Griffith Tavern (Taryn's Camera Book 2) Read online

  She put off handing out the invitations until the last minute, so mortified that she didn’t have anyone to give one to. She never got invited to anyone else’s parties and only had a friendly “hey, how are you?” association with most of the kids in her school. She just couldn’t admit to anyone, especially herself, that nobody would want to come to her party.

  She’d actually cried about that a little, and tried to seek comfort from Matt. “So?” he’d shrugged. “I don’t really have friends, either, except for you. It’s not like we’re ever going to see these people again once we graduate.” He hadn’t exactly been soothing at the time.

  Finally, in emotional exhaustion, she’d given the ten invitations to some girls in the Drama Club and her chorus class. She prefaced each invite with pretty much the same speech: “Hey, I know this is kind of last minute, but I’m having this birthday party at Belle Meade. I’m not inviting a lot of people, and it’s just girls, but I thought maybe you’d like to come. You know, if you’re not too busy. But I can totally understand if you are.”

  All in all, it wasn’t a very exciting or convincing speech and she knew in her heart she’d have to return to her mother and tell her to cancel it. But, to her surprise, every one of those girls RSVP’d.

  Maybe they liked her more than she realized. Maybe she had more friends than she knew!

  Nah, it was the lure of attending a function at Belle Meade that did it in the end. Nobody wanted to pass that up. They might have only been teenagers, but their parents were impressed enough to highly encourage them not to turn it down.

  All in all, the tea was a success. The food was delicious, the private dining room beautiful, and the conversation cheerful. They’d laughed and joked about teachers, about different guys they all knew, and about what the future held in store for all of them. They’d all brought presents Taryn cooed and clucked over and in the group picture the girls gathered closely around her, smiling for the camera with their beautiful, straight teeth and glossy hair. To a stranger, they all would’ve appeared to be best of friends.

  Taryn returned home feeling happy, content, even a little high from her afternoon. Her grandmother was happy for her, her mother smug.

  She’d gone to school that Monday feeling confident in her newfound friendships. And the girls were all cordial. Nobody was rude or mean to her. But none of them went out of their way to include her in anything; nobody asked her to sit with them at lunch, invited her over to their house, passed notes to her, or walked with her down the hallways. It was as though they hadn’t even shared that afternoon together.

  A few months later her dad wanted to do something special for her. He managed to get several tickets to Dollywood in Pigeon Forge and asked Taryn to invite some friends to travel to the mountains and spend a day riding the rides, seeing the shows, and then staying overnight in a cabin. Again, she was faced with a dilemma. This time, however, Matt was able to go along. That was one down anyway.

  The mention of “road trip” and “free entertainment,” not to mention the idea of a hot tub in a cabin, brought out some others. So she and six other people (four girls, two guys) traveled in a caravan to the Smoky Mountains. They’d spent a wonderful day at the theme park and then had the time of their lives in the cabin that night. Someone built a fire and they roasted marshmallows. Matt made a homemade pizza and Taryn drove to Kroger and bought a cheesecake sampler for dessert. She’d fallen asleep with her head in Matt’s lap while they all watched a horror movie on television feeling that peaceful, content feeling again.

  But after that? Not a word.

  “I’m buying friends, Matt,” she cried one evening as they sat on her back porch, the light fading from the springtime sky. “I’m basically paying people to spend time with me.”

  “No you’re not,” he spoke softly, putting his arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug. “You’re just being nice.”

  “And getting nothing in return. I’m so pathetic. I can’t get anyone to do anything with me unless I pay for something,” she sniffled into her arm.

  “You don’t have to pay me. But you can start it you want,” he joked.

  That was the end of it. She’d gone the rest of her high school years with few friends, but at peace with herself.

  The bar was bigger than she’d expected and the parking lot full. She could hear the bass pumping from it as soon as she pulled into the graveled lot. The air was a little chilly so she’d thrown on a light white sweater over her paisley-patterned vintage button down. A few people milled outside, smoking and talking, and their laughter rose over the blues style melody and faded into the night. It was a nondescript place, just a plain old wooden building with one neon sign, but it was out by itself and its isolation gave it an air of cockiness as if saying, “Hey, look at me! I don’t need anyone.”

  When she walked through the doors she was met by a blanket of darkness and a thick, stale scent of cheap draft bear and sweat. Their air was thick, almost pungent, and she knew the cardigan wouldn’t last long. She could already feel her armpits dampening. Once her eyes became adjusted, she scanned the tables for Daniel or someone who looked familiar. She found them in a corner in the back, eight of them taking up two round tables. They were far away from the small stage, currently swathed in a bright blue light, and lanterns on their tables framed their faces with a ghostly light.

  Taryn wove her way through the swaying dancers on the small dance floor and myriad of tables, sometimes having to turn sideways to squeeze through, until she reached them.

  “Hey, there she is,” Daniel shouted over the music. He stood up and pulled a chair in next to him and patted it. “Here, sit with me and Willow. Are you drinking?”

  Scanning the group she saw a mixture of bottles, drafts, and waters. They seemed to be drinking cheap. “I’ll have a coke for now,” she smiled. “And maybe work my way up.”

  “First round’s on me then,” Daniel laughed. “Gang, if you haven’t met Taryn then introduce yourself. Remember, we’re paying her so be nice to her and flatter her while I’m gone!”

  The rest of them laughed, cast a glance in her direction, and then went back to what they were doing. Two of the guys seemed to be in an intense conversation at the other table. Both of them were waving their hands in the air and occasionally slapping the table or their thighs. They didn’t look angry, but she could tell they were talking about something serious. She remembered the one being Jake but she didn’t know the other guy.

  Willow sat next to her, her long hair pulled back in a French braid. Tonight she was wearing a long black skirt, bright red tank top, and combat boots. Her fingers, which tapped somewhat nervously on the table in front of her, were bedecked in rhinestones. She smiled warmly at Taryn and leaned in to talk to her.

  “So Daniel told me about the ghosts. I just wanted to say I think that’s pretty awesome.”

  Taryn had no idea how to reply. “Yeah, well, I think so too when I’m not actually seeing them.”

  “Do you try talking to them? You know, to see what they want?”

  “I’ve tried. They don’t seem to be able to answer the way I hope they will. I don’t know they can,” Taryn admitted. “I think they’re limited to how they can communicate and they can’t exactly, you know…”

  “Perform on command?” Willow supplied. “Well, what kind of ghost do you think this one is?”

  “It’s definitely a woman,” Taryn began, feeling just a little silly talking paranormal in a crowded bar with couples dirty dancing to “Blueberry Hill” nearby.

  “Oh, yeah,” Willow shook her head. “My bad. I meant what type of haunting?”

  “Huh?” Now Taryn was confused. “I don’t think it’s a demon, if that’s what you mean.”

  A look crossed her face making Taryn wonder if Willow thought she was dealing with a moron. “No,” she acknowledged patiently, as though talking to a child, “there’s actually more than one kind. Let’s see if I can put this another way. Okay, sometimes you have
ghosts who know they’re dead and are kind of floating around, appearing when they think they need to, and communicating with living people. These ghosts might have unfinished business or maybe just don’t want to move on. But they definitely know they’re dead. Then you have the whole residual energy thing. These aren’t really spirits at all. You’re just seeing a sign from the past, a scene.”

  “Like a hologram?” Taryn offered. “I have had this explained to me in the past but I guess I don’t understand it.”

  “Right, like a hologram of sorts,” Willow agreed. “The last kind of ghost doesn’t know they’re dead so they keep living in the same place like they were still alive. These guys need the most help, but it’s hard because you can’t always communicate with them.”

  “So where do poltergeists and demons fit in?” Taryn was constantly amazed by the amount of information people seemed to have on this topic. She was new to the whole scene and still learning. Where the heck did THEY learn all this? The Syfy channel? Destination America?

  “Those aren’t ghosts at all; they’re completely different entities. But you don’t think that’s what your haunting is, right?”

  Daniel arrived with the Coke and a Coors for himself. He squeezed in next to Willow and picked up on the conversation he’d overheard while sitting down. “Nah, I don’t think it’s anything malevolent. Do you, Taryn?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But it’s definitely not the residual thing. Well, some of it is, but not all of it.” She still wasn’t ready to talk about her camera. “I think she knows she’s dead.”

  “So you can communicate with her?” Willow pressed, her eye bright.

  “I don’t know,” Taryn replied helplessly. “I’m trying. But she can get through to me much easier than I can get through to her.”

  “She must be powerful then,” Daniel mused. “To be able to appear to you and try to interact with you. Wonder why she laid dormant all these years?”

  “And where she’s been,” Taryn added. Taking a big swill of her coke she glanced at the other members of the party. “So how’s the funding going?”

  That got the ear of Joe over at the other table. “Ha,” he snorted, “I’m just about finished with the whole thing.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “The owners called Daniel today. Now they’re saying they’re going to sell next week. They wanted us off the property, not come around anymore. It was a mess.”

  “Why?” Taryn asked, shocked. “I’m the only one out there and nobody’s bothering anything.”

  “I don’t know,” Daniel muttered. “I’m guessing they’re getting offered big bucks and someone out there is afraid we’re going to have good luck here at the end and get a loan through.”

  “Am I a problem? I mean, I know that’s not the big issue or anything,” she added quickly.

  “No, no, he got it sorted out,” Willow explained. “They don’t mind you being there. The woman on the phone was a real bitch, Daniel had it on speaker so I could hear, but by the end she was okay. I guess. They just want all this over with.”

  “We just need to face the facts,” Joe stated, the resignation clearly on his face. “We’re not going to get the money, the development company will get it, and a Target or something will go up in its place. We tried; we failed.”

  The others stopped talking and nodded in agreement.

  “And even if we don’t,” a blond at the end spoke up, “and we actually get it, are people even going to care? Can we keep it up?”

  Taryn could see sadness, frustration, and resignation on the groups’ faces. “Oh, come on! Don’t give up now. You have some time left. And these kinds of things happen all the time. People love museums. With the new interstate exit you can put up brochures at the rest stops, the welcome center. People will stop!” She tried to sound as encouraging as she felt. Nobody’s face moved.

  “We’re just tired,” Daniel confessed. Indeed, Delta would have charged him for the bags he carried under his eyes. “And graduation’s coming up. Most everyone is going to split. I’m not, and Willow’s not, but it means finding new people for the board, new members for the organization. Maybe we just weren’t thinking when we took it on as a project.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Taryn said stubbornly. “Your hearts were in the right places and that’s what counts. If you’ve turned over all the rocks and haven’t found anything then maybe you just need to find a new field.”

  “We should pay you to be our motivational leader, too,” a voice from the end of the table called. Everyone laughed.

  The mood lightened then and when Joe offered to buy the next round Taryn let him get her a Jack and Coke. By the third one, she was starting to feel pretty good and wondering if maybe she should reconsider driving back to the B&B.

  The group was friendly and made attempts to welcome her. They asked her a few questions about previous jobs, she got into a heated debate with one of the Parks and Recreation majors about the development of the national parks and how much damage some of them had done to the people living in the areas they covered, and she was even asked to dance once. The band played an array of oldies, blues, and classic country. They weren’t half bad, even though the longer the night wore on the more out of tune they became. She chalked it up to the pitcher of beer the lead singer kept having refilled.

  For a little while she felt relaxed, happy even. The music was loud and the vibrations got under her feet and traveled up her legs. The ratio of Jack to Coke was perfect, not too strong and not too watery, and even though she grew warm, it was a good kind of warm, a cozy kind.

  When the band went into some Skynyrd she was pulled up onto the dance floor by everyone else at her table and as she tossed her hair, shook her hips, and waved her arms she experienced a grand feeling of euphoria. Everyone around her laughed and smiled and the bright lights warmed her skin. It was easy to forget she was there for a job, didn’t really know these people, and would be leaving soon; she felt a part of them. She was accepted.

  Then the band effortlessly slid into “Tuesday’s Gone” to continue their tribute to the great southern rockers and those around her paired off. She was left alone on the floor, the disco ball above her leaving spots swirling around her feet. Trying not to feel embarrassed, yet feeling awkward stings on her cheek, she pushed her way between the slow moving bodies and made her way back to the empty table.

  There weren’t many people sitting down now. The slow ones always got them on their feet. There wasn’t much to slow dancing, not really. You just had to turn around in circles and sway your hips a little. Taryn loved to dance, though, or had at one time. She hadn’t done it in a long time. That was something from her old life. She and Andrew had frequented country bars when he was alive. He loved the live music as much as she did, but he loved feeling a part of the crowd and excitement even more. Within minutes of walking into a new place he’d meet practically everyone in the room, laughing with the men, flirting with the women…Taryn was never jealous of the attention and admiration Andrew commanded; she was proud of him. Proud to be with him.

  But this song…did it have to be so damn long? Did it have to be the one they’d played that night in the kitchen, the night before he died? It was late and she was working in her studio. He wanted a midnight snack and had stuck a Hot Pocket in the microwave. Never one for quiet, he’d cranked up the radio to the classic rock station and then turned it up even louder when Skynyrd came on. She’d wandered into the kitchen then and somehow they wound up dancing in the dark room, giggling because she held onto her Pepsi the whole time.

  She didn’t remember much of what they did the next day. It was a normal day. But she remembered that night.

  Now, sitting there at the table alone, she was struck with a feeling of lonesomeness that hit her like a freight train. She was really and truly by herself, no matter how many people were around her. The punch in her gut was sharp but somehow made her feel as weightless as the feeling of going down that first
big hill on a rollercoaster. With a little wave to Daniel out on the dance floor, she let herself out and drove back to her room.

  Are you okay?” Matt’s voice was groggy, unfocused. She’d woken him up. Of course, it was 2:30 am. Or 22:30 am. It was kind of hard to tell. The numbers kept jumping around. Taryn pulled herself to the edge of the bed to get a closer look at the digital clock and nearly tumbled off onto the floor.

  “I’m fine,” she slurred. “Just stopped off at the store and picked up some cookies. I had the munchies.” Only it came out more like “punchies.”

  “It sounds like you picked up more than that,” Matt said mildly.

  Giving up on trying to read the time, Taryn fell back on her pillow and stared up at her ceiling. The ceiling fan was twisting around and around at an impossible speed and now it felt like the whole room was spinning. Bad idea.

  “Maybe a little Bailey’s,” she admitted, glancing at an empty glass on the nightstand to her left. “And a small Jack Daniels,” she added, glancing at the empty bottle on the nightstand to her right.

  “Well, I hope it was fun.” Matt didn’t drink; he was a straight arrow. That annoyed the hell out of her.

  “I was!” she exclaimed brightly. “I had myself a little party. Only now I’m all out of cookies. And Jack. But I still have some Baileys left…”

  If she could just get up and walk to the other side of the room she could remedy that. But the last time she’d tried she’d tripped over her boots and sent herself flying across the floor. She’d made such a racket Delphina had come up to check on her. The look she’d given Taryn was a sad one, but not too judgmental. Taryn was sure she’d seen worse.