As if he knows my mind is drifting, Dan asks, “Did she say anything to you?”
“My name,” I whisper. My voice is muffled against my hands like a secret. “Like she was looking for me. Michael? Michael? And I go, right here, I’m right here, Aunt Evie. That’s when she saw me, and she sort of sighed my name and disappeared.” Taking a shuddery breath that frightens me, I tell him, “When I was coming back in the room, I thought I heard her say I was right, she does like you. I was right.”
Dan doesn’t speak. I look up at him and see something I don’t recognize in his eyes, something sad, something old and distant like a memory. “You don’t believe me?” I ask quietly. Of course he doesn’t. Who would? “Maybe I was still half-asleep—”