Page 16 of Before the Summer He Found Her

“Some fucking spirit guide you are. How do you not know?”

“What am I supposed to know?”

“My parents are dead. Mom’s been dead for ten years. And that was my dad’s funeral reception you showed up at. Remember?”

“They’redead?”

He raises a brow, staring at me with so much question, and I’m starting to worry that he’s about to dive deeper into a conversation I’m not yet ready to have. Spirit guide or otherwise. And how does he not realize my parents are dead? Or that he was at my dad’s funeral reception? Is that question some stupid test or something? A way to bait me into talking about my feelings and the grief and blah, blah, blah?

“All I wanted to do tonight was watchStar Trek,” I grit, not wanting to get into this with him. Not falling for the trap to get me to open up. “Is that such a terrible thing for me to want? It’s been a rough few weeks. I mean, you know. At least, youshouldknow, Spirit Guide.”

Tom shakes his head, and I get the intuitive sense he actually might not know, but that changing topics would relieve him. His mouth opens, and I feel him acquiesce, about to say something to change the topic, until he doesn’t.

“Channah, what about your friends?” he asks. “Or, umm, any other family you can call? Seeing you like this… I’m worried about you. Before I leave, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Now, why the fuck he’d have to go and say all that?

I blink, and as I do, thinking about the reality of my situation, I feel tears well in my eyes. “Why are you…” My voice cracks. “Why are you asking me these questions? About, umm, friends and family. Are you trying to upset me?”

There’s a pause. He’s staring at me curiously. Like he’s just figured something out. Which only perplexes me. He’s a spirit on the other side—hemustalready know.

There is no one. I did have someone. My dad. And, well, now he’s gone, too. I don’t know why, but in the weeks since his passing, I haven’t felt him once. Dad hasn’t visited me. He hasn’t left a sign he’s around, watching over me. He’s gone. Vanished. No trace of him anywhere.

It’s only further broken my heart.

Instead, I’ve got this guy. Who clearly has no clue how to do his job.Ifthis is his job at all.

A deep frown forms on Tom’s face. “You… don’t haveanyoneyou can call?”

“You’re the spirit guide,” I say, voice cracking again. “You tell me.”

“All I know is that you’re a beautiful, kind person. I don’t know why you’re sitting alone on a Saturday night, about to watchStar Trekby yourself, when there are probably so many people out there who’d love to be around you. People who wouldn’t hurt you. People you could vent to right now, who could be a support system.”

“How long have you been dead, my dude?” I ask. “Kind people are hard to come by in this world. There’s a reason that Gary Jules song exists.”

He sighs. “Yes, but…” Stopping, he clasps his hands in his lap, all of him still an energetic blur. Through his image, there’s pain marking him. Deep, raw pain. He gets me. I can feel he does.

“What happened to you in your life?” I ask, hoping for the distraction.

“My life is inconsequential.”

“Why don’t we talk aboutyourtrauma, Tom? Who did you have asyoursupport system?”

“No, this isn’t about me,” he breathes, his voice catching, stopping this from being about him.

“Ah-ha! You didn’t have a support system, either. You were lonely, too. Let me guess…” I shut my eyes for a second, allowing myself to tap into this guy’s life the way Mom and Dad taught me growing up. “I see… a blurry image of a man, sitting alone at his desk, with lots of rain beating against the window. With so much pain in his heart… after a woman from college crushed him and—”

“That’s enough about my life. Yes. You’re right. Kind people are hard to come by—but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist, somewhere out there. You shouldn’t stop trying. And right now, you need a support system. That much Idoknow. Who do you have, Channah? Who can you call?”

There’s an intuitive ping in my gut as he finishes talking—a vague flash of him again, in his own life. It isn’t clear, but I see a man alone in an airport, either at a super early hour or a super late hour. He’s got his face in his hands, and he’s trying to stop his tears.

That man has no support system.

Fucking hypocrite.

“The way you didn’t stop trying?” I dare. “Who would you call in your time of need?”

“You’re better than me,” he says. “This? How you’re feeling now? This isn’t you.”

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