Текст книги "Body and Soul"

Автор книги: Стэйси Кейд

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

More than any of that, though, I wanted my old life back. Even my afterlife had been better than this. At least I’d been me, and the people who could see me knew I was me. Now, at best, I might one day be free, back to spirit form and hoping for the light, but it couldn’t go back to the way it was with Will. Not with knowing his true feelings about Lily. Like maybe he’d have rather had her back from the light than me.

Fantastic.

Will passed the Turners’ street and pulled around the corner into Sacred Heart, as was our practice. The Turner house backed to an empty lot, and Sacred Heart, a huge cemetery, was across the street from that lot. It was my cemetery, in fact. Living as Lily Turner, I was now closer to my original body than I’d been since I was in it. Irony, right?

In any case, the cemetery groundskeeper’s shed was on the outer edge of the property and the perfect place to hide the Dodge from view while Will dropped me off or picked me up. This additional subterfuge was, unfortunately, necessary. Will was still persona non grata around the Turner household—Mrs. Turner still blamed him for what had happened at the hospital. And my first attempt at sneaking out through the front door a few weeks ago had ended in the neighbor tattling on me, and my being forced to come up with a story that involved taking a long walk as part of my physical therapy (lie), and how if there had been a car in the driveway it must have been after I left (BIG lie).

I pulled at the handle and shoved the door open, ready to jump—well, stumble—out as soon as possible.

“Wait,” Will said. “I…I’m sorry, Alona.”

But it was one of those apologies that didn’t sound all that apologetic. It was the “I’m sorry if you’re upset” bullshit Chris and a couple of other ex-boyfriends had tried at various times on me. Uh-huh. There was a reason why they were exes. Well, reasons beyond my dying and, in Chris’s case, his cheating. Though those were good reasons, too.

Will tapped an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel, watching his hands instead of me. “I think we should just agree that we’re doing our best to find a solution to this…situation, and we should try not to take the stress of it out on each other.”

“Fine,” I said tonelessly. He could say whatever he wanted. It didn’t change the fact that I still was—and always would be—the bad guy. For not being Lily, for not being grateful for the chance to be Lily. Whatever.

He sighed. “I’m going to try to see Malachi again tomorrow. It’s safer if you stay here—”

“That’s fine. I’m going to see Misty tomorrow.” The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I’d made the decision. But I guess some part of me had been mulling it over since seeing her in Malachi’s waiting room. I knewMisty, probably better than anyone. She was not prone to scaring easily or imagining things that weren’t there. Heck, when I’d triedto haunt her, she hadn’t even noticed. If she thought “Alona” was haunting her, she probably had good reason to, and I wanted to find out what was going on, even if Will didn’t. Someone out there was taking advantage of my absence and pretending to be me, and doing it so well that even Misty, the person who’d known me best in my old life, believed it. That was sonot going to stand. I wanted to know who was behind it so I could kick ass accordingly.

He looked at me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I gave him a tight smile and felt the still-tender skin of my scar stretch painfully with the movement. “Then I guess we’re even.”

“How are you going to get there?”

Oh. That would be a small problem. Misty lived on the other side of town, closer to where I used to live. Car privileges weren’t exactly up for the asking these days in the Turner household—near-fatal car accidents tend to have that effect—and walking with a bad leg was pretty much out of the question. I shrugged, hoping it looked breezy and unconcerned. “I’ll figure it out.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I’ll take you.”

“So you can spy on me, make sure I’m taking proper care of Lily?” I demanded. “No thanks.”

“I’m trying to make sure we all stay safe, okay?”

“Fine,” I said immediately. “Then you’ll take me to Malachi’s with you, if it’s about keeping allof us safe.” He’d walked right into that one. Not that I wanted to go—can you say giant waste of time?—but, by God, I was going to hold him to those stupid standards he thought were so fair. He couldn’t argue, after today, that hewould be safer without me.

He grimaced but said nothing.

That’s what I thought.“Good. Pick me up here tomorrow at noon, and we’re going to Misty’s first.” I levered myself out of the car, using the door as support.

“What are you going to tell the Turners?” He was, unfortunately, correct to ask. Mrs. Turner was the very definition of overprotective. I’d had to wait until she took Tyler out shopping this afternoon to be able to sneak out and meet Will.

“That I’ve made some new friends with motorcycles and we’re going to have an orgy in the park,” I said. It wasn’t any of his business how I managed “my” family.

He threw me a dark look.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it. Unlike somepeople, I actually have a spine when it comes to dealing with parents.”

He glared at me, spots of red rising in his cheeks. And okay, maybe implying he was a mama’s boy was a bit of a low blow, but it was true. I limped out of the way and started to shut the door.

“Hey,” he called.

I leaned down to see him, expecting retaliation for my slam on how he handled—or didn’t—his mom. “Yeah?” I asked warily.

“I know who you are, no matter what you look like,” he said quietly, surprising me.

Maybe.I nodded at him and slammed the door before the tears filling my eyes escaped. But I was beginning to think the real problem might be that who I was was just not good enough. Apparently, it had been one thing when I was the pretty face and the good body, but now, when there was nothing left of me but me, well, that was a different story. And there was no fix—easy or seemingly impossible—for that.

I watched to make sure Alona crossed the street safely, and then I pulled away from the cemetery and headed home, her words still rattling around in my head.

She was wrong. Yes, okay, it was a little weird to watch her as Lily. And yeah, sometimes it bothered me to see her do or say things that I knew were not like Lily.

But it wasn’t because I thought Alona wasn’t good enough to be Lily, temporary condition or not. It was just, for lack of a better word, jarring. Like hearing a cat bark.

I was doing the best that I could, too. The friend I thought I’d never talk to again was now inhabited by the spirit of the girl I’d never dreamed I’d ever talk to at all. It was complicated and confusing, to say the least.

And every time Alona tore Lily down, I felt it. I had an obligation to look out for Lily since she couldn’t look out for herself anymore. Yeah, Lily was in the light and probably could give a rat’s ass what anyone said about her. But you try remembering that when she’s sitting right next to you…or seems to be, anyway. It felt disloyal—like dishonoring her memory– notto defend her.

I wasn’t asking Alona to be happy about it or—God help me—to appreciate it, but just not to act like getting stuck inside Lily’s body was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, up to and including getting run over by a freaking bus.

Especially because I was beginning to get a little worried. It was going to be one thing to pull Alona out of there. But add to that the necessity of pulling her out without destroying her spirit and killing Lily…and things weren’t looking so good. Even the Order, with all their tech and research, hadn’t been able to work around that. They were just willing to let Lily die in order to capture Alona.

Then, even if we managed to find a way to work around all of that, there was the question of what to do with Lily. Her parents…they couldn’t go through losing their daughter again. Even though “Lily” had never woken from her coma, they didn’t know that. To them, she was back and on her way to recovery. It would destroy them to see her land in the hospital again. Even Alona knew that.

We hadn’t discussed it, but there was a distinct possibility Alona might be stuck for a while. Possibly a lot longer than either of us had hoped or imagined. Which she would hate with the fire of the sun, and which wouldn’t be so great for me, either, for a variety of reasons. My life was complicated enough as it was already.

Pulling up to my house, I saw Sam’s pickup in the driveway. Right next to my mom’s Corolla. My mom and her boyfriend/boss were here…alone. Uh-oh.

But they were old, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Surely they weren’t…

I grimaced and parked behind my mom’s car. I’d make a lot of noise on the approach so I wouldn’t catch them by surprise. I’m not an idiot; I knew what went on, but that didn’t mean I wanted to witness something that would be burned into my brain, forever flaring up at the least convenient moments.

But as soon as I reached the back door, I realized I didn’t have to worry. Through the window in the door, I could see my mom at the kitchen table, alone. Thank God. Except her shoulders were slumped and she seemed smaller than ever, hunched in her chair.

I opened the back door cautiously. “Mom?”

“Hi, sweetie,” she said, without turning around, but I could tell she’d been crying by the sound of her voice.

“What’s wrong?” I came in and closed the door behind me. “Where’s Sam?”

“Oh.” She waved a hand. “He’s in the basement, checking the air conditioner.” She frowned at me with red-rimmed eyes as I took the seat across from her. “The hallway back by your bedroom is freezing again.”

Great. Only one thing that could mean. But I couldn’t deal with that yet. “What happened?”

She smiled and picked up her mug of tea. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Mom, you’re not fine. Crying alone in the kitchen is not—”

“Shhhh.” She frowned. “Not so loud.”

Okaaay. So Sam didn’t know she was crying, which meant…what? “Can you please just tell me what happened?”

She smiled again, and this time I clearly saw sadness there as well. “Sam…” she began slowly.

“Did he break up with you?” Damn it, Sam. I liked him, thought he was good for my mom, who needed someone to make her laugh. “If this is because of what happened at the diner…” I’d had to quit the diner a couple of weeks ago, after a ghost just would not get the message that I was off duty as a ghost-talker when I was working as a busboy. Said ghost had decided to express his displeasure by sweeping a table clear of dishes…while the people were still eating, unfortunately.

Sam had been pretty cool about it, and no one had blamed me. The customers had been stunned at first and then eventually blamed it on the table legs being uneven. Yes, most people will find a way to explain the inexplicable so as not to acknowledge the existence of the supernatural. But clearly I couldn’t continue to work there without risking exposure…or someone’s injury by flying dinnerware.

“Will you let me finish?” my mom asked in exasperation.

“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in surrender.

“He wants me to move in with him,” she said carefully, her attention focused on the mug in her hands.

“Oh. Uh…” I’d not been expecting that, and, as with other moments in my life where my next words would be essential…my mind was blank. “Shouldn’t you, uh, at least be engaged first so that he…”

She looked up at me, amused. “So he’s not taking advantage?”

My face burned. “Well, uh…yeah.”

She set her mug down and patted my shoulder with a laugh. “Thank you. I love you, too.”

As always, my mom seemed to understand where I was coming from even when I couldn’t quite get the words right. I guess that’s what made her my mom.

“And if Sam had his way,” she said, “that’s exactly the way it would be.”

I tilted my head to one side, trying to follow what she was saying. “You mean he asked you to marry him?” I demanded. If so, this was the first I’d heard of it.

“Not so loud,” she reminded me with a frown. “And yes. Several times.”

I sat back in my chair, my words gone again. “And you said…”

She took a breath and let it out slowly, studying the mug in front of her. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“So, he’s suggesting moving in as an alternative,” I said, finally getting it. “He’s trying to work up to the getting-married part.”

“He didn’t exactly position it that way,” she said wryly. “But I suspect that’s his goal, yes.”

It took a second to imagine Sam with a place at our table here, a chair that would be his. Unless…maybe it wouldn’t be him at our table, but us at his.

My stomach dropped a little at the thought. Moving into Sam’s place? I couldn’t picture it. I’d never even been there. It was an old fix-it-up farmhouse on the edge of town; I knew that much. Old and isolated; that could either be really good…or really bad for me.

Then a second thought struck, just as hard as the first. Maybe they weren’t planning on my tagging along.

I was starting classes at Richmond Community College in a couple of weeks. Apartments were available near campus, but living so close to that many people—and the ghosts following them around—without a spirit guide seemed like a bad idea. At least my mom knew what was going on when she saw me seemingly talking to open air. Not that I wanted to live with her for the rest of my life, but it was going to take a little more time to figure out a workable solution, now that Alona was…unavailable.

I glanced involuntarily toward my bedroom. The temperature drop my mom had referenced likely meant a spectral visitor, or ten. I could hear vague whispers coming from the hall as they talked among themselves. At least they knew enough to know I wouldn’t like finding them here and were trying to be discreet. Without a spirit guide to keep them in line, they’d been breaking all kinds of rules lately, like coming to my house and waiting for me in my freaking bedroom.

But I’d find a way to deal with it, if I had to. I wasn’t going to hold my mom prisoner with my problems. She’d already been through that enough.

I cleared my throat. “So, uh, whose house?” I asked. “I mean, are you going there, or is he coming here? And when is—”

She shook her head. “I’m going to tell him no.”

“Because you’re not ready or…”

She avoided my gaze.

I sighed. “Because of me.”

“You’re my son,” she said fiercely, looking up at me. “And we take care of each other.”

I nodded, recognizing the words as similar to those she’d said in the hours following my father’s funeral. It had been only the two of us for years now.

She straightened up. “Besides, you need me right now with Alona off flitting around somewhere, paying no attention to her duties.” Her mouth tightened in disapproval.

I grimaced at the lie I’d given her to explain Alona’s absence and the increase in ghost activity around me. I couldn’t tell her that Alona was directly responsible for Lily’s amazing “recovery.” My mom had handled the ghost-talker thing fairly well, but Alona’s spirit in Lily’s body? That was beyond even her most liberal thinking. And she’d never particularly liked Alona to begin with, so I didn’t want to make things worse.

“Mom, as much as I appreciate that, there’s nothing you can do,” I pointed out, trying to be as careful as I could not to hurt her feelings. “This is something I have to work out on my own.”

“I know that,” she said, with exaggerated patience. “I’m certainly not capable of helping you resolve any of your”—she eyed the basement door, which was open a crack, checking to see that Sam hadn’t returned—“issues.” She reached out and took my hand, squeezing it. “But I can at least make sure you have a safe place to be yourself until you figure it out.”

I shook my head, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes and nose. “You shouldn’t have to give up your life, not any more than you already have.”

She waved my words away. “Who says I’m giving up anything?” She stood and took her mug to the sink. “That farmhouse of his is a wreck still, especially the kitchen. And in six months or a year”—she shrugged—“his renovations will be done and maybe you’ll be ready to be on your own. It’s not the end of the world.”

But I could hear the forced note of cheeriness in her voice. Sam had already proposed multiple times, and moving in together was less than what he wanted. How long would he be willing to wait for that? Especially without knowing the truth about what was going on with me.

My mom had decided that she didn’t want Sam to feel forced into believing something that most people found pretty far out there. Okay, fine, but without that context, he might think she’d never come around. That we were like those permanently messed-up, codependent mothers and sons. Norman Bates and his mom, or whatever.

“Do me a favor,” I said.

She turned away from the sink and raised an eyebrow at me, her hands already covered in bubbles from scrubbing the tea mug. She always cleans when she’s upset, especially when she’s not admitting that she’s upset. “What’s that?” she asked, obviously suspicious that I was going to try to talk her into something.

“Just…don’t say no yet.”

She opened her mouth, but I kept going before she could speak. “Give me a couple more weeks. Tell him you need time to think about it, if you have to, but don’t tell him no. Please.”

“Nothing is going to change that quickly.” She looked tired suddenly. “I don’t want to give him false hope.”

“I’m working on something, okay? I just need a little more time.” If I couldn’t at least find a lead by then, it probably wasn’t going to happen any time soon. In which case, contingency plans would need to be made. And living at home forever was not one of them.

My mom narrowed her eyes at me. “William, if you’re putting yourself in danger—”

“Totally safe, promise.” Which was true…to an extent. Leaving things as they were would be far more dangerous—that much was certain.

She nodded slowly, not quite sure whether to believe me. “All right.”

“Thanks.” I stood, shoved my chair in, and, before leaving the kitchen, took the extra couple of steps to kiss her cheek, startling her. “I got this. Don’t worry,” I said, wishing I felt as certain as I sounded.

But first things first. Before I could continue working on a way to get Alona back in spirit form—and consequently, giving my mom her life back—I had to address a more immediate problem. I left my mom at the sink, with the sound of Sam’s footsteps coming up the basement stairs, to head back to my bedroom.

Once upon a time, my house had been a ghost-free zone. I had done my best to hide my identity as a ghost-talker, and the few ghosts who’d figured it out had never managed to follow me home.

Ghosts are not omniscient. They don’t know anything more than they did when they were alive, other than what they learn by watching, listening, and, well, walking through walls. So my exact address had remained a mystery to them, thankfully.

The trouble was, as soon as my reputation started to spread—thanks in part to Alona’s initial desire to make sure everyone knew she was myguide and therefore better/more important than the rest of them—more spirits started recognizing me on sight. And constantly staying on guard and making sure I wasn’t followed became more difficult. When Alona had been my guide, she’d kept everyone in line, literally. But now? Not so much.

Unfortunately, the dead look pretty much like the living, unless their clothes are obviously outdated or you catch them passing through a solid object, which they can’t do when they’re around me anyway. So, checking to make sure the strange guy behind you on the sidewalk is, in fact, breathing and not a ghost trying to stalk you is a little tricky.

As it turns out, ghosts don’t usually mind being asked about their status in the living world—it’s attention, and for most of them, they’ve been running short of that for years—but the living tend to kind of…freak out.

I’d done the best I could to be careful when coming to and going from my house, but it only took one or two of them to track me down and then spread the word. Consequently, my bedroom at times now had more ghosts in it than a hospital, cemetery, and funeral home combined. Fun.

As soon as I hit the hallway, someone noticed me, and the whispers that I’d been able to ignore in the kitchen started to rise in volume until they hit what could only be described as a clamor. Five or so ghosts were crowded into the hall in a half-assed kind of line that started at my bedroom doorway and crossed in front of the bathroom.

Doing my best to project a calm that was in complete contrast to the sweaty nervousness I was feeling, I ignored the voices and the hands reaching out to grasp me.

“Will, please—”

“I need you to tell them—”

“—you help us?”

“—stop him from selling the house?”

No one tried to pin me down—that was good—and I managed to slip through into my bedroom. I shut the door, catching someone’s fingers between it and the frame. An indignant and surprised yelp followed.

Yeah, some of them were still trying to adjust to the idea of having physicality around me. That was actually a good thing. It meant they weren’t as likely to try physical coercion or violence to get what they wanted…yet.

In my room, the ghost situation was worse—probably ten of them—but at least I recognized most of them as people from the list Alona had begun assembling for me a few months ago. They knew I’d been working on helping them. They’d seen Grandpa B., one of their former fellow haunters, go into the light, and I’d told them about how Liesel and Eric had finally found their peace last month. So they wouldn’t get too pushy…most likely.

“Any luck?” a ghost in a poodle skirt asked hopefully, her ponytail swinging as she got off the foot of the bed to greet me. A bunch of faces turned toward me expectantly, including that of a vaguely familiar-looking woman wearing a tight blue business suit, her dark red hair in a fancy twist. She actually pushed her way forward from the back to hear my response.

They all thought I was looking for Alona. It was, again, a story I’d been forced to come up with on the fly to explain her absence and my diminished ability to help them. There were too many of them, and without Alona, I couldn’t get as much done. Not to mention the time suck that researching anything and everything to try to separate Alona from Lily had turned out to be.

Leaning back against the door, I shook my head. An audible groan went up from them at once, as if they’d rehearsed it. And I suppose, in a way, they had. They were showing up here two or three times a week now, with the same question, and I was always forced to give the same answer.

Telling them the truth would have been a mess. If other ghosts knew what Alona had been able to do—taking on a body, possessing it, for lack of a better term—there might be a run of them trying to do the same on anyone they found who seemed to be in an unconscious or comatose state. And that was the last thing we needed. Most of them probably wouldn’t succeed…or not for very long, at least. It took a great deal of power, apparently, to do what Alona was doing. A red-level spirit or above, according to the classification system the Order used. Still, we weren’t entirely sure of the effects these attempts might have on the living, nor did we want a rash of five-minute-long possessions, which would, frankly, be creepy as hell.

So as far as anyone in the spirit world was concerned, Alona had taken off for locations unknown after we’d had a fight. That last part, at least, didn’t require much of an imagination stretch.

The poodle-skirt girl shook her head, ponytail bobbing with the movement. “You should have apologized right away,” she said disapprovingly.

“How do you know I was the one in the wrong?” I asked, offended in spite of the fact that we were talking about an argument that had never happened.

“Please.” She rolled her eyes and flounced over to perch at the foot of my bed again.

“I keep telling you, she’s gone.” Evan, the creepy janitor dude from my former high school, spoke up, smashing his mop down impatiently into the bucket/wringer that was always with him. “Disappeared, poof, vamoosed. She doesn’t respond when you summon her. She’s not here at her time of death.” He shook his head. “The bond is broken. She ain’t coming back.”

Which was all true, but not the direction I wanted this conversation to go. I held my hands up and tried soothing. “We don’t know what—”

“No, I think we do.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “And you need to start focusing on what’s important, not chasing after your piece of ghosty tail.” He smirked.

A barely muffled round of snickering emerged from the crowd, and I felt my face get hot. Evidently, Alona and I had not been as discreet as I’d thought. Technically, there wasn’t anything wrong with our relationship. Except, I suppose, the part where I was alive and she was…not. Still, it wasn’t like that. We’d known each other when she was alive, and we were the same age…Oh, forget it.

I tried to rally and regain control over the room, despite all the smirking faces. “And I take it you want me to start by helping you?” I asked Evan.

“I’ve been waiting.” He leaned his mop against the wall and stepped forward, hands out in an “I’m here” gesture and a grin stretching across his acne-scarred face.

Except he’d been sent to the back of the line by Alona, I knew, which meant that most, if not all, of these people should have been ahead of him. To my surprise, though, none of them protested his advancement, which could only mean they’d given up on the order Alona had established and were desperate enough to see someone, anyone, helped to give them hope that they would one day be in his position.

Not good.

It was also a problem because it was Evan.

“Well, come on, then.” He stepped around several of the others and patted my desk chair eagerly. “Turn on your machine and let’s get cracking.” He looked from my computer to me expectantly, and the ghosts shuffled and shifted around in my room, moving closer like they wanted to be sure not to miss any of the show.

I sighed. “Evan, you killed people.”

“It was an accident!” he protested.

“I know,” I said wearily. Sort of. To hear Evan’s side of it, he’d only intended to scare the kids he’d caught tagging and egging the school in the middle of the night. Actually, he hadn’t even caught them. He’d heard gossip about the intended midnight prank during the day and planned to stake out the school until they showed. It had, apparently, become a point of pride for the Groundsboro students in the early nineties to torture him by making messes they knew he’d have to clean up. And he’d become equally determined to catch them in the act and turn them over to the cops. Unfortunately—or not, as it turned out—they’d moved up their plans, and by the time he arrived, they were already done and trying to make a not-so-clean getaway. Per Evan’s description, it looked like a chicken factory and a paint factory had exploded simultaneously—minus the feathers…and the fact that there is no such thing as a chicken factory. But whatever. This was Evan’s story.

The perpetrators scrambled to get back into their pickup, even as they taunted Evan on his late arrival. Infuriated and humiliated, he’d accelerated at them in his van, intending to brake and swerve at the last second. Except he didn’t.

He said his brakes had failed, but the police hadn’t been able to find evidence of that. Two kids had ended up dead, and a third one was badly injured. It didn’t help that one of the kids who’d died was the son of a prominent lawyer. Evan had been convicted, given the death penalty, and executed by lethal injection in 2002, right before they put a moratorium on the death penalty in Illinois, which still rankled him to this day.

“You’ve already tried apologizing,” I pointed out. He’d attempted to make amends to the affected families before his death, but it hadn’t helped. He was still stuck here, in between. “What else do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” He folded his arms over his jump suited chest. “That’s your job to figure out.”

Like I didn’t have enough to do? Like my own problems weren’t already trying to hold my head under the water until I quit breathing? At least I was tryingto solve them instead of dumping them in someone else’s lap. So, blame it on frustration, momentary insanity, or just forgetting for a second that the guy was a killer—no matter what he said—but suddenly I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. “How about telling the truth, for a change? You didn’t swerve because you didn’t want to, and that’s what’s keeping you here.”

Dumb, Will, definitely dumb.

He lunged at me, and the room exploded in noise.

The woman in the suit, the one who I’d noticed earlier, appeared in front of me suddenly, blocking Evan’s path. “Back off.” She shoved at him, and he stumbled, looking stunned. “And the rest of you, shut it already,” she said to the others. She glanced at me, as if expecting my gratitude and/or approval.

But I was too distracted. I recognized her now. It was Spring Break Girl from Malachi’s place…except she was dressed differently. She’d ditched her bikini top and shorts for a suit that clung to her curves and a fancy, twisty hairstyle, both of which made her look older than the nineteen or twenty she’d probably been. How was that even possible? Ghosts couldn’t change their appearances, not like that.

“Do you really think this is going to get you anywhere?” she demanded of the other spirits, hands on her hips. With her attention on them again, I got a better glimpse of the back of her head, which appeared slightly, uh, dented.

I grimaced.

“Who are you?” Evan asked her, sulking. Defeated by a girl—one more float for his pity parade.

She turned and beamed at me with determination and maybe the faintest hint of crazy. “I’m the help he’s been looking for.”

Oh. Crap.