Falling Over You Page 4

  Okay, so this article wasn't too helpful, but at least she knew Mike's last name, or so she hoped it was the same Michael.

  She continued onwards, hoping to find out just what happened to Michael. Finally, after fifteen minutes of searching mindlessly, she managed to find a small obituary. In the corner of the paper, Lara saw Michael's face in black and white. Even there his face wasn't smiling, but then again, Lara wasn't quite sure if it was appropriate to have a picture of the deceased where they were smiling. She had yet to figure out the New York etiquette on things, but she wasn't in too much of a hurry. However, even if it was proper for the picture not to be smiling, it looked as though Michael Langdon wasn't the happiest person on the planet. Which was definitely sad.

  Lara cocked her head to the side and her eyes began to look over the article, hoping it would give her some more insight on the man—ghost? —currently occupying—haunting? —her home.

  "Michael Langdon, 38, was tragically killed on April 5, 2002 by a cab turning a corner without pausing. He was a brilliant man, a graduate of Harvard Law School, but chose to be a law journalist instead of a lawyer. He is survived by his father, Leonard Langdon, and his mother, Beatrice."

  That was it? Three sentences and some grainy picture that didn't do anything for his face? No mention of friends or respectable characteristics, maybe a quirk here or there? So the man was brilliant, but really, that was it? That was all they wanted to say? Who actually put this obituary in here anyway? His parents? Did he even have any friends?

  There were too many questions that Lara couldn't answer, and as each new one popped into her head, she felt some kind of buzzing going on in her mind, like a beginning of a headache.

  "But wait," Lara whispered to herself, a brow arched up as an epiphany hit her. "He was a law journalist, which means that he had to write something, right?"

  Her fingertips were already pressing down on the keys before she got the thought out of her mouth. The search engine she had been looking at didn't pick up journal articles, so she switched, and within a matter of moments, hundreds of results popped up, all seeming to have been written by Mike himself. As Lara went through them, she realized that he must have written an article every week for at least three years. She clicked on one, and she skimmed through, before doing the same again and again and again.

  Mike might have been a hermit crab who didn't socialize very much, or very well depending, but he was one hell of a law journalist. What he did, it would seem, was take a court case that made national headlines and write his opinion on the information he—and the public—had. It was very interesting to see what side he took because it was never the same, and sometimes, as new evidence was accumulated or as a trial started, he would change his opinion.

  The grainy picture that accompanied his obituary was the same one on every single article. He must have been freelance since he didn't write for only one journal. He was everywhere. No wonder he had managed to afford such a nice house. Oddly enough, she had never seen Mike interviewed or on some kind of talk show. If he was as popular as he seemed, why wasn't he booked for The Daily Show or something?

  Maybe he really didn't like to socialize....

  When the time ticked to one o'clock in the afternoon, Lara realized she was hungry and decided it was time to head back home. She wasn't sure if this trip to the library today helped her understand Mike any more, or just shrouded him deeper in mystery.

  8

  The first thing Lara did when she returned home was put a pot of water on the stove and started to boil it. She was hungry, and she was definitely in the mood for some macaroni and cheese, a guilty pleasure of hers. Once the stove was on, she walked up the stairs to put her purse away, yawning as she did so. Lara was always up at five o'clock in the morning due to Brett's blaring alarm clock going off, and though she wanted nothing more than to fall back into a deep slumber, she couldn't. Once she was awake, she was awake, and that was all there was to it. Because of this, she chose to go on early morning bike rides since she hated jogging—or any exercise, really—and biking tricked her mind into believing that this was a leisure activity rather than a physical fitness regimen.

  When she walked into her room, she found Mike there, looking through her closet. Upon hearing her enter, he jumped in surprise and oddly enough, Lara saw a very faint blush touch his cheeks. She placed her purse on the foot of her bed and narrowed her eyes in his direction. Just what was he looking at?

  Mike wasn't about to let Lara know that he was actually embarrassed, however. Instead, he cleared his throat and quirked his lips up into what appeared to be a smirk. "So," he said, placing his hands behind his back and trying to look as innocent as possible. "What have you been up to all day? Another job interview?"

  Lara's gaze narrowed even further. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked him, her voice sharp.

  "Never," Mike said, feigning shock at the notion that he would tease her. "I mean, I hope you do get one because you want it, right? You want a job. I want you to want a job."

  Lara furrowed her brow as she tried to reason through his logic. Maybe it wasn't even logic at all. "I don't understand what you're saying," she said slowly, opening her eyes as she began to walk around the bed. "Do you babble when you get nervous or when you're doing something wrong or...something along those lines?" Before Mike could stop her, she inched her way beside him, facing her closet.

  Immediately, Lara could tell what Mike had been looking at and a crimson wave crashed onto her cheeks as her eyes flashed emerald when she turned to look at him. "You perv!" she exclaimed. "That's my underwear you're going through. I know you died seven years ago, but it's still rude to go through someone else's stuff, just so you know."

  "Really?" Mike said, perking his brow as though that piece of information was fascinating to him. "I wasn't aware of that." Lara gave him a dry look, as though she didn't believe him and that he should know she didn't believe him. "Okay," he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. "I'll be honest. I was looking around the laundry room and happened to find a pair of your panties. You know, the one that's black with the pink lace—"

  "I know which ones," Lara said hastily, raising her hand up in hopes to stop him from describing it anymore.

  "Right," Mike said, nodding a few times as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Right. And so I figured that since you were gone and I was here, I thought I would be helpful, you know, in hopes to make up for my behavior, I would be helpful. So I grabbed them—I promise I didn't smell them if that's what you're worried about—"

  "God, you are so gross," Lara said, cutting him off.

  But Mike continued on as though he hadn't been interrupted. "—and brought them upstairs since it's obvious that where you keep your clothes is upstairs in my former room, but that's beside the point. Anyway, I put them back just as you came in and that's what you saw me doing. I'm not some kind of perv, I promise."

  "Can we forget about the whole underwear incident?" Lara asked, suddenly frustrated by this line of questioning and explaining. Mike opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it, and instead, merely nodded. "Good. Okay, I wanted to ask you a question. I've been thinking about this since...well, since I first found out that you were really a ghost. Do you know why I can touch you and see you and hear you, but it seems like everyone else can't?"

  Mike took a tentative step towards her, hoping he wasn't going to scare her off. "I promise you, Lara, that I have no idea," he told her, his tone sincere. "I've been trying to figure that out too."

  "Um, I hope you don't mind me asking," Lara said, her voice hesitant now. She tilted her head only slightly but forced her eyes to lock into Mike's. "Is there some kind of reason why you can't rest? Some reason why you can't move on from this life to the next? I mean, is there something or someone you need to find? A message you need to tell someone? Something you need to finish?"

  Mike was slightly surprised just how sincere she sounded when asking about him. Whatever it was that she had been doing must have inspired her in some way, and somewhere deep inside of him, he was grateful for it. He didn't know the last time someone was actually interested in who he was.

  "No, actually," he said, his lips quirking up once again, but this time it wasn't in any kind of smirk. Rather, this particular smile was nostalgic, as though he was remembering something that Lara wasn't aware of. "My family died when I was young."

  Again, Lara furrowed her brow. "Wait," she said, blinking a couple of times before regarding him with curious green eyes. "I thought your obituary said that you were survived by your mother and father."

  If Mike was surprised before, he was now incredulous. Lara had actually read his obituary, which meant that she must have gone to the library or someplace where they kept records of things like that. He hoped it wasn't too boring for her. He, too, had read his obituary that his parents had placed in the New York and South Haven papers and was slightly appalled at the simple diction and the fact that it was three sentences. In fact, now that he was standing in front of Lara, he actually felt slightly embarrassed that she read that dismal piece of—

  "You read my obituary?" Mike asked, still disbelieving at that fact. However, the smile on his face let Lara know that he was quite happy about that despite how horrible it was. "Well, then I must apologize profusely for the fifteen seconds you wasted on that thing. If I could give you fifteen seconds back, I would but—"

  "Why was it so vague?" Lara asked, interrupting him due to her pressing interest. "I mean, it says you were brilliant, but it only mentions that you were some kind of freelance law journalist." At that moment, Lara realized what she had just revealed, and her face turned beat red. Suddenly, her face contorted into a scowl and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Okay, so I did some research on you. It's public knowledge, okay? And anyway, you probably did the same thing, going through my underwear drawer."

  "I would never spy on you, and don't make me explain the whole underwear thing again," Mike told her. "I was helping you. Helping. As in, not spying. However, I feel that I should confess that while I didn't necessarily spy on you, I might have followed that fiancé guy of yours, Brick, or whatever his name was." Lara opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something, and from the look on her face, Mike guessed that it wasn't going to be too pleasant, so he cut her off. "I should tell you I didn't find anything odd going on, so congratulations are in order, but I should also tell you that that doesn't mean I suddenly like him. The guy rubs me the wrong way. I can't explain it."

  Lara rolled her eyes. His excessive talking and explaining made it difficult for her to actually be upset with him, only because Lara found that quality very amusing. However, only a select few people could actually pull that off, and oddly enough, she had found a ghost that could do just that.

  "Whatever," she murmured under her breath, glancing away and out the window.

  "You know, I've never understood what that word means," he said, cocking his head to the side.

  "Yeah, well, I don't understand that if you grew up in the Midwest, why you don't have an accent," she retorted.

  "What does that have anything to do with anything?" Mike asked, and without warning, the two shared a laugh.

  9

  The next morning, Lara made herself a cup of coffee, and once Brett had taken off for work, sat at the desktop computer and began to look for menial positions at New York publishing companies in an effort to get her foot in the door. She hoped she would find better luck this time around, and after a half an hour of searching, began to send in her résumés once more.

  She hated the economy right now. Nobody seemed to be hiring, and if people were, their job requirements were so rigid, it was almost impossible to get the job unless one was literally the definition of perfect, which Lara was clearly not. She took a long sip of her coffee, her eyes tired and strained from staring at the monitor for nearly two hours, but she really needed a job. Her mindset was that it wasn't fair to Brett that she was staying at home while he made all the money. It was very important to Lara that she contribute, and although she took care of the house, Brett indirectly made her feel that that really wasn't enough.

  "So," Mike asked, popping up behind Lara and looking over her shoulder. "What are you doing?”

  Lara jumped, nearly spilling her coffee on her comfortable bathrobe, and emitted a tiny yelp at Mike's sudden presence. "Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed once she was somewhat settled. "You scared the shit out of me."

  Mike held back a chuckle and looked at her profile. "Ah, ah, ah," he said, wagging a disapproving finger. "Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain."

  "Oh!" Lara said with surprise, as though she had just remembered that rule. "Oh! I'm sorry. Wait, does He really get offended?"

  Mike looked at her with a particular look of disbelief. "How am I supposed to know?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing?" Before Lara could answer, his black eyes skimmed the computer monitor and he realized he had answered his own question. "You're still looking for a job?" He glanced sidelong at her, a skeptical brow raised. "Can I ask you a question, and I sincerely hope you don't take it the wrong way?"

  "Um, yes," Lara said, trying to prepare herself for whatever Mike wanted to know.

  "Is being some editor's assistant really what you want to do with your life?" he asked, and for a moment, Lara thought he was going to elaborate, but instead, he stood there, looking at her, waiting for her to respond.

  "No," she admitted, shaking her head. "No, not really. If I could do anything in the world, I would write. But I thought that maybe being an assistant would help me make contacts and see how people choose books to publish and that sort of thing."

  Mike nodded as though he understood where she was coming from. "If you could write, what would you write about, exactly?" he asked, clearly interested in what she had to say. Now, he was leaning against the computer desk so that he faced her.

  "I don't know," Lara admitted, feeling her cheeks flush albeit slightly. "I know that sounds silly—a writer who doesn't know what to write about—but I have no idea. I know that I want to write, just not what I want to write about."

  The corner of Mike's lips quirked up into a half smile and his black eyes sparkled with understanding. "That's because you have yet to be inspired," he told her, assurance in his voice. "Here. How about this? Why don't you get dressed, take a shower, do what you need to do? I want to show you something." When he saw the suspicious look on Lara's face, he flashed her a smile. "Trust me. You're in good hands."

  Fifteen minutes later, Lara was dressed in a tight, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of dark skinny jeans, and knee-high boots. It looked like it was going to rain, and while Lara absolutely adored this sort of weather, she hated when her jeans got wet. Her hair was left down, and her makeup was natural. Before she left, though, she made a point to grab the headset that she used to use when she was in California, where it was illegal to drive while using a cell phone. This way, if she and Mike talked to one another, she wouldn't look completely crazy.

  "So, where are you taking me?" she asked him as they exited the house.

  "Do you have an extra car?" he asked, purposefully avoiding the question. "I mean, you might get a blister in those boots because it's going to take a while to get to where we're going and I don't want you to get hurt because—"

  "Yes, I have a car," Lara said, interrupting him. "But if I'm driving, you have to tell me where we're going or we'll be incapable of getting there." She smirked triumphantly, her eyes glittering.

  Mike felt his lips curl up at the way she looked, following her into the garage. "Actually, uh, I don't," he said, heading around the car so he could sit in the passenger seat. "I'll just tell you the general vicinity of where I want to take you, but that doesn't mean, specifically, that that's the place."

  "All right, all right," Lara said, rolling her eyes, but feeling excitement bubble within her nonetheless. She didn't remember Brett ever taking her on a surprise journey, and she felt herself wishing that he would. It was rather romantic, now that she thought about it. "Where is the general vicinity of where you want to take me?"

  Mike's lips quirked up as he rested his head against the headrest of the car. "Central Park," he informed her. "I want you to take me to Central Park."

  It took a good half hour for the two to finally arrive at Mike's choice of destination, but they kept themselves occupied with small talk and the radio. Once they found a parking space nearby, Mike led Lara over to the famous park and began pointing things out. It was interesting for Lara to see that despite the cold weather, people were still lying on the green grass, reading, socializing, playing with their dogs, exercising. Just the size of the park was amazing. However, despite this, Lara was looking around ominously. She had watched too many episodes of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and was waiting to stumble upon a dead body.

  "Of course you would think something like that," Mike murmured dryly, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. "Just enjoy where you are, okay? Are you capable of just doing that?" Before she could respond, he pointed to Lara's right. "There. Do you see that? That's where Shakespeare in the Park is. Do you see?"