But I wasn't aware of any of that at the time. After Michael called, I had another bottle of liquor and went to the portrait room where Grandma Mary was sitting and staring at the walls.

"Grandma," I sniffled. "Why are men so stupid?"

She looked at me, surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Michael just called," I sobbed. "He d-doesn't want to s-s-see me anymore. I think he loves his stupid house more then he loves me! He didn't even tell me it was over in person. He did it over the phone."

Grandma looked at me severely. "Christine Lillian O'Malley Gracey, is this how I taught you to act where men were concerned?"

I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "No."

She put a hand on my shoulder. "This isn't Ancient Greece, we do not live in Ithaca, and you are not Penelope waiting for Odysseus to return home from the Trojan War."

I stopped crying and looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"One of the many myths of the Ancient Greeks was about a young hero named Odysseus. He and his wife Penelope were very much in love, but one day, he was called to war. A beautiful woman named Helen, who was the wife of the Trojan king, had been kidnapped by a young man named Paris. Paris had been promised Helen as a gift by the goddess of love Aphrodite. But, of course, she was already married. So her husband declared war and off Odysseus went. And Penelope, the ever-faithful wife, waited for him for twenty years."

Grandma snorted. "What a stupid woman. She had lots of other men vying for her hand, but did she take advantage of the opportunity? I mean, Odysseus could have been dead for all she knew!"

"Grandma, what does this have to do with me?"

"I'm saying Chrissy-Lily that you don't have to sit around here waiting an eternity for Michael. Go find another young man until Michael comes back."

I nodded. "Yes, I'll go find another guy. That will serve Michael Allen-Park right for loving his house more then me!"

And with that, I marched myself outside to walk around town and check out my prospects. There were actually a surprising amount of eligible young ghost men that I could pick from.

I walked to the mall. The mall actually had a rep as being one of the most haunted places in the whole town. I would find myself a boy with a bad rep. then all of Michael's stupid rules about manners and propriety would finally go away, and I'd be free. But, I didn't find anyone at the mall. Not that day, not the next, or not even in the months that followed.

Finally, it was Halloween, and time for me to have my fun. In Chicago, I know people read about Resurrection Mary, the pretty girl ghost who stands on the side of the road hoping to thumb a ride back home to Resurrection Cemetery and scare the stuff out of anyone that tries to pick her up. The South had a hitchhiking ghost of it's own: me. They called me Miss Christine, and apparently, I've become such a part of Southern ghostlore that I've had books and a movie written about me.

Anyway, my haunting stays pretty close to the original tale. I stand on the side of the road looking all forlorn and upset waiting for some good-looking guy to come pick me up. They always do. Then, right when we get by the gates of Tara, I get out, and they see me walk up the steps and disappear into the house. Only then do they realize that I still have their jacket or sweater or whatever it is that they've given me, and they come into the house and find it hanging on the coat rack, but of course, I'm nowhere in sight. They grab their jacket and take the time to look at my picture on the mantel right above the coat rack. Then, they go out the same way they came in, and always see me standing in front of the house. In their eagerness to catch up to me, they trip over my well-hidden little memorial. They look up, see me nearly eye-to-eye with them, and once they look, I disappear. Then, finally, they look to see what they've tripped on, and only then do they realize that they brought home a ghost.

My memorial isn't an actual grave. It's a flat little monument that happens to have a sprinkler attached to it. That's how the guys trip, and why I can't just put their stuff on my grave. And besides that, it's bad manners to let something that was loaned to you with thoughtfulness get dirty.

That Halloween, I was picked up by a guy with dark hair and green eyes. He seemed vaguely familiar to me. Something told me that this wouldn't be the usual haunting job, so we talked, and rode around. Then, to my surprise, we were back at Gracey Manor all of a sudden.

I looked up at the guy. "We were in Georgia a moment ago, how did we get here?"

He grinned at me. "Well, Christine Gracey, isn't it my job to take you home?"

"How do you know this is my home? How do you know my name?"

"We've met." He said, narrowing his eyes. "Except last time I had a body and that stupid cowboy boyfriend of yours shot me dead."

I gasped. "Scott?"