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Calling the Tuileries a garden is like calling Hogwarts a school.
Mom’s idea of a surprise has always been less Happy birthday and more Look at this vaguely nightmarish thing I found in the backyard.
“You keep using that word,” says Jacob. “I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
“What do you think a poltergeist looks like?” whispers Jacob. “Is it human? A monster? An octopus?”
“An octopus?” He shrugs. “More arms, more misch—”
“Maybe is a match in the dark,” I murmur, half to myself. It’s one of Mom’s favorite sayings, for when she gets stuck on a story. She starts giving herself options, potential threads, turning every dead end into a new path with one simple word: maybe. Maybe is a rope in a hole, or the key to a door. Maybe is how you find the way out.
Jacob shifts, sighs. “I can’t believe you Spider-Man’ed me,” he grumbles as I reach for the film.
Understanding the past helps us move through the present and discover the future.”
Your name is Jacob Ellis Hale, I think. You were born in Strathclyde, New York. Two and half years ago you dove into the river, and last year, you pulled me out. You are my best friend. In life. In death. And everything in between.
He seems happier, lighter, after sharing his story. I feel a little heavier after hearing it, but that’s okay. That’s how friendship works. You learn to share the weight.
The Blake family: two parents, a ghost-seeing girl, her dead best friend, and a rather unhappy cat.
