“Of course they’re not neglecting her. She has everything a baby could need or want and then some. But you have to understand … they are not her parents and they don’t want to be her parents.”
“Are they pissed at me?”
I sigh as I think back on the conversations I had with his family. “No. They’re very worried about you and don’t blame you for losing your shit. They loved Laura too.”
“Losing my shit.”
I look over my shoulder and smile. “What would you call it?”
He smiles too, although it’s a weak attempt. “No, you’ve got it about right. I have lost my shit on a number of occasions.” He shakes his head and looks off into the distance. “I haven’t been sober in …” He frowns like he’s doing calculations.
I fill in the blank for him. “Since Laura died.”
He nods and looks at me again. “Pretty much.” He drops his gaze to the counter. “Pitiful, huh? A grown man, college-educated, having a year-long pity party?”
“It hasn’t been a year, has it?”
“No. She died on March fifteenth. The Ides of March, Laura used to call it.”
I cringe. “That sounds prophetic.”
Jeremy looks up at me, and I could swear I see hope there. “It was. She was.”
My milk-stirring stops without me even realizing it. I sense this is a big deal to Jeremy, that I consider his wife something of a soothsayer.
“You’re saying your wife could tell the future?”
“No, not like that. Just that… she sensed she was going to die young. And she knew things. About people.”
“Lots of people think they’re going to die young.” Even so, a shiver moves through me.
“She talks to me, you know.”
I start stirring again, wondering if he’s so bad off that he really thinks he’s talking to a dead woman. Goosebumps are standing up off my arms.
“From where she is now,” he continues.
“Do you want some hot chocolate?” I ask, putting several tablespoons of cocoa powder and sugar in with the hot milk.
“Did you hear what I just said? I talk to the ghost of my dead wife.”
“Yes, I heard you. Do you want some hot chocolate or not?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“YEAH, I’LL HAVE SOME HOT chocolate.”
Neither of us speaks as I pour out two mugs of the warm drink. Now that he’s confessed he’s talking to a dead woman, I’m a little more worried than I was about the state of his mental health. I’m not sure what to say to him now. I’m definitely not qualified for this. I should probably stop probing him for information.
“She didn’t talk to me at first. It was like four months after she was gone that I heard her for the first time.”
I decide to attack the issue from a scientific perspective. Brain chemicals can be pretty powerful. “Are you sure it’s not just your own brain talking to you? Chemicals misfiring or whatever?”
He shrugs and takes a cautious sip of his drink. “I hope not. I like talking to her. It makes me feel like sticking around.” He frowns and looks down into the cup. “This is pretty good, actually.”
I laugh. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone make it from scratch.”
“It’s the only way, or so my mother always said.”
“Do you ever hear her in your head? Your mother?”
I shrug. “I guess. Echoes of her.”
“So I’m not so crazy, then?”
I smile, a softness for him making me go warmer inside than the hot chocolate could ever make me. “I don’t talk to my mother, though. Big difference.”
“Maybe you could if you tried.”
“I did a seance once at a party when I’d had too many shots of vodka, and I’m never doing that again, trust me.” Nothing really happened, but the very idea of calling to spirits freaked me out and I ended up vomiting in the bushes outside my friend’s house. Never again will I mess with the veil between the worlds. More goosebumps come out to join the party, making the hair on my legs instantly grow another millimeter.
Jeremy drinks more of his chocolate and then looks down at it as he talks. “I’d talk to Laura every day if I could, but I only hear her sometimes.”
“Do you hear her when you’re drunk or sober?”