"You love a crazy person," she said, threading her fingers through his and grinning. "It's the least I can do to love you, even if you picked up dog shit for a living or something like that."
The screen door whipped opened, and Jules walked through, her face a mask of concern and agitation. Truth be told, she looked slightly constipated. The door didn't bang shut as Patrick expected aMegan stepped in behind her .
"Oh, wonderful," Sara intoned.
"She went to Megan?" Patrick asked, eyes wide. "Wow, she narced on you to your neighbor!"
Sara huffed out a quick laugh and climbed to her feet. "Hey, Megan. What's up?"
Jules answered instead of Megan. "I went over to Megan's to get some help with this... situation . I don't know any priests in the area, but you said her husband is a psychiatrist."
"I don't know what you're talking about. What situation?"
Oh, so Sara was going to play it smart now and deny everything. Smooth move , Patrick thought to himself. He stayed where he was on the floor, hoping if he was quiet, Sara wouldn't give away that she'd been talking to him.
"Uh, yeah," Megan said, drawing the word out slowly. "Your sister seemed a little agitated, and I know you've had some problems in the past. I came over to get your side of it about ten minutes ago and heard you talking."
"So? I talk to myself all the time? Roger has probably told you a million times that talking to yourself isn't unhealthy."
"I heard you say you're thinking about killing yourself."
"Shit," Patrick blurted. Sara very carefully kicked his foot, making it look more like she was just shifting her weight.
"I was just distraught because Jules is being so nuts," Sara lied, glaring at her sister.
"Look, Sara," Megan said, taking her arm and guiding her to the couch. "No one's mad at you here, and no one is accusing you of anything."
"Yeah, right." Patrick pushed himself up, positioning himself closer to Sara.
"Both of us are just worried." Jules said, now standing by the mantle. She glanced at Megan, who nodded slowly. "I feel as though you might not be seeing the situation clearly. It makes me feel nervous when you talk about having a ghost or, well... whatever... for a boyfriend."
Sara gasped. "Oh my God! I statements? You really have lost your mind ." She wriggled on the couch, sliding all the way back. "Well, Julie Ann... I feel persecuted when you tell me I'm crazy and talk about things you can't possibly understand."
"Oh, give it a rest. Don't first and middle name me. This is just what happened last time!"
"I thought you checked yourself into a mental institution last time?" Megan asked, her voice light and soothing, as though speaking to a child. Even Patrick was annoyed.
"I did," Sara snapped, glaring at Jules. "My dear sister is just being overly dramatic."
"Whatever, Sara," Jules said, volume rising with each syllable. "You need help, and you need to get away from this house."
"I'm not leaving!" she shouted, tossing a throw pillow at Jules.
Megan patted Sara's shoulder. "Okay, tensions are running a little high. Why don't we all just calm down?" She turned her attention to Jules. "Why don't we go back to my house for a little bit? I don't think Sara's in any danger of hurting herself , and it'll give you two a little more time to cool off."
"Yes, please take her with you," Sara spat, still scowling.
"We'll be back in awhile," Megan said, sliding past her and yanking Jules toward the door. "Why don't you relax... maybe take a nap. I'll see if I can get Roger to come home from his conference and help us figure all of this out."
"Uh huh. Right," Sara grumbled. The second the door clicked shut, she was on her feet. "Well, that went well."
"It could have been worse," Patrick said, scratching his head.
"I need someone on my side," Sara mused, almost to herself. "Think."
"I'm on your side." His fingers rose to the back of her neck, brushing through the fringy hair there.
"Someone they can see." Sara's face was blank, eyebrows pulled down. "I just wish..."
"Wish what?"
"I wish there was someone else who could see you... or at least sense you more than other people."
Ginny immediately came to mind. She'd had such a reaction that night she'd been at the house for the writers' group. "Uh, I do have one idea."
"What's that?"
"Well, what about Ginny?"
"Why her?" Sara asked, leaning back into his hand.
"I didn't tell you this, but I'm pretty sure she knew something was going on." He explained the way she'd shivered and looked around, how nervous she'd been. "And then the night she was over... you know, when she asked you if you'd found my journal."
"Huh. That is true. But... do you really think she'd believe me?"
"I don't know." Patrick grasped her hips and pulled her back against his chest, fitting his chin into the crook of her neck. "I'm sure she's changed a lot since I knew her, but she was always pretty open-minded back then."
"Good enough for me. I'll call her."
"Who were you in high school?" Sara poured water from the kettle into a mug and reached for a tea bag as Patrick leaned against the wall next to the refrigerator.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, were you a jock or a gear head or... well, no, I guess you weren't a nerd, huh?" Sara studied him, a grin wreathing her face.
"No, I wasn't a nerd. I guess I was kind of a jock. I played football. Linebacker." Despite the fall reminding him of death, it used to make him think of cool nights on the field under the lights, tackling and blocking. He'd been good on the line. Not great, but good.
She shrugged. "But you didn't go to college."
"Uh uh. We really didn't have the money for that." His father's garage had barely broken even most months, and he could remember his mom and dad having hushed discussions about finances. He'd never even asked his parents about college, figuring it would only make things worse. He hadn't wanted to be a drain on the family or cause problems.
"Couldn't you have gotten a scholarship?"
"My high school didn't exactly attract scouts."
"Okay, but you strike me as a smart guy."
Something about hearing Sara say that made Patrick's chest puff out with pride.
"Yeah, I was smart enough. I just never tried to get into college." He didn't really want to rehash all that, though. They'd talked about Vietnam before; she knew he'd been a day away from reporting for his Army physical when he'd died. It blew his mind that the war had lasted another five years. Sara didn't know all that much about it, but she'd researched it for him. Over 58,000 U.S. s oldiers dead, and he might have ended up as one of them. Sara promised to get him a book about the war sometime. In a lot of ways, he didn't want to know exactly what happened asometimes ignorance was bliss. "What about you? Who were you?"
Sara snickered after taking a sip from her mug. "I was just a girl. I don't know. I guess I was sort of arty... not one of the popular kids."
"How could you not be popular? You're so foxy."
Her quiet laugh sounded in the room. "Uh, thanks. Was Ginny in your crowd of friends in high school?"
"Yeah. She was friends with everybody, though. She went to college right away when she graduated, but it was around here, so I still saw her all the time. We used to go drinking sometimes with my buddies."
Sara looked at her telephone and then back up at Patrick. "She should be here soon."
"What are you going to say to her?"
"Not sure. I guess I'll just tell her the truth and hope she believes me."
"If she doesn't, tell her... well, she went to my bedroom during my wake and stood at the window. She recited some Walt Whitman. I don't really know poetry that well, but she was a freak for him. I'll never forget it aI bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles . I don't know if she remembers it, but I do."
He could still picture her there, the brown dress hanging around her knees and the way she twisted her long, straight hair around her finger.
"I'll tell her." Sara touched his hand and smiled up at him. "I'll make her believe."
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
Ginny settled at the kitchen table, folding hands in front of her. "So, what's all this about?"
Sara glanced at Patrick, backed up against the counter. The shadow of a smile flitted over his face, and she returned her gaze to Ginny. "I, uh, need to talk to you about something that's been happening here."
"Oh." Ginny's eyebrows drew up. "Okay."
"Do you remember the break up scene I wrote? The one you said sounded just like when you and Patrick broke up?"
"Please tell me you really didn't find Patrick's journal. You know the group has a policy about plaga"
"No, nothing like that," Sara quickly interrupted.
Ginny visibly relaxed, although she likely wouldn't stay that way for long. Patrick wished he could participate in this conversation; it seemed so cowardly to let Sara deal with all of this by herself. Not that he had any other options. He could sing and dance around the kitchen, and it wouldn't do anything other than make Sara crack up. Probably not overly helpful right now.
"But it was about your break up," Sara added. "I got the information aunknowingly adirect from the source."
Ginny straightened in her chair, staring hard at Sara as though she could figure out what she was really saying just by staring at her long enough. Eventually Ginny said, "I don't know what you mean by that."
A small smile on her face, Sara perched across the table from Ginny and sighed. "That first night you were here for writers' group, you felt him."
"Felt who?"
"Patrick."
"Are you feeling okay? I heard there's an early flu going around. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"
Sara laughed. "Yeah. No hospital. I'm being completely serious here, Ginny."
"Patrick." Ginny's face pinched in a frown, and Patrick groaned. He knew her suspicious look.
"Just spill it, Sara," he said. "The sooner you tell her, the sooner this is over. Don't try to break it to her gently."
"Okay," Sara murmured, nodding her head. "All right, so I'm just going to give you the straight up story. And yeah, I know I sound nuts. Just hear me out." Ginny's forehead wrinkled, and she crossed her arms over her stomach. "You know Patrick died, but what you don't know is that he didn't go anywhere. He's... well, his spirit or his soul or whatever... he's been trapped in this house since it happened. I can see him. We're... we talk." She darted her eyes to Patrick and grinned.
Ginny's hand fluttered to her lips, pressing fingertips against her mouth, and Patrick couldn't tell if she was going to laugh, cry, or scream. She surprised him by saying, "How do you know it's him?"
"Well, he introduced himself to me, for starters." Sara laughed, and Ginny looked as though she fought the giggles. That had to be a good sign, he thought. Maybe, maybe not. Sara had busted out into hysterical laughter the first time they'd really communicated amaybe Ginny would too. "Uh, maybe I should just start at the beginning."
Ginny nodded, light glinting off her white hair. "Yeah, this sounds... like an interesting story."
Sara shrugged and laid her palms flat on the table. "All right. So... I'd be writing, and these scenes would come to me. Just pop into my brain, and I'd write them down and be all impressed with myself. I just thought being here ayou know, in a new environment awas making me more creative."
"The pieces you read at group?"
"Yeah, almost all of them. So anyway, I joked with my sister that I didn't feel alone in the house, and that was true. There was always this... I don't know, it was like there was someone with me, but it wasn't creepy or anything. I just felt like someone was keeping me company. And Patrick told me you reacted to him that night you were here. I guess he touched you or something."
Ginny's face paled, and her hand was back at her mouth. "He... well, okay. Really?"
Sara nodded and cut her eyes at Patrick. "She was in my old bedroom," he said, "and she crossed herself before going to your room... my parents' old room. She walked right through me."
"Apparently you visited his old bedroom, and then his parents' old room." Sara waved her hand toward him as Ginny's eyes grew wide. "And you, uh, well, he said you walked through him."
"Oh my God," Ginny whispered through her fingers.
"And he wanted me to tell you he heard you reciting Walt Whitman in his bedroom during the wake."
Tears welled in Ginny's eyes. "Oh my God," she repeated.
"I think she believes you," Patrick said, grinning. Sara returned his smile, an excited light in her eyes.
"Anyway, I ended up seeing him one night in the bathroom mirror, and I was pretty upset. You don't know anything about my personal history, but let's just say I had reason to question my sanity. I thought maybe I was just imagining it, though aI mean, you had told me about him, and I knew what he looked like because of that photo. But then I started hearing him... you know, not in my head, and then one day I could see him and, well, touch him." Sara snorted. "It certainly threw me for a loop."
Ginny's mouth widened while Sara rambled. "He's really... here? Like right now?"
"Uh huh. He's right over there." Sara gestured toward the kitchen counter.