At the restaurant, we found a corner table a little away from other patrons. When we’d ordered, Enid sipped her ice water. “Tell me more,” she said.
“I’ve been seeing ghosts in the house,” I said. “Or maybe they’re not ghosts. A friend of mine calls them visions.”
A bad start. I tried again.
“I think I told you I’d been a caregiver for my father? Well, he was living in the house I grew up in, and now it’s mine. But I keep seeing him—and my mom, and my sister and brother, and me—all over the house.”
“Really? What are these visions about?”
“Scenes from the past. I suppose it sounds crazy.”
“Not at all. You said your dad passed away recently? What about your mom?”
“She died a few years ago. Suddenly. That’s when we found out Dad had Alzheimer’s.”
“So you were his caregiver after that. Are your brother and sister still living?”
“Yes. I’m closer to my sis than to my brother.”
“My guess is the ‘ghosts’ are leftover emotional energy from intense experiences in the house. I gather they’re not doing everyday tasks like peeling apples and mopping floors.”
“Mostly not. But even the everyday, normal things they do feel intense.”
She nodded. “I can see why. What else did your friend say? The one who called them visions.”
“That it was a form of teaching. That they’d go away once I learned what I needed to.”