“Your chance. Your chance to live your own life. Right how you have the look of a woman who is seeing ghosts. Not everybody believes in ghosts, but I do. Do you know what they are, Trisha?” She had shaken her head slowly. “Men and women who can’t get over the past,” Aunt Evvie said. “That’s what ghosts are. Not them.” She flapped her arm toward the coffin which stood on its bands beside the coincidentally fresh grave. “The dead are dead. We bury them, and buried they stay.”
