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Jenna wanted no part of Christmas. She worked until it was time for the break, went home, and waited for it to pass. When April finally did roll around, a funny thing happened. Jenna had just gotten home from work. She dropped into the chair that had been her husband’s favorite and sobbed, as she frequently did. The box of tissues was growing pathetically empty, she noticed, and snatched another one and blew her nose. She leaned back and stared into the gathering shadows of the living room. Turning on the light had no particular appeal. Then she heard his voice inside her head. ‘Jenna.’ Her dead husband’s voice rang as clear and true as if he were right there beside her. ‘Charles!’ She jumped up, looking for him. ‘Charles, where are you? I can’t see you!’ ‘I can’t appear physically. I’m in your mind, in your brain.’ ‘Am I crazy?’ Jenna sat down again, still looking around for him, despite what he had just told her. ‘No,’ laughed Charles. ‘You’re the only one who can hear me, but I. After the starlike flash as his head was smashed against a light pole, that was the last thing he remembered that evening. As Dean had expected, the bad guys’ attention focused on him. Laetitia found herself alone in the muffled confines of her mother’s and her hotel room. She did not know exactly when Michelle would return, although she remembered that this was to be a day of organizational planning sessions. Not doing anything was driving her crazy, but she did not want to drown out a suspicious sound with the shower. She did not know what she would do if there WAS a suspicious sound, but she knew that she wanted to hear it if it came. She found herself idly fingering the poem that Dean had given her. She sat down on the edge of her bed and unfolded the sheet of paper. For a moment Laetitia thought about Dean and how special he was to her, and an intense longing filled the young Frenchwoman. Their short time together had been so wonderful, she let herself think of doing all kinds.
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