It's a Ghost's Life

One

"Bailey Burke, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

I cleared my throat. I do.

Does this dress make me look fat? my best friend, Alyssa Dembowski, asked me, emerging from her dressing room at Saks.

Dicey question to pose to a man, but to ask me, her bestie since high school, it was no big deal. We knew how to be honest but delicate with each other. It is truly the girl code to not let your friend go out looking less than her best, but in this case, Alyssa was worrying for no reason. She looked fabulous in the red polka dots with her dark hair.

No, you do not look fat. You look amazing and I’m completely jealous of your cleavage.

Alyssa eyed herself in the mirror and wrinkled her nose. Vera makes me feel insecure.

I had to laugh, glancing over at Vera, who was draping herself in a fur coat that was approximately seven sizes too big for her. My grandma Burke was searching for the rack of cardigans that all looked exactly like the one million cardigans she already owned.

Vera is ninety-five years old, Alyssa. Literally ninety-five. She had her birthday last October.

Yeah, but look at her. She’s stylish as hell and back in the day they called her ‘Va Va Voom Vera.’ She still somehow oozes sexual confidence. I feel frumpy next to her.

That’s insane. You are not frumpy.

I’m old, but not deaf, Vera said, turning toward us and pushing up her enormous round black glasses. I can hear both of you. Alyssa, a woman needs two things in life—confidence and a red lipstick. You’ve got the lips, now put your chin up and sell it.

That was something I personally sucked at. I go for cute, not an attempt to sell it. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a slight woman with wild red hair and fair skin, being swallowed by a puffy navy blue coat with a faux fur trim. It looked cheap next to Vera’s palazzo pants, designer boots, fur, and expensive glasses and haircut. Just because it was January in Cleveland didn’t mean I needed to give into schlumpy. I usually lived by that creed as well as Vera did but it had been a particularly harsh January and I was having post-Christmas blues.

All of which meant I just needed to do as Vera instructed Alyssa and put my chin up.

Sell it. Got it, Alyssa said.

Vera came toward us and handed the fur to Alyssa. Try this. To me, she said, Found any dead bodies lately?

Not since before Christmas, I assured her.

Vera looked at Grandma Burke. She looks so innocent.

Margaret’s always been competitive. It used to be medals at Irish dance competitions. Now it’s dead people.

Um, what? Grandma, I am not looking for dead people in a quest to be interesting. I wasn’t even going to ask her not to use my middle name Margaret. She’d been doing it since I was born and my mother had the audacity to give me a non-Christian first name. Grandma Burke is Irish, she’s stubborn, and if anyone is competitive, it’s her. She wanted to out-do Vera, who generally speaking had had a much cooler life than my grandmother. Apparently, the plan was to do it vicariously through me and my unusual brushes with death of late.

Vera and Grandma Burke were an unlikely pair. Vera had grown up in Cleveland in a wealthy Jewish family before heading to Hollywood in her twenties and spending two decades modeling, acting in bit roles, and dating leading men. Eventually she’d come back and settled down, but still had her fair share of scandals and men well into her eighties. My grandmother had been married from twenty until my grandfather passed away, and prided herself on her soda bread and her ability to recite the rosary for hours on end.

They had met at the cardiologist’s office at the Cleveland Clinic five years ago and for whatever reason, adored each other instantly. Now that I think about it, not much different from Alyssa and me. We have completely opposite personalities. Neither Grandma nor Vera drive anymore, and everyone on the road is thankful for that. But for a girls’ day out of drinkie, shoppie, lunchie, as Alyssa called it, they needed me to drive. I didn’t trust them to use Lyft or Uber. Vera would just walk up to a random car and demand they drive her somewhere without ever even downloading the app.

So how do you explain you racking up dead bodies like pool balls? Vera asked. She pulled the corner of the fur down off of Alyssa’s shoulder. Show some skin.

I need somewhere to go to wear this, Alyssa said, turning and spinning, giving us all lots of shoulder. I feel like a man killer right now.

See? This is how you kill men, Vera told me. Not the way you do it.

I’m not killing anyone! Geez, you have a couple of dead bodies under your nose and people start judging. I’d only found two bodies, and one was only a thigh and an arm, so did that even count? I’d seen a third dead body, shot while lounging by the lake in swim trunks, but that turned out to be a ghost, and not an actual body, so I’m sticking with two as my final number. Besides, I have a boyfriend. I don’t need to be a man killer.

"Oh, honey, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s harder to keep a man than it is to get one. They all go for shiny and new. You have to stay shiny."

Great. Now Vera had me feeling as insecure as she had Alyssa.

I didn’t worry a lot about losing Jake Marner, my super-hot detective boyfriend, but sometimes when he sighed, I suspected I tried him to the depths of his soul.

Because did I mention I see ghosts?

Marner sort of believes me but maybe not entirely, though he tries hard.

It started the day my best friend, and his partner, Ryan, showed up in my kitchen talking crap and mocking my weight loss. He’d been dead eight months and then suddenly there he was, like no big deal. Wearing work boots and a flannel shirt and telling me I needed to solve his murder.

Me, I’d thought it was a big deal. Because Ryan appearing to me was cool after my initial freak-out and had helped me get through some of my grief. But after Ryan appeared, so did other random ghosts and five months later it still stunned me to think that my life had become a hostess stand for the disenfranchised dead showing up for a table.

Stay shiny. Will do. I gave Vera a thumbs-up.

She looked at me like I was a lunatic. Let’s go to lunch. I want a martini.

I did too because it had just occurred to me clear out of the blue the next day was the one-year anniversary of Ryan’s death. I’d been so busy with Christmas and planning a trip to see my sister in Texas, and managing my home-staging business, Put It Where? that I hadn’t realized the anniversary was so soon.

I gripped the zipper on my puffy coat and felt awash in emotion.

The old lady’s right, a voice said right behind me.

I jumped and whirled around. Ryan was standing there. What? I said out loud before I realized I couldn’t have a conversation with a ghost in Saks without the disdainful sales woman calling for security.

What what? Vera asked me. I said I want a martini. Get the lead out, doll. I could die before we reach the restaurant.

Grandma Burke touched my elbow. Why don’t you go ahead and get us a table. I’m going to stop at the restroom. I like the one here in Saks. Vera, why don’t you come with me? Grandma gave me a wink.

She saw Ryan too. She’d told me that when he reappeared at Christmas after getting an eviction notice from heaven. He still hadn’t told me what he’d done to get tossed, but clearly, it wasn’t good.

I’m not wiping your ass, Vera told Grandma Burke. If that’s why you’re asking.

Of course not. I have a date next week and I want your advice, but not in front of my granddaughter.

That made me forget entirely about Ryan. "What? You have a date? I said, scandalized. With who?"

My grandmother didn’t date. She martyred herself at the feet of widowhood. Besides, it was unlikely she’d find a man as willing to let her boss him around as my grandfather had.

See what I mean? Grandma asked Vera. She’s nutso.

I understand. One of the many reasons I never had children, Vera said. So self-centered.

Now I was self-centered as well as being an attention-seeker going off in search of dead bodies? That seemed a little harsh.

I’ll be at the checkout desk, Alyssa said after Grandma and Vera shuffled off in pursuit of the restroom.

Suddenly Grandma’s gesture to leave me alone with Ryan seemed thoroughly unimportant compared to the fact that she had a date. She better be joking, I said out loud.

Why? Can’t an old lady get laid? Ryan asked.

He always managed to incite my outrage, even as a ghost. I beg your pardon, I said, sounding nothing like a twenty-eight-year-old, and every inch ancient British aristocracy. How dare you.

Ryan laughed. You are so easy to get riled up. I love that about you.

Glad I can amuse you. Why are you at Saks? I asked, pretending like I was talking into my cell phone. People tend to look strangely at you if you have long one-sided conversations with yourself in public, because unlike lucky me, most people didn’t see Ryan or any of the other ghosts who had been traipsing in and out of my life. Do you need cuff links to wear for your ceremonial fall from grace?

He raised his eyebrows. Wow, you are tense today. Marner not slipping it to you lately?

That was not the way to improve my mood. Ryan teased me mercilessly about dating Jake, and for his part, Jake frequently appeared jealous of my friendship with his former partner. Even though Ryan was dead. Not that I could blame him. Before Ryan died, I had been harboring a pretty mega-sized crush on him. I might have possibly even confessed to loving him before trying to kiss him. One year ago tomorrow. Egad.

Ever since Ryan had reappeared to me right before Christmas, Marner had been more pensive than usual. He seemed remote and that was a big bag of yuck. I didn’t like feeling like he was retreating away from me. Especially after I had endured the presence of a leg lamp for the majority of the holiday decorating season purely out of love for him.

It’s a year tomorrow, I said testily.

I am well aware of that fact. Which is why you should be nice to me and not bitchy.

Ryan had a special talent for making me feel guilty. I’m not trying to be bitchy. I’m sad.

Don’t be sad, Bai. Shit happens. But I’ll be over tomorrow because we have to talk about our assignment. I’m catching a lot of crap upstairs and I need to take this seriously.

Take what seriously?

But he just gave me a wink. Gotta go, yo. I’d like fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cheesecake for my death anniversary dinner.

You can’t even eat solids.

I want to smell it.

That’s very morbid.

Tomahto, tomayto. Get some vitamin D, by the way. You look pale.

Probably because I was picturing my boyfriend’s reaction to me cooking dinner. I’m not a very good cook. I eat a lot of string cheese and chicken nuggets. My meals solo tend to look like a grade school lunch.

Ryan didn’t bother to wait for my answer though because he was already gone. Alyssa came over to me with a giant bag in her hand.

Why did I just buy a dress I don’t need and three pairs of shoes?

Vera pressure.

Indeed. Alyssa, who was something of a serial dater, had been on a hiatus since she’d revenge-dated a bully from high school and then had accidently caught feelings for him. I need to go back on a dating app. I cannot fathom the idea of spending Valentine’s Day alone this year. I have four weeks to get a guy to the point where he’s groomed to handle the big V Day without flipping out about it.

I glanced at my phone. How long had Vera and Grandma been gone? Was this a fallen-and-can’t-get-up situation? Do you seriously care about Valentine’s Day? I thought you always said it was commercial hype.

It is. But I need to post pictures of myself with a hottie so that Michael can see I’m happy.

Hello. Dating to make someone else jealous did not seem like a recipe for a romantic Valentine’s Day. There is so much wrong with what you just said. What I’m going to say is this—I’m supposed to be the insecure one, not you.

Alyssa made a face. I’m not insecure. I’m just determined. Besides, don’t come at me with relationship advice just because you have a case of the ‘we’s.

What the heck is that?

We went to dinner. We are going to the beach. We ate breakfast in bed. We spend our Saturday nights in pjs giggling on the couch together. You and Jake. You’re ‘we’ people now.

I was not going to take this personally. I had a feeling Alyssa was actually, quite possibly, in love with Michael and she needed to work that out. Also, she wasn’t totally wrong about me and Jake. We were a little gushy with each other. Well, before Ryan had reappeared and Jake had decided that his getting up at five in the morning was interrupting my sleep too much and he’d started spending more nights at his apartment.

The thought made me wrinkle my nose. Tomorrow is one year since Ryan died, I said.

Oh, shit, that’s right. Alyssa bit her lip. Are you okay?