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I stared at her, considering. “So you know about my disastrous fourteen-minute first date with Jason Brandt.”
She looked irritated as she said, “’Fraid so.”
“That’s…unfortunate.” I blinked as my eyes flushed hot and moist. “I can’t believe I’m actually sitting here talking to you.
I’ve really missed you, Aunt Jettie. I didn’t get to say good-bye before you…It was over so fast. I went to the hospital, and you were gone, and then Grandma Ruthie started talking about moving all of your stuff out of the house. I felt so lost, and everybody just seemed to be talking over me—Mama and Grandma Ruthie, they just acted as if my opinion didn’t matter, even though I was the closest to you. And then the will was read, and Grandma Ruthie just lost her mind in the middle of the lawyer ’s office and told me I had no right to the house, and it wasn’t supposed to go to me, and she was going to contest the will as invalid because you were obviously mentally incompetent. And I didn’t care about any of it, because none of it was going to bring you back—”
“Honey.” Aunt Jettie chuckled. “Take a breath.”
“I don’t need to anymore!” I cried.
In my years with Aunt Jettie, I’d learned to recognize her “trying not to laugh” face. She wasn’t even making an attempt at it.
She was just rolling around on the ground, braying like a hyena.
“It’s not funny!” I cried, swatting through her insubstantial form.
Jettie continued to cackle while I pouted.
“It’s a little bit funny,” I admitted. “Dang it. Change of subject. Did you get to see your whole life played over instrumental soft rock before you died? What about your funeral? I didn’t get one, because no one knows I’m dead. But did you get to see your funeral?”
“Yeah.” Jettie grinned. “Great turnout. Shame about the suit, though. Couldn’t talk your grandma out of it, huh?”
I shrugged. “She wanted to send you to your grave with some semblance of decorum, or so she said.”
“I looked like Barbara Bush in drag,” Jettie snorted.
“Barbara Bush is dignified no matter what,” I offered. “Hey, if you’ve been here all along, why can I see you now?”
“Because I wanted you to see me.” Jettie seemed pained, brushing her icy fingers along my cheeks. “And because you’re different. Your senses have changed. You’re more open to what’s beyond the senses of normal, living people. I don ’t know whether to be happy that you can see me or sad about what’s happened to you, sugar pie.”
I groaned. “See, now I know it’s bad, because the last time you called me sugar pie was right before telling me my turtle died.”
Awkward pause.
“So, what’s it like being dead?” I asked.
“What’s it like for you?” she countered.
I sighed, even though I didn’t have to, technically. “Unsettling.”
“Good word.” She nodded.
“What do you do? I mean, is there some sort of unfinished business I need to help you complete in order to move on to the next plane?”
Her voice rose to a Vincent Price octave. “Yes, I’m wandering the earth, seeking revenge on Ben and Jerry for giving me the fat ass and massive coronary. And I give out love advice to the tragically lonely.”
“Is that an ironic eternal punishment for the lady who died an eighty-one-year-old spinster?” I grinned.
“Single by choice, you twerp.”
“Banshee,” I shot back.
“Bloodsucker.”
I leaned my head against her insubstantial shoulder. “I missed you, a lot. Did I mention that?”
“A time or two,” she said. “I missed you like crazy, too. Even though I saw you every day, not being able to talk to you was just horrible. That’s part of the reason I just couldn’t let go. I wanted to keep an eye on you.”
