A Spirited Gift

“You spoke rightly, girl,” Rafe assured me—not as alone as I’d thought. “People change. Look at me! I was a husband and a father. What did people see—a pirate. I guess I’m like yer old man, eh? Now that you don’t have to spend so much time with your lover, mayhap you can work harder on my situation.”

“Maybe so.” I realized he wasn’t empathizing with me so much as wanting my full attention.

“What plans have we for finding the magistrate’s diary?”

“I don’t have any plans right now except to take a hot shower, put on my pajamas and have a cup of hot chocolate. I might even watch some TV.”

We crossed Duck Road together, the pirate floating beside me. Traffic was back to normal—a car honked its horn at me—and not because the driver knew me.

“Throw some rum into that mix and I might join you,” Rafe said with a laugh.

“I don’t think so, but thanks for the offer. This is private time, the kind where you go off and do whatever ghosts do.”

“Have I mentioned that I’m willing to show you where I buried my treasure?”

“No. You still have a treasure?”

“Aye! And a right good bit of booty it is. Enough to keep a girl in geegaws for a long time. Interested?”

Chapter 34

“This is for finding the diary, I guess?” I wondered if he thought a bribe would make a big difference. Of course—he was a pirate—he’d think to grease my palm.

“It is,” he admitted. “Ye don’t seem to be motivated much to the task. I thought my presence was onerous enough, but that hasn’t done it. What about treasure? Aye, that’s the stuff dreams are made of. It means little to me now.”

“I suppose not.” We had reached a bend in the road that was protected from prying eyes by thick bushes. I felt comfortable looking at him as I spoke. “I’m sure anyone would like to have your treasure—and I’m your descendant, so I guess I’m entitled to it. But I can only do what I can do. The world won’t stop turning for me to find the diary in the next five minutes. I’m doing the best I can.”

I realized that I was crying during that last part and started walking faster toward home. I didn’t want anyone to see me this way.

Rafe followed me—there was no getting rid of him. “Women! A man can’t say what’s on his mind without a woman blubbering all over. My own blood relation is a watering pot. And you’re not even angry with me—it’s your lover that’s bothering you. He told you your pa is no good and that hurt your bloody feelings.”

“Go away!”

“I will when you take care of my need.”

“I told you—I’ll handle it tomorrow. Believe me, a treasure is nothing compared to getting rid of you.”

“Stop your bawlin’! How can you be related to me?”

I took out my cell phone as though I were taking out a pistol. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the witch. She’ll send you away without the diary.”

“Ye made your point. Good night to you then.” And he was gone.

I sat down on the front stairs leading up to the house and stared at the night that was closing in around me.

I hadn’t wanted to fight with Kevin about Danny. Would he even let him stay at the Blue Whale now? If the universe was trying to show me that it was better to tell the truth than to lie—it was doing a poor job of it.

“Dae?” Gramps called as he opened the door behind me, golden light spilling out into the darkness. “I thought someone was out here. Old Roger was barking up a storm. Are you okay?”

Old Roger was the next-door neighbor’s German shepherd. He’d been faithful in announcing visitors to our home for the last ten years.

“Fine.” I wiped my eyes and tried to stop sniffling. “I thought you were going to be late.”

“I thought so too. But Tim swung by—looking for you—and he offered to help me get the tree out from in front of the garage. I took him up on it. Are you coming inside?”

“Yes. We have to talk, Gramps.”

“Okay. Let me put some coffee on. It sounds bad.”

Over fresh coffee and stale cinnamon rolls, I told him everything, from watching my father at the bar a few times each week to letting him stay at Missing Pieces. I didn’t know what the universe would do to me in this case, but I knew telling Gramps was the right thing to do.

When I was finished and had stopped crying—maybe Rafe was right about me being a watering pot—I waited to hear what Gramps had to say. He was silent for a long time, thinking it over while he chewed and swallowed. His blue eyes didn’t give anything away.

This was how I remembered him from when I was a teenager. My mom would ask him to speak to me about some escapade or another—like the time I went to a beach party I was forbidden to go to.

He’d come home, change his uniform for a T-shirt and old jeans. Then we’d sit at the table until we talked about whatever it was. And we’d all feel better. I hoped we’d all feel better this time too.

“Do you like what you’ve seen so far?” he finally asked after a swallow of coffee (there was no other way to get the dry cinnamon roll down).

“Do I—what?”

“Your father. Now that you’ve met him and talked to him, do you like what you’ve seen of him?”