d like to finish our supper.”

        “Ah hah! You said we.”

        “Did I?”

        There was a shrill Meow behind me, a dreadful cry Puss only makes when someone touches his tail. He hates when anyone touches his tail, and has ever since the mishap with the rocking chair.

        Thank you, mother.

        “Me and the cat. But I will be sure to send along your message if you wish to give it to me.”

        “Very well,” he grumbled. “You tell your parents I’ll pay thirty percent above current market value for this property.”

        I glared at the man. “I’ll have you know this isn’t a property, Sir. It’s our home, and if my parents wish to entertain your offer, they will communicate that wish to you. Until then, please make no further inquiries in writing, by telegram, pony express, carrier pigeon, e-mail, or especially in person. Good day.”

        I slammed the door again, this time catching his toes. He howled in pain. “You haven’t heard the last from me. Your parents aren’t the only stubborn ones. I never give up.” I peeked out the front window as he strode away. He turned back one last time and waved his handkerchief through the air. “Never!”

        “Something tells me he’s not going to give up,” said father.

        “I have to go.” I peeled off my laundry pile layer by layer. “Don’t wait up,” I said, and flew out through the door. It was a joke of course. Ghosts didn’t sleep.

#

        I’d already missed the 5 o’clock bus, which meant traveling the seventeen blocks by foot, such as it was.

        A gliding ghost can travel nearly twice as fast as the fastest breather, since we’re not subject to the same physical restrictions, but it was going to be close.

        I cut through the park to shave off a couple blocks, and had the strangest sensation somebody was watching me. It couldn’t have been a breather, as I’d never met one who could see a ghost.

        There was a squeaking sound. One of the swings was moving back and forth. I stopped and a chill came over me like an icy hand pressing against the small of my back. Despair rolled over me like a gray mist.

        A woman pushed a pram toward the play area. I wanted to call out to her, to warn her, but the swing stopped and the misery blew away as unexpectedly as it had come.

#

        I first met Cole at the start of summer. I thought I was alone on the third floor of the library. I usually was. So you can imagine how surprised I was when, upon carelessly bumping into one of the shelves while reading a fashion magazine and knocking a book loose on the other side, I heard a yelp of pain burst from the next aisle.

        I could have played possum. When he looked he would have found no one, just a silly magazine someone had hastily dropped on the brown industrial carpet. Instead I let out a squeal of horror. Before I knew it I was apologizing profusely.  

        “It’s okay,” he’d said, still on the other side of the shelf. “It’s just a little bump on the head.”

        There was something about his voice that grabbed ahold of me at once. Something tender and kind, but tinged with darkness. Perhaps it was something only a ghost could hear. And it wasn’t your typical teenaged brooding. There was a scarred overtone that covered some deep wound. I’m not going to lie. It was yummy.

        For the rest of that day, and every day for the remainder of summer we met in that sliver of sacred space between where soul meets body, sitting with our backs against the stacks, neither one of us ever seeing the other. I insisted on that point, telling him it was more mysterious that way.

        No doubt he thought I was embarrassed about my appearance, covered in pimples or mauled by a mountain lion. If only. He couldn’t know I had no appearance. And yes, he might’ve been Quasimodo’s ugly cousin for all I knew, but surely the most hideous of faces beat having no face at all.

        To his credit, he never tried to peek, though I was tempted on more than one occasion. I think both of us felt that not seeing was more thrilling.

        I approached our spot, my phantom heart thumping in my remembered chest. I slid down the shelf, my back pressed against the spines of books printed long after my death, and I waited. Was I too late? Had he already gone? A minute passed, and then another, and just when I was about to lose hope.

        “I didn’t think you were coming.” He sounded glum.

        But I eased into a smile. Whenever I heard his voice, it was all I could do to keep myself from floating up to the ceiling.

        “You know how parents can be,” I said.

        “Why do you think I’m here?”

        “I was hoping …” I stopped myself, my mother’s voice chirping in my ear. We do not chase after boys. “Never mind.”

        Love is anticipation mingled with uncertainty. I think I read that somewhere. So far, Cole had made no overtly romantic overtures toward me, and there were times I thought the whole thing was in my head. That of course was my doubting phantom brain speaking. My heart whispered only certainties. He loves you. Of course he loves you.

        If only I knew which one of them to listen to. Then again, maybe I was afraid of the answer.

        “Daisy,” Cole said softly.

        His voice was a lifeline rescuing me from the quagmire of my own thoughts.

        “Yes?” I said, hope blossoming.

        “I’m not going to be able to see you anymore.”

        There went my lifeline. “Pardon?”

        “Maybe see is the wrong verb,” he said, “considering we’ve never actually seen each other. But you know what I mean.”

        “N-N-No,” I stammered. “I don’t.”

        “Summer’s over. School starts soon.”

        “That doesn’t mean we can’t still meet right here. Unless you … don’t want to.”

        “It’s not that. I like spending time with you. In fact, this has been one of the best summers of my life.”

        “Golly.” I melted completely. “I bet you say that to all the girls you’ve courted blindly in the stacks.”

        “I know that’s not a very cool thing to say.”

        “I’ve had my fill of the cold,” I said. “But I still don’t see why we have to stop meeting.”

        “It’s complicated.”

        “Try me. I think you’ll find I’m surprisingly bright, even for a girl.”

        “We go to different schools for one.”

        I’d forgotten all about that little lie. Early on he asked why we hadn’t already met, and the only thing I could come up with was that we went to different schools.

        “Once the fall semester starts,” he said, “we’ll go back to our old lives, and you’ll forget about me.”

        I laughed. I didn’t mean to, but it was such an absurd remark.

        “You listen here,” I replied. “No matter what happens, from now until the end of time, I will never forget you.”

        “Maybe you should.”

        “Where’s all this coming from? Are you a wanted criminal, a spy, a murderer?”

        He didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything.

        “Listen,” I said, diving in to fill the void. “When I make my mind up about something, I don’t change it easily, and I’ve made up my mind about you. I like you, Cole. I know girls aren’t supposed to chase after boys, but if you think you’re going to walk out of here and never see me again, you’ve got another thing coming. So help me, I will hunt you down.”

        I heard him stifle a laugh. It was music to my ears. There was silence after that, and for a moment I thought I’d scared him off. Talk about pushy. I practically shoved him off a cliff. Maybe my brain was right. Maybe I just made a colossal fool of myself. Or maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe she’d left for the summer, and I was nothing but a stand-in.

        “Can I kiss you?” he finally said.

        I nearly choked, which is pretty hard for a ghost. “You want to kiss me?”

        “In case we don’t see each other again. I think I’d regret not taking the chance.”

        For all the many fantasies I allowed myself over the more than one hundred years of my death regarding my first kiss, never once did I consider the practical and logistical problems with such an endeavor. What was I going to do, sew a woolen face and body to slip over soul like a sock puppet? I’d give the poor boy rug burns.

        “You still there?” he said.

        “I … I … “ I what? I thought to myself. I am dead, that’s what. What had I been thinking? How could I ever have thought it would work? “I’m sorry,” I said, rising. “But I have to go.”

        “After everything you just said?”

        “I know. And I truly am sorry.”

        “Daisy, wait!”

        Flying away from the scene of the crime, I collided with the elderly librarian on my way down the stairs, spinning her around and knocking the books from her hands. The old woman looked baffled, but I didn’t care. My parents were right. They were all I had. All I would ever have.  

#

        I sailed through the front door bawling my phantom eyes out like La Llorona, the wailing woman who relentlessly searched for her drowned children. But I would never have children, nor it seemed, love.

        “Ah, there you are,” said father. “Be a dear, won’t you?”

        “Not now.”

        I was half way up the staircase when he called after me, “Heartbreak isn’t any easier for the dead.”

        I stopped and stared down at the empty slump on the couch.

        “How did you know?” I said, sniffling.

        “We men have but two talents—making a woman smile and making her cry.”

        “You won’t tell mother, will you?”

        “Your secret is safe with me, Child. But come. Tell me all about it.”

        I drifted back downstairs and settled in beside him. There was the slightest pressure on my arm. The touch almost felt human. Almost.

        “There isn’t much to tell. I love a boy, and he can’t love me back.”

        “And you’re sure you’re in love?”

        “When he speaks, I want to slow time and let every syllable wash over me like waves at a beach I’ve never seen. His name warms me like the sun on the imagined skin I’d give my death for, if only for a few moments pressed against him. Sometimes I think the ache I feel for him will crumble the foundation of this old house, burying us all, or the whole universe might crack open and be swallowed by the bottomless want within me. The thought of second death is almost more bearable than imagining my flimsy existence without Cole.”

        “Ah. Yes, well that does sound like love. From what I can recall.”

        “But none of it matters anymore. We’re from different worlds, and in his world I’m nothing. Nobody. No face to look upon, no lips to kiss, no hand to hold. The girl who can never grow old.”        

Next Chapter: Chapter 3