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But unless I wanted to ask Hank to pick us up, I needed my car back in commission.

Which meant it was time to reach out to Will.

Stop being a chicken, Mich.

Why had I heard that in Joe’s voice? For a moment, I froze, picturing Joe sitting there at the kitchen table.

He’d never lived in this place; he’d never sat at that table. But there he was, sipping his coffee and shaking his head at me.

For a moment, my heart nearly stopped. This used to happen all the time. Right after he died, I’d see Joe everywhere. In the beginning, it was terrifying—and not only because I’d see him at the moment of his death. But just seeing him at all, in the throes of my grief—the breath would blow out of me as if by some cosmic vortex. I’d fall to my knees sometimes. Collapse right there on the floor.

As the years went on it got easier. My therapist gave me strategies for what to do.

Now, I hardly saw him at all.

But here he was, sitting with one ankle on his knee.

You’re doing it again, Mich.

I barked out a laugh. Just like him.

You’re dead, Joe! You can’t tell me that anymore.

Ghost-Joe laughed. My throat tightened, that old familiar ache daring to press through. I grabbed a glass of water, tossing it down. I didn’t want to see him right now. I didn’t want him to tell me I was being a chickenshit about Will.

I didn’t want him to see me thinking about Will at all.

Did you forget this was what I wanted?

He knew what I was thinking. I gripped the glass tighter.

You could try being friends with him? At least? C’mon babe…

“Babe?” I exclaimed. “How can you call me babe after what you did? You fucking left me!” I whirled back from the sink, clapping my hand over my mouth.

But Joe wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there. There was nothing there except the empty chair.

My heart pounded. Where had that come from, that anger? I wasn’t angry at Joe—how could I be? He was gone. He’d died, tragically. He was a hero.

And he’d told you to find someone else.

But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t. Steve had proven that. But maybe Joe—the one I’d concocted in my head just now—maybe he had a point. Maybe Will and I could be friends.

The thought felt crazy, but hopeful, too. It was something, without overcommitting.

I stared at the chair where Macy had sat pasting ghost and witch confetti to a cardboard haunted house only half an hour ago. Joe had never met Macy. But somehow, my picturing him there was like they’d sat there together. Like he’d held her on his lap. And as strange as it was, the thought brought me comfort.

Plus, Joe was right, of course. I was being stubborn. Stubborn because I was scared. Scared of the feelings I had around Will. But I didn’t have to have those feelings, did I? Not if we were just friends. I lifted my chin, setting my shoulders back.

I grabbed my phone before I could lose my nerve and tapped on his name.

Michelle:Is the garage offer still available?

Send text.

If Will could be all business, so could I.

It was a workday, so I wasn’t expecting him to text me back right away. But a moment later, my phone buzzed.