“Well, she’s showing me two kids. The girl is a little bit of a thing. A toddler. The boy’s older. They’re . . . they . . . are they biracial? One of their parents is Black?”

Sebastian and Octavia. Holy shit. Josh managed to nod.

“My God,” Ben breathed.

“She’s showing me her name and pointin’ to the girl. Is the girl named after her? Not the first name, but the second? A middle name?”

The horse in his chest kicked again. “Yes.”

“The boy’s name is . . . starts with a T. Tyrone. Is that right?”

“That’s his middle name,” Josh whispered.

“She’s showing me the number four.” Four was not . . . it didn’t . . . His mind was turning to tar.

“Is that meaningful to you? Birthday? The month of April? Did she die on the fourth of the month?” No. No. Nothing.

It was Ben who answered. “The little boy is four years old.”

Well, holy shit. That was true.

“The little boy sees her, too, sometimes. He talks to her. Kids’ defenses are lower, so they can do that.” Gertie blew her nose, and when she inhaled again, the squeak was gone, thank God, and shouldn’t he be concentrating? Gertie tilted her head and looked at the floor once more.

“Lauren wants you to tell their mother she watches over them. Is she their big sister? No. Aunt. She’s the aunt of those kids, and their mother is her sister. Oh, they were close. How she loved her sister.”

“Yes.” How the fuck did she know this?

“Now she’s showing me flowers. Lots of flowers. She wants you to see the flowers.”

“Okay.”

“No, nope, she’s stuck on the flowers. Is there something special about the flowers?”

“I . . . I sent her flowers a lot,” he whispered.

“No, not that. She’s bein’ specific with the roses. Somethin’ special there. Are roses special in any way? Do you know someone named Rose?”

“Rose was her middle name.”

Jesus God in heaven. And then, Valentine’s Day. Their anniversary, the rose petals on their bed.

How could Gertie know that? She handed him a tissue, and he realized tears were streaming down his face. It wasn’t a good feeling, this, this . . . uncertainty, this longing, the roar of grief that his Lauren was really gone, truly dead, on the other side.

“And what’s with the tree? She’s showing me a special tree. In a pot near the window.”

Her dogwood tree. Ben’s eyes were comically wide now, though his face was the same.

“She says that tree is linked to her somehow, and she—”

“Stop! Stop. I—I—I . . . Please stop,” Josh said.

Gertie looked at him, her turtle eyes kind. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Am I going too fast for you?”

“I don’t . . . I never . . . really believed in this,” he said. “It’s . . . a lot.” Ben reached across the table and squeezed his hand.