Free The Ghost of a Chance by Natalie Vivien

But Lord knows
I've read enough books about them. All fiction, of course. I do have a friend,
though..."
    "What sort of friend?"
    "A psychic, I suppose. Clairvoyant. To be
frank, I've never seen her at work and can't attest to her authenticity, but
we've known each other since my undergraduate days at Ohio State—you don't want
to know how many years ago that was—and we've kept in touch. If you wanted, I
could give you her number."
    "Oh, well..." I don't really want a
stranger's assistance, or anyone's assistance, for that matter. I just need to
talk about what's been happening, to make certain that I'm not imagining it
all. Confirmation would do wonders for my state of mind. "All right.   I'd like to speak with her, I think."
    Marjorie pulls a pen, a notepad and a small black
book from her shoulder bag. She thumbs for a moment through the pages of the
book. "Here we are. Genevieve McLeery." She scribbles the phone
number on the notepad and then tears the page off, handing it to me. I fold it
in half and slide it into my bag.
    "Thank you for listening. I know it must sound
very odd to you, but...I do believe Catherine is trying to communicate with me.
I just can't figure out why she's still here, why her soul hasn't moved
on."
    "Unfinished business," Marjorie replies,
nodding. "Either that, or she doesn't realize she's dead."
    I remember Catherine's heartwrenching sobs when she
entered my body, her sorrow coursing through me, within me, becoming mine.
"No.   She knows she's dead. I'm
sure of that."
    "Oh? Have there been other manifestations,
besides the perfume?"
    "Yes. I haven't seen her, but..." My eyes
immediately spill over, and I hide my face in my hands, ashamed.
    "Now, now, dear," Marjorie whispers,
patting my arm and producing a tissue from her purse. "Remember what I
told you about crying. You've got to do it. Don't stop yourself on my
account."
    I take the tissue from her and swipe at the sore
skin around my eyes.
    "I want to see you emerge from this stronger
than ever before. Strong and invincible. An Amazon!"
    I laugh hoarsely. "Marjorie, I couldn't be less
of an Amazon if I tried. I've never felt so helpless and unmotivated. Sometimes
I don't bother to crawl out of bed until mid-afternoon. I forget to eat. My
savings are running low.   I just...don't
care. About anything."
    "Well—" She eyes me behind her thick glasses.
"You have one of two choices here. Either pull yourself up by your
bootstraps and snap out of it, or..." She pauses for dramatic effect.
    "Or?"
    "Get thee to a nunnery!" Marjorie smiles,
teasing, but the Ophelia reference stills my heart. I wonder if I'll ever be
able to encounter Shakespearean quotations without connecting them with my loss
of Catherine.
    "Dear, it's going to take some time. But every
day, bit by bit, almost imperceptibly, you'll get better. Until, one morning,
you'll wake up and declare, 'I think I'll go back to work at the library
today,' and, I, for one, will rejoice to share my working hours with you
again."
    I stopped crying, but now tears of a different sort
sting my eyes. "You're so kind."
    "No, only honest."
    "I have to admit…   I'm encouraged by the fact that you've been through this, with
your husband. And you're fine, a normal, fully functional woman."
    "Well…"   She looks down at her hands in her lap. "I suppose I am, Darcy, but
there are scars. I won't lie. Some days, when I wake up alone and lonely, I
curse every divine entity I can think of for stealing Arthur away from
me."
    A lump forms in my throat—for her and for myself.
"It just isn't fair."
    "No. That's the sticking point, isn't it? It
isn't fair. And it makes no sense, serves no purpose. But, you know, you can't
focus on that aspect, or you'll drive yourself mad. Just remember Catherine.
Honor her memory by living the life she would have wanted for you."
    I think back to yesterday, at the cabin. What
Catherine wanted, for both me and herself, seemed very clear. My body warms at
the memory, and