The Other Side - J. D. Robb [146]
“Who?”
“The ghost buster who wore the glasses . . . in the movie? He was my favorite.” He sipped his coffee. “Sometimes I almost wish he’d find one, he believes so strongly. I hate having to tell him they don’t exist when he’s so sure they do.” He sighed and deliberately changed the subject. “So what do you do when you’re not dealing with ghosts and tearing down old houses?”
“I’m an investment analyst with Wilson and Bows in McLean. What about you? I’m assuming you’re not married, but you know what happens when you do that, right?”
“I do.” He was watching his fingers play with his mug of coffee but glanced up and smiled at her. “But in this case you’re safe. I lost my wife to cancer when Jimmy was nine months old. It took us by surprise, and she went really fast . . . threw everything into a tailspin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. But we figured it out . . . Jimmy and me . . . how to go on without her. I tried a nanny at first, and she was great, but . . . well, when he took his first step, I wasn’t there to see it. And she was a stranger I hired from an agency. My folks were too old to be taking on a small child. My dad has heart problems and my mom had her hands full with him. His other grandfather is a bit of a boozer. So I . . . My degree is in computer engineering. I was working as a systems analyst for Blackboard, days and nights, trying to meet deadlines. It was crazy.” He sat up straighter in his chair and took another sip of coffee. “I looked up from my computer one afternoon, and I didn’t know what I was doing. Why was I working so hard to make a good life for a son I never saw? I tried to quit, but my boss is a good guy. He said if I could keep up, I could try working from home, touch base in the office a couple times a month, and it’s worked out great. I got rid of the condo we were cramped up in and bought a house with a yard in a small town where my son feels safe . . . even with the ghosts who live next door.” She must have looked strange, because he chuckled. “Ironic, huh? But he really isn’t afraid, he says. Worried about them but not afraid.”
“Such a sweet boy.” Odelia trimmed the crust on her next pie. “Always offers to carry my apples, and I let him until we get to the fence.”
“He says he carries apples for one of them.” Ryan shook his head. “It’s probably too early to tell, but he has such a vivid imagination, I wonder if he’ll be a writer or maybe an actor.”
M.J. glanced at her mother, who’d always given her the impression that she should marry money and give lawn parties, that her MBA from Columbia and using her brain to make a living were . . . unladylike. “Does it matter to you what he becomes?”
“Not if he’s happy. That’s all any parent wants—for their child to be healthy and happy and well-adjusted.”
Adeline nodded. “Healthy. Happy.”
“Well-adjusted?” M.J. asked, looking at her pointedly.
Ryan leaned back in his chair, taken aback. “Well, yeah. I mean, I supposed this ghost thing is pretty weird to you, but he’s still just a little guy who likes to pretend—”
“No, I didn’t mean—”
“He’ll figure it out and realize there’s no such thing as ghosts soon enough. But if he doesn’t, I guess I can take him to a shrink or something.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” One of the hazards of talking to ghosts with another human in the room. “I’m the last person to be talking about well-adjusted.”
“You’re not well-adjusted?”
“How well-adjusted can someone named Maribelle be?”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Her mother’s exasperation was gratifying.
He laughed. “I’m sorry, but I like it. Especially on you. It suits you.”
She stared at him, horrified. “And I thought we were going to be friends.”
“Really?