Shelly and Grandma eat cereal together in the morning and Grandma gives no hint of knowing that Shelly went out or that she brought a ghost back with her. Shelly feels like evidence of Estelle is written all over her face—like Grandma should take one look at her and just know.

But Grandma is distracted, poring over a list of jobs written on the back of a receipt. “I should get a planner,” she says. “Your mother was good at keeping track of her shifts. I think I’ve got a job at two, but I should still be home before school ends.”

Shelly prods soggy cornflakes with her spoon and tries not to think about Grandma and Estelle home alone together. “If you wait, I can go with you after school.”

Grandma looks up from her scribbled notes. Shelly can see the refusal in her eyes before Grandma even opens her mouth.

“You’re the one who told me I needed to know how to look after the dead,” Shelly says, before Grandma can speak.

“And you do,” says Grandma. “But you need to know how to look after yourself, too.”

Shelly knows how to look after herself just fine.

“I’m done,” she says, pushing her cereal bowl away and standing up. “I’m going to finish getting ready.”

Grandma calls after her when she leaves, but Shelly ignores her. She goes to her room and shuts the door firmly, leaning back against it.

“Have you got any crossword puzzles?” Estelle asks, adjusting the belt on her fuzzy bathrobe. “Or the TV Guide? You’ve got to have something to do around here that isn’t sitting and staring at the animals you’ve got plastered on the walls. I’m bored and the only books you’ve got are for kids.”

“I’m a kid,” Shelly says, though she hasn’t felt like one lately and hasn’t wanted to read much either.

Estelle waves a hand like she thinks Shelly’s age shouldn’t affect the reading material available to her. “I need something to do,” she says. “I thought this would be more interesting than the cemetery, but it’s more of the same—nothing to do.”

“I’m stuck here, too,” says Shelly. “Grandma won’t let me go ghost hunting anymore.”

“Smart lady, your grandma.” Estelle’s smile has a mean edge to it. “If I were her, I wouldn’t want my granddaughter wandering around with ghosts either. I’d want her to have real, human friends. Ones with beating hearts and warm blood who wouldn’t give her nightmares.”

“I’m not scared of ghosts,” Shelly says firmly. “What’s to be scared of? All you are is dead.”