“I will,” I promised.

10 YEARS LATER

Every once in a while, I’d read a story in the newspaper about a family that lost a child in an accident, or of someone suffering unbearable grief after losing a spouse, and I’d take the time to find their e-mail address. I’d introduce myself and offer my services, and usually a few days would pass before I’d receive a reply. Everyone to whom I reached out accepted my offer in the end, even though sometimes a year would pass before they’d reply. Henry didn’t think it was the healthiest of hobbies, but he’d still often accompany me when I’d drive out to meet them, and I’d pass along messages from the recently departed. Usually, the spirits of the deceased would just want me to convey the abundant love they hadn’t had the chance to express before their death. One woman’s recently deceased husband provided her with information about a secret bank account he’d opened in Switzerland that she could access. In another instance, the spirit of a woman’s dead son told me where he’d hidden her Mother’s Day gift in the garage, and she was beside herself with emotion when she found it exactly where I’d assured her she would.

I never charged money for my services as a medium. In working with a psychic I’d met through Kirsten to try to reestablish a method of directly communicating with Jennie, I got better at understanding when spirits were trying to communicate with me. I experienced an indescribable sense of joy through bringing closure to people who were grieving. Often, I wished that I could bring the same kind of closure to my mom, but I kept my services a secret from both of my parents.

My hobby was something I didn’t discuss with friends, but both Violet and Cheryl were aware of it. Cheryl had surprised everyone in Willow by joining the police force after high school, and she called upon me from time to time for help in solving cases involving missing kids across Shawano County. Although in high school I’d always figured that Cheryl would end up studying some advanced science at an Ivy League school, she was a great cop. Cheryl had a persistent compulsion to make everything in the world right.

Violet and I became very close friends in college. She and I had both been accepted at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, and although her mother really wanted her to go to Stanford, she chose to stay close to home. Not surprisingly, she and Pete had broken up during senior year, and she’d spiraled into partying in college, probably as a way of coping with the horrors to which she’d been subjected in high school. It wasn’t uncommon for her to knock on the door of the apartment I shared with Henry at odd hours of the night or early morning, drunk and emotional, and crash out on our couch. Gone was the prim and smug Violet who’d arrived at Willow our junior year of high school with her cashmere sweaters and rosy cheeks. That girl had been replaced—at least temporarily—by a young woman with an appetite for every destructive habit life had to offer.