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annoying little gremlins.”
    “Hmm,” said Laura
looking at me quizzically.  “Whatever,” she said.  “It doesn’t matter.  Rossi
had already hung herself.  All I had to do was tighten the noose.  Everything
went well.  Still, Fendworth’s going to get his boxers in a bind.”
    “It’s not as if I
had purposely tried to commit career suicide, it’s just that…”
     I stopped short
of asking her advice on how Miss Manners would have handled the situation of
seeing a dead person appear before her eyes.
    “The fact is,” I
said dryly, “I guess I just snapped.  What else is there to say?”
    Laura squinted at
me as if she were checking the odds of her portfolio against the stock quotes
on the exchange floor.  A half-inch square sapphire stone glittered on the ring
finger of her right hand as she folded her dainty arms across her ample Armani
clad bosoms, while one perfectly tweezed eyebrow shot up.
     “What the hell is
wrong with you?  I’d blame your unusual behavior on last night’s fiasco because
of how sick you got, but--”
    “I got sick?  Like
puking sick?”
    Laura nodded.  “Yeah,
don’t you remember we were talking to Trudy Knox, you know, the sporty brunette
that chairs the symphony league?  We were in the restroom at the restaurant and
you practically pushed her down trying to get into the stall.  You overshot the
toilet, but not a big deal.  I’ll tell you the rest later.”
    “Oh-my-God,
there’s more!  But--”
    “Here’s the thing
Aubrey, you haven’t seemed like yourself for weeks.” 
    Technically
speaking, it wasn’t me and I wasn’t even sure if it was all a dream.  I
reached out and ran my hand over the top of Laura’s head to see if she was
real.
    “What are you
doing?” she said and pushed my hand away.
    Everything that
was happening was real.  Everything that constituted the last three weeks
of my life, and everything that was going to happen, everything I had ever
imagined could or would happen--did happen!  Although I’d accepted these things
and accepted the fact that I saw my dead husband, for some reason the supernatural
enormity of it all hadn’t fully sunk in until now.    
    MATT WAS REAL !
     “Hey,” said
Laura, her voice echoing in the bathroom.  She reached out and placed a hand on
my shoulder.  “What’s the matter?” 
    Her soft, sappy
tone triggered an odd reaction.  Is that watery stuff bubbling in my eyes
actual tears? 
    All at once, I
felt slammed with a ton of emotions, as if I’d just lived the five stages of
grief all over again.  Denial that I’d somehow connected with the spirit
world.  Anger at why it was happening to me.  Bargaining with God to give me a
chance to talk to my husband and tell him I love him.  Depression over feelings
of guilt that I had caused Matt’s death, and acceptance--well that shocking
part had just sent me over the edge.  I gave a hard stare at the floor, trying
to keep my sudden upheaval of emotions at bay, while thinking about my son,
Nicholas, whose pet chameleon had recently died. 
    Escaping from his
cage, I found him days later under the living room sofa in full rigor with his
tiny mouth wide open as if he’d tried to call for help.  We planned a backyard
burial, but Nicholas couldn’t lay him to rest.  He took comfort in playing with
the chameleon, hopping it across his bedroom floor as if it were a plastic
action figure, while at times, getting the chameleon’s stiff little feet
tangled in the looped carpeting. 
    I didn’t see the
harm in having him pretend his pet was still alive.  It seemed like a good way
for him to work through his grief.  Not much different from the way I had
worked through my grief after Matt died.  Not that I pretended he was still
alive, but I took comfort in writing letters to him telling him about our son
and various stages of our lives, and that I was sorry I wasn’t a better wife
and oy vey--the guilt!  I needed Matt’s forgiveness.
    So