Page 31

Where does anything go? she asked, shrugging.

Glancing at her new cigarette, I let out a relieved huff. This one was well seated in its holder and stayed put.

I blinked a few times, but her image didn’t waver in the least. She wasn’t translucent or foggy the way I’d always pictured ghosts. If I hadn’t known better, I could have sworn that if I walked across the room to throw myself in her arms, she’d be solid enough to hug.

Don’t you dare, she admonished, waving a forbidding finger at me.

I chuckled. She’d held hugs in the same regard as rules. Only allowed in extreme circumstances.

“I won’t. Promise,” I replied, shaking my head slowly in disbelief. “You’re really a ghost? Not just a figment of my imagination?”

Eh, she said, turning down the corners of her lips in a dubious expression. Who even knows what’s what? All I know is that one minute I was in that darn kitchen, the next I was hanging out on a cloud.

“Seriously?” I gasped, my eyebrows shooting straight up.

Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t some sappy TV show. You can’t sit on a cloud. Your bottom would get all wet.

“And nobody likes a soggy bottom,” we both chanted in unison, laughing at the end.

“I’ve missed you, Grandma. It’s been a rough year,” I said, softly, keeping my eyes trained on the ground.

I know, pet. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, she murmured, gliding over to me to rest her ghostly hand on my shoulder. Instead of her heavy, comforting touch, all I felt was a hint of cold, which sent a shiver rippling down my back.

Frowning, I turned my head to look at her. “Why couldn’t you? You’re here now.”

Grandma shrugged, carefully keeping her cigarette holder steady. Something about the veil being thinner around here because the land is so old and contains so much magic. Your Aunt Betsy would know. She likes all that magic science BS. Me, not so much.

“Fair enough,” I said, smiling as I heard Art’s words pop out of my mouth.

But don’t you dare ask her! Grandma cried, looking suddenly alarmed. The place will be swarming with Ashwicks faster than you can book a flight out if you do. Then we’ll never have another moment of peace again!

“Yeah, let’s avoid that,” I said, my stomach clenching just at the thought. The only Ashwick I wanted to see was busy helping his husband on the other side of the world. No one needed to know that my dead grandmother was suddenly keeping me company. My dead, ghostly grandmother who never needed to sleep and could now happily render commentary on my life until eternity, for all I knew.

The enormity of what I’d just thought hit, and, as dribs and drabs of the conversations I’d had with her over the previous few days came back to me, I pinched the bridge of my nose tightly and groaned.

“You can hear my thoughts?” The question came out in a hoarse, horrified whisper.

Her delighted cackle was all the answer I needed. My face flamed as I remembered what I’d been thinking while kissing Art, which only made her laugh harder.

Oh, honey. I birthed five children. You’re not going to teach me anything I don’t already know, she said, more kindly than I expected. Now, can we get back to the issue at hand?

It took me a moment to pull myself far enough out of my shame spiral to even remember what we’d been talking about. “Right. What did you mean about my gut knowing from the start?”

Well? Didn’t it? Grandma fixed me with her best no-nonsense gaze until I squirmed.

Had it? Didn’t everyone get nervous before they got married?

There’s nervous, and then there’s ignoring the impulse to bolt because you can’t bring yourself to admit you’re making a mistake, Grandma chided gently. I saw your face that day. If the barn door’d been open, you’d have been outta there.

“Maybe I had nowhere to run,” I snapped.

She cocked her head, the sadness in her eyes saying as much as her earlier cackle. And maybe you didn’t know then what you know now.

“But do I really know more now? I was so wrong about Jim, and now I’m just supposed to trust myself? Nothing’s changed. I’m still the person I was back then.”

Are you? Grandma arched a judgmental eyebrow at me.

I paused. Was I? The girl who’d married Jim had been young and impressionable. He’d dazzled me with his charm and swept me off my feet with compliments and grandiose promises about our future. After years of feeling like I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my family, being the center of someone’s attention had been like a drug. By the time I’d sobered up, I was a housewife with a tightly controlled household budget and a husband whose moods and far-too-easily-bruised ego commanded all my attention.