The woman before me had the same color of eyes as her siblings, but everything else about her seemed softer, from the shape of her features to the rounded planes of her face.

“You’re Mary Coleman,” I stammered. “I wanted to say I’m very sorry for the loss of your sister.”

“Please. I think it best we don’t talk about Constance.”

“All right.” I tucked my blowing hair back behind my ears.

“Given everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t normally come to you,” she said, looking down at her hands. “My daughter would be furious if she knew.” She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “Did Theo happen to mention to you my husband passed recently?”

I was hit with a rush of sympathy and understanding.

“I’ve heard you come to people sometimes when their loved ones have passed. That you bring messages.” A single tear spilled onto her cheek. “I know it’s been a while, but I was hoping you might have a message for me?”

I didn’t have time to answer before she went on.

“His name was Grant? Grant Coleman? He passed four months ago. He wore glasses. His hair was a little thin. But he was very handsome. You might have seen him at the hardware store. He loved to fix things. Or you might have seen him sitting in the town gazebo. That was one of his favorite spots. If he was going to haunt anywhere, I think it would be there.”

“Mrs. Coleman. Mary.” She looked up at me, so much hope in her eyes. “Would you like to sit down?” I asked, leading her gaze over to a bench. “The wind’s dropping a little. I think we can have a proper chat. I’d love to hear all about Grant.”

She gave me a grateful smile. Once we were settled, Mary dabbed the tears from her face and said quietly, “You don’t have a message, do you?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to receive any messages for quite some time now.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “Theo told me what happened. We’re in the same boat, aren’t we?”

I smiled weakly.

“Not the happiest of clubs. I haven’t quite figured out how to move on without Grant. I thought a message from him might help. Even though I’m not entirely sure I believe in what you do.” She looked at me apologetically.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“My daughter thinks I’ve been spending too much time at the graveyard.” She looked in the direction of the gates. “I usually visit once in the morning and once at night. I like to sit with him. Keep his site clean. Let people know he was loved. Is loved.”

“That’s lovely.” I took a breath. “I haven’t been able to go.”

Mary leaned in toward me, trying to catch my gaze. “You haven’t?”

I shook my head.

She sighed and patted my hand. “If you’d like, I can check in on him? Make sure everything’s tidy?”