He knew that now.

Carole’s ghost had shown up the day after her burial. The funeral had been held at the Presbyterian church adjoining the cemetery, and every pew had been filled. There’d been their friends and her friends and his friends, as well as assorted acquaintances, neighbors, and coworkers, and the whole thing had been nearly overwhelming. He was not a social man by nature—Carole had taken charge of that aspect of the marriage—and this was the time when he felt least like being sociable, felt most like being alone, but he was thrust into the role of host, having to meet and greet, accepting condolences and offers of support, repeating endlessly that he was all right, he was okay, he was coping.

It had rained during the burial service, but a canopy had been set up over the gravesite and while the mourners were forced to stand a little closer together than was comfortable, they had remained dry despite the downpour. Afterward, people followed him to his house, repeated their condolences, gave him casseroles and Jell-O and flowers and cards. It had been after eight before the last person finally left, and he’d gone directly to sleep after that, not only because he was exhausted, but because he didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to have time to think.

In the morning, Carole’s ghost was in the bathroom.

He thought at first that he was hallucinating. She was naked and standing in front of the sink, apparently looking at herself in the mirror. She had the appearance of a stereotypical apparition: her form was visible but transparent, a pale see-through representation of solid matter. He walked into the bathroom—

—and she disappeared.

Despite himself, he felt slightly chilled. His lack of belief in anything beyond the physical, material world was strong, but even if its origin was in his own mind, seeing Carole’s form after her death was a little unnerving.

He looked around the bathroom, checked behind the shower curtain, and, satisfied that there was no one there, walked over to the toilet to take a leak.

His mind was probably playing tricks on him, he decided. He was so used to seeing Carole that his brain had filled in the blanks, putting her where he expected her to be.

But she’d never stood in front of the sink naked. Not in all the years they’d been married.

It was the stress, he told himself, the shock. It was making him see things that weren’t there.

She was waiting for him ten minutes later in the kitchen.

Still naked.