By her twentieth birthday, there are a few things Valarie Ricci knows for certain.
She knows that her waitressing job barely covers the costs of living out of a beat up old van. She knows she's stuck in the dead end hometown her high school friends...
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Valarie knew she had to choose her next words very, very carefully. "Alice..." Instinctively, she placed her hand over Alice's, feeling the familiar rough texture of her skin. "I—" Her mouth opened and closed. "Well—"
"I know how it sounds." Alice pulled her hand away. "I know how this all looks, believe me. But I'm not having some mental breakdown here." She shook her head. "I'm not."
All Valarie could hear was the way Alice's voice had cracked when she said please. "Okay," she said. "Why would Grace haunt you?"
"I—What?"
"Why would Grace haunt you?"
Alice blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You didn't do it," she said. "In all the movies and shit, ghosts always have, like, unfinished business, no? I'm just saying. If I was a ghost, I'd be going after the person who... well, you know..."
"The person who killed her," Alice said, unflinching. Her voice held the slightest hint of defiance. "You can say it. If that's even what happened to her." She paused. "I didn't even think about it like that. I just... Look, she's never seemed angry. Not once. And trust me, I can tell when my sister is angry."
Is. Present tense. Shit.
Valarie tried to make her voice as gentle as possible. "Do you think, uh, that there's any chance—?"
"We've never had a funeral." Alice was suddenly very far away, her eyes unfocused. "No grave marker, no obituary. No body, no crime, right? She's not even legally dead. My Mom's country club got together and donated money to have Grace's name engraved on a park bench downtown. She would have fucking hated that shit. Then there's the randos on Reddit or whatever that think they see her at a Denny's every other week." When she finally looked up at Valarie, moisture had begun to gather in her eyes. Valarie could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen Alice cry—and never when sober.
"Grace isn't missing," Alice continued. "She's gone. I don't have any doubts about that—ghost or not. I just want the rest of it all done with. I can't be forced to relive the worst day of my life over and over again anymore."
Valarie watched how she held herself, tension gathering in her shoulders. Valarie knew Alice was waiting for her to be dismissive, or, even worse, call her batshit. "Okay," she said, her voice still whisper-soft. "What—?"
The question was interrupted by an exaggerated cough. She looked over to see the trucker flashing a yellow-toothed smile at her, waving some bills over his now empty plate. "Can I pay now or what, girlie?" His voice sounded like he had smoked about a million cigarettes over a hundred years.
Like a switch had been flipped, the customer service smile returned to Valarie's face. It was more plastic than usual. "Sure!" When she reached for the cash the man was holding out, he pulled back at the last moment.
