"The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions."
*****
Eventually, the smell of bacon rouses me from bed. I amble into the bathroom, trying to ignore the cracked sink and toilet seat that shifts around when I sit on it.
Entering the living/dining room, I see a bicycle in the corner that wasn't there before and someone new yet familiar sitting at the counter. In the kitchen, Bram shoots pancake batter from a pressurized can onto a rusted griddle. "Well, look who's up!"
"Hey." I give him a small wave and look at the other guy.
I almost don't recognize Jonathan Enger, if it weren't for those weird blue eyes of his. His and Bram's families, the Engers and Derants, have worked for Historic Hudson for fifty years, operating the area's historic homes and main library. Both families pride themselves on being descendants of Ebenezer Irving, brother of Washington Irving, the author who made Sleepy Hollow famous with characters like Rip Van Winkle, Ichabod Crane, and everyone's favorite, the Headless Horseman.
For nineteen years, my mother worked for Historic Hudson as an historian and tour guide at Sunnyside, and from what she claimed, we were directly related to Washington Irving, too. This always made the Engers and Derants laugh their heads off. They loved to remind Mami that her parents were Cuban exiles who came to the U.S. in the 1960s, so there was no way in hell we could be descendants of a man as American as apple pie.
For years, Historic Hudson has claimed there's a hidden fortune belonging to Washington Irving's descendants somewhere in Sleepy Hollow, but since he never had kids, said money would only belong to extended family—a.k.a. the Engers and Derants. Not that it matters. None of it. There's no proof. It's all talk, talk, and more talk. That's all this town ever does.
Jonathan stares at me, sizing me up. I do the same to him. His hair is now long and stringy. Thick mutton chop sideburns and a scruffy goatee cover half his face. He rises from the stool to greet me with a pot-smelly hug and lingering stare.
"Hey, John." I force a smile. "Thought you were...somewhere else."
His eyes drift over me. "I was, but I had to see this for myself."
"John, bro," Bram mumbles. "Don't listen to him, Mica. He's completely lacking tact."
"I never listened to him before. Why would I start now?" I smile and take a seat at a counter stool. Jonathan returns the smile warily. Creep hasn't changed a bit.
John is a year older than Bram and me, so when we were in fourth grade, John was in fifth when he suddenly developed a massive crush on me. He wrote me love notes, but I always politely wrote back, saying I didn't like him that way. The next year, he grabbed me in the hall one day and said, "Everyone's right about you." I never knew what he meant by that.
"So, Mica..." Bram breaks the awkward silence. "Guess where we got jobs this fall? John, tell her what you told me."
"Tell me what?" I grab a few pancakes and lay them on my plate.
"We're working at Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe. Me after classes, and Bram after school, if you want to join us. They're hiring extra cashiers for October. Well, you probably don't need to, being the daughter of a successful millionaire and all..." Resentment simmers in Jonathan's voice.
Jonathan may have started Tarrytown College last month and is dying to be on his own, but like he said, there's no reason for me to work. One, because I'm okay financially, and two, I won't be here long anyway. If it weren't for my mom's death, my only worry this year would be getting my Yale application together and finishing high school with a solid GPA. "Thanks, guys, but I won't be here long."
"Doesn't your school give you a free pass while you're here?" Bram asked.
"Yes, but the only way my dad would let me come was if I dual-enrolled temporarily. To keep me busy, I guess."
"Or out of trouble, you troublemaker." Bram laughs, sticking out his tongue at me.
I give him a flat look. He knows I'm a perfect angel.
"What she's telling us..." Jonathan's knee bounces up and down. "Is that Daddy's got it all covered. She doesn't need a crappy job at a coffeehouse, like us losers."
Silence bubbles on my skin like acid. "That's not what I said at all. Resentful much?"
Jonathan grins. "Of what exactly?"
I shoot Jonathan a look then glance at Bram for support. Ugh, so happy to be back.
"John," Bram warns, pointing a spatula at his nose. "Don't."
"Forget it. I didn't say anything." Jonathan holds up his hands, and I think that will be the end of that, but then he leans forward and I swear, I can almost smell his hatred through the haze of weed. "So, how about that missing Irving journal, Micaela?"
I put down my fork and cross my arms. "What missing Irving journal?"
"John..." Bram's voice darkens. "I said, cut it out."
Jonathan sniffs to conceal a smile forming on his furry face.
"What journal?" My stare shifts from Jonathan to Bram. "Can someone please answer me?"
Bram clears his throat and shrugs. "Nothing, Princess. Just a thing that happened over at the library a few months ago. John, she just got here, you moron. Leave her alone."
I want to ask Bram more about this half-baked insinuation, but I'll wait until Fur Face Enger is gone.
Bram does his best to defuse the situation. "Well, if you won't work at the coffee shop, you must, without question, come with us to the HollowEve meetings. John and I are head assistants for the decorations committee this year."
Jonathan plucks a mask of a bloody ghoul from a duffel bag by his feet and puts it on. He doesn't look all that different from before. "That's right. Full control of this year's thrills and chills, baby. Grrr."
"Wow. HollowEve," I murmur. "That's a name I haven't heard in years."
The annual event transforms Philipsburg Manor, another historic home in the Hollow, into an eerie landscape with more jack-o-lanterns, tombstones, and costumed characters than the world has ever seen. They also boast an annual Legend of Sleepy Hollow reenactment with an appearance by a fake Headless Horseman.
"What parts are you playing this year? Brom Bones and his boon companions?" I snicker. Jonathan takes off the mask and smirks at me.
Hand pressed to his chest, Bram says, "I am hoping for the coveted horseman's role, if you must know. I've wanted it since I first rode Apple."
Apple—now that's a name I haven't heard in years. I remember his grandfather's horse and how Bram would go to his ranch every weekend to ride her.
"Felix, the usual guy, just moved away, so they're looking for someone new," Bram adds.
"We'll see about that." Jonathan huffs. "A lot of people want that role. People older than you who've been volunteering even longer."
"Don't get your hopes up, buddy." Bram claps him on the shoulder. "You're too short."
"And you're too ugly."
"Dude. How does a headless horseman need to be good-looking if he doesn't have a face?"
"And how does a horseman need to be tall?"
"Guys," I interrupt, "you're still competing for the same stupid things, I see. As if HollowEve is worth fighting over."
Bram looks up at me under wilting eyebrows. "Some things are worth fighting for."
Jonathan stares ahead while cracking a knuckle. What did he mean by that? I swallow my bite of pancake slowly.
"Anyway..." Bram opens the OJ carton and begins pouring juice into three glasses. "I know you never liked the whole tourist thing, but it's the one time of year we finally get some recognition, so face it, you're a local again, which means you're trapped."
"Trapped with weirdos." I chuckle.
"Trapped with tradition!" He raises his fork. "Working might be an option for you, but HollowEve is not. You're helping us. Accept it."
Jonathan shoots Bram a knowing look. "We'll get her into a Katrina Van Tassel costume somehow." His ickiness makes me cringe.
Katrina Van Tassel, the lead damsel from "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," probably wore a decent Dutch settler dress in the story, but nowadays, girls have turned her into a joke—bosoms overflowing from slutty corsets and bodices, sad versions of Irving's original character.
"I would never wear anything like that," I say, losing my appetite. Especially for Jonathan. "Anyway, nothing like a couple of festival freaks to welcome a girl back." I put down my fork and gaze out the window at the familiar treetops. I don't have time for this. There's too much to do. I need Bram to drop me off at my new townhouse. Hopefully, Nina has arrived with the key, and I can unpack my stuff, buy a few school supplies, and then visit my old house. Figure out why, if things were so urgent, couldn't Mami have done them herself?
****
Bram and I head into town for a few things before I meet up with Nina. After all, she wasn't in a hurry to get here for my sake, opting to spend a few days with her older sister in Brooklyn before finally arriving this morning on the same train I took last night, so why should I hurry?
I get the nicest gray wraparound sweater I can find at Dillard's and a pair of autumn boots, things I would never need in Miami. If I have to be in Sleepy Hollow, I may as well allow for some excitement over new things. At checkout, I run my debit card through the terminal. A moment later, the cashier gives me a sorry look. "That one's declined."
"What?" I say, even though I heard her. "I'll try it again." I run the card one more time, but the same thing happens.
"Are you traveling?" The older woman smiles. "Some debit cards have that problem."
It's the same card I used to check in my bags at the airport, and it worked fine there. I run my dad's credit card instead. It goes through fine. I feel Bram watching me as I take the receipt and put it in my wallet. This happened once before. Sometimes the card companies do it to safeguard you against theft when you're out of the country, and my dad is in Colombia.
As we leave the store, Bram bumps shoulders with me. "Happens to me every day, if that's any consolation." He laughs heartily. "Hey, it's only money."
We head to his car when his phone rings. He sees who's calling and sighs, debating whether or not to answer. He mouths the name Mom, shushes me, and plants the phone to his ear. "Hey, Mom," he says. "Yeah, I'm gonna go pick her up now. No, I don't know. Probably take her to her nanny at the new place."
"She's not my nanny," I whisper. Nina Whitman is my father's assistant. She might sometimes cook, do laundry, and pretend to keep me company while my dad is out of town, but we both know it's only a formality, since I'm eighteen.
"I don't know, Mom. I think he'll be here any day now. I don't know," Bram says. I can hear Mrs. Derant's voice growing agitated on the other line. Bram's knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as he backs out of the parking space. "Why don't you call her and ask her yourself? Yes, yes, whatever. Bye." He hangs up and blows out a big breath. "Holy shit."
"Someone got an earful." I laugh.
Bram shakes his head and begins imitating his mother's voice. "Why's that girl here? She needs to go back to where she came from. Blah, blah, blah."
I pick at my cuticles without comment. Some things never change. What did I ever do to that woman?
Bram stops at the parking lot exit, staring at the street signs. "Where is this place again?"
I show him the address on my iPad screen, and he takes off toward the nicer part of town. We reach a neighborhood of neatly lined-up townhouses, fresh stamped concrete driveways, and baby trees held up with sticks. Bram helps me carry my stuff, while I stomp up the steps and ring the doorbell. "Nice place," he says.
"Your mom's not happy I'm here, is she?" I scoff. "Maria Burgos's evil daughter, back in town to try and steal the imaginary family fortune." Wish they would let it go already.
"Don't worry about her. I'll fend her off." He bumps my shoulder, checking his phone. "I would stay and check out the place, Princess, but I have to get going. Work starts in fifteen minutes."
"I know. Hey, I'm glad we got to spend some time together." I give him a big hug, still not used to Bram being so much taller than me. "Thanks for taking me shopping. And for breakfast. It was awesome." It really was. He could've easily bought a box of doughnuts, but he cooked. That was really sweet of him.
"My pleasure." He taps my chin with a fingertip and stares at me a long moment. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Call or text me when you get your schedule to see if you're in any of my classes." Slowly, he backs down the steps. "And stop looking so damn hot, Mica. Jeez."
"You stop." I laugh, feeling myself blush. I watch him get into his car, answer another phone call, and drive off. He waves out his window.
I face the house. Here goes nothing. I ring the doorbell again and wait. The door opens, and short, nervous, red-haired, ponytailed Nina steps back to let me through. "Micaela!" She's out of breath, stepping out of the way, so I can drag my bags into the foyer myself. "How was your flight? LaGuardia, right?"
"Good, and yes. Then, I took the train from the city late last night, only to get your text that the place wasn't ready. Thanks for letting me know sooner."
"Oh, you are so welcome," she says, completely ignoring my sarcasm. "So, which motel did you stay at?"
"I didn't. I stayed with Bram. Didn't feel like being alone at a motel. Know what I mean?" Not that Nina would care, as long as I'm alive and she's getting a paycheck.
"Oh, okay!" She fakes an interested smile, but she's doing that thing where she's not really listening to anything I'm saying. She points up the carpeted stairs. "Your room's the one on the left."
So much for pleasantries. "Is there one down here?" I see through her intentions to keep me in the tallest tower, as per my father's orders.
"There is, but it's for your dad's office."
"My dad's not here yet," I remind her. Seeing the blank stare on Nina's face, I add, "Just stating the obvious. You can tell him I was being difficult."
"You? Difficult? Don't be silly. Fine, take it, I don't care." She flips a hand and looks around. "What was I doing? Right, phone company, rental car, refilling allergy prescription..." She disappears down a short hall, muttering, "How I'm supposed to do all that with what I'm given, I swear, I don't know..."
With what she's given. I do nothing to quiet my scoffs. Like she doesn't make enough money. Bram or Jonathan would kill for a fraction of what my dad pays her.
I find the downstairs bedroom, close the door, and plop down on a box, trying not to think about this life. I was supposed to start my senior year surrounded by friends at Carrolton, and now I'm back here, of all places. How quickly things change.
Better start unpacking. After making a decent bedroom out of this white cube of a room, I clock in some face-to-face time with Nina, but as soon as she starts on about the alarm company not receiving the deposit, how she hasn't leased a car yet because she's waiting for the transfer to go through, and more bitching, I throw on my new gray sweater and head outdoors, if only so I can breathe again.
First stop—the old house on Maple Street.