“It's not from the cold!”
“It's not just from you seeing a ghost, either. I know what you've been eating. We have to get you inside or you'll get sick.” She doesn’t move, so I smile, “It's okay. I'm going with you.”
She asks, “Am I dreaming?” fear in her voice that she might be, that this isn’t real.
“You're not dreaming.”
Unable to take her eyes off me, she stands up.
It feels so good to be seen by her again! I laugh at her expression — a small, super fucking happy laugh.
Abby’s booming aware that I’m wearing my favorite clothes I wore on weekends — the grey jeans and matching Henley-ish t-shirt, the black sneakers I loved most.
Inside the cabin, she turns on the antique floor lamp with frosted glass shade, sending shadows she’s lived in for weeks, away.
I’m standing in front of our floor-to-ceiling, A-frame window, by the sliding glass door she just closed.
Bathed in warm golden light, Abby faces me, green eyes filled with wonder.
“Have you been here the whole time?”
“I came here with you.”
Coming closer, she touches her heart. “Have you been with me this whole time?”
“Yes. Sometimes I've gone to my parent's house. It killed me to see them crying.” The distance vanishes. “Abs, I can't believe you can see me.”
“Why now? How come now?”
“I don't know.”
Closer still. “Are you stuck here?
“I don't know.”
She searches my face, and fear shifts hers. “Are they going to take you away from me again?”
All I want to do is kiss her. “They? I don't know about any 'they,' Abby.”
Like she might burst into tears, she whispers, “I miss you so much!”
Like I want to rip her clothes off, I confess, “It's been hell without you.”
Our faces are so close. I’m careful not to pass right through. Now that she can see me, I don’t want to freak her out. She’s been through enough. I can hear the pain in her voice as she stammers, “I…I never thought I was going to see you again!”
I hover with our lips almost touching. “I’m here. I'm right here.”
After a few tortuous seconds, I step back first.
I can never get closer than that.
Chapter 16
Max
Abby’s sitting up in bed, our faux fur blanket over her legs as I sit across from her in Mom’s old rocking chair. It’s not rocking now, of course. That would be pretty cool, though. Still, I’m not complaining.
I’ve prayed for this gift. Well, not prayed exactly. Never something I’d done in life, but lately I don’t know. Are prayers just wishes backed up by heart?
For hours we’ve been talking.
It’s almost dawn.
I told her about the empty trips to the “Double B’s.” How the old streets in Dublin have cobblestones just like in Soho. How seeing Ireland without her, gave me zero joy.
She was happy I’d gone.
Wished I’d had more fun.
That’s my girl.
But she’s barely able to keep her eyes open, circles dark around them, body exhausted from lack of nutrition and months of depression exacerbated by the emotional high of seeing me again.
I’ve finally broached her exit, asking, “Was it difficult leaving?”
“No, it wasn't hard to quit.
I confess, “That's surprising.”
Abby smiles, “I bet.” And her smile fades as she asks, “But you saw me, right? I lost the passion for it when you…”
Trailing off, Abby doesn’t say the D-word.
“But you loved your job.”
“I loved the status.”
“You loved the money, too,” I remind her.
We stare at each other, our loss hovering between us. Tears form in her eyes, voice cracking as she says, “We should have gone on more vacations.”
I smirk, “Now she says that!”
“Come on. That's not fair. Or kind.”
Feeling terrible, I whisper, “I was kidding.”
We both know there’s truth to it.
It wouldn’t have taken much effort to go away for a week here and there, see Europe together, travel more around the states. It’s such a huge country and we spent the majority of ten years in our bubble. Like the movie Groundhog Day, we kept waking at the same hour intent upon doing the same thing.
“We should've spent more time together.”
I smile, “I have all the time in the world now.”
The truth makes her laugh even through her fresh tears, “Where would you like to go?”
I glance around our messy bedroom, a mirror of the rest of the cabin. “Where do you want to go?”
“I heard that tone in your voice. You're judging me.”
Losing the edge, I gently reassure my grieving widow, “How can I judge? I would've probably done the same thing you've done.”
But Abby rolls her eyes. “No, you wouldn't have. You would've been like your mother, helping everyone get over me, being strong.” We stare at each other because I can’t deny she knows me pretty well. After a moment Abs whispers, “I’m not strong like you.”
“Yes, you are,” I smile with love, “You've just forgotten.” Her eyes are closing against her will. “Get some sleep, baby.”
“No!” She straightens up, “You’ll be gone again!”
There’s something inside my soul that says differently. I lean forward in the chair like a live man.
“Remember when I threatened to throw you into the pool at Tom and Jennifer’s?”
Abby blinks to the past, seeing their high rise with all the amenities including a pool where we spent many a weeknight when other tenants weren’t there. A nostalgic smile appears. “I said you wouldn't dare.”
“And I said, 'I promise I would.’”
“And then you did,” she laughs, remembering, “And you said…”
We repeat at the same time, “I always keep my promises.”
Abby has such love in her eyes I wish she didn’t have to close them for sleep, that we both could fly around the world together right now, see all the things we never saw. Maybe we will. That would be somethin’ else.
“I promise you, I will be here when you wake up.”
Trust relaxes her shoulders, and she begins to lie down. “How do you know? Maybe they'll take you away from me again in the middle of the night!”
Confused by this, “They?” I search for an answer and come up with only the one I feel in my soul. “They're not going to do that.” I sincerely tell her, “I promise.”
The love of my life accepts these two precious words as truth, and lies down with a weak smile that tells me how happy she is to be sleeping in the same room with me again.
I watch her give in to exhaustion, tucked under that blanket we got tangled in about a thousands times.
With no need to sleep, I stay right where I am. Lots to think about.
Why tonight?
Why the second chance?
I replay the night’s events and remember how scared I was for her, how sincerely I felt the shortness of her breathing, knew that having the door open on a cold night, nothing to keep her warm, was dangerous after ingesting little more than wine for weeks.
She was giving up.
“Because I think I'm supposed to help you.”
Chapter 17
Abby
I had the most amazing dream last night that Max’s ghost appeared to me and we spent the whole night talking. I learned he’d been my guardian angel ever since he died, and had all but never left my side.
Sunlight shines on my face, waking me. I feel rested for the first time since police knocked on my door.
Wait.
Was it a dream?
I sit up like a shot. “Max!?”
His smile relaxes all of me. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
He comes to kn
eel beside our bed, eye-level.
“Have I lost my nut or something?”
Max’s smile vanishes. “Did you only have one?”
I hold back a laugh, because this is so weird. “Probably not the right term.”
He shrugs, “I like it.”
My smile slowly fades and I admit what I haven’t wanted to, “I don't know what to do.”
“How about clean up a little?” he asks, sarcasm back and amusement taking the edge off.
I look around — balled up tissues, books askew, bug repellent, clothes scattered, and back to him.
I throw myself comically onto the bed, toss the blanket over my head to hide, and cry out a hilarious, “No!!!”
Max laughs, “C’mon, I’ll keep you company,” and leans over me with something from our past. “We can dance it out.”
I peek out at him, and can’t help but grin. The house is a disaster I’ve not wanted to face.
But now I have Max.
So let’s go!
Chapter 18
Max
Sure, I can’t physically help, but I can lift her spirits. Especially since I am one.
This is the only reason we never hired a maid. We could afford one and it would’ve opened our busy schedules to do so.
But this is much more fun.
Abs hits the playlist with The Commodores, Diana Ross, The Temptations, so many others including our favorite, I Heard It Through The Grapevine by Marvin Gaye.
Man, there is no better song to clean house to because you cannot help but dance.
I make her pour out the remnants of wine she has left. As she pours it down the drain, I playfully push Abby to pour it all out by mocking the motion above her head. She rolls her eyes, secretly loving it, and starts packing up a cardboard wine box with empty bottles that fill it.
I could reprimand her, but that wouldn’t be kind — one of the most important behaviors to cementing a loving marriage.
My wife and I dance our asses off as she restores our cabin to what it once was. I do the snake, play an invisible saxophone. Walk down imaginary stairs behind the counter-barrier that separates our dining area from the more casual kitchen section.
To make her laugh.
To enjoy myself.
For the first time since I died.
Because man.
I fucking needed this.
Abby’s humor is back. She recoils after shutting a fridge filled with decayed food from our last visit.
“How long ago was that?” I ask her.
“Be glad you can’t smell,” is her retort.
She’s hung a trash bag on the old wooden chair tucked against our kitchen table, and Abs backs up a good distance to toss garbage like a basketball star. With each successful dunk I blow up my hands in a BOOM!
We dance it out until everything is as it should be.
Me.
With her.
As it should be.
“You gotta eat something.”
“There’s no food in the house.”
“I saw you put a breakfast bar in your bag. Still got it?”
“But I’m nauseous.”
“Hungover, you mean.”
Pretending to be sullen, Abs retrieves the only edible thing here and unwraps it as I watch with a stern eye.
Just as she takes a bite, I gesture, “Eat it!”
She jumps, bursting out laughing while chewing, looking like a happy version of death-warmed-over with the circles under her eyes. I grin with love and stand watch until every crumb disappears. “Hey Abs, wanna take a shower? Her smile changes, and she bites her lip at the idea of my being with her when she’s naked again.
If I can’t join her, I can watch.
She tugs back our old shower curtain as I glance around the decor.
Abby redecorated after Mom and Dad moved out. My wife made this room charming where it had lacked any discerning style, more just a practical room for necessary activities.
Abs bought antique mirrors to hang above the vanity behind me, and over the sink. The countertops we redid with tiles. Secured small antique wood shelves from floor to ceiling right next to the shower-bath.
The only thing not so quaint is this shower curtain, because I jokingly said at the time that she wasn’t allowed to switch it out.
She was appalled, but kept her mouth shut to be polite. When I finally admitted months later that I actually didn’t want it, that I’d been messing with her about it being an heirloom, Abs kept the damn thing to be funny. It’ll probably remain past her lifetime.
She steps under a stream so hot it inspires steam in no time. Washing her hair, Abby peeks at me, a sexy smile spreading as the grime vanishes with the sadness that inspired it.
She reaches for a bright green bar of soap to bathe herself while I soak in the visual. Never noticed before it matches her eyes. Funny what you see when you’re given a second chance.
Abby loses grip of the soap, and it falls into the tub with a clonk, bounce, bounce, bounce.
She looks down, eyes wide as she whispers, “Oh no!” because she has to bend over.
I crack up laughing.
She does, too.
As she faces me and bathes herself, her expression softens, watching me watching her. Soapy fingers slide around her breasts, down her ribcage, bellybutton, abdomen, and between her legs.
Abby’s eyelashes go heavy. Her breath hitches.
My wife leans against the wall, props her foot on the rim, knee opening so I can see everything. What no one else gets to see but me.
Her right hand slides up to caress her breast while her left fingers stroke between her legs. She moans, eyes locked on me with an openness of love and permission.
Surrender.
“I wanna be those fingers, Abby.”
“I know,” she whispers, “But at least you’re here.”
She cums, whimpering, hand lost between her thighs. Our eyes lock as her body goes lax. “All clean, Max. All yours.”
Chapter 19
Abby
We’re walking through the brightly lit aisles of My Market, and he’s nagging at me, telling me exactly what to put into the bright red basket I’m carrying.
Close to my ear like a conscience. “Get some veggies!”
“Alright!” I grumble, “You're really beginning to annoy me.”
Undettered, he says, “Baby broccoli!”
That actually sounds good. Like my body wants it. I pause in the middle of an aisle, stomach growling. “Oooh, I can sauté it.”
“There ya go!”
“Just so you know, I'm getting ice cream. And you can't stop me.”
“Stop you?” he balks, “I want some!”
I reach for chocolate syrup only to hear Max in my ear again. “Baby broccoli.”
Withdrawing my hand, I continue up the well-stocked aisle of dried goods, red basket chocolate-free. “You get this from your mother.”
“Mother knows best.”
I don’t have to look to know he’s smirking. Sigh. Time to head for the veggie aisle and snag that broccoli he’s so fucking obsessed with.
After we’ve argued our way through the store, I head to the register and Max asks, “Was that so hard?”
“Don’t make me answer that,” I grumble, but of course I’m just playing. Every second with him is a blessing and frankly, it’s fun to argue with him again.
He laughs as I set the basket on the counter where Wanda tallies my items, eyeing me like a woman who knows things. “You look happy today. Have a hot date?”
If she only knew that Max’s ghost is standing right next to her.
Unable to hide my smile, I slide a credit card from my wallet and lie lie lie, “Me? Um... no. It's just me and me tonight.”
Wanda holds up two steaks with a twinkle in her eye. “You're going to eat both of these?”
I blink, struck suddenly by the realization that I did buy one for him from habit. Forgetting he can’t eat it.
Max cut
s through my wake-up call, joking, “Tell her!”
I’m distracted and tell him, “Hush,” covering with, “Ha ha, hush now, Wanda, you'll make me blush. It's just me.” I stammer, smiling it off, “I’ll make the second one tomorrow I guess.”
She tears the receipt from her register, and hands it to me with a knowing smirk. “Your skin is rosier.”
It sure is, but not because of what she thinks. I smile a sincere, “Thanks!” so grateful I’m not a fucking mess anymore.
Wanda won’t drop it, though. She thinks I’m hooking up with someone in town. The hair blow-dried and clean, the lipstick, the grin.
“Getting good sleep?”
“Um...yeah.”
Max goes to pick up the bag, joking, “Here let me get that! Oh, oh no!”
I grab it, laughing, and passing it off as if she’s right — I’m getting laid and hiding it!
Max dashes away, “I’ll go get the door.”
She can think what she likes.
I’ve got Max back in my life.
As I set my fork on the empty plate, I confess, “It wasn’t as good as when you make it…”
“I walked you though it! You did fine!”
“It's quite possible I could have eaten both steaks."
Max smirks, "Don't want you to get sick."
"I haven't been that bad!"
His eyebrows rise.
I chuckle, get up from the table, and bring my dishes to the sink to hand wash them.
Max stands by the counter, arms crossed and hands tucked under his biceps, tone no longer teasing. “Abs, where would you like to go?”
I frown, scrubbing away while options present themselves to a stifled imagination. "Anywhere?"
"Anywhere."
“Hmm…”
I turn on the faucet, let warm water wash the suds away.
He offers, “With just the money you're saving from rent alone..."
I turn off the faucet and prop our plate against the wall on a clean dish towel to dry. Picking up my silverware, I vigorously sponge away germs as I throw Max suggestions. "I'd like to go to Ireland with you, then Scotland."
Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture Page 6