entire perimeter. She does what we’ve all done, trying to pass through the gates, over the wall, through the wall, under the wall, into the parking lot, up in the air.
To no avail.
She’s stuck inside the cemetery, just like the rest of us.
It’s late morning the next day when she finally accepts it. She strides up to where we’re lounging on Clothilde’s grave, pretending to feel the blazing sun on our ghostly gray skin, and stops with her hands on her hips and the tips of her sneakers going through the sole of my right foot. She has figured out how to go through solid matter and how to fly, but she has yet to realize her body no longer gives her signals of when she’s overstepping somebody else’s personal space.
I pull my foot away from hers and look at her expectantly.
“We’re stuck here.” The mask is still in place and her tone is so clipped, it sounds like an accusation.
“Yes, we are,” I reply, and add what I hope is a compassionate smile.
“I have to see my sister.” She seems to be of the opinion that if she stares at me hard enough, I can get rid of whatever keeps us prisoner within the walls of this cemetery.
If only.
“Your sister has come to visit every day since the funeral,” Clothilde says, her tone somewhere between compassionate and eye-roll. “She’ll be back at some—”
Anouk zooms away like the Flash.
I hear the squeak of the back gate closing. Lucile is here.
Clothilde jumps to her feet. “We going to watch?”
I get up more slowly and dust off the seat of my pants—not because I have to but because sometimes I want to do things the “live” way. Getting new arrivals brings out the nostalgia.
“We’ll follow at a distance,” I say. “I don’t think Anouk would appreciate us getting too close, especially this first time.”
But we do need to figure out what Anouk’s unfinished business is, and I’m fairly certain it will involve her sister, so we can’t give her complete privacy.
Lucile approaches her sister’s grave at her usual brisk pace. Anouk flits around her, too excited to even maintain a recognizable form.
She tries for a hug, but goes right through her sister’s body. She tries to touch her face and her hand, with the same result. She says her name, clearly expecting a reaction, then screams it when she doesn’t get one.
When Lucile reaches the grave, Anouk is already down to sobs.
Standing halfway in her sister, Anouk turns to look for us. When she spots us some distance away, she doesn’t yell at us for eavesdropping like I feared. Her mask has fallen away, leaving the hurt and pain open for everyone to see.
“Why can’t she see me?” she asks. “Why can’t she hear me?”
Oh, boy.
Taking a deep breath, I approach the two women. Clothilde follows close behind. “We’re ghosts, Anouk. The living can’t see or hear us. They—”
I cut myself off before telling her that we often can get across to people’s subconscious. This is normally part of my spiel for new arrivals, but in this particular case, I’m genuinely worried it will give her too much hope. Or make her try too hard with her sister, which could have nefarious effects on the twin still living.
Clothilde lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
When I can’t find the right words, Clothilde takes over. “You can talk to her, though. Even if she doesn’t really hear you. It’s like what they say for funerals: the funeral isn’t for the dead, it’s for the living. Well, this is not for the living, but for the dead. If you have something you need to say to your sister, this is your chance.”
Anouk’s eyes go to her sister’s, identical to her own. Her lips tremble and her chest is heaving as if she still needs air and can’t get enough. Her hands twitch with an obvious need to touch her twin.
“She changed her clothes,” Clothilde whispers.
I’d been so focused on the face, I hadn’t even noticed. Anouk’s jeans and T-shirt have been replaced by a pair of denim shorts with embroidered flowers on the hip and a loose flowery top—identical to what her sister is wearing. The only thing differentiating the two women is the hair; short spikes and long braids.
And the fact that one is alive and full of color while the other is in ghostly shades of gray.
Lucile still doesn’t speak while she visits. Mask off, she stands there and stares at her sister’s grave, clearly battling a boatload of emotions.
Anouk, on the other hand, is talking. Once she starts, she never stops. For the entire half hour that her sister is there, she talks about how much she misses her, how much she loves her, all the fun they had together as children, all the times they annoyed each other as teens, and all the boys they fought over as young adults.
If I’m not mistaken, some of it gets through to Lucile. She doesn’t say anything, of course, but her breathing has definitely sped up, and she audibly swallows down emotions every time Anouk brings up a new memory.
I don’t actually think Anouk notices—she’s too caught up in her own misery—and I’m not about to point it out. What’s going on right now isn’t giving closure to either of the young women.
Anouk is going to have to get it out of her system before we can do something more constructive.
When Lucile pulls her mask back on and starts toward the back gate, Anouk panics completely.
“Don’t leave me, Lucile! Don’t leave me here alone! I need you! You need me! Don’t go. Please don’t go. Please…”
My nonexistent heart constricts with empathy—both for the sister left behind and for the one leaving.
Lucile’s mask wavers several times as she crosses the cemetery. Only when she’s outside the gate, shoving it closed behind her, does the mask settle solidly.
With a hand on the gate, she gazes towards her sister’s grave. Her voice is no more than a whisper. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”