Haunt
Ghosts were souls with unfinished business on earth, and such was the case with Henry. For the past two years, he'd been trapped between two worlds. He'd tried to let go and move on to his eternal rest, but he couldn't.
During the first week after his passing, Henry paced the entirety of their Georgetown home, wondering why he was stuck here. It pained him to watch his family grieve. He tried to comfort their children by squeezing their shoulders, giving tight hugs, and placing kisses upon their foreheads, but they couldn't feel his touch.
Because losing a husband is a much deeper pain than losing a parent, his wife struggled more than their kids. Each night, Henry watched Elizabeth toss and turn from his spot on the bench at the end of their bed. His heart sank when she cried. Throughout the day, tears came randomly— while brushing her teeth, folding the laundry, and washing the dishes. At night, sobs were almost guaranteed.
"I'm here," he whispered as he stroked her hair.
A month after his funeral, Henry decided that before he could rest, he must have been tasked with helping Elizabeth adjust. The framed photograph of her parents that sat on the mantel reminded him of how well his wife dealt with death. Good Lord, he could be trapped here for another forty years!
"Elizabeth," he called out of habit.
After his death, she took three months of leave from the State Department. Hearing her contemplate quitting, he was glad that she decided to return. On her first Monday back to work, he sat at the kitchen table as she made her coffee.
"It'll be okay, Babe," he said as each of their children fought for her ear.
When he was alive, mornings in the McCord household used to be his favorite. By seven, the kitchen was bursting with energy— Stevie scrambled eggs on the stovetop, Jason scarfed down a bowl of cereal, and Ali popped raspberries into her mouth as she flipped through pages of her textbook. Simultaneously, they all chatted with his wife. Conversation ping-ponged from tomorrow's date night with Jareth to the monstrosity of common core mathematics to "Are you going to be okay today, Mom?"
Seeing the overwhelm in Elizabeth's eyes, Henry stood from the table, abandoning the newspaper, and touched her back. "Breathe," he told her, but she didn't hear him. He tried everything to make the moment better but hovering around the coffeemaker sent shivers down her back.
Eventually, they each made it out the door. Of course, Elizabeth dragged her feet, so Henry intervened by blowing a stream of cold air down the back of her neck. She grabbed her briefcase almost immediately. Since he was confined to their Georgetown home, he waved goodbye from the front step.
Once alone, Henry brushed his hands together as if he'd completed a difficult task like putting down mulch in the garden, wrangling the shams on the big pillows, or fixing the derailed basket of the washing machine. Lounging on the sofa, he kicked up his heels and waited to ascend to the heavens— I'm ready God!
Six months after his death, Henry was still caught between two worlds. His bones were beginning to ache. As much as he loved his family, he wanted to rest. The kids had been back in school since January; Elizabeth returned to her post at the beginning of spring. All was normal, so why was he stuck roaming their home?
The revelation came late one night while lying beside his wife in their bed. Elizabeth needed to get laid! Oh yes, she did. He'd watched her pull out her vibrator from the drawer of her bedside table one too many times. With Memorial Day approaching, what better way to move on than a summer fling? He knew Elizabeth would never go for it. "It hasn't even been a year, Isabelle," he heard her say when asked about dating. She was far too stubborn to start a relationship, so Henry decided that he would first push her to find a companion. A male one wouldn't hurt.
"Help me out here, Elizabeth," he said as he pulled the comforter up over her shoulder.
He would haunt her until she moved on.
One evening, while doing a crossword puzzle at his desk, a shiver ran down Henry's spine, putting him on high alert. As a ghost, he had a new sense of knowing. He kept one eye on Elizabeth as he penciled in the word psalm for six across, a devotional hymn.
Henry heard the ringtone of the home phone minutes before diplomatic security called to notify Elizabeth of a visitor. When his wife opened the door, he quickly sprung from his chair. "Don't trust him," Henry mumbled as Mark Roy stepped into their home. There was a stench coming off the man that meant only one thing: a rotten soul.
Mark dropped by on the pretense of discussing the situation with Hiz al-Shahid, but the guy had practically offered himself a drink. After handing off a beer, Elizabeth joined Mark on the sofa. Henry began to panic when he touched Elizabeth's bare knee. Oh, no! He blew a stream of cold air down the back of the man's neck to show his dislike, but Mark didn't even blink. He was too busy ogling his wife's breasts. When Mark's palm slid up Elizabeth's thigh and under her skirt, Henry was prepared to swear off all men on her behalf.
"You show him, Babe," he cheered as she closed the front door, cutting off Mark mid-apology. If he had a list of men that she couldn't accept lasagnas from, Mark Roy would be at the very top. "Pig," Henry muttered under his breath.
At the end of July, he began to rethink his swearing off of all men on Elizabeth's behalf. Each day, Henry grew more tired. At night, he couldn't sleep though it was obvious that his body craved rest. He wished to hug his mother, to play hockey with Tommy, and to finally meet Benjamin and Suzanne Adams. Good Lord, he didn't want to be trapped between two worlds for another forty years. And so, Henry decided that he would make a list of acceptable bachelors.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Henry fidgeted with his pen as he stared down at the blank sheet of paper. He couldn't think of a single name worth being written. Dear God, he would be stuck here forever!
After the front door clicked open, Elizabeth announced her return home to the children. She'd been away for three weeks. Believe it or not, it was her first big trip since he died. Hearing the distinct sound of suitcases being rolled across the hardwood, Henry rushed to greet her in the entryway.
"I'm more than happy to arrange dinner," Blake told her as he set a duffle bag on the bottom step of the staircase.
"I'll only allow it if you promise to join us," his wife said with a smile.
"What are you in the mood for?"
"Pizza, Blake," Henry answered. It was her go-to after a long day of traveling. "She loves that place on—"
"That pizza place on M street?"
Henry was impressed.
While he listened to the order being placed over the telephone, it was like a light went off in Henry's brain. The answer was right in front of him! After rushing back to the kitchen, he wrote only one name down on the sheet of paper: Blake Moran.
Blake was still a few years shy of forty, but just last year Elizabeth had said that thirty-five (thirty-three was close enough!) was the floor for somebody really spectacular. Blake was serious, stubborn, and sensitive, just like Elizabeth. Maybe they could learn to be silly together.
Oh, yes! Blake could be the one. If not romantically, then at least a friend that Elizabeth could lean on and love platonically.
Henry grabbed a beer from the fridge to celebrate— To eternal rest!
Months later, he stood near the kitchen island, listening as Elizabeth and Blake talked quietly at the sink. Snapping off her gloves, Elizabeth finally gave up on scrubbing the saucepan. Her tears came fast, but today, while washing the dishes, they weren't random.
"Today's our anniversary," she whispered.
"I know," Blake said.
Henry waited for them to embrace, but neither of them initiated. Huffing, he decided that they would need a little help. With a hand on her back, he guided Elizabeth into Blake's arms.
"I'm here for you," Blake assured as he held Elizabeth against his chest.
After Henry nudged a box of tissues across the kitchen counter, Blake grabbed one to wipe Elizabeth's cheeks.
Even as America's top diplomat, Elizabeth was much more sensitive than people realized— crying over negative interactions with strangers and arguments with their children. Now, after his death, she cried on holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. Henry was grateful that Blake understood her.
The night prior, Henry had listened to Elizabeth cry about missing him. He'd felt helpless lying beside her. Henry had tried to provide her comfort, but his touch was too cold, and his words were too quiet.
"I love you," Henry breathed as he watched another man run his fingers through his wife's hair.
Today, he was relieved that she had real arms to hold her even if they weren't his own.
Although his body craved rest, Henry began to appreciate his time stuck between two worlds because, in late November, he'd watched his wife kiss another man. For all he knew, his ascension to the heavens was right around the corner.
After spending the evening golfing together at the Congressional Country Club, Elizabeth, and Blake had snuggled up on the couch in the family room with a bottle of red wine. Henry had watched them touch their long-stemmed wine glasses in a toast to new beginnings.
"I don't know if I'm capable of feeling as deeply for you as I felt for him," Elizabeth admitted. "That's not fair to you, right?"
Blake tucked a loose strand of Elizabeth's hair behind her ear. "I know you'll always love Henry," he said.
Halfway through the bottle of Merlot, Henry noticed the blush spreading across the top of Elizabeth's chest. Drinking alcohol, especially wine, tended to cause her skin to flush, but he imagined the red tinge to her cheeks was due to arousal. With her proximity to Blake, Henry certainly didn't blame her for thinking about sex. After nearly a year of relying on her vibrator, he wouldn't blame her for fantasizing about having sex with the UPS man.
Once the kiss happened (Elizabeth leaned in first!), Henry retreated to their bedroom, leaving her and Blake alone to navigate their newly realized feelings.
Lounging on his side of their bed, Henry opened his favorite novel to the page that was dog-eared.
An hour later, ten pages into chapter eight, he felt in his heart that there would be trouble. As a ghost, he had a new sense of knowing. Hearing his eldest daughter step through the front door, Henry flung the book in his hands to the floor and flew down the front staircase.
"Stevie," he said as he watched her shrug out of her coat. "Please, don't ruin this for your mother," he told her as she walked toward the dining room, but she didn't hear him.
Henry didn't know exactly what was going on in the next room over (he had an idea), but he was sure that their daughter's reaction to Elizabeth and Blake together wouldn't be pretty.
In the doorway to the kitchen, he blew a stream of cold air down the back of her neck, hoping she would turn around, but she didn't flinch. "Stevie!" Henry tugged at her right arm, but it was too late.
"Oh my God!"
As his wife and eldest daughter fought in the kitchen, Henry used his thumbs to massage both of his temples. His girls weren't happy with one another.
"He's closer to my age, Mom!"
"Now, Stephanie…" Henry pointed his finger, preparing for a lecture. "Your mother has been through a lot."
"Please," Elizabeth whispered as she dropped her head. After she cut the water and turned the wine glasses upside down in the sink, her fingers curled over the edge of the granite. "This hasn't been easy for me."
It usually took at least a month for mother and daughter to make up, so Henry couldn't believe it when, two weeks later, Stevie was helping Elizabeth choose a pair of heels to wear to the Kennedy Center.
"Mom, you'll be fine," Ali said as she tapped a brush with a pink pigment against the apples of Elizabeth's cheeks. "You always have a good time when you're with Blake."
"Keep reminding her of that, Noodle," Henry said from his spot on their bed.
"You're right," Elizabeth admitted.
She may have agreed, but, even from across the room, Henry could see that she was still nervous.
"I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"It's called butterflies, Sweetheart," he told her as he flipped to the next page of his book.
While Stevie and Ali contemplated a pair of pumps, Elizabeth finished with the last touches of makeup. After watching her swipe her favorite shade of lipstick across her lips, Henry walked toward her. Standing behind her at the vanity, he touched her shoulders.
"You look beautiful, Elizabeth," he whispered into her right ear.
When their eyes met in the mirror, for a moment he wondered if she could see him, but he realized she was looking toward the closet, staring at their daughters. She wore a smile. God, he missed seeing her smile.
"Take care of my wife," he said later that evening as he watched Blake escort Elizabeth to the car.
Shortly after the new year, news broke about Elizabeth's budding relationship with Blake. Henry wrung his hands as he read the posts on Twitter over his wife's shoulder. According to Daisy, the backlash wasn't so bad.
"Someone on Twitter said that you have a cute butt!" Elizabeth joked over the phone. "Should I reply that it's even cuter in person?"
After another winter passed, Henry was officially banished to the guest bedroom. On a Friday night in April, when Elizabeth and Blake had the house to themselves, he'd learned the hard way to always knock. Oops, sorry for interrupting! Most nights, while tossing, turning, and trying to be nothing but happy about the noises coming from the master bedroom, Henry wondered whether he should be angry.
"I love you," she told Blake while spooned together on the sofa.
As he made himself a cup of tea, he asked himself how he could be angry at Elizabeth for living life when he was dead.
One afternoon at the beginning of June, Henry woke worried after dozing off on the daybed. He hadn't slept since the night he'd died of a heart attack, so he was confused. Maybe his time caught between two worlds was finally dwindling to an end.
Although Henry's clothes still hung in the closet, at the end of summer, Elizabeth now wore Blake's t-shirts to bed. Henry knew that she wasn't trying to replace him, that was evident in the photographs still mounted on the walls of their Georgetown home.
"Tell me about this picture?"
Elizabeth laughed as she took the frame from Blake's hands.
"Well, it won't make sense unless I tell you one of Henry's favorite jokes." Elizabeth licked her bottom lip before she said, "So, Thomas Aquinas walks into a bar…"
By the time the leaves began changing color, Henry's joints ached. Oh, how his body craved rest. At the end of November, he knew his time was ending, so he tried to commit every inch of Elizabeth's face to memory. He hoped that God would let him visit occasionally because faces changed with age.
December would mark two years since he died.
"God, I'm ready," Henry said as he watched his family eat dinner around the dining room table. When Blake made a joke, a smile spread across his wife's face. "And so is Elizabeth," he whispered.
On the 16th, Henry hovered by Elizabeth's side. He smiled as she brushed her teeth, folded the laundry, and washed the dishes. It wasn't until the sky fell dark that she cried. As she moved to the vanity, he realized these tears weren't random.
"I love you," she whispered as she slipped her wedding bands from her finger.
Suddenly, Henry's eyelids grew extremely heavy. He quickly made his rounds around their house, getting one last look at their children's faces. Henry thanked Blake before he returned to their bedroom. Quickly, he took Elizabeth into his arms.
"I love you," he told her before he kissed her cheek.
He stared into her eyes as he faded away.
Finally, he could rest.