"Giving Up the Ghost" by Mary Logue

So far: Gary admits he's been thinking about Richard's ghost.

I waited.

"About Rich's ghost," he continued, then stopped again as if he expected me to jump in with something, like, oh, that was a joke, me admitting that I hadn't really seen Richard's ghost.

"Yes," I nudged him. "What about the ghost?"

"Maybe you're seeing something in the dark and then imagining it's Rich."

"Could be."

"Really?"

"Really?"

"Just a guess, but it makes sense, doesn't it? When people didn't have lights to turn on at the click of a finger, they probably saw a lot more strange and gloomy things in the dark."

"I guess. You're not mad that I'm suggesting you're making up this ghost?"

"Of course not. Don't you think I have thought that myself? I'm pretty existential about it all. In a way everything I see I make up. It's my world."

"Is it scary to be seeing this ghost?" Gary asked.

"So you're not worried about the ghost?"

I admitted, "I'm a little worried. Either way. If I'm making it up, then why? And what does that mean? If it's really real, what does he want?"

"I'm glad you told me."

"Yeah, it feels better to have someone else know. Maybe I won't see it again now that I've told you."

"That would be fine," Gary said, then added, "Sorry for throwing the turkey at the table last night."

"I thought the high point was when you were trying out for the broad jump as you went after Lucinda," Gary said.

"How was my form?"

"Amazing. I'd give you a nine point oh."

"The good thing is — it's over. Thanksgiving is over." I thought for a moment. "Now, if I can get through Christmas, I can have a total nervous breakdown in January in peace and quiet."

"Come home," Gary said.

"Come back to the Cities where we can bug you a little more easily."

"Soon."

We said our good-byes. Cloud turned upside down and meowed as if to ask, who was that?

"Soon," I told her. "Very soon."

I finished the pillowcase. The careful stitches captured something of the languidness of a happy cat. I found an old down pillow at the bottom of the bedroom closet and stuffed it in the newly embroidered case. I put the pillow on the hearth, plumped it up nicely and then set Cloud on top of it. She sniffed it, then walked away, back to the warm and comfortable couch.

The turkey carcass looked like the hull of an old abandoned ship with its sails in tatters. I picked a few strips of meat off it and made a sandwich.

When I went back in the living room with my sandwich, intending to make a fire, I noticed movement out the window.

Tiny white parachutes were falling from the sky.

"Oh, Cloud," I said. "It's snowing."