Free Ghost Times Two by Carolyn Hart Page B

soft—“
Mi cara ti amo.
And
Il mio cuore ti appartiene.
And
Vi soro pio bella che la luna e stelle.
We came back to school and suddenly it was the two of us.”
    The water rippled and warmth touched us. I didn’t know Italian, but I didn’t need a translator to tell me they were words of love. I felt surrounded by remembered happiness.
    â€œThe happy summer. The best summer. I even thought about being a lawyer because of her.” A hoot of laughter. “I knew that wasn’t for me. Maybe a trial lawyer. But you have to wear a suit in court and say,
Yes, Your Honor
and
No, Your Honor
, and I’d come into some pompous jackass’s court and end up in jail for contempt. Megan always knew what she wanted to be. Her parents died when she was twelve, and that’s when she came to Adelaide. She lived with her uncle. He was a judge, very respected. He died when she was in law school, so she doesn’t have any family. Maybe that’s why she’s so thoughtful about other people. She started a drive in high school to raise money for a teacher whose house burned down. She tutored me in English and never told anybody and helped me graduate. At least”—he sounded embarrassed—“she thought she did. Actually, I was good with words. I never tried to make grades. But I’m not good enough with words to explain how I feel about Megan.” A pause.
“I never saw so sweet a face / As that I stood before. / My heart has left its dwelling-place / And can return no more.”
    â€œâ€˜First Love’ by John Clare. The last verse.” Astonishment lifted my voice.
    â€œNot what you expected from me? Like they say, sometimes the cover doesn’t tell what’s in the package. I was always a fool for the romantic poets.” He slapped his hand on the water, making a splash. “That’s . . . that was a deep dark secret to everyone in the newsroom. I would have gotten cute e-mails every day. Like . . .
and such are daffodils / With the green world they live in
 . . . The subject line would be something like:
Daffodilling this morning, bud?
”
    â€œKeats,” I murmured automatically.
    â€œHow’d you know?” Now he was surprised.
    â€œAt one point I taught high school English.” Touching so many bases, Beowulf, Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley, Dickens, Twain, e. e. cummings, Millay . . .
    â€œYou sound like a lot more fun than my high school English teacher.”
    I laughed, remembering one rowdy class that loved to chant:
Mrs. Raeburn has a crush on Charles Darnay.
I won’t say there wasn’t some truth to their claim.
    â€œNow you’re a ghost—”
    â€œEmissary.”
    â€œWhatever. You’re here to kick my butt up the stairs.” Robust splashes and the inner tube moved toward the swirling water near the boulders.
    I followed, propelling the float with matched strokes.
    The inner tube moved with the current created by the falling water. “Hey, fun.”
    I positioned my float in the current and fetched up beside the inner tube. “Speaking of the stairs—”
    â€œDo you see them?”
    I looked toward the evergreens. Despite the intense summer sunlight, the curving stairway glowed silver and gold and white. “Don’t you think they look welcoming?”
    â€œMaybe. I can’t go yet. Megan’s in big trouble. I didn’t want her to work with Blaine Smith, but I don’t want her stopped by a big blowhard bully. Maybe I’ll leave an anonymous message for the guy who took my place on the
Gazette
, how a local lawyer would let a kid die to get his way. Hey, that’s an idea. Lawyers hate bad publicity—”
    â€œGraham would be smooth as honey and say he can’t imagine why a young lawyer would spread that kind of story about him although her work had been in question.”
    â€œOh.”
    I made the likely outcome