Ghost Program by Marion Desaulniers

all the other unlucky souls at Starbucks or a local bar, wondering when the living will know we’re there with them?  Wondering when they’ll see us?  Sounds awful depressing to me.”
       “I don’t know.  I haven’t died yet.”  He chuckled.  “If I do die, I’ll be sure to visit your house and let you know.”
       “Oh God, don’t say that.  Don’t even joke about it.  It’s unlucky.  I don’t know what I’d do.  I don’t have that many close friends.  You’ve become so precious to me.”
       “And just think, we were only distant acquaintances till yesterday.”
       “We weren’t so distant,” I said.
       “I didn’t know you much.  Hell, mostly I’d come to your house just so you could pay me.  Just a job, I never thought you saw me as anything other than the hired help.”
       “You’re good at what you do.  The students you tutor, I’m sure they appreciate you more than they let on.”
       “I could help you everyday if you came to city.”
       “I know.”
     
       There was another awkward silence.  I silently cursed myself for not starting my first year at university.  Why did I think it’d be easier to spend a year at my parent’s house?  If anything, it had stifled me.
       “Sam?” asked Brent.  “Don’t spend too much time alone.  I worry about you.  It’s safer for you be with someone, even if it’s just your mom.”
       “But she’s crazy.  If I chilled with her all day, I’d probably start acting crazy, too.”
       “You could help her shop for groceries or something.  It’s just for two weeks.  You shouldn’t be in that big house alone.  The next time something happens, Gregg may not be there.  What are you gonna do this afternoon?”
       “I hadn’t thought about it.  Maybe get some lunch, then go work out.  And I sometimes head to the library to get homework done.  I sure don’t have to go home.”
       “That sounds like a plan.  I’m gonna go get a couple tacos from this great stand a block from my apartment.”
       “Is that where you are, your apartment?”
       “Yep.”
       “I’ll talk to you later, Brent.”
       “Bye. Call soon,” he said.
     
       I clicked off the phone.  I wasn’t much hungry but I started the small car and drove to a deli across the street where I ordered a ham sandwich and café au lait.  I could’ve have eaten in my car, but the restaurant was pleasant and filled with people on their lunch break.  I took a seat with an ocean view, and from there I could watch the ocean liners and sailboats floating around in the water.  I watched two seagulls fighting over a mussel and sighed.  Seaside today looked nothing like it had yesterday.  I was surprised that the sailboats hadn’t been wrecked in the storm and realized that people who lived here possessed an unnatural resiliency to the forces of nature.
     
       I finished my sandwich and brought my plate to the counter.  Pushing open the heavy door of the restaurant, I stopped dead in my tracks.  In the far corner of the shopping complex was an outdoor espresso stand.  And who should be standing in line, waiting to order, but Mr. Breame himself?  Yes, he was ordering coffee from the same strip mall sidewalk on which I stood. 
     
       I’d seen him leaving class a couple of times and knew his car.  It was a turquoise Nissan.  And that Nissan was parked two stalls down from my car.  Out of curiosity, I walked towards it and looked through its window.  Taking a deep breath, I yanked on the passenger door handle, certain that the door would be locked, but it surprised me by opening.  Mr. Breame had left it unlocked the way people do in a small town if they’re only going to be out of their car for a few minutes.  I nervously glanced towards him, but he was studying the coffee stand menu and didn’t see me.  His little plastic box was on the seat, and I opened it, finding my thumb drive inside along