Chapter 12
Morgan
Learning about my dead ex’s life from his grieving father is surprisingly fun.
No one cries. In fact, we spend most of the time laughing as we sip the surprisingly good black coffee Bill—as he insists we call him when we’re seated—pours for us.
The break room is crammed with storage, and Sawyer and I are wedged on metal chairs close enough for our elbows to brush.
On the other side of the small table, Bill sits on a flipped-over painter’s bucket.
If Zach were alive, he wouldn’t fit, but as a ghost, he’s able to perch on some boxes with half of his legs disappearing into the table.
It feels cozy. Homey. Like we’re part of Zach’s family. Somehow it makes me miss him even though he’s sitting right next to me.
Bill fills the crowded room with stories about Zach. He speaks without a break for so long his coffee goes cold and he has to dump it and refill it, only to let that one go cold, too. It’s like he’s kept these reminiscences locked away since Zach died. Now they spill out of him.
Zach, of course, soaks them all in.
He laughs and cheers and adds anecdotes only I can hear as his memories return with his father’s stories. I have to stop myself from smiling at the dusty corner too frequently, distracted by just how complete Zach suddenly is.
Bill tells us that Zach was always protective of his older sister, Ari.
How, even though she was five years older than him, he insisted he was her big brother until he was crushed when he was old enough to realize he was actually her little brother.
He details Zach’s championship baseball team in sixth grade.
His senior prom and how he caught Zach sneaking into the house later that night somehow having lost his pants.
He tells us about the day Zach moved out.
Then the day he moved back in two years later when he got laid off.
How he switched jobs from sales to something he loved a lot more—being a lifeguard.
“He never hesitated to go after what he wanted,” Bill says softly, after describing Zach’s training for the lifeguard exam.
I catch Sawyer’s eye. Bill’s statement is lovely, but there has to be something Zach didn’t get around to doing. Otherwise he wouldn’t still be here. While part of me would surprisingly love to just keep hearing more of Bill’s stories, we came here for a purpose.
“Was there anything he didn’t get to finish when he was alive?” I ask. “Anything Zach was working on or dreaming of?”
Bill looks puzzled by the questions. His face scrunches in a way I can’t help recognizing. His posture tightens defensively.
I feel my pulse pick up with nerves. I don’t want to offend Bill.
I certainly don’t want to cause him more pain.
But I’m not just the ex of a dead guy right now.
I’m also the person responsible for making sure Zach isn’t stuck in limbo for the rest of eternity.
The problem is, I don’t know how to ask about what Zach left unfinished without coming across as insensitive.
Sawyer rushes to rescue me. “We wanted to do a tribute to him,” he says quickly. “If there’s something he had on his bucket list, we thought it might be nice if we do it for him. For closure.”
Bill’s face softens; his smile returns. He’s touched.
I nudge Sawyer’s knee with mine under the table, a silent thank-you for his quick thinking. He nudges back, and I smile into my coffee.
“That’s real kind of you both.” Bill beams at us. “I’m so glad Zachy had friends like you—friends I didn’t even know about. Just imagine how many other people he must have touched, too. He lived a full life despite it being too short.” His voice starts to waver with emotion.
Tentatively, I reach out to lay a comforting hand on his wrist. The gesture feels awkward and clumsy to me, but I owe it to Zach. I’m sure he wishes he could be the one to comfort his dad. He can’t, and for whatever reason, I’m the one he can communicate through. He shoots me a grateful look.
Bill pats my hand, pulled from his sadness. It’s such a dad gesture that I can’t help thinking of my own father. Suddenly, I miss him in a way I don’t normally dwell on.
“But no,” Bill continues. “That’s what was so inspiring about Zach. He lived in the moment, and he never let one pass him by.”
My stomach twists. Wonderful. Zach Harrison was the epitome of regretless joie de vivre. Love that for him. Exactly what we needed.
I set my coffee down. “Were there…any grudges Zach had? Anything or anyone we shouldn’t involve in our, um, tribute?” I ask.
Bill laughs amicably. “No, no. Nothing like that. You can’t live in the moment if you’re holding grudges, can you?
” His eyes drift to the corner where Zach sits, like somehow he’s pulled to his son even though he can’t see him.
“He gave people the benefit of the doubt, and it just made him freer. I”—he blinks a tear away—“I should be more like him, I think.”
Zach doesn’t say anything. He watches his father, and I swear I feel the temperature in the room rise just a little, like he’s giving his dad the only hug he can.
“Zach loved you a lot,” I tell Bill. “He said you were the best dad he could have had.”
Zach has never said those words to me. But I know they’re true.
“Thanks, Morgan,” he whispers.
Bill squeezes my hand tighter as more tears overwhelm him.
I know they’re both happy and sad. It makes my heart hurt.
I want to comfort him, but I also know that Sawyer and I, two strangers, are not who he needs right now.
He needs to close the shop early. Go home.
See his wife. Hug his daughter. He doesn’t seem to know what Zach’s unfinished business could be, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be right to pry it out of him now.
Even if we return home from Harrison’s Hardware with nothing promising, we should leave Mr. Harrison to his family and his memories.
Clearly reaching the same conclusion, Sawyer stands from the table. “Thank you for sharing your stories with us,” he says, his voice sympathetic. “Anyone who didn’t know Zach would know just from hearing you talk how wonderful a person he was and how much he’ll be missed.”
Now I have to hold in my tears. I glance at Sawyer, moved. He means what he’s said, too. It’s not just that he knows the right things to say to the bereaved. He respects life and loss. He’s not afraid to care for someone whose absence hurts.
Bill nods, grateful. He wipes his eyes on a rag in his shirt pocket. “You both come by anytime,” he says. “I’d love to see the tribute you put together, too.”
“We will,” I promise, having no idea what that tribute will be, but confident we’ll find a way to honor Zach and his family.
When we walk out of the hardware store, Zach trails behind us. I know he’s reluctant to leave. I don’t blame him. Why would he want to go with us to a house that was never his home?
For the thousandth time, I find myself wishing Zach were haunting someone else—his family—but for the first time, it’s not because I want to get rid of him.
It’s because it’s horribly unfair that he can’t be with his loved ones.
He shouldn’t be tied to me. He should get to use this borrowed time to tell his dad himself how much he loved him.
Zach disappears when we reach the sidewalk.
“You okay?” Sawyer asks as we walk to the car.
I’m grateful Zach is gone for the moment. “It just sucks he’s dead,” I say, holding back tears. Immediately, I’m embarrassed by the simplicity of my words for the enormity of Zach’s loss—It “sucks”?—and how unearned my grief feels.
But Sawyer doesn’t see it that way. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. Like he understands me perfectly.
We drive home in silence. I roll the windows down, needing to hear the sounds of birds and traffic, of the rest of the world moving forward.
It helps. Zach’s family will never forget him, but I guess it’s for the best he isn’t haunting them.
Bill will go home, and maybe he and his wife will have Zach’s favorite meal tonight, and they’ll hold each other when they cry.
Tomorrow the sun will rise on them. Their lives will continue.
By the time we get home, I feel slightly better.
I’m glad I got to know Zach more, even in the most unconventional of ways, with his spirit peering down semi-visibly from his cardboard perch.
Maybe the next time I have a boyfriend, I’ll let him take me home to his parents.
It’s probably nicer when the boyfriend isn’t dead.
Only, for there to be another boyfriend, I need to figure out how to help Zach.
Sawyer turns off the engine. “What now?” he asks.
“I have no idea,” I reply. “Congrats to Zach for living a very fulfilling, beautiful life, but we are nowhere closer to learning what his unfinished business is.”
Sawyer focuses earnestly. “Maybe more memories will unlock in him now that we know more about his life? We could just give him some time.”
The hairs on my neck stand up like someone is behind me. Sure enough, I find Zach manifested in the back seat.
“At least now we know I was awesome and everyone loves me. That’s comforting,” Zach says sincerely.
I ignore him, distracted by Sawyer, who unexpectedly straightens up and stares in the rearview mirror. I twist to try to see what he’s seeing. Maybe someone is walking up to our car or something. Except I don’t see anything on the street behind us.
I look at Sawyer, confused.
He pulls his gaze from the mirror. He blinks.
“I think that hearing about Zach’s life let me get to know him better,” he says slowly. “I feel like I really met him.”
“That’s…nice?” I say, unclear where he’s going with this.
Sawyer suddenly grins. The expression on his usually somber, contemplative, hard-sculpted face is revelatory.
“Well,” he replies, “it’s either that, or there’s another ghost who bears a striking resemblance to Zach’s father sitting in the back seat right now.”
My eyes widen as I realize what he’s saying.
Sawyer can see Zach.