He seemed fine the next morning. Bright and bouncy, and cheerfully told David over breakfast that he'd thrown up and had ginger ale.
She considered keeping him home from school, but there was no fever and, judging by his appetite, no stomach problems.
"No ill effects there," David commented when the boys ran up to get their books. "You, on the other hand, look like you put in a rough one. " He poured her another cup of coffee.
"I did. And not all of it because Luke was sick. After he 'frew up,' he settled down and slept like a baby. But before he settled down, he told me something that kept me awake most of the night. "
David rested his elbows on the island counter, leaned forward. "Tell Daddy all. "
"He says . . . " She glanced around, cocking an ear so she'd hear the boys when they came back down. "There's a lady with yellow hair who comes into his room at night and sings to him. "
"Oh. " He picked up his dishcloth and began to mop the counter.
"Don't say 'oh' with that silly little smile. "
"Hey, I'll have you know this is my amused smirk. Nothing silly about it. "
"David. "
"Stella," he said with the same stern scowl. "Roz told you we have a ghost, didn't she?"
"She mentioned it. But there's just one little problem with that. There are no such things as ghosts. "
"So, what, some blonde sneaks into the house every night, heads to the boys' room, and breaks out in song? That's more plausible?"
"I don't know what's going on. I've heard someone singing, and I've felt. . . " Edgy, she twisted the band of her watch. "Regardless, the idea of a ghost is ridiculous. But something's going on with my boys. "
"Is he afraid of her?"
"No. I probably just imagined the singing. And Luke, he's six. He can imagine anything. "
"Have you asked Gavin?"
"No. Luke said they'd both seen her, but. . . "
"So have I. "
"Oh, please. "
David rinsed the dishcloth, squeezed out the excess water, then laid it over the lip of the sink to dry.
"Not since I was a kid, but I saw her a few times when I'd sleep over. Freaked me out at first, but she'd just sort of be there. You can ask Harper. He saw her plenty. "
"Okay. Just who is this fictional ghost supposed to be?" She threw up a hand as she heard the thunder of feet on the stairs. "Later. "
* * *
She tried to put it out of her mind, and succeeded from time to time when the work took over. But it snuck back into her brain, and played there, like the ghostly lullaby.
By midday, she left Hayley working on bulb planters and Ruby at the counter, and grabbing a clipboard, headed toward the grafting house.
Two birds, she thought, one stone.
The music today was Rachmaninoff. Or was it Mozart? Either way, it was a lot of passionate strings and flutes. She passed the staging areas, the tools, the soils and additives rooting mediums.
She found Harper down at the far end at a worktable with a pile of five-inch pots, several cacti as stock plants, and a tray of rooting medium. She noted the clothespins, the rubber bands, the raffia, the jar of denatured alcohol.
"What do you use on the Christmas cactus?"