Won't Let Go by Avery Olive Read Free Book Online

curled in a frown. “Oakley?” I say, in my normal, not so quiet tone. “Where are you?”
    I’m not sure how long I stand there before I realize he’s not coming. A small pang of something hits me in the gut. It’s an unknown emotion, but is there nonetheless. I can’t believe he’s not here. Where would he have gone? I expected him to be here, standing in the same spot as before, waiting for me. I really had no idea he’d have some place to go. I know he said he didn’t live here, but still, what kind of place could possibly be more interesting to a ghost with amnesia?
     

Chapter Six
    I didn’t realize how much I’d missed home-cooked food until a steaming plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and asparagus swimming in butter was in front of me. In the days leading up to our move, Mom constantly purged the contents of the cupboards, the fridge and freezer. Even the usually fully stocked pantry had become barren. She’d decided it would be a bigger hassle to move it all. So instead, she donated the unopened canned and dry goods to the local food bank, off loaded as much freezer burnt meat to our neighbors as possible and just plain threw the rest in the trash. We lived on take-out, and during the seventeen hour drive, tacky diner food.
    While I stuffed my face, however, Oakley and my room were never far from my mind. I’d glance at the stairs or the ceiling and wonder if he was up there waiting for me.
    As soon as I finished my second helping—sometimes you have to over-eat, because it’s just that good—I ran up the stairs, only to find he still wasn’t there. Solemnly I took the stairs back down and sat in the living room. Dad regaled us with stories about how great the new hospital is. How the doctors there have so much potential, and given some time he’d be able to make this a state of the art facility with all the equipment needed to take on the more—as he put it—tricky cases. The ones I knew he loved.
    And now, as I pull open the drawer of my dresser that holds my worn out T-shirts and shorts, with a stuffed belly and tired brain, I’m saddened to find Oakley not here, again. Where could he be? I shout in my head, grabbing hold of a Huntington Hill’s High gym T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts and tossing them on the bed.
    I walk into the bathroom, pull out my ponytail and brush out my waves of brown hair. Constantly I glance over my shoulder, hoping he’ll come back. Methodically, I wash my face, brush my teeth and pull my hair into a quick braid. Still, no Oakley.
    Letting out a sigh, I head back into my room, over to the bed and tug my jeans down. I throw them into a heap in the corner and slip on my shorts. My shirt is half over my head, when I hear a creaking door, then a very velvety and embarrassed, “Oh God. Shit, I’m sorry.” Just as I pull my shirt back down, I see the closet door close the last few inches until it’s shut tight. Then, muffled from the inside, “Just—uh—tell me when you’re finished?”
    My cheeks flush and burn as my stomach flutters. He’s back. Quickly, I wrench my shirt off, unclasp my bra and pull my pajamas on. I throw the dirty stuff with the jeans. Then looking at the pile in the corner, I decide to stuff the clothes into the nearest drawer.
    When everything is squared away, I brush down the wrinkles in my shirt and say, “I’m ready.”
    The closet door slowly opens. Oakley steps through and into the small amount of light streaming from Betty Boop.
    Awkwardly, I stare, breathing him in. “You changed your shirt,” I say, matter of factly. His new one is teal blue. Somehow it makes his eyes pop just that much more.
    Oakley looks down, touching the hem with his fingers. “Yeah.” He nods.
     “How’d you do that? I mean, do you have a stash of clothes somewhere?”
    He continues fidgeting with his shirt. I swear I see his fingers touching the delicate fabric as he pulls at the threads. He’s a ghost. Wouldn’t his fingers pass right