Read Online Ashes to Ashes by Melissa Walker - Free Book Online Page B

wide-sweeping terraces that look out on acres of manicured grasses, gorgeous paths, and long, garden-lined vistas to the river and the marshland in the distance.
    â€œI used to come here with Mama,” I tell Thatcher, staring out at two swans swimming in the reflection pool in front of us. Lanterns along the dark shore cast a soft yellow glow. “We’d bring bread crumbs and sit by the water together.”
    I smile at the memory of my mother—it seems sharper in my mind now that I’m back here again. I spin around slowly, taking in the landscape and missing the light, powdery scent of the crepe myrtle all around us. Homesickness and a deep loneliness wash over me.
    â€œIs there someone I’m supposed to haunt here?” I ask, wondering when I’ll visit Carson. I want to see her, but I doubt she’s out in the middle of the night.
    â€œNo,” says Thatcher. “I just wanted to bring you, I mean . . . I wanted you to have . . .”
    He fumbles over his words, like he’s nervous.
    â€œI wanted to give you a break,” he finally says. “After seeing Nick. I know that was kind of . . .”
    â€œIntense,” I finish for him. I flash back to my bedroom, and I realize how suffocatingly sad it felt there, surrounded by all that I’ve lost. I’m grateful for the open night sky above me right now.
    â€œRight. And this is the most serene spot I know of in Charleston, at least at night, so . . .”
    He pauses again, and when I see his furrowed brow, I realize that he’s waiting for my reaction. “Thank you,” I say. “This place means a lot to me.”
    Thatcher gives me a quick smile and turns toward the path, away from the pond. “Shall we take a walk?” he asks, like he’s an old-time gentleman come to call on the lady of the plantation.
    He starts off on the path without waiting for an answer, and I watch him move gracefully, a few steps in front of me. I peer down at his feet, so close to the earth but not quite touching it, and I wonder if he always had this smooth rhythm to his walk or if it’s a ghost thing. His motions are so controlled, so deliberate. It’s like he’s holding on to something—maybe his whole sense of the universe—very tightly.
    I follow behind him, my eyes raking over the grounds. I’ve never been here at night, and as ironic as it sounds given my current ghost status, it’s a little spooky without all the tourists milling around.
    I rush to catch up to him, and for a second I almost take his arm, because it feels natural, but something holds me back. We walk together slowly and quietly. There’s an ease to our silence that’s almost more comforting than talking, and I’m suddenly glad that it isn’t Sarah or Ryan who’s with me in this strange new space.
    â€œWhy did you volunteer to be my Guide?” I ask.
    He hesitates. Finally, he says, “Sarah and Ryan are new Guides. I could tell that Ryan was already nervous about your abundance of emotion, and Sarah is just so caring and sweet. She’s not comfortable being firm when firmness is needed. She coddles. That’s not what will help you. You have a strong aura. I knew you’d be a challenge.”
    â€œA strong aura? Is that a polite way of saying I’m a pain in the butt, so you decided I needed a hardass?”
    Thatcher makes a sound like he’s choking back a laugh. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
    I find myself wondering what his full-throated laughter sounds like. Why is he so closed up, so afraid to let loose his feelings?
    â€œYour other . . . gosh, I don’t even know what I am. Your student, I guess. Anyway, the others. Do you miss them?”
    â€œNo. We don’t form attachments.”
    That might explain why he holds such a tight rein on his emotions. I can’t imagine having people coming and going