Page 35 of Beneath the Poet's House

When she opens the door, Roberto and Lucretia are crowded on the top step, Mia a few paces behind them. Saoirse stares at the place where there should be a pumpkin and laughs.

Roberto arches an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Come in.” Roberto and Lucretia give her a simultaneous half hug, then march inside.

Mia comes quietly up the stairs and fixes Saoirse with a thoughtful smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Saoirse replies. “So is Pluto. I’m glad you’re getting to meet him.”

Mia crosses the threshold. Saoirse shuts the door behind her.

Lucretia and Roberto have already dropped their coats on the foyer settee and gone to the living room, where Pluto is lounging before the fireplace.

“He’s even cuter than I remember,” Roberto says, petting the cat’s ears flat against his head. “And I remember him being pretty goddamn cute.”

“He’s so chill,” Saoirse says. “He acts like he’s lived here forever.”

Mia studies Saoirse. “Lucretia mentioned you were called away last night. I guess it’s a good thing Plutoisso easygoing, since Lu had to give him his insulin.”

Mia doesn’t look angry or annoyed, just curious. Likely she’s getting right to the point rather than being critical, as Saoirse finds more and more that Mia seems inclined to do.

“How about we call in the food, and I’ll tell you everything?”

There are murmurs of agreement. It takes less than five minutes to finalize the order and make the call. When Saoirse sits in one of the chairs by the fireplace, three pairs of eyes land on her from the settee behind the coffee table.

“Ready when you are,” Roberto says.

Why does it feel like, in the short time she’s known them, she’s been in the hot seat more than once, called upon to explain what she’s seen or felt or what she’s been doing? Though, that’s not entirely fair. Their first interaction was practically an interrogation, with Saoirse playing the part of disgruntled detective. She shifts in her chair, then opens her mouth to tell her story.

She’s surprised by how few interruptions there are. Only once does Lucretia elicit a smack from Roberto to quell her excited squealing. Throughout Saoirse’s monologue, Mia sits very still, betraying no emotion. When Saoirse’s finished, she stares at the trio anxiously. “And, um, he called right before you guys got here to make plans for tomorrow,” she adds. “So, there’s that.”

Roberto speaks first. “So, what you’re saying is, you owe your newfound happiness to me for insisting you give Emmit Powell a chance.”

It’s Lucretia’s turn to sock him. “That wasn’tyouradvice! It was both of ours! And it’s not like she took it, anyway. She ran into him unexpectedly. The universe intervened and made it happen.”

“Saoirse could have turned her back on the universe’s plan for a third time, waited for Emmit to leave the grocery store, and walked home with her pumpkin,” Roberto says.

“Oooh, I can’t believe it,” Lucretia squeals, ignoring Roberto. “I can’t believe that not only has your experience with Sarah at the séance gotten you writing again, but now you’re having your very own Poe-Whitmanian whirlwind romance!”

Saoirse’s mouth drops open. “My very own what?”

Before Lucretia can respond, Roberto chimes in. “I hate to agree with her, but Lu’s right. I mean, you checked out a book of Poe’s letters to Whitman, right? You must have read about the longing, the passion, the depth of his love for her, practically overnight.”

“Just because I started seeing someone who happens to be a writer after moving into Sarah Whitman’s house doesn’t mean—”

“And writing poetry,”Lucretia breaks in. “You’re seeing someone who happens to be a writer after moving into Sarah Whitman’s houseand writing poetry.” Lucretia looks at Mia excitedly. “There’s definitely some sort of echo going on. Right, Mia?”

“A residual haunting,” Mia says from the arm of the settee, at the exact moment Saoirse thinks it herself. “The Stone Tape Theory.”

Lucretia sucks in a breath.

“Oh my gosh,” Roberto says. “That’s exactly what this is.”

“What the hell is the Stone Tape Theory?” Saoirse asks.

Mia tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. Her part is as knife-sharp and perfect as always. She wears no makeup but for a hot-pink shade of lipstick that turns her unblemished face paler than Lucretia’s. “The Stone Tape Theory is the speculation that ghosts and hauntings are analogous to tape recordings, and that mental impressions during emotional events can be projected in the form of energy, ‘recorded’ onto rocks or other items, and ‘replayed’ under certain conditions.”

Roberto is nodding. “The idea was inspired by the views of nineteenth-century intellectualists and psychic researchers, like Eleanor Sidgwick and Edmund Gurney,” he says. “But it really entered the public consciousness after the BBC aired a ghost story one Christmas in—I think it was 1972—called, fittingly, ‘The Stone Tape.’ I’ve heard it before, and it’s pretty creepy.”

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