Between Seasons by Aida Brassington

he would have known about this while he was still alive.
    “I’d love to read it sometime.”
    “I’ll email you a copy.”
    “Would you… I mean, would you like to look around the house? You, you know, you spent time here.”
    “Would you mind? I haven’t been here, God, it’s been forever. Probably the day of his funeral.”
    “Jesus.” Patrick shook his head in amazement. The evidence was right there in front of him – Ginny with her white hair – but it still seemed like yesterday to him. It was shocking that even through the monotony of spending that much time doing exactly the same thing every day, he could recall things that had happened just days before he’d died with perfectly clarity.
    “Yeah, of course. Go now if you want… before things get started.”
    Ginny grinned, and it was instantly as if she were a girl again. She had liked to wear this ratty pair of bell bottoms wi th a hole near the ankle, and Patrick was almost disappointed to see a skirt swirling around her knees . He followed her as she climbed the stairs, her hands clutching at the railing.
    Her first stop was his room… Sara’s office. She stood in the middle of it, eyes glistening. The sounds of the crowd downstairs s ifted through the room, and Ginny closed her eyes and crossed herself. Patrick was strangely touched by the gesture, wishing she could somehow know he was t here. She’d done it at his wake, too, although she’d been standing near his window at the time.
    She went next to Sara’s bedroom, and Patrick laughed, remembering the time he’d made out with Ginny on his parents’ bed. There had been no reason for it. His own bed was just next door –he couldn’t explain it except to say it must have been the danger factor. It was only the sound of his dad slamming the front door shut that saved them from being caught.
    He’d been too caught up remembering the feel of Ginny’s hair that afternoon to notice her moving toward him. Before he could move, she walked directly through him, shivering as she did.
    “Holy shit,” he muttered, turning to watch her walk away and round the corner of the stairs. She moved quickly, as if compelled to get downstairs as fast as possible. Did she react because of him? He wanted to test the theory, so he took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to skirt around the place where he died this time, and gently stroked into the skin of Ginny’s face. Her eyes darted back and forth while a spasm rippled over her, and goose bumps rose along her neck.
    He’d accidentally passed part of his body through Mrs. Stout’s a few times over the years, and she’d never reacted… it couldn’t only be people who knew him in real life. But Ginny and his mom and dad had a physical reaction. People who were close to him before his death, maybe? Well, Sara had shivered that one time, but maybe it had been fluke. He didn’t know, but another piece of the puzzle dropping into place was a relief… even though he didn’t think it meant much in the grand scheme of things.
     
    Things wound down around ten o’clock. Patrick had been fascinated by Ginny read ing one of her new poems, explaining it was about her husband’s funeral. It was odd to think she’d been married, and he wondered what the guy had been like, if he knew him. Media hadn’t exactly been a hot bed of happening times in 1970, so he doubted it would have been anyone who had moved here… maybe she’d met him in college. Right before he died, she’d started her sophomore year at Swarthmore College, but she lived at home. He wondered what the man had died from –even though Ginny seemed so old to him, he knew fifty-eight was young to pass away. More appropriate than nineteen , but still.
    The short guy – Jon, maybe? – had read part of this ridiculous short story that sounded more like a porno. Patrick had caught that girl Katie rolling her eyes when Jon described nipples as “luscious orbs, ” and Sara’s face had flushed a