“What?” I gesture to the ginger. “That’s Maximus. You can see him, right?”
“I see him, but I shouldn’t be seeing him.” He looks at Max in horror. “I was at your funeral. You shouldn’t be here. You’re dead.”
I exchange a weighty look with Max. Right. Who is going to explain this to my dad? Me? Whom he won’t believe. Or Max, who he might also not believe.
Max nods, perhaps hearing me, and smiles apologetically at my father. “Do you want me to explain what happened, or should you hear it from your daughter?”
“Actually, before we get into that, Dad, can Max stay for dinner? I know you’ve made enough.”
Dad just stares at Max. “I don’t understand. Are you a ghost?”
“See, that doesn’t help,” I tell him. I lock eyes with Max and gesture to the kitchen. “Come on. Eat.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Max says, not moving, trying not to look at my father who is still staring at him in confusion.
“You’re not imposing,” I tell him. “Dad, tell him he’s not imposing. Tell him he’s welcome. Be a good host.”
My dad reluctantly nods his head. “Yes. Okay. Sorry.”
“No problem,” Max says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat hook.
I take my dad by the elbow and lead him into the kitchen. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
“I don’t understand,” he whispers to me. “I thought he was dead. You all told me he had died.”
I give him an affectionate pat. My poor dad. He’s been going through some things lately; if I had given this any thought at all, I would have realized this wasn’t a good idea. That said, he’d eventually notice Max next door and still come to the same conclusions, whatever they are.
“We’ll explain. Let’s eat first. Here, sit. I’ll serve.”
My dad sits down at the table, while Max takes an uneasy seat across from him. I quickly get the lasagna out of the oven and start dishing it up.
“I was sorry to hear about your wife,” Max says to him, his voice low. “She was a lovely lady.”
“Have you seen her?” my father asks. His voice is so urgent that I turn around to look. He’s leaning forward, hands splayed on the table. “Have you talked to her?”
“Dad,” I say sharply, carrying the plates over and setting them down in front of them.
My dad looks at me, eyes wide. “I need to know, Ada.”
“No,” Max says softly, his gaze apologetic. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen your wife. Not since New York.”
“But you were dead.”
Max eyes me over my father’s head. “Perhaps this is best discussed over some wine.”
Good call. I get the glasses and the bottle of wine and sit down. My father attempts to pour, but his hands are shaking so Maximus smoothly takes over. I give him an appreciative look. He was always great with my parents, especially compared to someone like Dex, at least back in the day.
“I’d suggest a toast,” I say, raising my glass. “But I’m not sure what’s appropriate.” Congrats to being alive? I guess that’s pretty standard.
“How about to this wonderful meal your father has created?” Max suggests, raising his glass.
My father barely manages to raise his, the wine sloshing slightly from his trembling grip.
Then we dig in. My father at least has enough patience to let Max eat about half his plate before he starts asking questions.
“I just don’t understand,” my father says, shaking his head. “Was everyone wrong? Was everyone lying? I remember being so confused that there was no body, but that there was a funeral anyway. I don’t know.” He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Everything about those days is a blur. Perhaps it’s best if I don’t remember.”
“Well, I can tell you the truth and I’ll tell it to you straight,” Max says before having a sip of wine. “And that’s the fact that I did die. I died saving your daughter and son-in-law’s life. I would have done the same for your wife if I was around, but unfortunately, at that point, I wasn’t.”
My dad slowly looks up at him. “Then how are you here? And how come she’s not?”
“Dad,” I say carefully. “Remember the conversation we had with Dex and Perry on Christmas Eve? Right here?”
“I’ve tried to forget,” he mumbles under his breath. A lot of ugly truths came out over that dinner, including the truth about my abilities.
“I’m sure,” I tell him softly. “But that’s still all true. You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true. Basically, I was able to reach into the Veil, to the world between worlds, and I was able to pull Maximus out.”
“And you can’t do the same for your mother?” he asks quietly.
I never told him that I had to get Mom out of Hell, that she was taken there by the same demon that took Max. I don’t want to get into that now. It would break him.
I shake my head and put my hand over his. God, it’s still shaking. “Dad…Mom is dead. I really wish she wasn’t, but she is. We can’t reach her. She’s at peace.”
“But she isn’t,” my father says sharply, eyes piercing into me. “I told you she isn’t. I told you I’ve been seeing her.”
“You’ve been seeing her?” Max asks.
My father nods but doesn’t go into detail. The fact that when he sees my mother, she keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. Don’t let her, don’t let her. So far none of us, Perry included, have any idea who she’s talking about and what it means.
“Have you seen her?” Max looks to me.
I shake my head.
“So, if I’m seeing Ingrid, and she’s a ghost, how do I know you’re not a ghost?” my father asks him. Back to the ghost thing.
Max shrugs. “I guess you don’t. I hope I’m not, though. I feel real. And I’ve been interacting with people,
