I told your dad that story early in our marriage, and the conversation led us to the decision that we needed a secret word. I had heard that the Houdinis had a secret word and that they promised whichever one died first would return to communicate with the other, and I told your dad that just because the Houdinis had failed to correspond after Harry died didn’t mean that we would fail. The plan is that one of us will appear on a bus or at a lunch counter in the body of someone young or foreign or living in a pasteboard box, and with that spoken word, we will recognize each other.

There was a time I read a lot of books about such connections and experiences with the spiritual realm and sought information wherever I could, my eye drawn to fortune-tellers and those who claimed that they could connect with the dead. I even went to a séance once and sat with a table of strangers. There was a sudden cold draft (I felt it), but it was also winter in Massachusetts.

I thought I heard a voice say, “Help me,” but I couldn’t have sworn to it. Besides, it was at a time when you children loved watching all those things on Shock Theater, and I remembered later how you both after watching “The Fly” said, “Help me, help me.” I never decided if my mind was playing a trick or if I’d really heard it. I was going through a really difficult time, and I also know that “Help me” would be a reasonable thing for anyone, living or dead, to say if feeling stuck. But I told your father later that it seems to me important if you are going to speak to someone from the other side, it would be good to have something original or unique to say, so that there’s no question or wondering about it all. We will know. We put a lot of thought into our word, and the time we spent doing so will always be some of my best time.

Our word is one I’ve never heard anyone else say.