“An emotional ghost is a moment, an event, even a person, that hovers over us no matter how far we run to escape it or them.”

“Sure,” I say reasonably. “I already know the answer to this quiz. It’s the moment that I found out my mom died. There, easy.”

“Not so fast,” she says with warm amusement. “Do you want to know how I locate a patient’s ghost, Bree?” An early morning breeze lifts up the edge of her shawl, blowing the material over her cheek in a soft billow.

I don’t, in fact, want to know.

Patricia presses forward anyway. “I listen for what they don’t talk about. Ghosts are invisible, after all.”

“Okay.”

“And you don’t talk about your mother.”

I open my mouth to say, Yes, I do. I just spoke about her. Right now—but Patricia raises a palm.

“You might talk about her death, but you don’t talk about her life. This is a symptom of the type of grief you’re experiencing too: an inability to process that a person is more than their absence. That love is about more than loss.”

“She isn’t lost,” I snap. “She didn’t just wander off and get lost somewhere. I hate it when people say that.”

“Well, what happened to her?”

“What do you mean what happened to her? She died! And someone is responsible for that!”

Her lips go thin. Behind her glasses, Patricia’s brown eyes have iron in them now. “Rootcraft is used for healing, protection, and self-knowledge. The same can be said for therapy. But you don’t want those things, do you, Bree?”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I turn away.

She speaks calmly, but her words are weighted stones dropping one after another, dragging my limbs down, pulling me into unknown depths. “Even if you succeed in your goal and find proof, revenge won’t bring her back. Why someone dies is not the same question as why they are gone.”

After-Bree simmers just below the surface of my skin. “I know that,” I say through gritted teeth, “but it will make me feel better.”

“Why is that exactly?”

I blink. “Isn’t it self-explanatory?”

Patricia narrows her eyes. “No. It’s not.” She turns toward the open quad and tugs her shawl tighter. “I’m going to go now. I apologize for surprising you here today.”

“That’s it?” I follow her as she descends down the steps. “You’re just going?”

“I’ll call your father next week to give him a referral to another therapist, someone who specializes in your condition.”

“What?” I sputter. “You’re just… getting rid of me? Why?”