Why was he here? It wasn’t as if Lauren would know if he blew off her suggestions. Great. Now he felt guilty on top of sweaty and anxious. Ben was studying his hands, stone-faced and silent, as promised.
Gertie patted his hand. “Josh, there’s nothin’ to be worried about. I’m a nice Christian lady, I go to Mass every week, so there’s no demonic spirits or the like, no sir.”
“Got it,” Josh said.
“The messages come fast, and I might miss something, see? But mostly, those who’ve passed on just want to reassure the livin’ that they’re right as rain, and you’ll be together again. This life here? This is just a tiny piece of our true lives.”
Okay, boomer. Straight from Mediumship for Dummies. Josh’s hopes were not high.
Gertie lit the candle, said the Our Father. The kitchen clock ticked loudly. A car drove past. Gertie had a little whistle coming from her nose every time she inhaled, and Josh suddenly wanted to laugh (or bolt). Ben caught his eye and squashed a smile.
Then Gertie tilted her head, seeming to look at the floor. “Oh,” she said, “you lost your wife.”
The urge to laugh vanished.
“Is that right?” Gertie asked. “Just say yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry, dear.” She closed her eyes again. The breath whistled in her nostrils, and Josh’s heart was pounding, and didn’t she hear that? Could he offer her a tissue? How had she known about his wife? Was it because he still wore his wedding ring? Had she Googled him after all? How many widowers did Rhode—
“Her name started with an ‘L.’ Laurie? Not quite. Lara? Laura?”
How the fuck . . . He cleared his throat. Ben’s eyes were slightly wider than usual. “Lauren,” Josh said, his voice strange.
“Right. Good. She’s showing me . . . a bed. Hospital bed. She was . . . she was real sick, aw, jeez. She was at the hospital a lot.”
Josh said nothing, but his heart was like a wild horse in his chest, kicking against his ribs. The clock ticked. Ben remained granite-still. Gertie’s nose squeaked.
Okay, he shouldn’t give her that much credit just yet. Josh was young. How many thirty-year-old men came to a psychic to speak to their dead grandfathers? Wife was a good guess, and saying she was very sick was a fifty-fifty bet.
But the name thing . . .
“You were with her at the end. You got in bed with her. She’s showing me the two of you snugglin’ there. Is that right, hon?”
He tried to control his breathing. “Yes.” Again, what self-respecting husband whose wife was breathing her last wouldn’t get into bed with her? The stallion in his chest kicked just the same. He did not want to remember that moment. At all. Ever.
Gertie smiled, but was still staring at the floor. A nose-squeaking breath. Another. “She’s showing me children. Did you have kids?”
Ah. Okay. She was just good at guessing, then. “No. We did not.”
“Did she have any before you?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s showing me two kids. The girl is a little bit of a thing. A toddler. The boy’s older. They’re . . . they . . . are they biracial? One of their parents is Black?”
Sebastian and Octavia. Holy shit. Josh managed to nod.
“My God,” Ben breathed.
“She’s showing me her name and pointin’ to the girl. Is the girl named after her? Not the first name, but the second? A middle name?”
The horse in his chest kicked again. “Yes.”
“The boy’s name is . . . starts with a T. Tyrone. Is that right?”
“That’s his middle name,” Josh whispered.
“She’s showing me the number four.” Four was not . . . it didn’t . . . His mind was turning to tar.
“Is that meaningful to you? Birthday? The month of April? Did she die on the fourth of the month?” No. No. Nothing.
It was Ben who answered. “The little boy is four years old.”
Well, holy shit. That was true.
“The little boy sees her, too, sometimes. He talks to her. Kids’ defenses are lower, so they can do that.” Gertie blew her nose, and when she inhaled again, the squeak was gone, thank God, and shouldn’t he be concentrating? Gertie tilted her head and looked at the floor once more.
“Lauren wants you to tell their mother she watches over them. Is she their big sister? No. Aunt. She’s the aunt of those kids, and their mother is her sister. Oh, they were close. How she loved her sister.”
“Yes.” How the fuck did she know this?
“Now she’s showing me flowers. Lots of flowers. She wants you to see the flowers.”
“Okay.”
“No, nope, she’s stuck on the flowers. Is there something special about the flowers?”
“I . . . I sent her flowers a lot,” he whispered.
“No, not that. She’s bein’ specific with the roses. Somethin’ special there. Are roses special in any way? Do you know someone named Rose?”
“Rose was her middle name.”
Jesus God in heaven. And then, Valentine’s Day. Their anniversary, the rose petals on their bed.
How could Gertie know that? She handed him a tissue, and he realized tears were streaming down his face. It wasn’t a good feeling, this, this . . . uncertainty, this longing, the roar of grief that his Lauren was really gone, truly dead, on the other side.
“And what’s with the tree? She’s showing me a special tree. In a pot near the window.”
Her dogwood tree. Ben’s eyes were comically wide now, though his face was the same.
“She says that tree is linked to her somehow, and she—”
“Stop! Stop. I—I—I . . . Please stop,” Josh said.
Gertie looked at him, her turtle eyes kind. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Am I going too fast for you?”
“I don’t . . . I never . . . really believed in this,” he said. “It’s . . . a lot.” Ben reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
“Aw, of course it is, hon,” Gertie said. “It can be very overwhelming, especially if you don’t believe.”
The horse in his chest was bucking and rearing. Josh mopped his face and wadded up the tissue.
Gertie’s head tilted again. “She has more to say. Her presence is very strong. Do you want to hear it?”