The Marriage of Sticks by Jonathan Carroll Page A

that old way, remember?” I did the gesture and she smiled.
    “A very romantic fellow, no doubt about it.”
    “But Zoe, I saw him. He looked exactly like he did in high school.”
    She folded her napkin a few times and put it on the table. “Remember when we used to do the Ouija board and contacted all those old spirits, or whatever they were? My mother believed when some people die, their souls get tossed into a limbo between life and death. That’s why you can talk to them on a Ouija board or in a séance—they’re half here and half there.”
    “Do you believe that?”
    “Why else would you want to hang around life if it’s over for you?”
    “He was so real. Solid. No ectoplasm or Caspar the Friendly Ghost, hovering a foot above the ground in a white sheet. It was James. Completely real.”
    “Maybe it was. You’d have to ask an expert. Why would he come back now? Why not before?”
    We didn’t talk about it much beyond that. Neither of us knew what it meant, so further discussion was pointless.
    “Tell me about your new man. The alive one.”
    I told her in great detail, and along the way we kept having more drinks to help us analyze my new situation.
    “You know what just hit me? What if James came back as a sign to tell me not to do this?”
    Zoe threw up her hands in exasperation. “Oh, for God’s sake! If you’re going to feel guilty, don’t blame ghosts. I’m sure they’ve got better things to do than keep tabs on your sexual behaviour.”
    “But I haven’t slept with him yet!”
    “Miranda?”
    Hearing my name spoken in a familiar voice, I turned and saw Doug Auerbach. He was staring at Zoe.
    “Dog! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call?”
    “I didn’t know I was coming till yesterday. I was going to call later. I’m supposed to have lunch here with a client.”
    I introduced him to Zoe and he sat down. Soon it was clear he was interested only in my oldest friend. At first she smiled and laughed politely at his jokes. When his interest hit her, she transformed into a sexy fox. I had never seen her like that. It was fascinating how deftly she handled both Doug and her new role.
    Naturally I was disconcerted. Part of me was jealous, possessive. How dare they! The rest remembered Doug’s small place in my life, and Zoe’s goodness. At the appropriate moment, I suddenly remembered I had another appointment—and would they mind if I left?
    Out on the street again looking for a cab, I felt like Charlotte Oakley, the unwanted third. I shuddered and started walking as fast as I could.
    One afternoon when his family was away for the weekend, Hugh invited me to their apartment. Easy the bullterrier followed me from room to room. I had on tennis shoes, so the only noise was the tick-tick of Easy’s long toenails on the wooden floors.
    This is where he lives. Where she lives. Each object had its own importance and memories. I kept looking at things and asking myself why the Oakleys had them or what they meant. It was a strange archaeology of the living. The man who could decipher it all for me sat in another room, reading the newspaper, but I wasn’t about to ask any questions. Pictures of his children, Charlotte, the family together. On a yellow sailboat, skiing, sitting beneath a large Christmas tree. This was his home, his family, his life. Why was I here? Why put faces to his stories, or see gifts brought back from trips for these people he loved? On the piano was a crystal box full of cigarettes. I picked it up and read the name Waterford on the underside. A large red-and-white stone ball stood beside it. Crystal and stone. I stroked the cold ball and kept moving.
    When I’d asked to see his home, Hugh had not hesitated a moment. They owned a house in East Hampton. The family usually went there on weekends in summer. The first time they went without Hugh, he called and told me the coast was clear. And it was a coast of sorts; they lived on the east, I lived on the west. If I