Page 35 of Ghost in the Cupboard

“Believe what you want,” I said.

“Make me a believer then, Si,” he said. “Prove to me you can talk to ghosts.”

I stared at him, then down at my lap.

“Summon my dad,” he said. “Right now.”

“Ghosts can’t come in the house,” I replied, simply.

“That’s not true,” Danny chided me. “There’s one in here now, according to you. Came in via the cupboard. Right?”

“Right,” I gave him a nod.

He snorted. “So?”

“It found a loophole.”

“Then let’s go outside,” Danny said. “Okay. Ghosts can’t get into the house without a loophole. Let’s go outside. Right now. Summon my dad. Talk to him. Make me a believer.”

Reaching down, I grabbed my boxers and slid them on, then stood from the bed. When I got to the bedroom door, I turned and looked over my shoulder at my still naked…whatever…in my bed, watching me expectantly. The mix of desperation, sadness, and a sprinkle of disbelief in his eyes pained me.

“You coming?” I asked.

“We’re…you’re going to summon Dad?”

“I’m going to make you breakfast.”

Then I turned and left my bedroom. I’d gotten out some sausages, put bread in the toaster, and retrieved the eggs and butter from the fridge before Danny entered the kitchen. Seeing that he’d only put on his boxers and socks let me know that I hadn’t upset him enough to make him want to leave, even after breakfast. I was pleased, but also unsure if I wanted to be pleased.

Having Danny stick around the house all day and enjoy the things I would do for him excited me. Knowing that, eventually, we’d both realize that it would never be enough, made me sad. One day, maybe so far in the future that it ruined the life we both could have had, things would end. There would be no changing it or fixing it.

My brain told me that I was intentionally setting myself up for heartache. Something else, that I wasn’t so proud to be taking advice from, told me to see how it all played out.

Danny sat at the table, his legs spread out in that way that only guys who haven’t been beaten down by life enough spread their legs, and waited. I toasted and buttered the bread liberally, fried up the sausages, and scrambled eggs with some Fontina cheese and chives and butter. Finally, I set two plates on the kitchen table. One in front of Danny, and one in the seat across from him.

He smacked his lips, looking down at his plate. Before he could grab his fork, I took his face in my hands and let them slide up to his hair. I stroked his soft brown hair and pushed his head back to look up at me.

“Did you like your father when he was alive?” I asked.

Danny stared up at me. He said nothing.

“What makes you think you’d like anything he had to say now?”

Danny’s eyes darted away for a moment, then settled back on mine.

“Death doesn’t change people,” I said, softly. “There’s no great reveal at the end of life that makes a person rethink their ways. To revisit their transgressions or hurts. They aren’t punished for any pain they caused others—not that I’ve seen. They’re not suddenly honest or forthright. They don’t suddenly become upstanding human-like beings just because they died. They don’t always plead for forgiveness and understanding and seek out those they wronged and make things right.”

Danny’s eyes bore into mine.

“In fact,” I said, gently stroking his head to ease what I was about to say, “death, from what I’ve seen, reminds them that there are no real consequences left. Death can make people even worse.”

He looked down but my fingers stayed twirling in his hair, attempting to comfort him.

“It’s the uncommon soul who sees death as a second chance.”

I let my hand slide from his hair, caressed the side of his face gently, then slid into the chair across from him. Picking up my fork, I wasn’t sure I was even hungry, but I dug into my eggs. I didn’t even manage to lift the fork from my plate before Danny spoke.

“Are you scared of the idea of dying since you’re a medium?” he asked quietly.

When I looked up, he was staring at me apprehensively.

“No,” I snorted. “It makes me more afraid of living.”

My statement seemed to affect Danny in a physical way and an expression I’d never seen on his face before flashed for a split second. He looked down at his plate, grabbed his fork and jabbed at a sausage.

“You could always move up to Dubuque,” he said. “It’s less than an hour. I mean…be closer to me. I wouldn’t have to keep coming down here so often. The internet is everywhere. You could do business there, too. Your sister ran away from this town. You could, too.”

“And leave all this?” I waved my hands grandly. “I’m rent-free, baby.”

Danny chuckled, and I joined in. Then we both dug into our plates.