Meanwhile…

"Fool of a man," he muttered. "I can't believe that he's married to our…"

"Darling, let him be. He just worships the ground you walk on. Walked on? Is it current or past tense? Though I suppose it could be current with the way things are. Either way, you knew that when we brought them here," she soothed.

"He admires a carefully constructed story, and he was damn close to finding something not meant for him. I knew we should not have left those papers at the house. We should have…"

"Put them under her pillow? Then she would think it an accident and ignore it."

"No, we could have…"

"Left them on the dining room table with a note with her name on it?"

"That would be ridiculous."

"Brought them here? Because salt water and pasteboard coexist oh, so well."

"Now you are being snarky."

"And you are being irrational. Darling." She dragged out the endearment to indicate he was being everything but.

"Oh, we've hit the pet name stage now, have we?"

"If we must. It does seem to calm you when you're being irrational. Besides, no one is going to care, even if he finds the truth rather than she."

"Pardon me," Jessica interrupted, clearing her throat afterward. "But I can hear the two of you bickering." She smiled nervously, unsure what direction to point her attention. "And I don't mean to be rude, but I thought you should know a stranger is an unwilling participant in your discussion."

She looked for the source of the voices but to no avail. It wasn't the first time she had heard things, and for a good portion of her life, she believed it was merely her imagination. At least that is what her parents worked overtime to convince her. No Stanley was going to be hearing things, her father had often admonished.

But lately, she had wondered if it wasn't made up but a different reality.

The silence that followed her outburst was almost comical, and she barked a light laugh.

"I mean, I can't see you, but I do hear you. Are you ghosts?"

"Ghosts. The woman believes we are ghosts," he muttered.

"Well, we haven't truly given the woman as you insist on calling her even though her name is Jessica any reason to think we aren't ghosts. What would you think if you heard disembodied voices?"

"I do hear disembodied voices, remember? It's part of how we met."

"Oh, right. I had forgotten that part."

A scoff followed by a harumph caused Jessica to grin broadly.

"It must be quite the story."

Jessica could sense a silent discussion going on as often happened between couples that had been together a long, long time.

"Jessica? May I call you Jessica?" came the female voice.

"Of course." A sense of calm comfort engulfed Jessica as if she were in the presence of a favorite loved one or old friend.

"Be at the point tomorrow just before sunrise. Read the book. And we will talk."

"Just you," demanded the male voice.

Jessica heard the distinct, gentle slap of a hand on cloth.

"Oh, alright. Please. Please come alone."

"It will be my pleasure."

And then Jessica felt alone and slightly confused. She wondered what she had just gotten herself into and why in the world she would agree to meet something or someone at the crack of dawn in an area she knew very little about. But it felt right, and her gut instincts never let her down. If it felt right, it was always right.

Returning her attention to the scrapbook in hand, she carefully carried it downstairs to the kitchen table.