“Anybodyhome?” I called into the house, closing the front door behind me.
Itwas strange, as I stepped into the living room and surveyed my childhood home.I remembered sitting on that couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons, whilewaiting for my dad to cook breakfast. I remembered birthday parties and runningthrough the house with the few friends I'd made. I remembered hide and seek,Easter egg hunts, and sparkling Christmas trees. Then, I remembered the dreamsI had once, of growing up and getting married, of everything little AndreaBennett wanted for her adult life.
Shehad never wanted this.
Iwas still that girl, the last time I had set foot in this house. But everythingwas different now, and I no longer felt that I belonged here. It no longer feltlike mine.
Butthat was my father, coming down the stairs and that was my mother, walking intothe living room from the kitchen. They both smiled like they recognized me.Like I was still the daughter they knew.
“Hey,honey pie!” Dad exclaimed, approaching with wide-spread arms and a grin. “Weweren't expecting you today.”
“Yeah,I thought I'd surprise you guys,” I said, relaxing into his hug.
“Where'sVinnie?” Mom asked, eyeing me warily over Dad's shoulder.
“Working.”
“Everythingokay?”
Dadreleased me but kept his arm around my shoulders, as I replied, “Yeah,everything's fine.” She let out a short contemplative sound and I sighed,rolling my eyes. “Seriously, Mom. We're good.”
“Haveyou been getting enough sleep?”
Inodded, forcing a smile. “Oh, yeah.”
Shestepped toward me, reaching out, to lay her hand against my cheek. “You havesuch dark circles under your eyes,” she commented softly, brushing the pad ofher thumb over the top of my cheek in a gentle, caring embrace.
Ifought the ache of emotion as I turned from her touch. “Mom, I'm fine,” Iinsisted, faking a laugh. “Stop worrying so much!”
“I'myour mother,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'd be worrying evenif there wasn't a reason to.”
“Thereisn't a reason to,” I muttered, slipping out from under my father's arm to headfor the stairs.
Then,as I made my way upstairs, I heard her mumbled reply, “You'll have to workharder than that to convince me.”
***
Mydisdain toward the ghosts had only increased since discovering I could turnthem off while under the influence. They were more of a nuisance now—at work,on the train, along the sidewalks, at home, and, apparently, at my parents'house, too.
Iwalked into my room to find Jamie sitting on the bed, as though she'd beenwaiting for me to return all this time. I was struck with a horrible bout ofguilt, knowing she had nobody else, but still lingering among that guilt, wasthe desperation to hide away from this aspect of my life.
Afterbeing around Jamie for so many years, I often forgot that she was just a littlegirl. She had always been my friend and the age she had achieved in life nevermattered. But now, I saw that little girl, with her beaded pigtails and missingfront tooth, as she grinned from ear to ear. The look on her face and the wayshe jumped up from the bed to greet me ... It made me feel like she'd chosen meas not her friend but her adopted parent. And when had I ever agreed to take onthat responsibility?
“Ican't hang out, Jamie,” I muttered, as I headed for the closet door.
Shefollowed, rotating her arms, telling me to tell her what I've been up to.
“Nothing,”I lied. “Just hanging out with Vinnie. I, uh, I moved in with him.”
Shefurrowed her brow with curiosity and pointed at her chest.
“No,”I said firmly, opening the door to pull out some clothes to bring to theapartment. “We’re not coming here to live with you. We have our own place.”
Shefrowned, her eyes filling with disappointment and rejection, but I couldn't letmyself care. I was living my own life now, one free of ghosts, and I couldn'tlet her in without giving them all a free pass.
“I'msorry.”
Ghostscouldn't produce tears, but like a newborn baby, they could display theemotion. They could cry, albeit soundlessly, and at that moment, Jamie's bottomlip began to quiver.
