A contemporary YA romance with a paranormal twist: what happens when in between trying to decide which boy is the right boy, a girl finds out the funeral home her family owns might be haunted?
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Grave Things Like Love, which releases on October 11th 2022.
Elaine’s home is a bit . . . different. It’s a funeral home that has been in her family since the 1800s—and it’s why everyone calls her Funeral Girl. And even though she’s lived there her whole life, there are still secrets to be found.
When Xander, a cute new boy with a penchant for ghost hunting, arrives in town, Elaine feels an instant spark. His daring and spontaneous ways help her go from Funeral Girl to Fun Girl. Then there’s Miles, Elaine’s oldest friend, who she’s starting to see in a completely new light.
After Xander convinces her to stage a seance one night, Elaine discovers that her home might be haunted by a kindred spirit—the daughter of the funeral home’s original owner. But who wants to be haunted by the dead when there are boys to spend time with? After all, you only live once. . . .
The one good thing about driving the buggy is that I’m up so high I don’t have to talk to anyone. It’s good because the longer I sit here, the more I’m having déjà vu.
This déjà vu goes all the way back to kindergarten, when people started calling me Funeral Girl. The reason for the nickname is obvious (duh, my family runs the local funeral home). But there’s more to it, because the funeral home—my home—is supposed to be haunted.
The Gillies Ghost, so the story goes, is a woman who jumped from the third-floor attic window back around the time the old hearse I’m driving carried actual bodies in it. People claim you can still see her standing in the window, which means we get regular gawkers peering up at the house from the sidewalk, especially on Halloween, when they also leave candles and flowers and other offerings by the sign in our front yard. The Gillies Ghost story is horse doo-doo, even stinkier than the massive pile that just got dumped into the manure bag in front of me, and I should know because the third-floor window where people say she appears is my window. If there was a ghost in my bedroom, I think I would have seen it.
Funeral Girl! Funeral Girl! It was the soundtrack to every lunch and recess until fifth grade, when kids started to outgrow stupid name-calling. Or maybe I shrank myself and my temper into a small and quiet-enough space that they finally got bored and forgot about me. Most of them don’t notice me anymore. But still. Here I am, dressed like an actual funeral girl, and I’m just glad I’m perched high enough above everybody’s heads to avoid making conversation.
I am not, however, high enough to escape the stench of horse poop, or the embarrassment of watching my other horse pee all over the pavement.
“Ew, nasty!” The trombone section from my school’s marching band wanders into view. Stepping around the pee, they wave to a couple of guys from the drum line as I dip my head over my phone, hoping the brim of my hat hides my face. Meanwhile Aaron, the farmer Mom and Dad rent the horses from, speaks soothingly to the animals until the drummers rat-a-tat to another part of the line.
Aaron rode with me to the staging area. On the way, he gave last-minute pointers on how to keep the buggy on a steady roll and get the horses to stop, slow down, and work together, basically preventing the whole thing from turning into a parade-crushing stampede. We are now sandwiched between kids from Strickland’s School of Tae Kwon Do and mini-ballerinas from Miss Bobbi’s Twinkle Toes dance studio. Aaron is on the ground, while I sit up on the driver’s platform, watching a kaleidoscope of colors shift and morph inside my favorite relaxation app. When you live with anxiety, little strategies help, especially in stressful situations like this.
“Elaine!”
I look down to see Mom in her red power suit, craning to catch my attention.
“Elaine, put away the phone. It ruins the effect.”
“The parade hasn’t started yet,” I tell her. “And the only people who can see me don’t give a crap if I’m on my phone.”
“Language, Elaine.” She pats one of the horses and turns to Aaron. “Tom is up to his ears at home. He won’t be able to make the barbecue, so can you drive the buggy back?”
Aaron assures her he will. Mom shoots me a conciliatory smile.
“Oh, and I hate to ask this, Lainey, but we just got a call from Blanchester. Dakota doesn’t know how to get there. It can wait until after the parade, but would you mind riding along for that pickup?”
“But I’m going to the concert with Sienna and Madison.”
“I know and I’m sorry,” she says. “But there’s nobody else to ask. We’re sponsoring the arts council ice cream booth, so I have to be here. Otherwise, I’d go myself.”
“Am I not doing enough right now?” I run my hand along my corset-clad torso, sweeping it out to include the horses and the hearse. I’ve been looking forward to the concert with my friends all week; it’s a Harvest Home tradition.
“I don’t know, are you?” Mom snaps back. “We’re having our first truly busy day in months. But if you can’t be bothered, your father can leave all the work he has to do and handle the death call too.”
“No, I’ll do it.” I let submission bloom in anger’s place. This happens all the time, and I hate the helpless way it makes me feel. But I can’t just leave them hanging.
“Wonderful,” says Mom. “You’re the best.”
