“She tries to talk to me a lot but I think that’s because she knows I want to, because she senses that I’m lonely,” I say. “Though lately, I don’t hear from her as often.”
I take another sip from my cup of tea.
“And you can just talk to the ones you know? Or you can talk to anyone?”
I pause, realizing where this conversation is going.
“You want me to talk to your parents, don’t you?”
She lifts her gaze to the sky. “I’ve always wanted to, maybe now more than ever.”
“They don’t like to talk about...bad things, though,” I tell her. “Especially about how they died.”
“I understand. That’s not what I want to ask them. I mean, that’s rude, isn’t it? I don’t really know what I want to ask them. Maybe I don’t want to ask them anything at all. Maybe I just want to hear something from them.” She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
I nod, putting my cup down. “Let me try. What are their names?”
“Conrad and Clara Ferguson.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Conrad Ferguson. Clara Ferguson.
I’ve never actually attempted to talk to spirits who I never knew in life, whose faces I don’t even know. It’s harder. Also, communicating with the spirits is harder during the day, easier at night. Still, I concentrate, knowing that Clarissa wants this.
Clarissa needs this.
Your daughter needs you.
Our daughter? I hear a man’s voice. Do you mean Clarissa?
I nod. She’s going through hard times right now. Her life may even be in danger.
In danger? I hear the concern in the man’s voice.
She wants you to tell her something, anything.
I always knew her life would be in danger someday. This time, it’s a woman’s voice speaking. I almost didn’t want to give birth to her.
Shh, the man tells her. She’s still our daughter and she’s grown up to be a wonderful woman. Tell her we’re proud of her and that we love her.
Tell Clarissa to be brave, the woman says. To be braver than I was. And tell her that she can’t help who she is but she can help who she loves, so she should choose wisely. And that she can’t change her past but she can determine her own future...And tell her I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her.
We’re sorry.
Just like that, they’re gone. They didn’t seem to want to linger.
I open my eyes and turn to Clarissa. I tell her all they’ve told me. She clasps a hand over her mouth, tears streaking down her cheeks.
I place an arm around her, pulling her close. I stay silent, finishing my tea as she sobs on my shoulder. When Gia died, I cried, too. Though no one saw or knew. I know there’s nothing wrong with it, but grief is a private thing. And tears can help.
Finally, Clarissa stops, sniffling and rubs her eyes. I lend her my sleeve so she can blow her nose on it.
“Sorry,” she tells me after.
“No need to apologize.”
“And thank you,” she adds with a final sniffle. “I think I’m ready to go to Africa now.”