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Max was on his knees, cleaning the hearth, when he heard his dead wife’s voice coming down the chimney. It was so low he almost missed it, but when she spoke again, he caught every word. “Max, how are you doing?” He put the brush down and placed both hands on his knees. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, then reconsidered. Though she sounded just like he remembered, Ruth had been dead for three years. A massive stroke at the dinner table had left no doubt about that. “Max, why don’t you answer?” He cleared his throat. “I’m imagining this.” “Oh no, you’re not. I can see you clearly.” She giggled, a familiar sound that wrenched his heart. “Your hairline’s receded even more, hasn’t it?” He closed his eyes. I’m mad, he thought, or this is some cruel joke. “Where are you?” he whispered. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s beautiful here.” He rose numbly, dusted off his hands. Turning, he headed toward the bathroom, where he doused his face in cold water. # # # He promised himself he would stay away from the fireplace and avoid the living room altogether, but less than an hour later, he found himself kneeling on the hearth again. He sighed, remembering the first time he had seen Ruth, thirty-five years before. How beautiful she had looked, standing in that rose garden. “Ruth,” he said. A clump of ash fell in the fireplace. That’s all Ruth is anymore, he told himself. Ash. You’re just a lonely old man who’s imagining things. He swallowed, then tried again. “Ruth.” “I’m here, Max,” her voice answered. “I was hoping you’d come back.” This can’t be true. He moved forward on his knees, put his head in the fireplace, and peered up. All he could see was a small, distant rectangle of blue sky. “Ruth?” he called. “I’m here, darling,” she said. “Right before you.” Darling. “I . . . I can’t see you.” “I am here, Max. I can see you clearly.” “Wh . . . what’s it like, Ruth?” The blue sky didn’t change. “I can’t describe it, Max. Remember how afraid I used to be about dying? Well, there’s absolutely no reason to be frightened. I can see the most glorious colors with my body, only I have no body.”
See with her body, only she had no body? “Ruth, how is this
possible? How can “I talk to you, Max? It’s the solar flares, and the chimney channels me to you.” He remembered there had been eruptions on the sun recently. “How do you know this?” he asked. “I just do.” “Ruth . . .” He swallowed, then tried again. “Do you remember when we first met? In that rose garden?” “Of course I remember,” her voice said softly. “I haven’t changed that much, Max.” Suddenly the sweet fragrance of roses settled over him. He inhaled deeply, remembering a distant summer. “Is this what it’s like after death?” he asked. “You, uh, float about?” “Not exactly, Max. It’s hard to describe. But I will move on.” “Move on? To what – heaven, God?” “To distant places and endless adventures, Max. Marvels that never stop but just get more wonderful.” His neck was beginning to hurt from peering up. “Are you alone?” “Yes.
Always.” Her voice changed. “But you’re still
with me, Max. In my His throat caught. “But I’ll never see you again,” he said. “Never be with you.” “No,” she said gently. “But in a way I can’t describe, Max, it won’t matter.” He couldn’t take any more. He backed out of the chimney and sat down on the hearth, rubbing his neck. Was it possible he was dreaming this? Or had he simply gone over the edge? “Max?” she called. Illusion or not, Ruth’s presence and her mad words had overwhelmed him. Even more amazing, though, was that he wished she would just go away and leave him alone. That way, he could continue to do what he had done for years: mourn and miss her each and every day. “Max,” she asked, “why are you so sad?” A tear ran down his cheek. A million times he had dreamed about being reunited with her, but not like this. How could you embrace vacant air, or touch a body that wasn’t there?
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