The Year Of Past Things

Phil Randazzo, owner of the trendy Tasso Restaurant in New Orleans, is being haunted and he's not at all happy about it. Strange supernatural events are taking place in the home he shares with his new wife, Michelle. Michelle's late husband, the legendary Cajun musician A. P. Savoie, begins to appear at will and inhabit everyday objects. As Savoie's presence grows stronger, the couple asks for help-psychics and exorcists are consulted until Phil narrowly escapes a deadly accident. Clearly, the honeymoon is over; but what, if anything, does Savoie want from them? In The Year of Past Things, the acclaimed author of The Worst Day of My Life, So Far has conjured up a savvy ghost story with a healthy helping of New Orleans flair.

New Family"CASPER CUT UP ALL NIGHT LONG," Nicole started complaining the next morning. "That's why I'm too sleepy to eat, Mom."Michelle pointed at her daughter's uneaten eggs, yellow goo, dammed on one side of the plate by congealing white grits. "What you heard was Hendrix cutting up. He was a very bad kitty. Now hurry up and finish, if we're going."Nicole scrubbed at her face and made small mewing noises and then searched behind her for the fat cat lying on the bricked floor. "Hendrix can have my eggs. Hendrix loves eggs.""What Hendrix needs is Weight Watchers," muttered Phil."Who wants seconds?" his stepson called from the kitchen where he lounged at the hot griddle, spatula twirling among the fingers of his right hand. Hot oil droplets leaped unnoticed from the spatula, spattering Michelle's folk art terra-cotta candlesticks on the little windowsill over the sink. "Mom?"Michelle bent from her chair to wave her fingers in a summons and the cat got up to trot over and push his head into the palm of her hand. He purred very loudly, and Phil, who had never known or cared for cats before, tolerated this one only because its presence in the family predated his own. He watched with no interest as his wife and the animal mutually discovered the exact spot underneath the furry fat chin that held ecstasy. Michelle's fingers probed and the cat stretched out his broad neck, leaning hard into her fingertips. The transaction seemed, to Phil, a lot like sex."Mom? Seconds?" Cam called again from the kitchen.Phil turned his head and noticed what the spatula was doing. "Don't twirl it like that, Cam."Michelle swiveled to look up and back."It's okay," Phil told her. "He's okay."His fifteen-year-old stepson stood silhouetted against the light from the glass pane of the front door, spatula stilled now but held straight up in readiness in an almost military pose. Cam's forearm was still childishly smooth, not yet ridged with any veins, but you could almost see him growing. He was blond like Michelle, tall like her. He shared some of her mannerisms, Phil was discovering, plus that cool reserve that sometimes masked emotion but on other occasions was merely the indifference that it looked like. There was no way yet to tell which was which early enough in any given situation for Phil to automatically formulate a correct response, but he was forgiven when he got it wrong. Just as he always forgave both mother and son for being hard to read."I'll have more coffee, I think," Michelle answered Cam, "please.""What?" The spatula moved.She turned in her seat. "I dislike shouting in the morning!""More coffee!" Nicole shrilled.Phil stood, hands splayed on the tabletop on both sides of the handwoven Guatemalan cloth place mat he didn't particularly like. "I'll get it. He's got the gas grill on. It makes noise.""No, you sit." Michelle lay a palm atop the back of his hand. "He's coming."Cam's athletic shoes thudded down the three varnished woo

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Excerpted from The Year of Past Things by M. A. Harper
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