To all my reviewers: I don't know if I still need to say this, but you guys all ROCK! Gets truer and truer every chapter I write! ;-)

Oy! I totally 4got I just nvr posted this chappy! It's been laying on my computer 4 months! Soooo srry! Anyway, I hope this answers some of your responses… anyway, the only reason this wasn't up was that I didn't have the review responses (haha I'm such a ditz) but I gotta be nice 2 the few people who support me:sniff: so now what I added.

Mmk! Now da story!

Disclaimer: Jesse, Suze, and Paul are all owned by me, Meg Cabot. Ok fine I'm not Meg Cabot, and I don't own them, but if I WERE Meg Cabot, I WOULD own them! I would own them ALL! But point is, I don't. Meg Cabot does. The rest of them, though, I made up. Heh.

As there had been a cancellation from a boy who was suddenly cured when his parents threatened to bring him to me, (I was still trying to figure out whether that was a horrible insult or a huge compliment) the next day was free for Mrs. Steinback. She seemed confused from the moment she entered the room.

"Uh… should I have brought Monica?" She tried, her eyes searching the room.

"No, this session is for you." She looked up at me, a little scared. I had been thinking of her as "the mom" but she really wasn't much older than me. She couldn't have been older than her early 30s. OK, direct approach. "You see ghosts." I informed her.

"No." She argued eloquently.

"It's OK, Mrs. Stei—I mean… what is your first name, anyway?"

"Claire." She said, still nervous. I couldn't blame her.

"That's a nice name." I knew it sounded stupid, but I was trying to calm her down. It seemed to work. She smiled a little. "Now you can be honest. I know you see ghosts. Not like your daughter. The ghosts you see are real." Her eyes widened.

"I—uh—how—what?" I gave her my best attempt at a comforting look. She resigned. "How did you know?"

"I do too." If her eyes widened any more they would pop out of her head. "There is nothing wrong with you." It was going to be hard to slip this in now… "Alright then." There was no reason for me to say that, but the point was that Jesse appeared. She gave a little involuntary gasp. "Meet my boyfriend." Jesse blushed as if he had blood to rush to his face. I had talked to him about that blushing. He really didn't need to do it anymore. We couldn't make it much more official, if you know what I mean.

"He's cute." She said. I fought the urge to say something like 'really? I didn't know.' I thought I'd be polite.

"Thank you. He is. Now, is it OK… I just have to do one thing… is it alright if he just touches you real quick? You hand, I mean?" She nodded anxiously.

Jesse hadn't gotten to this point yet in a session with an actual mediator. He walked over to her a little uncertainly, said "Hello. I'm Jesse," looked at me, (I nodded approvingly, trying not to laugh) and lifted her hand. I gave them a thumbs up and grinned.

"So by now you've figured out that we are mediators?"

"Is that what we're called?" She seemed immensely more talkative now. Was she…? Could she be…? Were her eyes on Jesse's butt? He seemed to be thinking along the same lines and stepped behind my chair. Claire closed her eyes and blushed furiously. This time I actually laughed out loud.

"When a you see a ghost, the best way to get rid of them is to figure out what's holding them back. You figured that out?"

She nodded… but shook her head. "What about, uh…" she gestured apologetically toward Jesse.

"Jesse?" I supplied.

"Jesse. What about him?"

"He's different. He's too much fun to get rid of." Jesse smiled sheepishly. "But you don't have to worry about finding a good ghost, do you, Mrs. Steinback.

"Actually, I'm a widow."

"Oh, I'm sorry." But then I remembered something Monica had said yesterday. "Didn't your daughter say 'Daddy says this lady will help me'?"

Claire blushed some more. "Well he did."

By now I had figured out that her husband was a ghost, but that would mean.. "You told your daughter?"

"Well she was so sad when he died; I had to comfort her somehow!"

I was getting mad now. I closed my eyes. "Years of psychological training have convinced me not to punch you. You realize you are the one who gave her the whole ghost idea?"

She started to cry. "I know! I know! It's all my fault! I didn't know what to do! I'm sorry!"

I was mad, but she was nice, and I wasn't trained to get angry. Had to comfort her. "It's not all your fault. She'd still be hearing Scabby—"

"Scabbers," she corrected.

"Right. She'd still be hearing Scabbers, she just wouldn't be calling him a ghost. Anyway, she's only 8. It's not too late to 'forget' about this ghost thing. Chances are she won't remember it when she's 10."

"Oh, thank you so much! That's wonderful!"

"No problem."

She left. Maybe I was going to need family counseling….