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“My apologies, Ms. Walker,” the small, middle-aged woman says. “I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll get your coffee and breakfast ready and come back for the sheets later.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to—” I start, but she’s already out the door.
“You’re so lucky,” Ashley says. “I am, once again, asking you to please direct any of James’s single friends my way.”
“I’ll look into it,” I tell her.
“So? The proposal?”
“He chartered a yacht for my birthday. After dark, we went out on the bay and had dinner on the deck. When I walked out, there were candles everywhere and a string quartet. When we finished eating, he got down on one knee and asked.”
“Oh my god, Amelia,” she says. “I think my heart stopped. That sounds like a dream. I seriously can’t imagine a more perfect proposal.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “It was…like a dream. I can’t imagine a more perfect proposal either.”
She hears the dull, detached tone in my voice. “Amelia! What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you sound more excited?”
“I am excited,” I tell her. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Got it. Say no more,” she says. “So, when is the wedding? The summer? I’m assuming I’ll be your maid of honor already, so if that’s not what you want, you need to tell me now before I get any more invested in the role.”
“I haven’t thought about that at all, Ashley. But yeah, you’re my best friend; I can’t think of anyone else I would ask.”
‘Liar,’ the dead girl taunts.
“Okay, good, because you’re going to need me. I know all the best venues in the city, and I have a feeling we’re going to have a very nice budget to work with. This is my time to shine,” she says wistfully.
I smile a little. Ashley is working on becoming a private event coordinator. She has an internship with a prestigious event planner in the city but hopes to strike out on her own after college.
And she is good. She’ll make sure everything is perfect.
‘Just the way you always pictured it, right?’ the dead girl scoffs.
“I actually have a lot to do this morning, though, so I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”
“Okay, later, girl,” she says. “Love ya.”
“Love you, too,” I say before hanging up.
I sigh, pull myself out of bed, and throw on some clothes before leaving the bedroom.
“Ms. Walker,” Marta says when she sees me. “It’s such a beautiful, clear morning; I thought you might want to take your breakfast on the balcony. I have the heaters going, but if it’s still a little chilly, let me know, and I can bring it back inside.”
“Oh, no,” I tell her. “I’m sure it’s fine. And you don’t have to do this stuff for me, really. It’s not necessary.”
“Of course I do, Ms. Walker,” she says. “You live here now; I’m going to take care of you the same way I take care of Mr. Ridgeway.”
Cringe. “You can call me Amelia.”
“Amelia,” she says, clearly uncomfortable. “I just need to finish up in here and then the bedroom, and I’ll be out of your way. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I smile and thank her, then head out to the balcony. French toast with strawberries waits on the table. I sigh, then sink into the chair. I sip my coffee and take in the view. The city’s foothills and the bay really are remarkable. This is something I could get used to—and I’ll have all the time in the world to get used to it. After all, I live here now.
‘Sure, it’s nice,’ the dead girl says, ‘but it’s not the Cascades. There are no wildflowers on those hills, no waterfalls. You can live here all you want, but this isn’t your home. Don’t you want to go home?’
“Would you shut the fuck up?!” I shout back at her.
I realize I’ve said the words aloud when I look over and see an elderly woman on the neighboring balcony glaring at me over her newspaper, appalled.
