He swallowed and then tapped at his phone again.

I thought ghosts aren’t a thing.

Oh. I bit my lip as I thought about that for a second. I had said that to him, but at the same time…

“I don’t think they are,” I said. “Not like in the movies. But I think after people die, they are around us in some ways.”

He lifted an eyebrow and then returned to his phone.

Like ghosts.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Not exactly. I mean, not around us like they can see us picking our noses or sneaking cookies. But maybe they’re around us through our memories and the things we do.” I pointed at the project in front of us. Then I placed my palm over my breastbone. “And in our hearts.”

He smiled as he wiped away a tear.

For once, I’d said the exact right thing.

Twenty-Two

After a morning of crafting, we stopped to make lunch. Oren did most of the food prep while I set the table and made lemonade. We made a great team—working together like we’d been doing it for years. Better even than Nate and I, and we really had been doing it for years!

When everything was ready, we sat at the table and waited for everyone to come home. By then I was telling Oren about the finger sandwiches I’d eaten at my aunt’s baby shower. My favorite ones were the peanut butter pinwheels wrapped around a banana slice. I was about to say I liked the egg salad and the ones with hazelnut spread almost as much when I heard the side door open. All three of my family members kicked off their shoes and came up the stairs.

“Lunch is ready!” I announced.

Mom smiled and shrugged out of her suit jacket. “Wonderful! What are we having?”

“Oren and I made a big salad and lemonade—nothing too fancy,” I said, even though I was proud, pointing toward the table set with five places and the giant salad made of tuna, hard-boiled eggs, croutons and, of course, tons of veggies with ranch dressing. We’d even put out some of the nice napkins.

“This looks delicious, kids. Thank you,” Dad said as he put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “But I have some bad news.”

I glanced at Oren and then back at my father. “Was there another…I mean, do you have to do another—”

“No,” he said as he went over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Ecto is making some funny noises. I need to get her looked at this afternoon.”

“Oh,” I said. There was no use asking if Mom could take the hearse to the mechanic’s. Ecto is like Dad’s third kid and, like the very concerned parent he is, he always takes it—I mean her—in himself when there is something wrong that he can’t fix.

I already knew Mom had an appointment at the hair salon, so there was no point asking her to take us. “So no movie, I guess?”