“That’s not a bad memory, Jerome. That’s a great memory,” I said. I was touched by his story, and hearing it only made me care for him more.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that seeing her so clear brings back so much.”
“I understand. Some people would say that’s a blessing.”
Jerome looked at me. “I don’t know, Isabelle. For years I’d come back to visit Miz and I’d pick up on a memory or two as time went on, but it’s all so different now.”
My heart sank. “I’m sorry.”
“No! That’s not what I meant. I don’t know if I can say this right, so bear with me a minute.”
“All right.” I swallowed hard.
“Those memories, those feelings, I suppose, are all wonderful, but I’m afraid . . . well, I’m afraid I’m building an even bigger bank of memories with you. I cherish our strange time together, Isabelle, but someday, you’ll only be a memory, too.”
“Someday, when I die?” I said.
“Yes.”
This conversation was not something anyone could prepare for. No matter what experiences one had already had in life, this one wasn’t in manuals or books, or “Dear Abby” articles, but two things occurred to me.
“I suppose that’s a risk we all take, Jerome. People we care for die. It stinks, but that’s the way it is. I’d like to propose an idea, though—you come back as a ghost. Who’s to say that I won’t come back, too? Maybe there’s a ghostly future for us after all.”
Jerome blinked and half smiled.
“There’s something else,” I said. “Gram has a saying whenever I or Teddy get melancholy about her being so old. She says, ‘Dadnabit, I’m not dead yet, so save your down-in-the-dumps attitude for later.’ So, Jerome, I’m not dead yet, which frankly, might end up to be a positive or a negative. I guess we’ll see—hopefully not any time soon.”
“You’re as right as you can be. I’m sorry for my down-in-the-dumps attitude.”
I laughed. “Oh, you haven’t seen down-in-the-dumps until you’ve seen Teddy pull it off. He’s an expert.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good, now, speaking of Teddy, I need to tell you what happened to him.”
Jerome listened intently as I told him about Teddy’s beating and the fact that we thought Norman Bytheway could have been involved, but we couldn’t be sure. I told him about Orly and the three women I was curious about. I described the new ghost, Joe, and how I didn’t think he was who he said he was. I asked if Jerome would nose around and see what he could overhear or find out. He was more than willing to jump aboard and be the invisible cowboy detective.
“How’s Teddy today?” he asked.
“Fine. Well, he still looks pretty bad, but he’ll be okay.”
“Something’s not right, Isabelle. If a man wants to fight, he doesn’t lead another man out into the woods for the battle. He fights him straight up.”
I didn’t know the etiquette of “man fights,” but Jerome had been alive when they were all too common—and all too often solved with guns.
“I’m not sure that’s the code anymore, Jerome, but do you think someone else hit him, or more than one someone elses?”
“I think it’s possible, and from what you said about the state he’s in, I also think they most likely wanted to kill him.”