FSF, October 2007

by Spilogale Authors

  He was about to speak when April interrupted.

  "Don't say anything, honey. I'm here with you now."

  April slid under the covers and snuggled up to him.

  She lightly danced her fingernails across the back of his neck in the way that always drove him wild, and his dream face relaxed and moved closer to kiss hers.

  Lips glided against lips. Hands glided against hips. Their bodies pressed together, and then...

  Kyle opened his eyes and gasped. He scrambled away from her, crossing his side of the bed and plopping onto the floor. He clambered a few feet backward until he was up against the door of the clothes closet and could go no farther.

  * * * *

  Jack pulled into his own driveway and sat for a moment, smoking a Camel cigarette. He ran his fingers across the two weeks’ worth of salt-and-pepper whiskers on his chin.

  It would be a terrible shock for Patty, and he didn't know what he could do to cushion it. Given how early she rose, she was almost certainly up. Heck, she'll have eaten breakfast and done the dishes by now, he thought.

  He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and got out of the cab.

  Marching dutifully up the front walk, the chrysanthemums in hand, he made his way to the doorstep and rang the bell.

  A few moments later, Patty opened the door.

  Her face blanched. She staggered backward, heaving in air in horrible, sharp, sickly gasps that made it sound as if her lungs were about to rip. For a moment her eyes were starting out of her head, then her eyelids sank and she tumbled backward onto the green shag carpet.

  * * * *

  Jack pulled open the screen door and rushed to her side, kneeling beside her on the rug. He reached into his jacket pocket and yanked out a phone. He flipped it open and pressed the hot key for 9-1-1.

  Nothing happened.

  Damn! he thought. The battery hasn't been charged in two weeks.

  He was about to run for the landline when it struck him that he should check Patty's pulse in case she needed CPR. He seized her wrist and felt for the beating of her heart. It was fast, but strong and regular.

  Okay, he thought. She's not in danger at the moment. What can I do to help her?

  He grabbed the sides of her head and concentrated. She was in the darkness of the void—no consciousness, no thought, just the neutral nothingness that exists between dreams.

  Jack closed his eyes and thought about the night the two of them met. It was a good memory. He had been on his best behavior, and she had seen nothing but his good points back then. He pushed the memory down toward Patty and she stirred slightly.

  In a minute, Jack checked her pulse again and found it had dropped to near normal speed.

  Whew! he thought.

  * * * *

  Kyle sat against the door of the closet, trembling.

  "It's okay!” April said. “Don't worry. Everything's okay."

  "H-How can you be here?"

  April looked at him steadily and let a long moment go by, hoping that the extra time would let him regain some of his composure. It didn't seem to work, though. Kyle continued to quiver, his breathing fast and shallow.

  Finally she decided that there was nothing to do but say it flat out.

  "I'm a ghost,” she said. “I'm April's ghost. And I've come to say good-bye."

  * * * *

  Patty was reliving the night of the dance, the night she first saw Jack and got her friend Wanda to introduce them. Jack was thin and handsome and considerate. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a freshly pressed white shirt and a new straw cowboy hat. He asked her to dance, and they two-stepped across the floor through song after song. In the kaleidoscope of memory fragments, he looked like some kind of Greek god in a tile mosaic. After the dance he offered her a cigarette and her first beer and then the two of them went parking in his pickup truck.

  Patty opened her eyes and looked up at Jack. He was kneeling beside her, cupping her head gently in his hands, and he looked like the seventeen-year-old Adonis she had met at the Future Farmers of America dance.

  "Am I dreaming?” she said faintly.

  "We both are. But it's time to wake up, darlin'."

  Jack's features came into focus and his clothes changed. Now he was forty and bulky and unshaven and wearing a denim jacket and a grimy John Deere cap.

  "I love you, honey,” he whispered.

  "I know,” she said softly.

  Then she added: “I'm so glad you're here."

  * * * *

  This is all wrong, April thought as her stomach continued to knot. She had wanted to avoid the shock, to blend Kyle's dream with reality so that when he finally realized that she was here—really here and in his arms—it would be a glorious, romantic experience.

  Now he was cringing on the floor, his face sweaty and white.

  "Don't make me say it,” she said.

  Kyle looked confused.

  "...that you look like you've seen a ghost."

  Kyle didn't laugh. He didn't do anything but sit there, trembling like a cornered mouse afraid that she would step on him.

  It's not fair, she thought. I tried to cushion the blow. Why can't he just accept what I did for him? She frowned and thought: He's always been like that. He never fully appreciated me. I'm here to give him a gift few ever get, and he can't even meet me halfway.

  "Don't you have anything to say? ‘Hi, honey! I sure did miss you’ would be a good start."

  Kyle looked hurt.

  "Of course!” he said, and a tear started to roll down one of his cheeks. “I've missed you more than I can say! I ... I just ... I just don't know what to do!"

  Kyle let his head sag down for a moment. Then he pulled it back up and looked at her, his eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down both cheeks now.

  "Is it really you?” he said. “How can you be here?"

  We're covering old ground, April thought.

  "Yes, it's really me,” she said tersely. “And I don't know how I can be here. It just happens this way sometimes. I think it's some kinda quantum thing. Temporary particles split off at the crucial moment or something."

  Kyle's eyes darted to the foot of the bed and then slid up it, observing the way the sheet was draped across her naked body.

  "You're ... solid?"

  "Yeah. Don't ask me about that either. I know my real body was such a mess after the crash that you had to have a closed casket funeral. I know it's buried six miles from here. But I'm solid. And I'm whole. The cab driver's the same way. And his cab looks like it did before the crash. It just doesn't make any noise now and you won't smell any exhaust as it drives by."

  Kyle hung his head again and sobbed.

  "I thought I'd never see you again,” he said hoarsely.

  Now we're getting somewhere.

  * * * *

  "So that's why I came back,” Jack said.

  The two of them were sitting on the couch, and Patty had lit a cigarette. His arm was around her, and he gave her shoulder a little squeeze.

  "I know I wasn't a good husband to you—"

  "You were a wonderful husband!"

  "You say that now. You're still in mourning, and I just put a pretty dream in your head, but you know it ain't true. I ran around on you ... some. And I drank too much. I was hung over the morning I died. That's why I ran the red light."

  Jack lowered his head and said, “And there was that one night."

  Patty looked somber.

  That one night Jack had come home after getting his ass kicked in a bar fight but it was Patty who ended up in the county trauma center.

  "That was fifteen years ago,” she said. “I forgave you, and it never happened again."

  "I know, but I wasn't the kind of husband that I should have been, and I want to make it up as best I can."

  Jack looked down at the bouquet of chrysanthemums in his lap. Feeling stupid, he handed them to Patty and said, “These are for you. I know you like roses or orchids, but there weren't any at Albertson's
, and I couldn't go around town shopping because someone who knew me—who knew that I'm dead—might see me."

  She lifted the flowers and smelled them. Then she looked at Jack and smiled.

  "Yellow mums are my new favorite flower. They always will be. I'm going to hang these upside down and dry them out so I can keep them."

  * * * *

  Kyle had regained enough composure that he could sustain a conversation. He was still pale and shaky, but he could talk.

  "Your mom told me that she thought you said something to her, but when she turned around, you weren't there."

  "That was me,” April replied. “I said I loved her, but she couldn't hear it clearly."

  "Your friends said stuff like that, too. Barbara told me that she was doing the dishes and felt your presence in the room with her."

  "Me again."

  "She said she thought God was making some kinda exception—so you could say good-bye and let us know you're okay."

  "It's not as much a exception as you might think. This kinda thing happens all the time when people die."

  Kyle looked surprised. “I've never heard of anyone having a solid ghost visit them,” he said.

  "Well, that's not so common. I fade in and out. The conditions have to be right. I couldn't make it all the way through to Momma and Barbara, but somehow I knew I'd be able to stay solid for you. Unfinished business."

  April flung the bed sheet off and got up to begin dressing.

  "You know what I found out during my little post-mortem cab ride around our friends and family? I found out Barbara ain't the friend I thought she was. She's had the hots for you for years. I imagine she'll be making a play for you soon—wanting to ‘comfort’ you in your grief."

  Kyle looked at her, dumbfounded.

  "Don't you tell me you've never noticed,” April said as she finished putting on her dress. “I've seen you looking at her, too."

  Now Kyle looked guilty. Good, April thought. Someone needs to hold him accountable for his sins.

  She sighed.

  "I don't guess I can expect you to stay faithful to me forever. You're a man, and you won't be able to keep your pants zipped. Sooner or later you'll want to remarry ... but not her. Understand? I don't want you taking that bitch into my bed."

  Kyle's expression changed. April couldn't decide if it was surprise or anger. Maybe it was both.

  Then it struck her that she'd never used the word bitch in front of him before.

  "I'm just being honest,” she said. “I can't be a Sunday school teacher twenty-four/seven. If I can't let my hair down around you, where can I?"

  * * * *

  Jack was seated on the fraying red chair that had always been his. The fabric was so thin in places that it had come apart, and Jack enjoyed absentmindedly pulling out the stuffing from the arms. Now the curved wooden frames inside them were exposed.

  "Can I getcha some breakfast, honey?” Patty asked from the kitchen doorway. “How ‘bout a Coors? I've still got a couple of twelve-packs in the ‘fridge.... I couldn't bear to move ‘em, so I kep’ ‘em cold for you."

  Jack stood up and strode toward her. “I don't want any beer,” he said.

  "The dead don't drink?"

  "No. I mean ... that's not what I'm here for. I can't stay long, and I want to do what I can. It's going to be hard now that I'm gone, and I—"

  Patty put a finger to his lips.

  "Don't worry so much about the future, honey. Just let me enjoy the moment.... Just let me have this,” she said, taking his hand in hers and holding it up between them. “Since we've got the chance to say good-bye, I want us to do it right."

  Patty looked at him for a long moment. Then she dropped her gaze.

  "There is one thing you could do for me."

  "What's that, darlin'?” he said quietly.

  "Well ... I'll never get to see you again, and..."

  She looked up at him and smiled warmly. “Do the dead make love?"

  * * * *

  Kyle looked at April but said nothing. He had been silent for some time and wheels were clearly turning in his mind, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. There was something cold growing in his gaze—something like what she thought must be there when he was out hunting mule deer.

  "What is it?” she asked.

  Kyle continued staring silently at her.

  "No, seriously. What is it?"

  "Just ... who are you ... exactly?"

  "We covered that. I'm April's ghost."

  "No,” he said. “No, you're not. You're somebody else. I don't think there is such a thing as a ‘solid’ ghost, and April would never say the things to me that you just did."

  "What? You mean ‘cause I used the word bitch? Believe me, I'm no stranger to that word. I thought it a lot. I just never said it in front of you."

  "I don't mean that,” Kyle said. “Everyone cusses in their heads, and if April thought Barbara was trying to get me in bed, she might do it out loud—"

  "You're damn right! I don't want you fuckin’ that bitch who pretended to be my friend for years while she was secretly fawning over you!"

  "I said I wasn't talking about that,” Kyle replied with ice in his voice. “You didn't just attack her. You attacked me. You said I couldn't be faithful to you, that I couldn't keep my pants zipped. That ain't the way April thought—that a man's so sex-obsessed he can't help himself. And she knew from the Bible that marriage is only until death, so it's no sin to remarry, as far as that thought is from my mind right now. April would never say those things to me, so you've gotta be a impostor."

  Kyle looked down at his naked form and then back up at the fully-dressed woman standing on the opposite side of the bed.

  "'Scuse me while I get on a robe."

  He stood up and opened the door to the closet and produced a yellow terrycloth bathrobe, which he huffily shrugged on and tied at the waist, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.

  Then he reached back into the closet and quickly pulled out a battered Winchester M70 rifle. He slammed the bolt forward and pointed the weapon at her.

  "Stay right where you are,” he said.

  * * * *

  Jack lay with his arm around Patty and enjoyed the feeling of relaxed pleasure in his limbs.

  She had her head tucked up under his chin—something that made him feel good—and she had the fingers of one hand crimped on his chest the way she always did after lovemaking, as if she were clutching his chest hairs. Jack was pleased. He had been the kind of lover he always should have been—gentle, tender, making sure that Patty was satisfied.

  Now he was slowly brushing her arm with the palm of his hand and occasionally catching a glimpse of his watch to make sure he wouldn't be late picking up April.

  Maybe Patty would get pregnant. Jack liked that idea—of finally giving her the child she wanted. He'd only been gone two weeks. Anybody can miscalculate a pregnancy by two weeks, and the child would look like him. She'd tell her friends that the baby was a going-away present from Jack, that she'd been given a new life to replace what she lost. If it was a boy, maybe she'd name it after him.

  His watch began to beep and Jack shut off the noise.

  "I'm sorry, darlin', I gotta go now."

  Patty raised her head and gave him a hurt look.

  "You can't stay any longer?"

  "'Fraid not. I tried to arrange more time but couldn't."

  She studied him and saw he was serious.

  "Okay,” she said quietly. “Who am I to question the time that heaven gives you.” Then she smiled and whispered, “I'm just glad we had this much."

  * * * *

  Kyle kept the rifle trained on April, and she stared at him angrily.

  "Pick up that cell phone and slide it to me across the bed,” he said, nodding toward a small silver Nokia that lay on the night table.

  "What do you think you're gonna do?” she asked.

  "I'm gonna call the police and let them figure out who you are."

/>   "I told you—"

  "I know!” Kyle shouted. “But you're not April. I can think of crazy possibilities about what you are. Maybe you're a demon. Or maybe you're some damned soul that escaped from hell. Or maybe you're just the evil twin I never knew April had and you're trying to play some kind of mind game on me. You sure as hell ain't April, and given how solid you felt in bed, my money's on evil twin, so hand me the phone."

  She made no move to comply.

  "Pull the trigger,” she said.

  Kyle blinked.

  "I'm serious. Pull the trigger. You need proof I'm a ghost, that this isn't a ordinary physical body, you'll get it."

  He didn't move.

  "I don't think so,” he said. “I think we'll just call nine-one-one and let the police sort this out."

  "We're not bringing the cops into this. You want proof I'm a ghost, pull the damn trigger."

  Kyle shook his head.

  She looked at him fiercely. Then she took a step toward the bed and four quick steps through it, wading through the covers and mattress and box springs like they weren't there.

  Kyle gaped in astonishment. He let his grip on the gun go slack as she stepped directly in front of him, the barrel pointed at her chest.

  "Then lemme help you,” she said, grabbing the barrel and giving it a sharp jerk directly toward her heart. As she did so, Kyle stepped back and tried to jerk the gun away.

  Click!

  The two of them stood frozen for a moment.

  "You know I never let you keep that gun loaded in the house, honey."

  * * * *

  Jack hugged Patty by the front door and kissed her.

  "I'll miss you,” she said. “I'll pray for you every day."

  "Darlin', I need you to do something,” he said, releasing his embrace.

  "Anything. Anything at all."

  Jack began fishing in his jacket pocket.

  "There's this company called Barton Pharmaceuticals. I want you to take every bit of money you can raise, beg, or borrow and put it into that company's stock. Stay invested in it for five years. Don't sell, no matter how much you need the money. Then in five years, sell it all and take the cash. ‘Kay?"

  "I don't understand. I don't know how to buy stock."

  "It's okay. Just find a broker in the phone book and call him. He'll help you do it. That's what stock brokers are for ... I think."