The Ghost of Second Chances

by Anna J. McIntyre

  In spite of his spirit-self having the ability to observe smells, the sense of taste had been lost on him. Had he tried mimicking eating cake as he had smoked a cigar, he knew there would have been no heavenly flavor—no flavor at all, just like smoking was different for him when he had been alive the first time as opposed to smoking while a spirit.

  While the sense of taste had been lost on him, he could recall smelling Danielle’s cakes baking in the oven, which had been maddening. Something in the back of his mind told him that had he moved on after death, he could have enjoyed cake again—as he was doing now with his second chance at life. But he didn’t know for certain. It was all speculation.

  He glanced at the coffee table. Sitting next to his cast-encased leg was a cellphone. Danielle had given it to him earlier, after he had finished his piece of chocolate cake. Walt closed his eyes for a moment, once again remembering the heavenly taste of Danielle’s chocolate cake.

  Walt opened his eyes and let out a sigh. “If I’m not careful, I’m going to get fat.” He leaned forward and picked up the cellphone from the table and looked at it. Danielle had told him she had purchased the phone for him the day before. She said it wasn’t like hers—but to Walt, it looked like hers. According to her, it was a phone that you load minutes on, whatever that meant. While she had given him a quick tutorial on how to use it and had told him to use it to call her if he needed help when she was somewhere else in the house, Walt didn’t want to do that. He felt he was enough of a burden without calling her every five minutes when he needed something.

  After giving the phone another look, he tossed it back on the coffee table and then gingerly pulled his broken leg from the table, setting his foot on the floor as he prepared to stand up. Scooting to the end of the sofa, to allow him to use one of the sofa’s arms for leverage, he was distracted when he heard a loud meow coming from the open doorway leading to the hall.

  Looking up, his gaze met Max’s. The two stared at each other as Max walked slowly—panther-like—in his direction—the cat’s black tail waving like a flag behind him.

  “Max?” Walt asked, his unspoken question understood.

  A moment later Max jumped onto the coffee table and sat down, staring at Walt.

  “You understand me? Don’t you?” Walt said in awe.

  Max meowed.

  “Yes. It’s really me. No, Max. Even if I could, which I can’t, I promised. Remember?”

  “What are you doing?” Danielle asked from the doorway. She looked inquisitively from her cat—who continued to sit on the parlor coffee table—to Walt, who sat on the sofa.

  Walt turned to Danielle, a silly grin on his face. “I didn’t lose it!”

  Danielle walked all the way into the room. “You didn’t lose what?”

  “He understands me, Danielle—I understand him!” Walt said excitedly.

  Danielle shook her head in disbelief. “No. You have to be imagining things. That’s not possible. You just think you understand what he’s thinking.”

  Walt didn’t have time to argue with Danielle. The next moment they heard Lily shouting, “Hello!” from the entry hall.

  Danielle quickly made her way to the open doorway and looked out to the entry. “We’re in here.”

  “Ian wanted to park the car in the garage, and then he and Sadie are coming right over. But I couldn’t wait, so he let me out,” Lily explained as she came running into the parlor. She stopped the moment she spied Walt sitting on the sofa, looking at her.

  “Is it you? Is it really you?” Lily whispered, walking closer to Walt. She had removed her braid on her way home from school, and now her rusty-colored hair fell wavy past her shoulders.

  “Hello, Lily,” Walt said softly.

  Just as Lily reached the sofa, she stopped. Nervously, she chewed her lower lip and studied Walt, who continued to smile up at her.

  “What is it, Lily?” Walt asked.

  “What were Ian and I sitting on in the dream hop?” Lily blurted out.

  Walt frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “When you brought us into the dream hop, what were we sitting on?”

  Walt’s smile widened. “As I recall, we were sitting in the middle of the ocean—on surfboards.”

  Lily let out a shout and then flew to Walt, giving him a hug. “It really is you, Walt!”

  Danielle, who stood by the small parlor desk observing the greeting, asked with a smile, “I thought you had no doubts?”

  Lily released Walt from her hug and sat on the sofa next to him. “I didn’t think I did. But…well…”

  Danielle smiled at her friend and then walked to one of the chairs across from the sofa to sit down. “I understand.”

  The next moment they were interrupted again when Ian and Sadie walked in the front door. Like his wife had done, Ian gave a shout upon entering. A moment later he was in the parlor, shaking hands with Walt while Lily prattled on about their shared dream hop and surfboards.

  Sadie, however, was not acting like Sadie. Instead of running into the room, tail wagging, she remained at the open doorway, sitting quietly while observing the room’s occupants. It didn’t take Walt long to notice Sadie sitting quietly, staring at him.

  “Sadie?” Walt asked. Again, the unspoken question was understood. “Yes. It’s really me.”

  Sadie let out a bark and then came charging to the sofa, her tail wagging, and without pause jumped onto Walt’s lap.

  Walt let out a grunt and hugged the dog. While laughing, he said, “I had no idea you were this heavy!”

  “Sadie, down,” Ian snapped. He then told Walt, “I’m sorry…Sadie, I said down! You’re going to hurt him!”

  Walt laughed and said, “It’s okay, Ian. I told Sadie she could get on my lap.” The next moment Sadie jumped off the sofa and sat by Walt’s side, eagerly looking up at him, her tail still wagging.

  “Sadie, would you mind getting me one of my crutches,” Walt said aloud.

  To everyone’s surprise, Sadie calmly turned from Walt, walked to the crutches, and grabbed one in her mouth. The next moment she dragged it to Walt.

  Eyes wide, Danielle stared at Sadie and stammered, “Walt, you weren’t imagining it.”

  Six

  “Are we done yet?” Heather Donovan groaned. She sat at her computer at the Glandon Foundation headquarters while Chris sat in a chair next to her, a thick three-ring binder open on his lap. The two had been working side by side for the entire day, only taking a quick break to eat sandwiches Chris had ordered in from the local deli and to periodically let Chris’s pit bull, Hunny, out in the yard to do her business and run around.

  Heather had worn her long dark hair down that morning, yet now it was twisted into a careless knot atop her head and held in place with a makeshift clip she had fashioned from a large paperclip.

  Chris slammed the binder closed and said, “I think so.”

  “Do we have to do this every year for the accountant?” Heather asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Chris stood up, set the binder on the desk, and stretched, extending his arms overhead while twisting his body at the waist from side to side. “I’m starved.”

  Hunny, who had been napping nearby, lifted her head and looked at her human, wondering if it was time to go home.

  “Me too.” Heather turned off her computer and picked up her purse from where it was tucked under her desk.

  “I tell you what, for all your hard work, why don’t you let me treat you to dinner at Pearl Cove?”

  “That sounds tempting, but I thought you’d be heading over to Marlow House. Aren’t you curious to see if it’s really Walt? I know I am.”

  Chris leaned back against the desk and looked down at Heather, his arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t think it is?”

  “I hope it is.” Heather set her purse on her lap, absently hugging it. “But I suspect a part of you is kind of hoping it’s not.”

  Chris shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

  “You and Daniell
e might have a chance of working it out,” Heather suggested.

  “I’ve come to realize, if Danielle and I were really meant to be together, I don’t think a ghost would keep us apart.”

  Heather grinned at his use of ghost. “If it is Walt, I wonder if he’s still going to have an issue with that word.”

  Chris shrugged. “If it is Walt, I imagine he’ll have other things to worry about now.”

  “True.” Heather stood up, purse in hand. “But you sure you don’t want to go over there now?”

  “Not tonight. Let them get settled in. It’s going to be strange for them. This…new Walt.”

  “Okay, then I’ll take you up on your dinner invite.”

  Uncrossing his arms and no longer leaning back against the desk, Chris said, while waving a finger at Heather, “Umm, before we go, do you think you could…”

  Heather frowned. “Could what?”

  “Maybe do something with your hair?”

  It took Heather a moment to understand what he was saying. But when she did, she reached up to the top of her head and pulled out the misformed paperclip. Tossing the clip on the desk, she rolled her eyes at Chris.

  It was her first night on the job. She had just moved to Frederickport days earlier. Before moving to the beach community, she had already been promised the position. Pearl Cove’s owner had met her at the restaurant she had worked at in Portland, and had been impressed with her work, after which he had offered her a job. Of course, one of her girlfriends had crudely asked, “Are you sure it’s your work he was so impressed with and not how you look?” Either way, she had jumped at the offer. Who didn’t want to live in a beach town?

  She suspected it wasn’t always this busy on a Wednesday and attributed it to the fact they were still in the middle of spring break. Thirty minutes earlier a man had called in asking for a reservation, and she had managed to work him in. When he initially placed the reservation, he used the name Johnson, but she already had a Johnson on the waiting list, so he gave his full name, Chris Johnson.

  When he arrived with his date, she thought they were the oddest, most mismatched couple she had ever seen. He was a hottie. The kind of guy depicted on the covers of racy romance novels, and she loved the way he dressed—simple, yet classy.

  But his date, she looked as if she were auditioning for a part in The Addams Family. It wasn’t that she was unattractive—but her raven-colored hair was woven into a simple braid with straight-cut bangs covering her eyebrows, and it was a little overdone on the eye makeup and lipstick closer to black than red. The woman wore dark leggings and an oversized shirt that could have doubled as a dress, considering its length, in a busy pattern of purples and black.

  She showed them to their table, and considering their body language, she doubted they would be waking up together in the morning.

  “I’ve never seen her in here before,” Heather noted when the hostess left their table. She opened the menu that had been handed to her.

  “She’s new,” Chris said as he looked over his menu.

  “Looks like she’d be more at home at Hooters,” Heather quipped, her eyes still on the menu.

  Chris let out a snort. “Is that nice?”

  Heather shrugged. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

  “Kinda hard not to. So, what do you want?” Chris asked.

  “I’m starved. You’re rich. And you made me work twelve hours today. So, steak and lobster.”

  Chris closed his menu and chuckled. “Fine. Steak and lobster it is.”

  Twenty minutes later after the waiter took their orders and served them their cocktails, Heather asked, “So when are you going over to Marlow House?”

  “Probably tomorrow.” Chris picked up his drink and took a sip.

  “You really think it’s Walt?” she asked.

  Chris leaned back in his seat while one hand absently fiddled with the rim of his cocktail glass. “Danielle seems to believe it’s him. And I was thinking about it. If Clint had changed his mind at the last minute and Walt was forced to move on, I think Walt would have come back to let Danielle know.”

  Heather frowned. “Come back how?”

  “A dream hop. We know it’s possible for those who have moved over to the other side to visit us in a dream.”

  “I know. But I always understood it’s more difficult. Not something they can do all the time, or our deceased loved ones would be constantly popping in our dreams.”

  Chris looked up to Heather. “Would they really?”

  “What do you mean?” Heather frowned.

  “We always assumed it was more difficult. But I wonder—maybe the truth is our loved ones who have moved on want us to live our lives, and they know it’s hard to do if they’re constantly popping in and out of our dreams. I think we’re supposed to live this life that was given to us to its fullest and not be preoccupied with what comes after. And who knows, maybe there are things they have to attend to on the other side, so they don’t really have the time.”

  “You think it might not be as difficult for someone who has moved over to the other side to dream hop?”

  “I’m thinking maybe we have jumped to an assumption that may not be wholly true. I’ve heard people talk about having dreams of their loved ones when they really needed it. Maybe spirits tend to do it more when they feel they are truly needed. And if Walt was forced to move over to the other side, I don’t believe he would want Danielle to think Clint was him—or to be unsure. I think he’d visit her—or one of us—and let us know.”

  “Sounds like you’re pretty sure it’s Walt.” Heather sipped her cocktail.

  “Yeah, I’ll be surprised if it isn’t.”

  “And you are okay with all this?” Heather asked in a low voice.

  “I like Walt.”

  “I know. But I know how you feel about Danielle.”

  “When this all started, Walt asked me practically the same thing,” Chris told her. “At the time I told Walt I figured this would level the playing field. After all, hard to compete against a ghost. That whole forbidden-love thing.”

  “And now?” she asked.

  “Now, I think I was fooling myself. Danielle’s a good friend. I’ve come to accept that’s all she will ever be. Maybe one reason I wanted Walt to do this was that I knew it would close that door for me once and for all and force me to move on.” Chris picked up his glass and took a long drink.

  “I have to say, you seem to be taking it all well.”

  Chris shrugged.

  “Maybe you should start dating again,” Heather suggested. “I think the hostess might be available.”

  “The hostess?” Chris frowned.

  “Yeah. Didn’t you see the way she was looking at you? And she kept looking at me as if asking, how in the world are you with him?” Heather laughed.

  “No, the hostess is all wrong for him!” Eva argued when she appeared the next moment, sitting in the empty seat next to Chris. The next moment, Marie appeared in the other empty chair.

  “Hi, Eva, Marie,” Heather greeted them. “Have you seen Walt yet?”

  “Yes. We saw him, and he saw us,” Marie answered.

  “What do you mean?” Chris asked.

  “It means Marie and I could have visited Walt in the hospital these last few days. We didn’t bother dropping by since we assumed he wouldn’t be able to see or hear us—which apparently we were wrong about.”

  “Are you saying Walt can see you both?” Chris asked.

  “Yes. Poor boy, when he first saw us, he thought he had died again,” Marie said with a chuckle.

  “That’s interesting,” Chris mused.

  “I’m not completely surprised,” Eva told him. She then went on to give them the same explanation she had given Walt and Danielle when the subject had been broached that morning at Marlow House.

  Chris arched his brow. “I have to wonder, will there be any other surprises?”

  Seven

  Walt sat on the edge of the mattress
in the downstairs bedroom and watched as Danielle opened and closed the dresser drawers and closet doors to show him the shirts, slacks and other garments she had purchased for him. Max perched next to Walt on the bed, also watching Danielle, his black tail swishing back and forth.

  “Everything has already been laundered, so it’s all ready to wear,” Danielle explained. “I think it should all fit. I went by the sizes of the clothes Clint had on at the time of the accident.”

  “You’ve really done too much. But I sincerely appreciate it,” he told her.

  “Don’t be silly. Anyway, I only bought about half a dozen shirts and pairs of slacks. Just enough to get you by until you’re up to going shopping yourself. But until you get that cast off, I don’t imagine you’ll feel like trying on clothes at the store.”

  “To be honest, the idea of shopping exhausts me.” Walt yawned. “I forgot what it felt like to be physically exhausted.” He yawned again.

  “Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, I threw them away.”

  Walt frowned. “Threw what away?”

  “Clint’s clothes. Well, the ones he had on at the time of the accident. They were in that plastic bag you brought home with you from the hospital.”

  “No, that’s fine. I certainly don’t want them.”

  Danielle pointed to the top of the dresser, where a stack of miscellaneous items sat, including a wallet, cellphone and some folded sheets of paper. “Clint’s cellphone and wallet were also in that bag. And some release papers from the hospital. I left them there. I figure you’ll probably need Clint’s wallet—at least his identification.”

  “I suppose I need to go through his wallet. But what happened to the rest of his things? It’s not that I particularly want to wear Clint’s clothes, but where are his suitcases—the ones he had here?”

  “According to the chief, all of Clint’s belongings were removed from the vehicle after the accident. The van was pretty smashed up, but it didn’t belong to Clint anyway. They put his things in storage—including the portraits.”