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NICHOLAS WAKES AT ONE o'clock in the afternoon, which is fairly typical on a day when he isn't working. He slept for over ten hours, because he had a lot of vodka, and that always makes him sleep longer than usual. He starts the day with a swig from his flask, which doesn't surprise me. He'll be sipping it throughout the day.
Twenty minutes after he wakes, he rises from bed. He removes his wife's clothes, folds them neatly, and returns them to a drawer. He chooses a new outfit for dead Katya even before he's dressed himself. From the wardrobe he shared with his wife, he pulls out a red polka dot dress and places it on the bed, smoothing out any wrinkles in the material.
When he starts to remove his own clothes, I hurry into the hallway and wait for him to finish. I don't like to violate the privacy of my charge. While I wait for him to reemerge, I stand at the window and watch a bluejay hop around in the grass. It's going to be another boring day in Nicholas' house—I can feel it already.
Maybe I could get him to leave the house, if only for a little while? He's on vacation from work, but he's done nothing to enjoy himself. As I watch the bluejay's hunt for insects, I make a decision. Nicholas must get out and enjoy some sunshine today. This can't be another day of booze and bologna.
The next time I see Nicholas, I'm surprised to see him wearing the same plaid shirt he wore yesterday... and the day before that. It's a decent shirt, but I doubt it smells too good, not after he's worn it so many days. I'm not going to let that be a deterrent, though. I march over to him and shout, “Hey, Nicholas! Why don't you go to Harry's Diner today?”
Harry's Diner is his favorite restaurant. It's a hole in the wall diner that serves big breakfasts and greasy burgers. Nicholas used to go there all the time—before his love for vodka took over everything. Nowadays, if he isn't working, he rarely leaves the house.
I follow Nicholas into the kitchen, where he reaches for a box of cereal. “No!” I exclaim. “Harry's Diner, Nicholas! You need to go to Harry's Diner! Do something you used to enjoy! Don't just sit around here all day! I think it's wearing on you.”
Nicholas almost gets a bowl of cereal... until he realizes he's out of milk. Cursing, he returns the corn flakes to its cabinet and crashes into a chair. Once again, his flask is in his hand, and a dash of vodka is splashing into his mouth.
“Nicholas, go to Harry's Diner!” I try again. “You like the food there, right? I think you need to get out, but... I don't think you should drive, not when you've been drinking. It's only a few blocks away, right? Go.”
After several attempts, he's finally motivated by my words. He grabs his wallet, his keys, and staggers through the door. I shield my eyes from a burst of sunshine as I follow him outside. Like Nicholas, it's been awhile since I've been out of that house.
“I'm so proud of you!” I tell him. “I know you didn't feel like going anywhere, but... thanks for indulging me.”
Nicholas blinks at the sunlight and shuffles in the direction of the cafe. He left his flask at home, for once. I'm actually shocked about that. He rarely leaves it behind.
“I'm excited about this!” I exclaim. “You need to be around people. I know the waitresses like you... in fact, I think Wanda might have a crush on you. I'm almost positive about that.”
Unfortunately, Wanda isn't at Harry's Diner today. Nicholas' waitress is Emily, a pretty twenty-something with a swinging, red ponytail. Nicholas is no stranger to her, so she asks, “Will you have the usual?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Nicholas says. “Make sure the burger is well-done... and I want the crinkle fries, not the shoestrings.”
“Of course!” Emily gives him a nod and a light pat on the shoulder. “It's good to see you here, hon,” she says, before vanishing into the kitchen. The waitresses are all extremely friendly, but only Wanda is a match for Nicholas. She's a fifty-five year old divorcee with grown children and a huge crush on Nicholas. I don't think he realizes that, though.
As we wait for Nicholas' food, my eyes are drawn to the guy in the next booth. He's staring at us—or rather, he's staring at me. If he can see me, that must mean he's a spirit. I guess I'm not the only ghost in the diner today.
“Hey,” the spirit addresses me. There's a smirk on his lips that tells me he's trouble. “Hey, why don't you come sit with me for a bit?”
I ignore him and focus on Nicholas, whose cola has arrived, but not his meal. I don't really feel like conversing with anyone.
Unfortunately, this guy isn't going to give up.
“Hey!” the spirit calls out to me again. “What's your name, beautiful?”
“Lillie,” I answer with a sigh, secretly hoping he'll leave me alone. I admit, he looks... interesting. And he's handsome. Still, I'd rather keep my attention on Nicholas.
“Lillie,” the man repeats. “I'm Johnny. Johnny Wong.”
Wong? That's an Asian name. At first glance, I wouldn't have guessed he was Asian. In his black leather jacket and slicked-back brown hair, he looks like a greaser from the 50's. He matches the diner, to be honest, and its old-fashioned décor.
“Come onnn, why don't you sit with me?” Johnny begs. “It's been awhile since I've talked to a pretty girl... too long, in fact.”
I turn away from him with a subtle shake of my head. I don't like when men flirt with me. I never have. It makes me uncomfortable.
“Do you have a last name, Lillie?” asks Johnny, but I don't answer him, so he adds, “I'm actually an angel, you know.”
Nothing about this man's appearance screams angel to me. In fact, the word I would choose for him is danger. When he lights a cigarette, that's when I realize... he's no normal angel, because angels don't have vices.
“You're a fallen angel.” My gaze flicks in his direction as I make my guess.
“Yep,” he confirms. “Well... I don't like the term fallen. It implies that I was kicked out or something. I prefer the term Earth angel, because that's the PC term, and leaving the spirit world was my choice.”
“You left heaven by choice?” I ask.
“Yeah. I got tired of things there,” Johnny says. “If you sit with me for a bit, I'll tell you why.”
I decide to ignore him once again, if only because Nicholas' burger and fries have arrived. I manifest my own meal, but my fries are a bit different. I prefer the shoestring ones, and my burger always has a pickle.
“You really are stunning. Damn,” Johnny continues. “I'd do anything for a moment of your time.”
His compliments are flattering, but I'm not going to react to them, because they make me feel awkward. I've never been good at accepting compliments. I'm a little bit curious about Johnny, though. Spirits often choose to wear clothes from their era. Is he a spirit from the 1950's? If so, we might have been alive around the same time.
“How's your burger?” I ask my charge. It might be silly, but I enjoy making conversation with Nicholas, even if the conversation is always one-sided. “Is it actually well-done this time?”
I lean in to check the state of his burger. The meat is a bit pink, but not too bad. His fries look good, and he covers them in ketchup.
Also, Johnny won't leave me alone. He asks, “Are you this guy's permanent spirit guide? I assume you are, since you don't have a partner.”
It's rare for a permanent guide to have a partner. Still, I don't feel like answering Johnny's question. It's none of his business, and if he's a fallen angel, I would rather not associate with him. Fallen angels are always trouble.
Our waitress returns, briefly, to ask Nicholas, “Is there anything else I can get for you, honey?”
Nicholas is way too old to be her honey, but he still smiles when he hears her question. It's extremely rare to see a smile on Nicholas' lips, and gets rarer every day. He says, “I'm alright. The burger was cooked real good this time.”
“I'm glad to hear it!” Emily exclaims as her hand lands on his shoulder yet again. She's a very touchy person. I was never like that, even when I was alive. Even hugging makes me feel awkward. Before she dismisses herself, our waitress says, “Let me know if there's anything else I can getcha. You can just flag me down.”
Nicholas gives her a nod and goes back to eating his fries. And Johnny, our loquacious neighbor in the nearby booth, goes back to hounding me. He says, “I'll stop being a creep if you sit with me for five minutes.”
My answer begins with a heavy sigh. I ask, “If you know you're being creepy, why are you doing it?”
“I'm not that bad,” Johnny claims. “I bet I'd be better company than that old man you've been saddled with.”
“Nicholas isn't that old!” I exclaim, and I probably feel that way because I was older than Nicholas when I died. I wonder if that wasn't the case for Johnny? If he died young, a man in his fifties might seem old to him, but it's not. I no longer look old, but I like to think I've retained my wisdom. I'm a sixty-seven-year-old in a twenty-five-year-old body.
“You have beautiful hair,” Johnny's flirtations continue. “How would you describe that color? Blonde? Red? It's blonde with a hint of red.”
“I'm friendly with a hint of irritation,” I answer with a taut smile. “I'm really not in the mood for this right now, Johnny. I'm sorry.”
“What kind of girl doesn't like to get hit on?” Johnny asks.
“This girl.” I thrust a thumb at my face. “Just let me eat my fries and focus on my charge, thank you very much.”
Johnny stops talking, but he doesn't stop stealing glimpses of me. He's cute, but I don't have the fortitude to deal with a fallen angel. They're always bad boys, and bad boys have never been my thing.
As soon as Nicholas finishes his food, he pays, leaves a meager tip, and returns to his house, where he remains for the rest of the day.
And for the rest of the day... I wonder if I've failed as his spirit guide.