Gertie patted his hand. “Josh, there’s nothin’ to be worried about. I’m a nice Christian lady, I go to Mass every week, so there’s no demonic spirits or the like, no sir.”

“Got it,” Josh said.

“The messages come fast, and I might miss something, see? But mostly, those who’ve passed on just want to reassure the livin’ that they’re right as rain, and you’ll be together again. This life here? This is just a tiny piece of our true lives.”

Okay, boomer. Straight from Mediumship for Dummies. Josh’s hopes were not high.

Gertie lit the candle, said the Our Father. The kitchen clock ticked loudly. A car drove past. Gertie had a little whistle coming from her nose every time she inhaled, and Josh suddenly wanted to laugh (or bolt). Ben caught his eye and squashed a smile.

Then Gertie tilted her head, seeming to look at the floor. “Oh,” she said, “you lost your wife.”

The urge to laugh vanished.

“Is that right?” Gertie asked. “Just say yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, dear.” She closed her eyes again. The breath whistled in her nostrils, and Josh’s heart was pounding, and didn’t she hear that? Could he offer her a tissue? How had she known about his wife? Was it because he still wore his wedding ring? Had she Googled him after all? How many widowers did Rhode—

“Her name started with an ‘L.’ Laurie? Not quite. Lara? Laura?”

How the fuck . . . He cleared his throat. Ben’s eyes were slightly wider than usual. “Lauren,” Josh said, his voice strange.

“Right. Good. She’s showing me . . . a bed. Hospital bed. She was . . . she was real sick, aw, jeez. She was at the hospital a lot.”

Josh said nothing, but his heart was like a wild horse in his chest, kicking against his ribs. The clock ticked. Ben remained granite-still. Gertie’s nose squeaked.

Okay, he shouldn’t give her that much credit just yet. Josh was young. How many thirty-year-old men came to a psychic to speak to their dead grandfathers? Wife was a good guess, and saying she was very sick was a fifty-fifty bet.

But the name thing . . .

“You were with her at the end. You got in bed with her. She’s showing me the two of you snugglin’ there. Is that right, hon?”

He tried to control his breathing. “Yes.” Again, what self-respecting husband whose wife was breathing her last wouldn’t get into bed with her? The stallion in his chest kicked just the same. He did not want to remember that moment. At all. Ever.

Gertie smiled, but was still staring at the floor. A nose-squeaking breath. Another. “She’s showing me children. Did you have kids?”

Ah. Okay. She was just good at guessing, then. “No. We did not.”

“Did she have any before you?”

“No.”