Read Winter Oranges for Free Online Page B

room, except for this man—this apparition or whatever he was—who stood a few feet away, his hands clasped in front of his chest, grinning as if he could barely contain his excitement.
    “I must be losing my mind,” Jason said.
    The man frowned at him, shaking his head. He gestured toward the couch. Jason hesitated, and the man went first, crossing the room with strangely long steps that seemed out of sync with the distance he traversed. Jason was reminded of the Scooby-Doo cartoons he’d watched as a kid, the way the characters’ legs would spin madly as they ran, and yet the background behind them never seemed to keep pace. The man sank to the couch, although even that wasn’t quite right. He sank a bit too far, an inch or two of his backside disappearing into the cushion. It was as if he’d grasped the theory of sitting, but hadn’t quite mastered the art of stopping when his ghostly flesh hit solid matter.
    “You are a ghost.”
    The man shook his head, his shaggy dark hair flopping around his ears. He gestured to the other end of the couch. Jason lowered himself obediently, feeling as if he was doing the opposite of the apparition. Rather than sinking in, he was touching as little of the cushion as he could, ready to jump up and run at the first sign of—
    Of what?
    Of this ghost suddenly turning hostile? The idea seemed laughable.
    “Who are you?” Jason asked.
    Lips moved and hands flew wildly, but no sound emerged. Jason held up his hand to stop what was clearly a rush of silent words.
    “What’s your name?”
    This time, the ghost kept it simple. One syllable that even Jason could discern.
    “Ben?” Jason asked.
    The spirit nodded, grinning broadly, squirming in delight. He held his hands out to Jason, made a give me gesture. His meaning was clear: Your turn.
    “Jason.”
    Jason. He could read the name on the boy’s lips. Ben gestured around them, at the room, toward the window, pointing toward the house. He raised his eyebrows at Jason in an obvious question.
    “I bought the house,” Jason said.
    Ben nodded, made the give me gesture again. Go on.
    “I don’t know what to say.”
    One silent word, carefully formed, easy to lip-read. Anything.
    “Umm. Well. I used to live in California. I decided I needed a break, you know? So I bought this house.” Wish somebody had told me it was haunted.
    Another go on motion from Ben.
    “I’m . . .” Jason hesitated. “I’m an actor.”
    Ben’s eyes widened in interest.
    “But things haven’t been so good these last few years, so I’m taking a break.”
    Ben nodded encouragingly, and Jason suddenly felt uncomfortable, the way he had the couple of times he’d tried counseling. He’d never gotten the hang of talking about himself.
    “So, uh . . . you live here?”
    Ben’s head tilted back slightly, his mouth open and his eyes bright. He was laughing, and Jason couldn’t help but smile back.
    Ben made a noncommittal gesture in response to the question—sort of a shrug and a casual wave of his hand. Something that Jason translated to, I guess you could say that.
    “But you’re not dead? You’re not a ghost?”
    Another shrug, but this time while shaking his head. Watching his lips, Jason thought he said, I don’t think so.
    “Okay. When were you born?”
    Ben smiled, seemingly pleased to have a question he could answer. He answered, but Jason’s lip-reading skills weren’t enough to get him through, so the boy held up a finger. Jason took that to mean one minute , or wait , but then Ben held up all five fingers of one hand, plus three of another, and Jason realized he was trying to spell it out.
    “Eight?”
    Ben shook his head. Waved his hands back and forth as if erasing a blackboard.
    Understanding dawned. “Start over.”
    Ben held up a single finger.
    “One.”
    A nod. Then the next one.
    “Eight.”
    Next number.
    “Four.”
    Ben nodded, then made a circle with his hand.
    “Eighteen forty?” Jason asked, incredulous. “You