I took a sip. I’d only tried wine a couple times before and had never cared much about it, but this tasted good. Maybe it was just the moment, sitting there with them in the cool night air. Maybe I would have liked anything, when it was Billy and Liz and me in the moonlight.

The ghosts played on the grass. The dancing ghost was spinning and spinning. I looked away and saw Billy, watching me.

“She’s showing off for you, you know,” Billy said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Your ghost.”

“She hurts my eyes.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I like to watch them,” Liz said, gazing onto the field. “They always look so happy.”

It was true. A group of ghost children played together, some kind of game I didn’t know. One of them seemed to count and the others scattered, running in all directions. They were too far away; I couldn’t see their faces. But I could tell by the way they moved in hops and skips that they were enjoying themselves.

Liz said, “Yours is such a beautiful dancer. I like watching her the best.”

“I don’t know why you all call her mine.”

She looked at me. “You don’t?”

“No.”

She turned back to the dancing ghost.

“Okay,” she said.

Billy stood up and stretched. I thought he was going to say good night, but instead he strode into the field, right to the center of the children’s game. The little ones gathered around him, just as Darius and James and Blanca and Mackenzie did every day. I could tell he was explaining something to them and they were listening, and then together they began to play a new game. The dancing ghost didn’t pay attention. She spun and leapt. A small group of ghosts who had been sitting together looked over but then stood and walked away. Billy fell onto the grass with a giant whoop that carried across the distance and the ghost children piled on top of him. We could hear his laughter.

“I didn’t even know we could interact with them like that,” I said.

“Last Christmas the preschoolers got to stay up late and they played with them. It was so cute to watch. I don’t know if cute’s the word. Cute-sad. You know. Terry keeps his distance, out of respect, I think. And Julia doesn’t like to look at them.” She sipped, swallowed. “Some people don’t see them at all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ll see at Thanksgiving. There are always a few people who have no clue what we’re talking about.”

“They must think we’re crazy,” I said.

“Mila,” she said. “Look at them. Clear as anything. Nobody’s crazy here. We just see different things.”