There Hannah was in the bar of the Corner Tavern, sitting on a stool with her club soda in front of her. The man beside her got up to follow the waitress to his table, and that was when Bonnie came over to sit next to her.

The camera, or perhaps it was her eyes, traveled over to the stool that Bonnie had vacated. She was checking to make sure that Bonnie hadn’t left anything behind. There was nothing on the bar in front of Bonnie’s stool, and nothing on the floor except the sawdust the staff at the Corner Tavern spread out every morning after the floor was washed and swept. There were two footprints from Bonnie’s shoes, but nothing else.

“Show’s over,” her father said as the screen coalesced into his amorphous shape again. “I love you, Honey-bear. If I’m lucky, they might let me come back again. You’re scheduled for three ghosts just like the ones in the play. The difference is that we don’t need makeup or costumes. We’re really ghosts, and we don’t rely on special effects and fake turkeys. Now go back to sleep like my good girl, and try to remember what I showed you when I visited you.”

Hannah’s eyelids felt suddenly heavy, almost as if they were weighted. She wanted to stay awake to see her dad leave, but it was impossible. She rolled over, reached out to pet Moishe’s soft fur, and smiled as she slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

Hannah awakened to the scent of hot, strong coffee and something enticing that she couldn’t identify. She sat up in bed, dislodging the cat who’d been sleeping on the pillow next to her head, and felt around under the bed for her slippers.

“Rowww!” Moishe complained as she thrust her feet into her slippers and got out of bed.

“I know. I don’t really want to get up either, but something smells really good! Michelle must be making breakfast.”

That comment elicited a purr from her feline friend. Moishe loved Michelle, especially after all the treats she’d brought with her. He’d even gotten some ham from last night’s sandwiches, one of his favorite meats, and several fish-shaped, salmon-flavored treats that Michelle had given him before she’d gone to bed.

“Gingerbread!” Hannah exclaimed aloud as she thrust her arms into the sleeves of the gently worn chenille robe that she’d found at Helping Hands, the local thrift store. “At least I think it’s gingerbread. It smells like gingerbread, and I can’t think of what else it could be.”

Moishe did not offer his opinion as he followed Hannah down the carpeted hallway, taking an occasional swipe at the hem of her robe.