\u201cI just don\u2019t understand why you throw away all the scraps. You could make a stock, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alethea grimaced as she tipped the last of the vegetable odds and ends from the cutting board into the trash, her back to the dining room. She closed her eyes. Maybe the woman would go away if she just waited…<\/p>\n
\u201cDid your mother not teach you how to make a stock? I can’t imagine that\u00a0she would\u00a0want to see you being so wasteful.\u201d<\/p>\n
Holding in a sigh, Alethea dropped the cutting board on the counter. She\u00a0arched her back and\u00a0pressed\u00a0her hands in at the base of her spine to try to massage away the unending ache. The last trimester was wreaking havoc on her body, and the last thing she had any patience for was to wait out the ghost yet again. The woman could talk about nothing\u00a0for\u00a0hours; they had come to discover that more than once when they were trying to clear up from dinner.<\/p>\n
But Alethea couldn\u2019t bring herself to ignore the old woman. The old woman certainly never ignored her.<\/p>\n
She sat catty-corner to the woman and plastered on her kindest grin. She reserved it for the Stepford wives in the neighborhood committee, for the shopkeepers that called her \u201csweet thing\u201d while they winked, for the\u00a0salesmen that tried to sell their wares on her doorstep — and, apparently, for the ghosts of mothers-in-law past.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I get you a cup of tea, ma\u2019am?\u201d<\/p>\n
The old woman smiled, the disapproval in her eyes softening. \u201cOh that\u2019s very kind, but it\u2019s much too late in the day for tea. And you don\u2019t have to be so formal. You can call me…\u201d That look turned to confusion, and the old woman’s mouth turned in a puzzled frown as she stared off at the wall in confusion. It could go on for a few minutes or hours, her brain too muddled in death to recall her name. For all Alethea or her husband knew, anyway.<\/p>\n
Their starter home had been perfect upon inspection.\u00a0They hadn\u2019t questioned why the last owners stayed less than a year, or what had possessed them to undersell the house in such a great neighborhood. Then again, standard home inspections had no way of telling \u00a0when a ghost might manifest in one\u2019s dining room.<\/p>\n
At least their ghost was decent enough — there was no visible harm to her, nothing gruesome or frightening about her appearance. Her curly hair was pulled up in a perfect chignon, and her librarian\u2019s glasses balanced perfectly on the bridge of her nose. She might have been in a well-maintained 80\u2019s, or perhaps a weathered 60\u2019s. She wore an ivory silk blouse buttoned all the way to its tied collar, the bow constructed so carefully that Alethea felt bad for noting that it was\u00a0crooked.<\/p>\n
The woman sniffed, her shoulders straightening. \u201cAnyway, darling, I\u2019ll show you how to make a stock here tomorrow before you throw all that away. Then maybe we can talk about the decor in here — it\u2019s so different than I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was true. Alethea had painted the dining room since the last time they\u2019d seen their ethereal roommate, despite Tony\u2019s protests that it might be bad for her.\u00a0I\u2019m here all day and I\u2019m willing to get it done<\/em>, she\u2019d\u00a0argued.\u00a0I\u2019ll have the windows open. It\u2019s a non-toxic paint. We\u2019ll both be just fine.<\/em><\/p>\n As though she could hear Alethea\u2019s thoughts, the old woman looked to her and asked, \u201cDid you paint this yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s perfectly safe,\u201d Alethea said, biting back her frustration. \u201cI talked to my doctor first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, you don\u2019t need a doctor to tell you that,\u201d the woman replied, waving her hand in dismissal. \u201cA woman knows. I didn\u2019t see a doctor with any of the babies, until the one that died. And even then, I didn\u2019t need a doctor to tell me the girl had passed\u00a0— but Richard insisted.\u201d The lines on her face deepened with her frown, and she exhaled softly. \u201cOh, you think you loved them so much until they\u2019re gone. Then all you have is the time to think about every moment when you didn\u2019t appreciate them enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour husband, or your children?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBoth, if I\u2019m honest. Richard passed while Richard\u00a0Jr. was still in diapers, not long after we lost the girl. I told the children that he had to leave us to take care of our girl in the great beyond. It seemed to give them some comfort.\u00a0It was a blur after that, never really enough time. The children drifted away to their own lives before long.\u201d She moved as though to tuck some stray hairs behind her ear\u00a0even though not a single strand was out of place. \u201cEveryone lives so far away now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere did they go?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, everywhere. Amelia went to an all-girls school in California. You know the sort. The neighbors would whisper about her\u00a0proclivities<\/em>\u00a0when word got out at her school, but I would never stand for it. And then Richard Jr. went up to Maine to live in a cabin and write stories — they\u2019re quite popular, I hear, but…\u201d She leaned forward and pitched her voice a bit lower.\u00a0\u201cI never read the books he sends. I put them on the shelf and tell all my friends how brilliant they are, but I have no idea, really.\u201d<\/p>\n Alethea laughed, pleasantly surprised when the old woman joined in. It seemed like a normal moment, like what it might have been like if she\u2019d had a grandmother. The laughter died on her lips, and she said, \u201cI wish you wouldn\u2019t ask so many questions about my mother when you\u2019re here. I don\u2019t have one.\u201d<\/p>\n The old woman straightened right up, looking for all the world as stern and serious as the nuns in the schools Alethea attended as a girl. \u201cNonsense. You weren\u2019t found under a rock.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know what I mean. I spent more time as a ward of the state than in any family. So no, my mother never taught me anything.\u201d<\/p>\n The old woman leaned forward and reached out to touch Alethea\u2019s shoulder. Her hand didn\u2019t connect, separated by a space that seemed nothing but cold. It sent a shiver down Alethea\u2019s spine, but the old woman didn\u2019t seem to notice.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry, dear. It must have been very hard for you. But you\u2019ve turned out so well. And this is a good house. My children grew up here, and I bet this little one will be just as happy as they were.\u201d The woman moved her hand to try to touch the swell of Alethea\u2019s stomach and smiled.\u00a0It made her look much more kindly, and yet much older. Their eyes met\u00a0and the woman added, \u201cYou don\u2019t need to have a mother to be a good one, darling. You\u2019ll be just fine.\u201d<\/p>\n Alethea swallowed, her vision blurring\u00a0with unshed tears. \u201cHow can you be sure?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, a woman always knows.\u201d<\/p>\n The front door opened\u00a0and Alethea jumped, turning to look through the arched entryway from the dining room to the living room. Of course — Tony would be back from work. Sniffing, she turned back to face the old woman, but she found herself alone again.<\/p>\n \u201cAlethea? It smells lovely — oh, dear, why are you crying?\u201d He sat beside her where the old woman had been and reached over to brush the tears from her cheeks. \u201cIs everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n She could have told him about the old woman. He knew about the ghost as well as she did. She nodded and swallowed again, trying to regain some sense of composure. \u201cYes, I\u2019m okay. Hormones, you know. One minute I\u2019m making soup, and the next I\u2019m crying. I just needed a moment. Help me up — it\u2019s impossible to stand anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n He did so, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to kiss her cheek. \u201cDid you do anything fun today?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d She leaned into his solid body, relishing in his warmth and his presence. She often forgot how much she missed him during the day when he was\u00a0at work. \u201cBut I think tomorrow I\u2019ll head out to the library. I\u2019d like to find a few recipes for making\u00a0stock.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cI just don\u2019t understand why you throw away all the scraps. You could make a stock, you know.\u201d Alethea grimaced as she tipped the last of the vegetable odds and ends from the cutting board into the trash, her back to the dining room. She closed her eyes. Maybe the woman would go away if […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[289,459,868],"class_list":["post-9289","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-dining-room","tag-ghosts","tag-pregnancy"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9289","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9289"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9289\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9289"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9289"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9289"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}