Page 32 of Baking With A Ghost

"Simon!"

My arms wrap around him as he collapses into me. He's breathing, warm and real. In my arms. And he's definitely wet.

"Mike, what the fuck do I do? Is this normal? Is he okay?"

I lower Simon to the floor and cradle his head in my lap. He's so pale and his pink lips are a stark contrast to his alabaster skin. He's the most breathtaking man I've even seen. Can I call him a man now?

"I should've told you about all this before, I'm sorry. I didn't fully grasp that Simon was so adamant to come to earth and be with you. I knew he wanted to talk but I wasn't sure he'd still stay. I only knew you wanted to meet, I wasn't aware there was such a strong connection here. I should've known."

Mike checks Simon over and sags in relief. "He's okay, but you need to take care of him for a few days."

"I can do that. It's not a problem. Make a closed sign for the door now. I'll be closed for as long as he needs me."

I smooth the damp hair from his skin in awe. He's real. I now have the chance to care for him, like he did me.

"What should you have known, Mike? Can you explain how it's even possible for him to be here now? Because my basic human knowledge is once a heart dies, the body and soul leaves and they don't get to come back."

Mike pulls the chair close to us, and sits on it with the weariness of someone who needs to sleep after a week of all day benders.

"When a soul attaches itself to a place like Simon did, for too long, it runs out of options. It can't move forward to where it should have been and it can't come back to earth. It is literally stuck." He walks over to the stack of dish towels near the sink and hands me some, while he wipes off Simon's hands. "In rare cases, when enough time has passed, it can re-enter a body, or even come back as they once were. But the spirit has to have a connection with a human already to do it. A true soul connection. It's extremely difficult to do, because people like myself don't know if the connection is strong enough to keep it alive once it steps out of the circle."

I pause, drying off his hair. "What would've happened if we didn't have that when he crossed?"

Mike winces. "He would've disappeared for good, pulled to the farthest level of the spirit world, never to have contact with anyone again. It wouldn't have been pretty to see."

"Jesus."

"I knew you both wanted to meet and I knew Simon wanted to cross, but I wasn't sure where you were at. You're hard to read sometimes, you know. And I couldn't suggest anything to you either, as that would've been wrong. I had to let it play out, and when Simon gave his cue that he wanted to do it, well I had to hope I wasn't going to see him vaporize forever."

"So what happens now? Does he change his name? Do I tell people he's a friend visiting? Keep him locked in here forever?"

Mike chuckles, the weariness in his laugh unmistakable. "I'll take care of all that. You just have to make sure he keeps breathing."

"Jeeze, Mike. That's not sounding very rosy."

"You'll be fine with it, don't worry. Want me to help you get him upstairs?"

As I consider that logistical nightmare of maneuvering a tight corridor, Simon's eyes flicker open.

"I can walk, it's okay."

Mike squats down. "You scared me, kiddo. I'm glad it worked out. John will take care of you. I'm going to help you up. You listen to John for a few days, okay? I'll be back then and we'll talk."

He nods as he stands, as if on wobbly newborn legs. "He'll take care of me, don't worry."

With a nod in my direction, I wave Mike off, and he goes up the stairs to my loft ahead of us, so he can leave by my main door.

"Can you keep a hand on the wall as you walk, Simon? I'll be right behind you."

He's stronger than I thought he would be while he manages the stairs, but barely. Once in the loft, I quickly lead him into the bathroom and sit him on the lid of the toilet.

"I'm going to run you a bath and get you out of those clothes, okay?"

"I can help."

He starts to undo his shirt buttons and pants, letting his suspenders fall to the side. The tub fills with water and I untie his shoes, throwing them off to the side with his shirt, in a damp heap.

Simon stands, with the help of the vanity, and tries to peel out of his pants but his strength is flagging.

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