Chasing Happy Read online

  She didn't think so, but the chances of her moving the napkin were slim to none. She wasn't looking for friends or a boyfriend by any means, but she wasn't into complete humiliation either.

  "It's fine," she answered.

  He looked at her for a second longer, still smiling.

  "Seems okay.” He shrugged and found his way to the seat next to her.

  The taller guy sat across from them.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t look good for a few seconds there,” Wendy asked.

  "Stop babying her. If she says she's okay, she's okay.”

  Rosie could see his hands through the veil of her white hair as he fiddled with a coaster. They were working hands, dirt caked under his fingernails and calluses on the insides of his knuckles.

  "You didn't see her, Max," Wendy argued.

  They were talking about her like she wasn't even there. Rosie's embarrassment climbed to new heights.

  "Do you need, like, medical help?” Rosie looked up at the tall guy who’d offered his help. His head reared back when she caught him in her sights. "Whoa. That's freaky as hell. Is that real?"

  "The blood?” she asked.

  He leaned forward, inspecting her closely. "No, the eyes. That's crazy. Are those contacts?"

  "Don't mind him, he's a clod," the man standing behind him said on a sigh.

  Rosie shifted her eyes to look at him. He was a huge lumberjack of a man, with a big Santa belly and a beard to match. No one paid him any attention, and Rosie knew it was because they couldn't see him.

  "I hoped his mother would have taught him some tact, but I think he's got more of his father in him. My fault. Comes from my side of the family. He's a good kid, means well."

  Dallas looked over his shoulder following her gaze but when he looked back, she was looking at him again.

  "Not contacts. Just my eyes."

  "Jesus, Dallas, could you be any more rude?" Wendy slapped him on the arm. "By the way, Rosie, this is Dallas and my brother Max. Guys, this is my friend Rosie."

  "I've been wondering when we would finally meet the elusive Rosie," Max laughed. "All we ever hear is Rosie this and Rosie that. I thought for sure Wendy would have made you an honorary Murphy by now."

  "He was always a sweet boy," Grandma Murphy cooed. "Happy and kind, just the way children are supposed to be. He's a lot like my Harold was."

  Rosie took a deep breath. She needed to shut the spirits out, but she'd never quite mastered it. Actually, she'd never even come close. She'd learned a lot about her seeing spirits in her life, including the most important thing. Never touch them, for a number of reasons that included being unconscious and experiencing death just to name a few.

  "She didn't tell us about the eyes," Dallas pointed out with a laugh and then brought a hand up to wave around his head. "Or all the hair."

  "I'm going to go clean up in the ladies’ room. Excuse me," Rosie muttered before beating a hasty retreat.

  The walk to the bathroom wasn't long, but she found the closer she got, the louder things became in her head. The auras came back gradually, the itching under her skin persistent. The bathroom was full of women, all chatting and laughing. The energy was loud, but not unmanageable. She waited for a turn at the mirror and checked her nose. The bleeding had indeed stopped, and she wiped at the blood staining her upper lip.

  "I love that color," the woman next to her told said in the mirror. She was in her mid-twenties and very attractive, her dark blonde hair in a cute bob. "What shade is it?"

  Rosie inspected herself in the mirror and looked away. "It's just the color my hair is."

  "Seriously. I would kill for that color."

  "Yeah," she feigned agreement and walked away, at least satisfied she wasn't covered in blood.

  The fact was, her hair used to be brown. The memory of getting her first French braid and staring at herself in the mirror afterwards, her dark hair clean and shiny, fixed to perfection had stayed with her for more years than she'd ever imagined it would.

  Seven years ago, everything had changed.

  Though it had been a gradual change, taking about a month, she’d gone from brown to white, her eyelashes and brows changing too.

  It had been just one of many changes that happened in those few months. Being the least stress inducing, she'd never given it much thought. She'd been too busy trying to survive everything else.

  She made her way back to the table, that sense of calm settling over her, the silence unsettling.

  "Well, she's the best I've got. I can't imagine finding better."

  "And here she is."

  "Blood free?” Max asked.

  Rosie looked at him and blushed, which was the most ridiculous reaction to the question he'd asked.

  Playing it off, she answered, "Blood free and completely mortified, thank you all very much."

  Dallas laughed, seemingly the type of person who took most things in stride.

  "Where are you from, Rosie Knight, Wendy's BFF?"

  All three of them watched her, waiting for her answer.

  "Originally? Massachusetts."

  "What brought you to Florida?"

  She shrugged. "No snow?"

  "I think I'd like snow," Wendy mused. "I can picture living in a house, looking out at a front yard covered in snow."

  "Yeah, then imagine shoveling the walkway and trudging down the sidewalk on glare ice while it's below zero. Trust me, this is better."

  "Is your family back there? In Massachusetts?” Dallas continued.

  "Yeah.” The lie fell off her tongue easily. She’d found that the second you tell people you don't have any family, they immediately peg you as a charity case. The sympathy rolls off them in waves. She'd taken to just telling people her family lived elsewhere. "Guess they like the cold," she said.

  "They must like to come visit here, though."

  “We’ll see. I haven’t been here long, so there hasn’t been much time.”

  "You heading back home for the holidays?"

  She tilted her head and tried to read is aura, to figure out what his intentions were, but found nothing other than idle curiosity.

  "What's with the third degree?” She asked with a small smile.

  He chuckled. "I already know everything about these two." He waved his hand at Wendy and Max. "And I'm a cop, so I'm curious by nature."

  Rosie kept her expression steady, smile firmly fixed in place. She wouldn't let the fact that he was a cop trip her up.

  "Ah," she said. "My parents are traveling for the holidays and won't be around," she lied again. "I'll be here."

  "Traveling to visit other family?"

  "No.” She drew out the word. "Just traveling."

  "Okay, okay," Wendy laughed. "That's enough Inspector Gadget. I actually wanted to talk shop with Rosie while we were here but then you two crashed our party."

  "You know," Rosie stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I actually have to get back home. So maybe we can catch up tomorrow."

  "I hope tomorrow you're going to tell my poor granddaughter what the hell is going on!" Mrs. Murphy scolded from behind Wendy.

  "How do you think you're getting home?” Wendy asked with a laugh.

  Rosie smiled. She really did like her boss. She might even consider her a friend if she were living a different life. If she was someone that could let people in. What was that saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me? Rosie had been fooled too many times. Fooled into trusting people and caring about them only to have them all betray her in the end. Unfortunately, no matter how caring or fun Wendy was, Rosie just didn't have it in her to let anyone else in.

  Rosie waved off Wendy's concern. "I'm just gonna walk. It's a nice night and I could use the fresh air."

  Even Dallas argued then. "That's crazy. Me or Max can give you a ride."

  Max went so far as to stand up as if to join her.

  She held up both hands, almost warding them all off.

  "Please.
No. You guys stay. Have a good time."

  "I really don't mind," Max told her quietly, his emerald aura sparkling.

  "I do. Mind," she clarified. "I'm okay. I've got it."

  Wendy rolled her eyes but accepted that Rosie had made up her mind. "We'll talk tomorrow."

  "Sounds good."

  "Tell Gizmo I said hi."

  Rosie waved and said a quick good bye before disappearing in the crowd.

  "Who's Gizmo?” Max asked his sister.

  "Her cat," Wendy said.

  3

  The lady might as well have been singing Henry the VIII over and over again. Three days had passed since seeing Wendy at the bar and Rosie hadn’t seen her boss since. Their schedules just hadn’t allowed it, although she could admit part of it might have been on purpose.

  It was Saturday, one of her days off, and she’d slept in. Full nights of sleep were rare, so she took advantage. She’d picked up her camper a little, not that it had been messy. She changed the sheets, folded some laundry, and put away dishes to pass the time. She sat outside on her makeshift patio, which consisted of a few stray Adirondack chairs and some string lights hanging around the door of the camper.

  She’d fallen in love with the trailer the second she’d seen it. A few miles from town, it was well away from the hustle of downtown and the beach's tourism but close enough she could easily get to town on the bus. Surrounded by woods and trees, there wasn't a single soul around. It was on the small side, but it suited she and Gizmo just fine.

  Currently, they were both sitting on the patio, she in a chair with Gizmo on her lap. She sat, enjoying not just the quiet of her surroundings but the quiet in her mind.

  A few years ago, there'd been an incident. One that changed not just her hair color but her abilities as well. Auras that used to look like hints of color floating around a person were suddenly Technicolor and huge like clouds. They moved and undulated, creeping into her personal space. Spirits that used to appear once in a while became her regular companions, and her girlish dreams, the ones of youth and hope, died. Often, her sleep was like a movie reel, playing things that already happened but sometimes it showed what had yet to be.

  The quiet didn't help with her dreams, but it did with the rest.

  Most of the time.

  “Don’t you care about her? Don’t you care that her entire future is at stake?”

  They’d been over this numerous times.

  “It’s not my place, Mrs. Murphy,” she sighed, running her fingers through Gizmo’s fur. He responded by purring loudly and rubbing his head into her chest.

  “Not your place. She thinks you’re her friend,” the old woman harrumphed. “Some friend.”

  “I’m her employee.”

  “You’re her friend, dear, whether you like it or not.”

  “She’s my boss. Simple as that. Why don’t you tell her?” She turned her head to smile at the woman.

  “Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” Her gray hair, expertly coifed in a bun, her pink skirt set pressed to perfection, Rosie wondered if that was how she was buried.

  She knew it was. She didn't know how she knew, she just did.

  “I didn’t choose you, you know. If someone had given me the choice of all the people on earth that could hear my afterlife pleas, I would have chosen someone who cared to hear them. What good are you? Half the time you aren’t even listening to me!”

  “I didn’t choose this either, you know,” Rosie told her quietly. “This isn’t exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

  Honestly, she couldn’t remember ever wishing to be anything when she grew up. No dreams of becoming a teacher or a pilot. She’d always taken life as it came, never having the luxury of wishes. Besides, wishes never made things come true. They just made you hurt more when they didn’t.

  “I’ll just keep bothering you until you do it. It’s imperative. She’s too trusting. She’ll never know if you don’t tell her.” The woman’s head popped up. “Such a sweet boy.”

  Then she disappeared.

  Rosie turned her head and saw Wendy’s small electric car creeping up the driveway. She watched from behind her sunglasses wondering what Wendy was up to. Then it dawned on her, they’d never had the conversation Wendy wanted to have.

  The little car stopped, and when the door opened, Wendy’s brother, Max, unfolded himself from the seat. He was taller than she remembered, and she didn't know if it was because she was sitting or he'd gotten out of a tiny car. Handsome, in that boy-next-door model way, he was easy to look at. His brown hair was cropped close to his head on the sides but longer on top, his caramel eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  “Hey,” he greeted as if he hadn’t just shown up at her house with no warning.

  Her brows drew down. “Hey. What brings you out this way?”

  Before he could shut the car door, a big dog jumped out and danced around his feet, wagging its tail, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. Gizmo opened one eye and immediately dismissed the dog as a threat.

  “My sister.” He shrugged. “She sent me to fetch you.”

  “Fetch me?” She narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses.

  “Pick you up and bring you to her place,” he corrected. “Sorry.”

  His dog sniffed the ground and trotted off toward the woods. Max casually walked over and sat in a chair, an end table between them.

  “Is this where you walked to the other night? Hell of a hike in the middle of the night.” He was leaning back in his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “I rode my bike.” She pointed to the adorable powder blue rig with a basket on the front. “It’s not a bad ride.”

  “Dark as hell, though. I live not far from here, actually,” he told her. “You have any flashing lights on that thing?”

  “You sound like your sister,” she said. “She’s always bugging me about checking the tire pressure and my brakes.”

  He chuckled. “Wendy’s a mother hen.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Gizmo stood on her lap and stretched, then jumped to Max’s as though he did it all the time. Max laughed again and scratched the cat behind his ears.

  “Is this the famous Gizmo?”

  “I didn’t realize he was famous.”

  “The other night,” he clarified. “Wendy told you to say hi to Gizmo. Where’d you come up with the name? Big Gremlins fan?”

  “An old friend of mine named him.”

  He nodded and continued stroking the cat. “He’s a pretty cool guy, huh?”

  Rosie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Gizmo.

  “What is it you were sent to fetch me for? What does Wendy have up her sleeve now?”

  “She’s elbow deep in some big dinner she’s concocting for you. Didn’t have time to come steal you herself so she sent me.” He shrugged. “That’s what big sisters do. Boss their little brothers around.”

  She’d almost had a baby brother once, years ago. She'd almost been a big sister. Even at seven, she’d been excited about the prospect of having a family.

  “Strange,” she mused. “I wonder how she knew I didn’t already have big plans for my Saturday night.”

  “It does seem presumptuous, doesn’t it?” he agreed. “I'm happy to tell her you’re busy.” He looked around at the peaceful woods surrounding them. “Maybe I’ll just call her and we can hang out here.”

  “Now you’re assuming I don’t have big plans.”

  He hummed his agreement but didn’t say anything, just sat there petting Gizmo. Rosie turned her attention to Max’s dog for a few minutes. It had come out of the woods, hot on the heels of a toad that was lazily hopping through a clearing. She looked from the dog to Max and then back again. She’d never encountered an animal spirit guide before. She wondered if Max ever felt the dog’s presence around him.

  “What’s out there?” Max’s voice broke in quietly.

  She turned her head back to him. “Huh?”

>   “You're staring in that direction. I just wondered what you were looking at.”

  “Oh, just a toad. In that clearing.” She pointed her finger to show him.

  “How the hell?” His ringing cell phone interrupted his question. “Wendy, I’m sure.”

  She tuned out their conversation, not wanting to intrude. Her attention back on the dog as she idly wondered what its name was and how old it had been when it died. Why was it still with Max, and how long it had been there? She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, watching the dog lose interest in the toad and roll in dirt.

  “Rosie,” Max's voice was loud.

  “Huh?” She turned to look at him.

  “Sorry, I said your name a couple times.”

  “Spaced out, I guess. What did Wendy say?”

  “She told us to move our asses and get to her place before she ruins dinner.”

  She stood. “Let me get my bag.”

  “Want me to put the cat inside?”

  Rosie pushed her sunglasses to rest on top of her head and made a few smooching noises. The cat jumped off Max’s lap and went inside, Rosie right behind him. She threw a few things inside her bag and stepped out.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any room to put my bike,” she said after locking up.

  He looked from the bike to the car. “I don’t think so, but, don’t worry about it. Like I said, I don’t live far from here. I’ll swing you home whenever you’re ready."

  Rosie was quiet on the three-mile drive to his sister’s house. She turned her attention to the passing scenery, and he did his best to act cool, fearing he might startle her with any sudden moves. While Rosie didn't appear to be the type of girl who was shy or afraid to speak her mind, she had an air of uneasiness that gave her the 'flight risk" vibe. Like, if she got spooked she'd be gone before he could blink.

  Don’t ask too many questions, he told himself. Definitely no questions about living in the middle of nowhere all alone with no car.

  When he’d stopped by his sister’s place earlier in the afternoon to deliver a bag of fresh produce, she’d begged him to run out to Rosie's place to pick her up. Wendy said she’d tried to call, but Rosie hadn’t answered the phone. He’d half-heartedly told her he needed to get back to the farm but Wendy had patiently listened and told him to do it, anyway.