The Ghostlight Girls | Part Two | Trinee

Chapter Ten

I put away the candle and vacuum up the salt. I think about texting Cerys but I don't know what to say. "Hey girl, did you know I can call ghosts?" She'd probably think I'd completely lost my mind. I still feel the need to reach out, though, so I write, "Had fun today, we should do it again some time." Then I go back to trying to decipher the other pages of the book until Dad calls me down for dinner.

As I enter the dining room and notice only two plates set on the table, I can't help but ask, "Mom's still not home?"

Dad shakes his head. "You know how it is sometimes."

So we sit together, just me and Dad, and enjoy creamy tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Strangely, I'm not that hungry and only eat about half a bowl of soup and half a sandwich.

Dad notices, of course. "Everything okay, sweet girl?"

I nod quickly, assuring him, "I'm just tired, that's all." It dawns on me that it's not a lie—I am truly worn out. Is it from the excitement of what happened earlier? Or is it something more?

"Yeah, you don't look so hot," says Dad, taking a closer look at me. "Do you think you're coming down with something? I guess we're having some immuni-tea for dessert."

It's just elderberry and echinacea tea, but Dad always knows how to sweeten it just right, so I accept it gratefully. Maybe it'll provide some relief. The thought of returning to the book suddenly makes me feel nauseated, so I decide to give it a rest. With the cup of tea Dad prepares, I retreat to the spare room and settle into one of the armchairs, letting the soothing tunes of my new vinyl fill the air.

# # #

At some point, I wake up with a start, not even realizing I'd dozed off. Mom stands in the doorway, still wearing her scrubs. "Trinee, baby. You okay?"

Looking around, feeling disoriented, I notice my half-filled cup of tea and the arm on the record player just swinging back over to the off position. I must have slept through all of Side A. "I guess I'm tired," I mumble, trying to make sense of the situation.

Mom comes over, puts her wrist against my forehead. "James," she calls to Dad. "Go get my good thermometer from the medicine cabinet."

As she takes my temperature, she remains silent about the reading, but her furrowed brow suggests it doesn't look good. "I must have somehow brought the flu home," she mutters to herself. "We got a regular old Typhoid Mary up in this house." Then, louder, addressing me, she says, "I think it's best we get you off to bed."

I don't recall much after that, except for a fleeting moment when I check my phone for any messages. Nothing from Cerys. For some reason, this fills me with an overwhelming sense of dread as I drift back into sleep, haunted by nightmares that creep their way into my dreams.

# # #

In the morning, I wake up to the sound of my parents engaged in a heated discussion just outside my bedroom door. "I really think we should stay home with her, Yvette," Dad insists.

"James, kids get the flu all the time. We don't even have parents bring them in for two or three days, unless the symptoms are severe."

"Either way, we need to check on her before we go."

The door creaks open, casting a beam of light across my face. I flinch, immediately realizing that my head is throbbing. Then, I feel a weight settle beside me on the bed. "Hey, baby girl," says Dad. "How you feeling?"

My voice is raspy and weak. "I'm okay, just really tired."

Dad places his hand on my forehead, attempting to assess my temperature. It's clear he's not the nurse in the family since you can't tell anything using your palm. "Are you going to be alright if we leave for church?" he asks, concerned.