The Bottom of the Sea

Part 20: Setup

Horror movies always go the same way: people move into an old house, start moving things around, making renovations. Ghost gets pissed, causes a ruckus, people flee into the night. The lesson? Don't mess with a ghost and their house. Once it's theirs, it's theirs forever whether they're living or dead.

The opposite was true for us. The more we opened long-locked doors, dusted furniture, washed ancient plates and cutlery and shook dust from velvet tapestries, the warmer and more peaceful the house was. After weeks of bangs, creaks and craziness, instead of "get out," the house now seemed to be saying, "stay."

The weeks flew by and we fell into a good routine. Missy and I were getting good at ignoring the occasional weird thing, and there were more good days than bad. I started to feel like I was getting to know the presence in the house, as crazy as that sounds. It definitely felt feminine, and not mean or cruel in any way. But she was there, and wanted her presence known.

We were talking in the kitchen one rainy, Saturday morning over tea and toast. "Whatever she is, I don't think she's bad or harmful. I think she's trapped here. She wants our attention, but she's not harmful."

At that moment, the heavy front door blew open and slammed shut.

We looked at each other, eyes wide. "You saw that, didn't you?" I said, tingles going up my spine and raising goosebumps on my arms. She nodded, shocked.

It was something we always asked each other, every time something strange happened. "You heard that, right? It's not just me?"

"We get it," I yelled to the ceiling. Someone's ears were burning, clearly. I knew the feminine presence in the house wouldn't hurt us. The dark shadow was something else.

It was a bright fall day and Missy was at the Harbour Light to pick me up for an appointment. She was sitting on my desk, bugging me about Jake. She'd picked up on a certain vibe and to my embarrassment, was milking it.

"He's foxy, isn't he?" Missy elbowed me and giggled.

"Missy!" I shushed her. "He's my boss."

"And he's my best friend, but the fact of the matter is he's hot as hell. Come on, admit it," she said, leaning towards me with her dimpled smile. I was grateful Jake was on the phone, pausing only to shoot us a dirty look and put his finger to his lips to tell us to hush.

"I admit nothing," I said, throwing my jean jacket on over my cute pale-peach maternity dress. It was an unseasonably warm fall day. "Enough of that; we're going to be late. It's an hour to Halifax, let's go."

"You're blushing," she said, poking my arm as I gathered up my purse.

"Stop," I said, giving her a swat on the arm. She was being silly, but after everything we'd gone through, a little silliness was what we needed. Besides, she wasn't wrong.

Jake's hotness was something that I just didn't notice when I first arrived in town, especially after all the different ways I'd embarrassed myself in front of him when we first met. But after working with him for months, I began to notice. Damn, he looked good. He smelled good too, probably some expensive cologne, combined with his natural scent — something delicious and manly. Sometimes I couldn't pay attention to what he was saying; I was too busy staring at his green eyes or watching his mouth while he talked. He had a great mouth.

Now, who was being foolish? Here I was, a skinny little nervous wreck in second-hand clothes with a rapidly growing belly — a real catch. I looked like a piece of spaghetti that swallowed a pea. A guy like him wouldn't give a girl like me a second look, especially in my current condition. Besides, he was firmly in the boss-friend category. And I felt lucky enough to have both.