Page 12 of I'll Be Waiting

A quirked smile. “Nah, you were always messed up.”

“You like sugar in your coffee, right?” I lift the bowl. “Lots and lots of sugar?”

He ignores the threat. “Yes, it messed you up. Interfered with the grieving process.”

“You’ve been talking to Libby, haven’t you?”

“The point is that I’m trying to accept that you need to do this. I trust Jin, and I trust Libby, and if they say this is the way to handle it, then maybe it is. I’m an economist. I don’t know anything about how the mind works.”

But you know how grieving works, Keith. You grieved for the end of your marriage to Libby, and we both grieved for our parents. We’re still grieving for them, in our way. It felt as if I’d just buried my parents, and then I was burying my husband, too.

Keith continues, “Jin says he and Libby are setting this up, and Jin is going to be with you.” They’d originally both wanted to be there, but Libby finally admitted that her skepticism would get in the way. “I’d like to be there, too.”

“I don’t think—”

“Please, Nic. I just… I want to watch out for you. I know Jin can do that, but he doesn’t know what happened with Patrice, and I don’t think you want to tell him, right?”

I tense instinctively. “No.”

“I agree. So can I be there? Please?”

“All right.”

FOUR

A month has passed since we agreed to do this. We found a medium with a stellar reputation. He’s a parapsychologist and a university professor, a scientist who started his career as a skeptic, which is exactly what we want. Dr. Cirillo lives in Chicago, but he agreed to come for half his usual fee, in return for being able to document the event—using aliases in a purely written narrative account with no video or audio recordings.

We asked Dr. Cirillo how we could provide the ideal environment, and he said it should be a quiet spot that would invoke good memories for Anton. That made the choice a simple one.

Anton and I both grew up in Alberta, but his grandmother lived here in Ontario, where she had a huge rambling house on the shores of Lake Erie. When she died, fifteen years ago, the house was sold and turned into a bed-and-breakfast. It’s now a short-term vacation rental, and we’d gone there for our first couple getaway.

That makes it the perfect place for the séance. Anton had nothing but good memories of staying there as a child, and we’d built our own good memories there with three visits over the years. I worried it’d be too late to rent, but being ahead of the beach vacation season, we were able to get it on short notice.

Next we need a participant who didn’t know Anton. Dr. Cirillo says it’s easy for everyone to get caught up in our memories of Anton—his voice, his image, even his scent. Having an outsider there, in addition to Dr. Cirillo himself, helps eliminate a false positive. I don’t even need to look for someone. When Shania catches wind of this final séance, it’s obvious that she’d love to come, so I invite her.

I’m also supposed to bring items from Anton’s life, and that’s easily done, too, since I haven’t gotten rid of anything. Shania also suggests that I tell Dr. Cirillo I have one particular thing: Anton’s ashes.

Anton wanted to be cremated. He gave no instructions for spreading his ashes anywhere. That’s usually illegal, and he’d never have put that pressure on me. He expected they’d go in a memorial garden, but I want to do more.

No, that’s half a lie. I’m not ready to let them go, so they’re in an ornate wooden box on my dresser. I’m reluctant to ask Dr. Cirillo if I should bring them—it seems a little macabre—but I finally do, and he says yes, absolutely.

Everything is settled. There’s just one problem.

Keith.

I agreed he could join us, and he’s done nothing but interfere. He micromanaged, as he always does, except we aren’t his office interns and he’s not the expert here. Every step of the way has been a battle.

A house on the lake, Nic? Are you sure? They get a lot of windstorms this time of year, and your CF equipment needs reliable electricity.

Do you really want to take that Shania girl? Isn’t she the one who found that last quack?

Are you sure you want to fly someone in from the States? There must be local experts.

You’re taking Anton’s ashes? Is that a good idea? What if something happens to them?

A week before we leave, Libby calls.

“I’ve been offered a chance to attend a conference in Vancouver next week,” she says.

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