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“Never said they were.”

“In another hundred years or two, you might need a reminder.” It sounded like he was smiling. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

She paused, before finally admitting the truth out loud and to herself in one fell swoop. “Yeah. You, too.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she broke the pull tab of her soda and toyed with the piece of stamped aluminum, enjoying how it felt when she dug it under her nail. “Um.”

He stayed quiet.

This was her call. Her decision. And she was so very, very grateful for that. “You still in Boston? ’Cuz I’m craving clam chowder, or a lobster roll, or fried clams, or something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying eating my weight in schnitzel and pretzels, but I could go for some seafood.”

“Union Oyster House?”

“Meh. Barking Crab? I know you clash with the décor, being all fancy-pants and all, but Algernon likes to play with the harbor rats.” She chuckled. “Even if they are four times his size.”

“I’ll dress down.”

The hope in his voice was killing her. It wrenched something inside her heart, and it was only then she realized that…the tone in her own voice matched his perfectly. She shut her eyes.

She wanted to forgive him.

But she should hate him. “What day is it? Shit, I need to get a job. I’m losing all track of time.”

He laughed. “I’d claim that as another symptom of immortality, but I’m afraid that’s just what happens when no one keeps you to a schedule. It’s Tuesday.”

“Friday night, maybe? Gives me enough time to sleep off the jetlag.”

“Friday night. Seven. I’ll make a reservation.”

“I don’t think they take reservations.”

“Have you forgotten who I am? Wave enough money at anybody’s face, and they’ll change the rules for you.”

That made her laugh. “Good. I thought you were about to say you were going to kill the host and make him your revenant just to get us in.”

“Well, I could. But that just seems a bit excessive.”

“Look at you, learning restraint in your old age.”

His indignant tone was still playful. “I beg your pardon. I am not old.” He paused. “All right, very well, but I’m hardly the oldest.”

“Age isn’t judged by comparison, buddy.” She tucked her trash into her bag. She’d eat her sandwich on the walk back to the car.

“Yes, yes.” Another beat passed between them. “Thank you, Marguerite.”

“For what?”

“For this. I thought I would never hear your voice again.”

“Melodrama,” she warned, still teasing him. “Your soul is stuck in my body. Kinda hard to fuck off for the rest of time without talking. The world isn’t that big.”

“You’re capable of anything when you put your mind to it.”

“Flatterer.”

“Always.”

Plopping Algernon onto her shoulder, she started back toward her rental car. The path she took was both foreign and familiar. She remembered that night she spent running through the woods, terrified of the monster that had married her.

Now she was a monster, too.

And maybe that was okay.

She smiled. “Friday at seven it is.”