I checked on the kids. They were all still eating. Only one had decided to smear peanut b.u.t.ter all over his face to make a "beard."

I frowned in disapproval. "Jack, knock it off. Go inside and clean up."

The little boy hopped off his seat and ran up the back steps. A couple of campers giggled at him getting in trouble, but resumed eating.

"Five minutes to finish," I announced and walked back over to sit with Ava until it was time to go inside.

"I won't say anything else about it, but I do think you should talk to him. Like, really talk to him." Ava swept her hair behind her head and tied it up. The sun hit the high part of the sky and beat down on us in the yard.

"I will. I mean, things aren't terrible. It's just different. There's a distance or something. Julia just poured salt in a festering wound," I confessed.

Ava laughed humorlessly. "She's good at that. But he's going on vacation with your family, right?"

"That's the plan. Since he can't ride with us, his dad is letting him drive the SUV down."

"Good thing. His rust bucket would probably fall apart on the way down."

I laughed. "Be nice. I love that c.r.a.ppy car. It suits him."

"It does, a little broken down and damaged, but still s.e.xy and rugged." She giggled at her own description. She was right. That was the perfect way to describe him and his car.

"Talk to him. He's worth it," she said, her tone serious.

"I will. Promise."

My aunt operated in her own time and mind. Some call it flakey, others artistic. I had no idea what I would call it except it's just how she's always been. Now that I knew about her gifts, the ability to read auras and palms, I thought she just spent part of her time in another level of consciousness. Which is why I wasn't surprised when she called and started in on a conversation as though we'd never stopped talking.

"I'm working on a new painting."

These were the first words I heard when I answered the phone. "Tell me about it."

"It's a girl with fantastic, bold wings instead of arms."

Jeannie's words were as much a collage as her paintings. I could almost see her moving her arms around in a flapping motion. "Like an angel?" I asked, trying to imagine white wings protruding from the girls back.

"No, not like an angel. They aren't on her back. They are where her arms are. Red, like fire. Like your aura."

"Like the devil bird?"

"Energy and life."

"Okay."

"She's transporting spirits between this world and the next. Carrying them like a baby."

The imagery was freaking me out. "With her wings?"

"Stop being so literal."

"Sorry." Obviously, I didn't have my aunt's gift of artistry.

"Never mind. How are you?"

This thing, this ability, was hard to talk about. The idea alone made me uncomfortable. "Send me a picture, I'd love to see it. And I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

"Working, Connor, ghosts, drama. Teenage life." I sat on a stool by the kitchen window. I could see the tire swing in Ms. Frances' yard.

"You're not telling me something."

"Psychic now?"

"No, just a good aunt," she laughed. "What's going on?"

"Just the ghosts. I hate it. I had to tell this woman she was dead but her baby survived. That was the worst."

"Sounds horrible."

"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. When this ghost was here, something weird happened. She touched me."

Jeannie didn't reply immediately, but after a beat she said, "Physically?"

"Yeah, she touched my arm. I guess Evan wasn't so special after all."

"Don't say that," she scolded. "Could you touch her back?"

"Nope. Have you ever heard of anything like this?"

"No." The tire swing started to sway, like a wind was pushing it around. I glanced up at the trees in the backyard. The branches were still.

"Connor is afraid I could get hurt."

"As he should be."

"You're worried?"

"Not exactly, but be careful. I'm coming to town in a couple weeks to check on Mom. I'll research what I can before then. Maybe we can talk to her if she's feeling up to it."

"You think I should go with you and talk to your mom?"

"What better place than the source, right?"

"I guess so." I'd never spent time with my great aunt. She'd always been a mystery even more so now that I know her history. I liked the idea of talking to her. "Let's do that. Go see her."

"Good, now listen to this idea for the painting I'm working on," she said and rambled on about collage and vintage paper while I watched the empty swing sway one yard over.

I TWISTED THE cool gla.s.s k.n.o.b on Connor's bedroom door. Antique like everything else in this historic home. As usual, the smell of his room hit me first. Or stench? Whichever. The harsh scent of chemicals from the paint he used on the wide stretch of wall, set up like a mock canvas, overpowered the dirty clothes and smelly shoes. He kept the window open and a fan on all the time. In my opinion, he flirted with brain damage from all the fumes. Then again, no one asked me.

I surveyed the mess. School books and paper covered his desk. Paint cans lined the walls, surrounded by rags and markers. Video game cases and controllers were scattered across the rug near his TV. In the middle of the chaos, I saw Connor leaning over his bed, smoothing the comforter flat. His shirt inched up in the back, showing the way his shorts sagged down his backside.

"Hey," I said, clasping my hands. My fingers itched to touch the tanned, exposed skin on his back. "Your mom sent me up. Trying to impress me with your cleaning skills?"

Connor stood up and looked around the room. He raised an eyebrow. "Not working, huh?"

I walked over and gave him a kiss. "I'm pretty sure you may qualify as one of those h.o.a.rder people."

"What?" He looked genuinely hurt. "All of my things are important."

"Okay."

Connor grabbed my hands and pulled me toward him. "Hey!" I laughed. He dropped us both on the bed with a thump.

"I like my stuff," he explained. "In the hospital, we weren't allowed many personal items. Since then I can't seem to get rid of anything." In a fluid move, he slid my body from my side of the bed so I was on top of him. This was new. A little forward, but I definitely didn't mind. He nuzzled his face into my neck. "And for the record, I plan on keeping you around, too."

"For whose record?"

He shrugged, but gave me a c.o.c.ky grin. "Just saying."

"Good thing, I guess. I'm like those nasty shoes over there here for good." I ran my hands up his neck and into his hair. Again, I noticed how his normally pale skin was brown from the sun. "You're awfully tan for someone spending his days in summer school," I said, pressing my arm against his to compare. I'm not what you called fair skinned, but there was a distinct difference in our tones. My days of working inside at art camp had kept my skin lighter than normal for this time of year.

Instantly, I regretted the comment. It's the kind of thing that sparked a fight lately. To my surprise though, he didn't respond, instead he attacked. His long fingers tickled my sides. He flipped us over until his body covered mine. I shrieked at his playfulness, something that had been missing lately.

"Stop," I begged, squirming against him.

"I think you like it," he laughed, poking me in the ribs and sending me into hysterics once again.

"Connor," I cried. "I can't breathe."

His hands stilled as he pressed against me, propping up on his elbows so I could see his face and he could see mine. I lay beneath him, trying to catch my breath.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," I said, looking up. His blue eyes held mine.

"Good." He kissed me then, shifting his weight onto my body. Our bare knees knocked against one another, and I tried to keep from squirming or gasping for breath or showing anything that revealed how much I liked him like this. Or simply how much I liked him in general.

Connor used his hand to push the collar of my shirt aside and dropped his head to my neck. I felt his lips on the sensitive skin of my shoulder and laughed, trying to worm away. He held tight, good at this kind of closeness. He made my insides twist and my hands wandered, looking for skin of my own to claim.

In the four months since everything that happened with Evan, Connor and I had grown close. Really close. We kissed a lot. At my house. In his car. Pressed against the brick walls at the ruins. Covertly in the parking lot at school.

Never on a bed.

But here we were. Sprawled across Connor's suspiciously not filthy bed, kissing and groping. Doing all those things hormonal teenagers do. His lips had moved to mine again. Each kiss pushed to another level, deepening and intensifying, to the point where I felt light-headed.

I pressed my hand to his chest and pulled away. "Wow, you must really like me." I brushed his hair out of his face. Something to buy me a little time to catch my breath. I didn't want to dwell on the tension between us lately, but I was. Dwelling, that is. He caught the hint and rolled off. He wiggled an arm under my back and curled into my side.

"You've been skipping school."

"Just once or twice. I'll still pa.s.s."

"That's hardly the point," I told him.

He lifted up his head and said, "What is the point then? I skipped a couple cla.s.ses. My friend died. She killed herself with a $500 scarf. No one found her for hours. No one cared enough to find her until it was too late. No one helped her when she needed it."

He stared at me hard. I wrapped my hand around his waist. "I'm sorry. It's horrible. Terrible. I know it's been a lot, I just don't want you to screw up school or keep things from me. I don't want this to change us."

"I've got it under control," he said. "Promise."

"If you say so." His anger vibrated off his skin and onto mine, but he remained close, so I snuggled into the warmth of his arms. When I looked over at Connor again, his eyes were closed. "I need you to tell me if I can help," I said.

Charlotte's name hung unspoken in the air. I didn't want to invoke it G.o.d forbid she appear, but we both knew what I was talking about.

"I'm okay. Promise," he said again. His hands squeezed against my back in a.s.surance.

Over his shoulder, I studied his painting wall. Drips of gold and silver ran down in trails to the drop cloth. "What's that?"

Without glancing backward, he said, "Just a new design."

I sat up. "Are those wings?" I could now make out two large wings and the beginnings of a face. I frowned. "Since when do you envision angels?"

"Since that idea came to me the other day in the middle of chemistry, which may be the worst cla.s.s to take, by the way, in the middle of the summer." He pulled me back down so that he and I were nose to nose.

I ran my hands over his face. Dark shadows were prominent on the skin under his eyes. "Are you still not sleeping well?"

"Hmmm..."

That was the only response I got and within moments his breathing was even. His arms held tight, even when I attempted to slip out of his grasp. I closed my own eyes, but couldn't settle down. The idea of his mother downstairs finding me asleep in his bed made me uncomfortable. Plus, I was so close to him, and he had this way of making me a little desperate. I wanted the bad feelings and insecurities to go away. Being next to him like this, in his bed, wrapped in his arms, lit a struggle between my heart and my mind. His lips and his hands made me dizzy. Made me weak. I wasn't sure how much I trusted myself in this situation. The solution came when he started to snore and I loosened his hands and slid carefully off the bed.

I poked around his room for a minute unsure what to do. I didn't want to leave, but he needed to rest. His exhaustion was noticeable. With nothing else to do, I decided to read until he woke up. Moving to the big chair between the bed and his TV, I cleared off the seat, trying not to make a lot of noise.

On the floor there was a pile of comic books and graphic novels. I sat on the floor and began sorting through them, looking for something that caught my interest. There was an excessive amount of zombie material. I supposed it was better than half-naked women shooting guns.

I flipped though one and paused on a page with a zombie huntress with a heaving bosom. Oh wait, there they are, I thought, tossing the book onto my discard pile. The glossy covers slid under the bed and I lifted the comforter, reaching under it to gather the books back into a pile. Instead of the books though, my fingers. .h.i.t something plastic that rattled and rolled out of reach. I ducked my head under the edge of the bed. Behind the books I saw a medicine bottle. I pulled it out.

Connor took meds for his anxiety and antidepressants. Before the medication, he didn't get one ghost visit at a time like I did. He had one after the other, in groups or several at a time. For whatever reason, the medication seemed to eliminate the visits entirely except for Evan.

The bottle felt pretty full, so I figured it fell under the bed by mistake. I placed it on the bedside table and continued to stack the books back in a neat pile, stopping occasionally to flip through any of the books that caught my eye. I poked my head under one more time to see if there were any other books under the bed and found one I had missed. As I pulled it out, I spotted another bottle. I reached for that one and grabbed it. Same meds.

Empty.

I checked the date and these were for the month of May. It was almost July. I grabbed the bottle off the table in front of me and read the date there.

June.

My mind started racing as I studied the two bottles in my hands. The bottle from May was empty like it should be. The bottle from June should only have a couple of pills left. I stared at Connor, oblivious and exhausted on the bed.