At the bottom of a little hill in Joshua's backyard was a big blue spruce. The branches went all the way down to the ground. But one of the lowest branches was missing, and there was a hole like a cave under the tree. You couldn't really see the hole, though, so a lot of the time the children forgot that it was there. Every winter somebody would rediscover it, crashing into it on a sled without meaning to. And then it was like magic, their secret place that they had forgotten, and for a while they would crawl inside to tell ghost stories.
Molly Garrett's mother had a dream once. In the dream she was cleaning the house, by herself, singing, happy. The phone rang. She put down her dustrag and shuffled across the house to pick it up, and she said hello, and the voice said Carol. That's her name. And she stood with her mouth open, she didn't know what to say, and it was her father's voice. She woke up and she didn't know what else he said. Molly Garrett told this story under the spruce tree, whispering, days after her mother quietly told her.
"Was it her father? I mean really?" Tandar hunched at the bole of the tree, rapt.
"Yeah. It was my grand-dad, calling her."
"I mean, not in the dream, but--"
"Right. I know. It was him. That's what mom thinks."
"Ghosts aren't real," Joshua said, tossing an orange pine-needle at his feet.
"It was him. He was in heaven after he died, so he's in heaven."
"But is that being a ghost?"
"What do you think happens?" Tandar said.
Joshua sat a minute. "When somebody dies, it's sad for you, but not for them, because it doesn't hurt them. So you feel sorry for yourself, for a few days, and then you should try to be happy. That's what my dad says about my mom. He just tried to be happy again."
"But what happens?"
"I don't know." Joshua tried to make Tandar talk. "What do you think happens to you?" But Tandar didn't say anything.