Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tuesdays were quiet at the Woodstone B&B.

Isaac was staring forlornly out the front window, taking no pleasure in the warm summer light. He had been numb and withdrawn ever since Nigel had gotten sucked off so soon after their engagement.

In truth, Isaac was still in shock. To have experienced such hope for an afterlife of marital bliss, and to have it ripped away the same night he had dreamed it possible, it was sometimes too much to bear. The house felt empty without Nigel. Bizarrely, considering that he and Nigel never had shared a bed, Isaac felt the most alone at night, which was not helped by the fact that Hetty now roomed with Flower as per her punishment. He never thought he would miss her restless tossing and turning, her impatient sighs as she failed to drift off, but he found it far too quiet sleeping in a room alone.

Having witnessed the worst of Isaac’s melancholy, the other ghosts didn’t like to leave him alone for long, during the day at least. Hetty, Alberta, and Flower had wordlessly moved their ‘girl talk’ session to the living room so that he had some company while he stared out the window, periodically sighing.

Flower took unusually great care to not speak about her relationship with Thor while Isaac was present, despite Alberta’s occasional probing questions on the subject. Most of the other ghosts didn’t know about Michael. But she understood the devastation of losing a fiancė unexpectedly. She knew nothing would ever fix Isaac’s pain, only time. And the promise of maybe being reunited with him wherever ghosts went up in the sky.

“That’s odd.” Isaac’s observation halted all conversation. “There’s a man approaching, but on foot.” From what Sam and Jay had said, the B&B was a considerable distance from town, so almost all the guests arrived in their own cars.

Hetty and Alberta sprung up from their chairs, eager to observe this newcomer. He certainly didn’t look like a typical B&B guest. The man wore a brown tweed suit, complete with a waistcoat, and a straw boater hat. And his luggage was even stranger. The ghosts had all observed that suitcases now tended to roll around on miniature wheels. Instead, this man carried what seemed to be an oversized leather briefcase with a large handle and sturdy metal clasps.

“Oh, it’s a drummer!” Hetty exclaimed, having seen many back in her day.

“Wait, you guys can hear that music too?” Flower blurted out.

“No child, a drummer’s an old fashioned way of saying traveling salesman” Alberta told Flower, ignoring Hetty’s huff at the perceived insult to her vocabulary.

The salesman waved in greeting to Jay, who was washing the Mini in the driveway. But Jay didn’t appear to notice him.

“How very rude of Jay to ignore him!” Hetty declared. “He may be a mere salesperson, but what if he is carrying snake oil or laudanum. Goodness knows he and Samantha would benefit from those.”

The salesman didn’t seem deterred by Jay’s snub and continued to walk towards the mansion.

“He’s probably going to ring the doorbell.” Isaac looked intrigued now, a bit of his usual sparkle returning to his eyes. “This might be the most entertaining thing to happen here all week. We better get Sam.”

Already on it, Alberta walked towards the bottom of the stairs and yelled: “Sam, there’s about to be someone at the door!”

“Ooh, someone’s coming to the door?” Flower exclaimed, deciding that reality was more interesting than watching the colors swirling in her vision. “I can’t wait to find out who it is!”

—

Sam was upstairs with Thor and Sass binge watching the new season of It’s Getting Hot in Here. Hearing Alberta’s call, Sam paused the TV. She stood up, ignoring the groans from Thor and Sass, and began walking towards the stairs. Maybe she and Jay were about to get a surprise midweek customer!

“Not fair! They about to turn up thermostat!” Thor shouted.

“I know!” Sass agreed. “And Jennifer A. was going to tell Brad C. about her fear of spiders and emotional intimacy.”

Sighing, Sass rose to follow Sam downstairs, hoping that this visitor would at least bring some fresh drama to Woodstone.

—

When the salesman arrived, Trevor was in the kitchen, where he was helping Pete check his email. Even after the Nigerian Prince fiasco, Pete’s addiction to gentle comedy had remained strong and he still wanted to read his daily joke from Reader’s Digest. Trevor figured it was worth risking Sam’s annoyance at him using her computer to keep his buddy happy.

And besides, he needed to keep his ghost power sharp. He would never outright say it, especially after Alberta quickly became frustrated by running the others’ requests through the Alexa, but he liked being able to help the other ghosts. He still was the youngest, and getting everyone to treat him as a full member of the house had proven a challenge - even worse than when he was rushing at Penn.

Holding his wrist and grunting as he tried to direct his finger to rest on the mousepad, Trevor finally clicked open the new email. He moved aside to let Pete do the honors of reading the joke.

“Trevor, How does a rabbi make his coffee?”

“I don’t know Pete.” Trevor had a feeling he was about to hear a terrible pun.

“Hebrews it.”

Oy vey. Pete looked so pleased with himself that Trevor offered an encouraging smile, waiting to roll his eyes until Pete looked back down at the joke. This was going to be a long afterlife.

–

Sam, and most of the ghosts, stood in the foyer expectantly. A few times, thanks to the ghosts, Sam had opened the door to approaching guests before they’d had the chance to ring the bell - which had led to some rather frightened Yelp reviews.

But the doorbell didn’t ring. Instead the salesman, and his briefcase, walked right through the front door appearing suddenly before the waiting residents.

“Oh my god!” Sam exclaimed, as several of the other ghosts screamed in shock. Isaac even gasped. He hadn’t done that since Nigel went up.

This man was a ghost. But if he was a ghost, how had he walked over the property line? Had he just died? Sam couldn’t face having to make another phone call to the coroner’s office.

Sensing he had everyone’s undivided attention, the salesman put down his heavy briefcase, folded his hands, and began his spiel: “Allow me to introduce myself…”

“Not everyone here” Thor interrupted.

As if on cue, Trevor and Pete stumbled out of the kitchen, looking alarmed.

“Is everything okay?” Pete asked, while Trevor simultaneously blurted out “Who’s this guy?”

“Now we all here” Thor asserted, giving the salesman a brusque nod, indicating that he should continue.

“My name is Wendell Schneider. I am a traveling salesman. I began my career in the 1890s, selling soap for Procter & Gamble, but struck out to begin my own business selling dry goods door to door…”

“But how are you here?” Sam interrupted.

“My ghost power is that I can still perform my sales.” Wendell answered cheerfully. “I can bring any ghost item across property boundaries using my trusty briefcase. Obviously ghosts can’t handle money, but I can engage in bartering.”

“Hold up, so you can go anywhere?” Alberta raised her eyebrow.

“As in you aren’t bound to a property or like a car or something?” Sass clarified. He missed Jessica, clearly.

“No. I died on the road and I continue to be on the road in this afterlife.”

The other ghosts tried very hard not to hate this man. Wendell never told clients that, in truth, he had the opposite problem of almost all other ghosts. Being a traveling salesghost, he could not remain in one location for very long. If he tried to stay on a property for longer than a day or so, he would poof to another location nearby without warning. It was most disconcerting.

“Wait, you can go anywhere and you came here?” Trevor was mystified. “How did you know there would even be ghosts here?”

“There are ghosts everywhere.” Sam said, her usually chipper tone flattening slightly.

“I have just come from the offices of the Ulster County Review. A Lenape ghost there told me that the Woodstone Mansion would be a good place to try and make trades.”

Sasappis startled, failing to hide his excitement. “Shiki sent you? Did she have a message for me?”

The salesman furrowed his brow before speaking. “I believe it was…’sup?”

“I deserve that.” Sass said glumly.

—

“So you’re saying that you can trade things from your suitcase to any ghost, in exchange for any item that they died with?” Hetty looked skeptical. She had patronized a good deal of traveling salesmen as lady of the house, but if such ghosts had existed since her death - why was one only appearing now?

The ghosts, and Sam, had adjourned to the parlor. They’d given only the briefest of their own introductions - Wendell had to know that Thor liked cod and salmon, of course - before grilling the salesman about his ghost power.

“Well, not any item. It has to fit in my briefcase. And it has to have potential value to another ghost. I have a business to run.”

Hetty looked down and made eye contact with Trevor from her perch on the couch armrest, smirking. Surely, they both knew far more about running a business than this man.

“I don’t understand,” Alberta announced. “If I gave you my hat or something, what stops it from poofing right back onto my body?”

“Yeah, man, I keep trying to lose —” Flower’s train of thought did not arrive at its destination.

There was a pause. Everyone in the room was unsure of whether to continue the conversation or to wait for her next thought, on the off-chance it might reveal some unheard Flower lore.

Wendell smiled in a practiced, too-wide way. Awkwardness was a great starting point for beginning a negotiation. It was an opportunity to use his powers of charm and persuasion honed from years on the road.

“Once I put something into my briefcase, it breaks the link between the item and your body. And anything I trade you will remain on the property once I leave.” He anticipated Alberta’s next question before she could even ask it. “But it won’t poof back to your ghostly form if you put it down somewhere.”

“Does that mean we can give you our clothes?” Isaac asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, it does. But I don’t necessarily have -”

Not allowing the salesman to finish, Isaac brightened immediately at the prospect of making this particular trade. “Maybe I can finally get out of this itchy shirt! While I am glad that my dear Beatrice changed me into my uniform before my passing, the material is most unpleasant.”

“Ooh maybe he’s got some flats in there!” Alberta exclaimed. “While I did die dressed to the nines, after almost one hundred years in heels my feet need a break.”

“Hetty been in heels longer.” Thor observed, earning a glare from Alberta.

“I am sorry, but if anyone needs new clothes…” Hetty didn’t even have to finish her sentence. She merely glanced down at Trevor - they were trying to maintain neither an obvious distance nor closeness in public, but surely he had always sat near her when she was on the armrest of the couch so how could that be suspicious - and the other ghosts immediately understood her point.

“Quite right” said Isaac “We’ve all been exposed to Trevor’s, uh, physique for far too long.”

“Okay forget about the shoes then,” Alberta huffed. “Do you have any pants?”

The salesman looked over at Trevor. He had seen some ghosts who had died in unfortunate states of attire, from questionable Halloween costumes to ill-fitting uniforms, but never someone in such a bizarre state of undress. Why did he have shoes and socks on, but no pants?

“Even some underwear, bro.” Trevor tried to sound upbeat, but he already knew he wasn’t in a good position to begin a negotiation.

Trevor didn’t have much to offer the salesman. He couldn’t afford to give away any more of his clothes. His jacket pockets didn’t contain much: mainly his keys and a wallet with a Blockbuster card, his driver’s license, some credit cards that were likely long deactivated. He didn’t have any cash, or his money clip, because he’d given that to Pinkus for cab fare. What good was cash to a ghost anyway?

The salesman might be interested in flavored lip balm, but he had to keep that because Hetty had once said that she liked the taste.

He didn’t have a whole lot to bargain with. But if there was a chance he could get pants from this guy? He’d figure something out. Maybe he could trade away all his TV time or cash out his back rubs to one of the other ghosts who had something worth trading.

The salesman once again looked down at Trevor’s bare legs before answering. Hold up, was he grimacing?

“Unfortunately, I do not have any pants.” Wendell did try to look sympathetic. The thought of an eternity in semi-undress was unnerving.

Trevor gave a faint smile, a brief nod of understanding. It had probably been too much to hope this man would magically have clothes for him. Hetty reached down to pat his shoulder, giving it a quick, tight squeeze.

“Most people do not die with extra clothing on their person, so acquiring them would be difficult.” Wendell continued, trying to justify his lack of supply.

He was also tempted to say “and most people do not give away their pants in the first place….” But knowing it was rude to ask how a ghost had died, and especially considering that the other ghosts here may have something valuable to trade, Wendell held his tongue.

“Thor have extra clothing - furs soaked in wolf urine - no longer useful since there are no bear ghosts here.”

Flower looked briefly horrified, her mind conjuring up the image of a ghost bear coming back for round two.

“Oh Thor, nobody wants your stinky furs!” Alberta admonished.

“Well fine, itchy shirt it is!” Isaac announced, a little sadly. “What do you actually have in there?”

“Ooh, do you have a joke book?” Pete, unsurprisingly, was especially quick to look on the bright side of having a salesman that didn’t even have any clothes to offer them.

“I have some books, but they’re mainly copies of the Bible. Quite a lot of older ghosts around here died with one on their person.”

“Only to find that the existence of this endless purgatory made them question the validity of religion and everything they thought they knew about their miserable life?” Hetty asked, failing to keep her tone convivial.

“Gee, not exactly light reading.” Pete chuckled, obliviously. “Ooh, maybe some rope? My knot tying explanations would be so much better if I could actually demonstrate the steps!”

Trevor snorted, and fought back the urge to say something suggestive about what he could do with some rope. He snuck a glance up at Hetty, and considered wiggling his eyebrows at her, but thought the better of it.

In all the drama of Nigel and Isaac’s engagement - and Hetty’s almost banishment - the other residents of Woodstone had not commented on his “conjugal visits” misstep. As fun as it was to rile her up, Sass or Alberta would definitely notice a suggestive comment sparking between them, even after months of playing at being very much broken up.

Besides, he still couldn’t quite place the look Hetty had given him when he had said it. Like many of her expressions, it was bold, unmissable, and laced with exasperation. Yet, there was something so defiantly cryptic about the way she had sharply lifted her head, revealing a stormy and vulnerable intensity to her gaze that Trevor had never seen before.

They’d barely had any time to process Hetty’s almost banishment, only managing to sneak down to the basement for some very hot “oh god what if it had been a whole year without this” sex before going to the celebration of Isaac and Nigel’s engagement that veered so quickly into loss. And then Isaac was distraught, and of course Hetty was going to spend a lot of her time trying to comfort him, but then it had been weeks and Hetty and Trevor had fallen back into their old routine without ever really talking about the blood-freezing panic he’d felt when he was blindsided by the news of her imminent banishment.

Trevor knew that something had changed for him that day, but he couldn’t figure out how to name it. He wasn’t an idiot. He could look back and recognize that he was drawn to Hetty, in a way that was about more than the (admittedly fantastic) sex, long before he’d even been aware of it. But he didn’t know what it meant, that his terror from almost having lost Hetty - and his realization that he could lose Hetty - was forever linked in his memory to the tears and the hollow silence that filled the room when all the ghosts watched Nigel ascend, leaving Isaac behind.

—

Wendell sat his briefcase on the coffee table, opening it up to face the other ghosts. Wow, they asked a lot of questions. Perhaps letting them look at what he actually had to offer would move the negotiation along.

“Perhaps if you take a look at my wares, collected from ghosts all over the Northeast, you can decide if there is anything you would like to trade for.” Wendell looked up, trying to keep his tone light and sincere. “I am sure you each have things on your person that you no longer need.”

“Yeah man, I keep trying to lose this.” Flower, finally remembering her earlier point, gestured to the turquoise ring on her right hand. “Phyllis, the blanket hog, said it was meant to bring me good luck and protection, but then I got eaten by a bear - so I don’t think it works very well.”

“Yes, because a ring would have stopped an angry bear from mauling you.” Isaac said acerbically.

Wendell appraised the ring and confirmed that he would be willing to trade for it. “Jewelry is valuable, especially rings. I have even met some ghosts that have found love and want to get engaged!”

Everyone tensed at Wendell’s remark, as unintentional as it had been. Wordlessly, Isaac spun on his heel to leave the room.

Hetty scampered after him, with only the briefest glance back at the briefcase of finery, a scheme beginning to form in her mind. But it could wait. As she went in search of her wounded friend, Hetty faintly heard Sam saying “His fiancé got sucked off…” by way of explanation to the bewildered salesman.

Chapter Text

Hetty found Isaac sitting on a bench on the mansion’s back patio, tracing the cricket embroidery on his handkerchief with his thumb. She gently sat down beside him, gazing across at Isaac with the warmth of over a century of friendship, and a deep concern forged by these past few weeks of grief.

“When I look at this handkerchief,” Isaac began slowly, glancing at Hetty for just a moment, “I truly feel that my Beatrice is with me. I can remember the fondness we had for one another. And now Nigel is…gone, and I have nothing to remember him by. Just my memories of him everywhere on this property.”

Hetty certainly understood the last part. The thing about living her whole life - and afterlife - at Woodstone, was that every spot held some significance for her. Few, if any, of her memories with Elias were worth treasuring. And now, twice, he had returned to fill her afterlife with unpleasant interactions.

Elias and, regrettably, her friends had cajoled her into giving away the power to withhold her forgiveness for all the indignities he had committed against her in life. If Elias emerged from Hell once more, she wished there was something she could do to unequivocally show him that she would never be under his control again.

Returning her thoughts to the present, Hetty reached out and covered Isaac’s hand with hers, in what she hoped was an encouraging gesture. While Hetty always had an opinion to offer, she knew that Isaac, usually a man of eloquence, had been struggling to articulate his loss. What he needed most in this moment was a friend who would listen.

“It doesn’t seem fair.” Isaac said wistfully. “We were engaged. But I never put a ring on his finger. And now I know that I could have…if that salesman had shown up a few months back.”

“None of us knew such a ghost power was possible.” Hetty rationalized, still reeling from seeing the salesman walk through the door earlier that day. “And truly, your engagement was no less legitimate for lack of a ring.” Hetty surprised herself with her own belief in this reassurance. She supposed that the rules of society could be rewritten to accommodate for their ghostly limitations.

“Oh, but if only I could have given him some sort of a token to demonstrate my devotion.”

“Besides the bullet you lodged in his chest?” Hetty remarked, teasingly.

“Yes, there is that.” Isaac gave a small smile, remembering Nigel had said something similar the day of his proposal.

“But Hetty, he is probably having the time of his afterlife up there.” There was something else creeping into Isaac’s tone, his longing colored by insecurity that Hetty wished she could dispel. “We know so little of what that place is like. And maybe it is so wonderful that Nigel isn’t thinking about me at all.”

“I hardly think that is true.” Hetty said reflexively. As much as she wanted to comfort Isaac, she couldn’t help but scoff at the absurdity of his concern.

She had never cared much for Nigel. In fact, that rapscallion had actively slighted her and had inserted himself into Isaac and Hetty’s weekly ponder. And that was before he had attempted to blackmail her and Trevor. Hetty did not like anyone who upset the equilibrium of the house - even if she did get satisfaction from squashing any attempt at a power shift.

Hetty had never warmed to Nigel, but she deeply cared for Isaac. She would not have accepted their relationship unless she absolutely believed Nigel’s devotion to be sincere, his brief tryst with Jenkins notwithstanding. Once Isaac and Nigel had truly committed to one another, Hetty had been amazed by the unguarded fondness in both of their manners. Immediately before Nigel had been sucked off, he and Isaac had been slow dancing at the engagement party - whispering something to one another. In that moment, Hetty had been struck by the sight of a tenderness in Nigel’s eyes that she had never had directed towards her while she was alive.

“Nigel was devoted to you, Isaac. I do not think that could have changed. After all, you have been fond of one another for longer than you have known me.” Hetty was loath to admit that their attraction predated her and Isaac’s friendship. She could not quite grasp that there had ever been a ghost community living at Woodstone without her.

“It was a long time to hold a candle, wasn’t it?” Isaac smiled weakly, but Hetty’s assertion seemed to comfort him.

“It is funny. I feel like I should regret it - that we spent two hundred years with me waiting to declare my intentions toward Nigel. But somehow I don’t.” Isaac looked thoughtful, but steadier, as he articulated thoughts he had been trying to grasp during his recent ponders.

“All that pining; the pretense of negotiating the treaty every couple of years just to have a conversation. Those moments were just as precious to me as being with Nigel once I had confessed my feelings.” He glanced at Hetty again, a trace of vulnerability in his eyes. “Is that awful?”

“Of course not, Isaac. How could you feel awful about anything that brought you both such happiness?” Hetty was still holding Isaac’s hand, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. The diamonds on her ring glinted in the summer sun, casting shimmering light on their pale faces.

“You shared your feelings with Nigel only once you were ready to do so.” Hetty frowned slightly. There was something about this conversation making her uncomfortable, like she was dangling on the precipice of a realization she did not wish to have. “And that…it took a great deal of courage.”

“Thank you, Hetty.” Isaac squeezed Hetty’s hand back, before dropping it and rising to stare out at the view of the woods, where he and Nigel had taken so many strolls together.

He looked forlorn again. Hetty rushed to reassure him, before he could fall too far into his thoughts leaving her to be consumed by confronting her own.

“And then, Isaac, not only did you invite Nigel to live in the mansion…” without consulting her as the lady of the house, but now was not the time for that discussion, “you then showed the extent of your devotion by proposing marriage. Your commitment to one another was only growing stronger.”

Isaac considered Hetty’s words, remembering that things with Nigel had not always seemed so certain, that there were times when he had been hesitant and unsure about their future.

“Right before I decided to propose to Nigel, Trevor said something to me that helped me understand what I needed to do.” Hetty tilted her head, perplexed by the abrupt shift in the conversation. “It was from some film or another, but it was that relationships need to move forward or they die.”

Trevor, her Trevor, had said that? She could not quite fathom that Isaac had sought him out for relationship guidance. But, if he had in fact offered that advice to Isaac: could he have that same expectation of her? That they had to move forward or die? They were already dead, after all.

As Hetty’s thoughts spiraled, Isaac was still speaking. “...At first I thought, what have I done wrong? That after our engagement Nigel was at peace enough to get sucked off but I got left behind?” His words eventually snapped Hetty out of her unwanted reverie. She hoped Isaac had not noticed that her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Isaac,” Hetty ventured “have you considered that you made Nigel so happy that he literally ascended to a paradise beyond this endless mortal plane?”

She paused, folding her hands in her lap and quieting her voice as she registered the meaning of her next thought. “That does sound like moving forwards.”

“I just thought we would have more time. We were meant to spend eternity together.” In fact, those were close to the words he had whispered to Nigel while they were dancing. As Isaac had held his fiancé in his arms, swaying to the music, he could do nothing but articulate the depth of his happiness to Nigel.

“I cannot wait to spend forever with you” was apparently significant enough of a declaration to Nigel that the heavens had opened up to take him away.

“Oh Isaac, you still might. Nigel is your fiancé. Whether it takes a year or one hundred years for you to be sucked off, he will wait for you.” Or at least, that is what Hetty hoped for her friend. He deserved the promise of happiness, even if their afterlife no longer seemed to contain many guarantees.

Isaac nodded, seeming to accept the possibility. “You are right. I know I have more to do here, Hetty. My book. My legacy. How could I possibly leave now, knowing that we are on the cusp of generations of Americans knowing the unjustly forgotten story of Isaac Higgintoot?”

The concept of a legacy always made Hetty think of the ending of Hamilton, but best not to mention Isaac’s nemesis right now. Instead she replied: “Well quite right, Isaac. Samantha could not possibly release the book without you.”

“And of course, I did also ask her to write an award-winning Broadway musical about me. I have not forgotten about that.”

“Maybe it could be a film!” Hetty had strangely enjoyed seeing her mansion abuzz the day of the Dumb Deaths shoot. “I am an excellent producer after all.”

“That would be delightful. I will tell Samantha to get right on it.”

Isaac seemed calmer now. Hetty stood up, ready to make her way back to the parlor. She put a hand on Isaac’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re a good friend, Henrietta.” Isaac said. “You deserve to one day be as happy as I was with Nigel.”

Hetty did not quite know how to respond to that. Her heart felt heavy with the regret of how quietly miserable she had always been. She knew now that she had spent so much of her life waiting for satisfaction that never came. Waiting for her parents to be affectionate with her, waiting for her heartless marriage with Elias to get better, waiting for all the material wealth she had to fill her soul with true happiness.

It was alarming to realize that her afterlife was, in many ways, more fulfilling than her time alive had ever been. She had dear friends. She had Samantha to guide. She had Trevor. Their passion had not quelled since they had retreated back into the shadows. If anything the ferocity of Hetty’s desire had increased now that they were no longer constrained by the rules of how couples should behave. But somewhat alarmingly, she was beginning to crave simply spending time with Trevor beyond their carnal relations. She liked snuggling up to him, letting him twirl a finger through her hair, as they whispered their inane thoughts to one another. She had never felt like she had someone so completely all to herself before.

She had nearly lost everything when she had almost been banished. In Hetty’s worst imaginings, no one would have missed her at all. It was scary that she could have been whisked away without getting to say goodbye. It was even worse to consider that a whole year would have passed with her alone in the woods, waiting to be brought home, while Sam, and Trevor, and the other ghosts embraced an existence that did not include her.

She was grateful that Alberta had relented, that they were cautiously repairing their fractured friendship. Hetty had atoned, but had loathed the agony of waiting to be forgiven.

What was it that Hamilton had said? When he was in the room where things were happening? “Oh, you get love for it, you get hate for it. You get nothing if you wait for it.” That was it. The ghosts’ afterlives seemed increasingly dictated by circumstances beyond their control, but Hetty had grown tired of waiting for others to make decisions for her.

Hetty could not fix the mistakes she had made in life. She could not bring back Nigel for Isaac. She could not predict when Elias would next return from Hell. But she had built this house. She was not about to let that salesman waltz into her mansion and leave again without him knowing that Hetty Woodstone was in charge.

Hetty gave Isaac a soft smile of acknowledgement for his well-intentioned words. With a firm nod, a resolution to herself more than anything, Hetty strode along the patio, past an oblivious Jay working in the kitchen, and back into the fray.

—

Meanwhile, in the parlor, ghost capitalism was in action. Sam, sensing an opportunity to get some peace and quiet while the ghosts were distracted, had long retreated from the proceedings. Trevor really didn’t have anything to trade, but he was enjoying watching the negotiations.

Even the ghosts who didn’t want to make an exchange - Pete was particularly reluctant to part with any component of his Pinecone Trooper uniform - were enjoying touching the objects in the trunk. With Trevor’s ghost power, he could briefly touch things in the living world but he could not necessarily feel them. It was amazing for him and the other ghosts to be able to experience different textures beneath their fingertips other than their clothes or another ghost’s skin.

What was taking Hetty so long? Trevor felt bad that she wasn’t getting to rifle through the briefcase with the rest of the ghosts. She would appreciate the old-timey knick knacks more than most of them. Selfishly, he would also very much have liked to see Hetty bargain with Wendell. No doubt she would eat him alive. God, that would be so hot.

After Isaac and Hetty’s abrupt exits, Flower had quickly exchanged her turquoise ring for a Magic 8 Ball, with the alarming explanation of, “We had one in the cult for a while. It replaced our third leader.”

Wendell had thought it wise to refrain from sharing that this particular Magic 8 Ball had come into his possession from similar circumstances.

Thor and Sass were particularly fascinated by the Magic 8 Ball, immediately asking it a flurry of questions about the newest season of It’s Getting Hot in Here, and some other show called Sexy in Seattle, before Trevor patiently explained that, unlike the Alexa, it could only answer with variations of Yes or No.

“Okay, I think I understand.” Sass said, taking the Magic 8 Ball in his hands with a somewhat mischievous smile.

“Are there any ghost couples in the house?” Sass asked, shaking the ball eagerly. Having missed most of Trevor and Hetty’s brief relationship, he was worried that more drama was slipping past him.

“Without a doubt.” Sass read. “Oh my god, I wonder who it is!”

“Thor and Flower couple.” Thor said.

“Yeah man, and now we have no one to go on a double date with.” Flower looked over at Trevor while speaking. Hold up, had she winked at him?

“Oh right.” Sass supposed he should have been more careful with his wording. “Are there any relationships I haven’t already heard about?”

“My reply is no.” Sass read, looking a little deflated. But at least he had the reassurance that he wasn’t losing his ability to sniff out drama.

Trevor let out a little sigh of relief. The Magic 8 Ball was technically right. He and Hetty had already told Sass about their relationship. He just didn’t know that their breakup had never been real. And with Isaac still reeling from losing Nigel, it would be pretty insensitive of them to choose this moment to come out to the house again.

Trevor felt bad that Hetty was spending so much of her time trying to comfort Isaac, especially when Trevor hadn’t been able to do anything to help him. He hadn’t told anyone, but he felt a little responsible for Nigel getting sucked off. If Trevor hadn’t suggested that Isaac needed to show Nigel a deeper level of commitment, maybe none of this would have happened. How was he supposed to know that Nigel’s unfinished business was tied up in feeling that he and Isaac had a secure future together?

Trevor wished there was some way he could cheer Isaac up. Maybe there was something in this haunted-looking briefcase that could help. What did Isaac like to do when he wasn’t moping at the window or binge-watching The Bake-Off? That show was actually pretty calming, even if it made Trevor hungry for food he could never have. Isaac loved the segments about baking history in particular. He would always ask Trevor to Google the dishes afterwards, so that he could read more about them. Wait, that was it!

“Should we get one of those books for Isaac?” Trevor blurted out the question. He could not believe he had not thought of it right away.

Sass appraised him, arching an eyebrow. He supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised at Trevor making thoughtful suggestions, but it still made him suspicious of his motivations. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing! He’s just been - understandably - sad lately and maybe being able to read a book would cheer him up, since he was into all that discussing philosophy stuff with the Freemasons.” Trevor still hadn’t told anyone that Isaac, in fact, had not been a Freemason. It sounded like Isaac had been too good for those jerks anyway.

“That’s a great idea! We could have a ghost book club!” Pete chimed in. “Carol always went to book club on Friday nights. Though in retrospect I never saw her reading much of anything. Oh god, she was probably meeting Jerry. Well, that’s just great.”

“Okay fine - we can trade some of my pearls for a book for Isaac.” Alberta conceded, quickly swayed by Pete’s enthusiasm, and wanting to divert from yet another sad revelation about his marriage. Besides, she knew Trevor had nothing he could give the salesman. No one wanted to see him lose any more clothes. And it was a good idea.

“Or you could trade your hat.” Thor chimed in.

“I absolutely will not.” Alberta snapped. Honestly. Thor had no appreciation for fashion.

Flower’s expression dimmed at the prospect of Alberta giving away her pearls. They were so pretty when they caught the light, and fun to play with. “Alberta, you worked so hard to buy those pearls. You should keep them. Or use them to get something fun for yourself.”

“Thanks, Flower. You’re a real pal.” Alberta had not really seen anything in Wendell’s inventory that she had wanted, but the thought was sweet.

“We can give away my earrings instead.” Flower lowered her voice, trying to whisper so that Wendell wouldn’t hear. “Sometimes they tell me strange things.”

Pretending that he hadn’t registered Flower’s last remark, Wendell produced his small collection of books - minus the Bibles - for the ghosts. Trevor saw the winning volume immediately, the title sparking memories of bleary-eyed morning commutes spent reading on the subway. It was a copy of Great Expectations, with a worn green leather cover and gold lettering on the spine.

“Let’s get him this one.” Trevor said, hoping the others would not take much convincing. “I think it came out after Isaac died. So he won’t have read it already.”

“Ah, good choice.” Wendell was always happy to trade away a book, especially ones that were heavy to carry. “I believe this one was from an English professor who got speared by a falling icicle on his way to a lecture.”

Trevor winced. God, there were so many gruesome ways to die. The other ghosts seemed relatively unfazed by the book’s origin story. Maybe decades of listening to Thor’s memories of Viking life made it easier for the others to compartmentalize.

“Oh yeah man, he’s going to love it.” Flower enthused as she removed her earrings and handed them over to Wendell. “Isn’t it groovy when Pip’s secret benefactor turns out to be -”

“Don’t spoil it for them!” Trevor cut Flower off, secretly pleased that she had also already read it.

“Yes, Flower.” Alberta said, taking the book from Trevor’s hands to inspect it. “If we’re all reading this for our ghost book club I want to be surprised!”

“We’ll have to find a good day that works for everybody!” Pete said, excited to add a new recurring gathering to the roster of ghost activities.

“Thor can’t do Wednesdays. Would clash with Housewives of Beverly Hills.”

“We’ll figure it out, Big Guy.” Trevor said. “And thanks Flower, for giving up your earrings for this.”

“No problem, man.” Flower smiled warmly. Escapism was just the thing for grief. That’s why she loved shrooms so much. But a book was probably better for Isaac. “I think this will make Isaac really happy.”

Sass, who had been quietly observing this whole interaction, cleared his throat and looked at Wendell with a sense of purpose. “I don’t want to make a trade, exactly. But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

Sass reached into the beaded bag that hung around his neck and pulled out a handful of seeds. “I died during our harvest festival. Five hundred years ago. These are seeds from the sunflowers, beans, and squash that we grew that year.”

Only Thor had seen these seeds before, when Sass had first arrived. The others had long wondered what was in Sass’ bag, but knew it was rude to ask.

“Every time I tried to scatter these seeds, they poofed right back into my bag.” He had given up after almost a decade of summer attempts. “If I put them in your briefcase, would I be able to take them back out and finally plant them?”

Wendell smiled. Every once in a while, a ghost would have an unusual request. But they were seldom this touching. “I can definitely do that.”

“Thank you.” Sass put the seeds back in his bag, before removing it from his neck and depositing it in Wendell’s briefcase. After retrieving it, Sass placed a sunflower seed on the couch armrest. When it didn’t vanish, Sass’ face broke into a relieved smile.

“Thor also have request for man of sales.” Thor announced, his voice was hoarse with emotion from seeing his oldest friend’s wish granted.

Thor also didn’t want anything for himself from the briefcase. Instead, he explained to Wendell that he, somehow, had a ghost son on a neighboring property.

“My son, Bjorn, is also Viking ghost. Lives at Farnsby’s. Want you to bring my axe to him.”

“Are you sure Thor?” Flower asked, placing her hand on his arm. She looked up at him, overcome with a fondness that she especially felt whenever he talked about his son.

“Thor pass on dagger to Bjorn many moons ago. Bjorn not remember, but he bring it when he travel to find me. As father, I continue to give him the weapons which have made Thor strong.”

Oh, that was strangely touching. Wendell was not sure why a ghost would need multiple weapons, but he did not know much about Viking customs.

“Plus, Flower believe in non-violence. Thor remove temptation.” Thor declared proudly, earning an encouraging smile from Flower. “Now, only use words and fists to inflict great pain on enemies.”

“What enemies could you possibly have here?” Alberta could not help but ask.

“Dane come to mansion once before.” Thor replied soberly. “Could happen again.”

Wendell, still slightly bewildered by the request, politely agreed to help. From the sounds of it, the Farnsby’s house would also have at least one ghost who might be interested in trading.

Although they were mostly touched by Thor’s caring for his son, the Woodstone ghosts were also secretly glad that Thor wouldn’t have his axe anymore. Especially Pete, who still shuddered at the memory of being chopped in half. It hadn’t hurt as much as the arrow, but still, not fun.

Wendell concealed his worry that the axe might be too large to fit into his briefcase. He was wary of disappointing the Viking ghost, who was very much still holding the weapon in his hand. Wendell assumed that he would snap back together if Thor were to attack, but he would rather not find out for himself.

Thankfully, Wendell was able to unpack and rearrange the contents of the briefcase until he could lay the axe diagonally inside. There was no point in burying it too deep, not when the recipient was nearby. He would make the delivery that evening and would never have to worry about visiting Woodstone again. At this moment, Wendell had made the mistake of believing that delivering Thor’s axe to Bjorn would be the most difficult request he would get that day.

—

When Hetty re-entered the parlor, she briefly glanced at both Sass and Thor, who nodded and immediately left the room. Even though he could guess, this time, that Hetty was asking them to go check on Isaac, Trevor felt frustrated that the older ghosts could have entire silent conversations while he could spend days trying to decode one of Hetty’s facial expressions.

Hetty clasped her hands, her left in front as always, and surveyed the room. She shot a hawkish grin at Wendell that he found a little unsettling. She had seemed so morose before. “So, tell me, what brilliant negotiations took place in my absence?”

Flower was eager to show Hetty the Magic 8 Ball, but Trevor quickly replied with “we got a book for Isaac.”

“It was Trev’s idea.” Alberta added. “Figured it would cheer Isaac up.”

Hetty was not listening as Pete started explaining about the plans for a ghost book club. She looked over at Trevor, her mouth slightly agape, briefly astonished by his quiet kindness. She felt a pang of regret, for all those years she had believed him to be nothing more than the feckless finance bro image he projected.

“Flower traded her earrings for it.” Trevor said bashfully. If he were alive, the way Hetty was looking at him right now would be enough to make his heart stop all over again.

“Well,” Hetty cleared her throat, remembering herself somewhat. “Let’s see what you chose.”

Trevor picked up the leather book from the coffee table and handed it to Hetty, their fingers brushing for just a moment too long during the exchange.

“Oh yes,” Hetty began, her voice tremulous. “I think Isaac will very much like it.”

“Have you read it, Hetty?” Flower asked, causing Hetty to startle. Had she been standing so close that whole time?

“Of course.” Hetty blustered. “Novels were considered appropriate reading material for women of my social standing. It has been a while, but I do remember that I quite disliked Estella in this one.”

“Estella deserved so much better.” Trevor said, forgetting his earlier warnings to Flower about spoilers and taking the opportunity to impress Hetty with his unexpected knowledge of Victorian literature. “She basically had no control over her life. Miss Havisham brought her up to never love anyone, until she believed that relationships were only about power. And then she ended up in that terrible marriage.”

Trevor paused, his eyes widening with concern at the sound of Hetty’s jagged exhale. But the look of shock, mingled with a cold recognition, on Hetty’s face quickly morphed into curiosity. Trevor immediately understood what she wished to ask.

“I read it because of The Cutting Edge.” Trevor shrugged, trying to downplay his flush from the emotional current passing between them. Hetty wasn’t fooled by his feigned nonchalance. She knew the significance of that film to him. “Kate gives it to Doug as a gift, so I thought it might be important.”

Wendell witnessed this interaction with equal parts confusion and frustration, annoyed to no longer be included in the conversation. In fact, the other ghosts seemed to have forgotten about him entirely. Eventually, he cleared his throat, causing Hetty to abruptly break Trevor’s gaze.

“Before I leave,” Wendell began, doing his best to command Hetty’s attention, “is there anything you might want from my briefcase, Mrs. -”

“Woodstone.” Hetty supplied, the name sounding like a reproach.

Hetty already knew she would not be making her desired trade in front of the others, but thought it best to maintain appearances. Rather impatiently, she leaned over the briefcase to make a cursory inspection of the items inside.

“Is that Thorfinn’s axe?” She asked, surprised that he had parted with it.

“Oh yes, I have been asked to bring it to some neighboring property. The Farnsby’s?” Only now did Wendell realize that the Viking had left the room before he could get exact directions.

“Well then, if the others are also finished availing of your services,” Hetty said decisively, adopting a tone of voice she reserved for issuing declarations, “as the lady of the house I shall escort you to the property line and direct you to the Farnsby’s. It is only two doors down.”

Wendell assented, carefully closing up his briefcase. The ghosts who were still in the room tore their attention away from the Magic 8 Ball and said their goodbyes to the unexpected visitor.

“Come back when you have flats or some whiskey for me, sweetheart.” Alberta said invitingly. She winked at Wendell, who could not help but blush in response. He never visited the same place twice, but he rarely met anyone so beautiful either.

Trevor caught Hetty’s eye during this exchange, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head towards the stairs. Hetty nodded, quirking her lips in a private smile. Their usual time in the basement had come and gone during the salesman’s visit. Despite the excitement of the day, Trevor had clearly missed their alone time as much as she had.

As she moved to exit the parlor, Hetty straightened her spine and resolutely steeled her expression. It would not take long to get what she needed from Mr. Schneider. And when she returned, she thought with a frisson of excitement, Hetty knew exactly where she would find Trevor.

—

Wendell thought he knew what to expect with Hetty Woodstone. He had seen many women like her, especially in his early years on the road: wealthy ladies who took great pleasure in controlling the day to day running of their household because they were powerless in other facets of their lives and were looking for distraction from their sadness.

He had expected her to lead a conversation, or to ramble about the legacy of the Woodstone estate. Instead, Hetty walked silently alongside him, letting an unnameable tension fizzle in the air. She finally stopped and addressed him once they came to a large tree stump, just beside a grand house with a conservatory.

“The Farnsby’s house is directly behind this one.” Hetty announced. “You will find Thorfinn’s son there.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Woodsto-” Wendell began, ready to set off. Instead, Hetty interrupted him.

“Before you leave, Mr. Schneider.” Her words were full of decorum, but her eyes were cat-like in their focus. “I have an exchange I wish to make.”

Wendell set down his briefcase, wondering what she possibly could want from him that she did not wish the other ghosts to know about.

With a sharp intake of breath, Hetty twisted her wedding ring, loosening it until it slid off her pale finger. Wendell watched her with wide eyes.

Hetty set the ring down in the palm of her outstretched hand. She studied the familiar black stone encased by dozens of small diamonds, trapped, just like she had been.

“It is a beautiful ring.” Wendell offered, gingerly picking it up to inspect it. “African diamonds?”

“Brazilian.” Hetty answered. If Mr. Schneider truly knew his jewels, he would understand the significance.

The diamonds had been acquired to enhance the more modest ring Elias had offered during the closure of the land deal. No doubt he had used her family’s money to buy them. Elias had brought land, not material wealth, to the marriage, but he liked to pretend at being the magnanimous wealthy husband - at least in front of polite society.

By the 1870s, just about anybody could buy diamonds from the larger African mines, but their previous rarity meant that Hetty’s ring had been quite the conversation piece in the early years of her marriage. When she had told Samantha about it, she remembered her muttering something about ethical diamonds, which had made no sense to her. How on earth could you run a mine ethically and still expect to turn a profit?

“Well this certainly is a valuable piece.” Wendell conceded. “Did you have something in mind that you wish to trade it for?”

“It is nothing you currently have in your possession.” Wendell wrinkled his forehead in confusion. Hetty calmly smiled as she continued, keeping her tone firm and eerily sweet. “It is something you are going to get for me.”

“I don’t usually take requests -” Wendell stammered.

“I am not making a request.” Hetty retorted sharply. “I am demanding that you take this ring and use it to acquire a pair of pants.”

“Pants - for you?” Wendell was baffled. Surely a woman of her standing had never worn a pair of trousers in her life.

“No, for Trevor.” Hetty clarified, looking somewhat exasperated. “The ghost in an unfortunate state of undress? Surely, you recall.”

Oh, of course. Wendell had felt quite badly for him. His legs must be so cold in the winter months. But this was not his problem to solve.

“I am sorry, Mrs. Woodstone, but I do not think that is possible. As I said before, most ghosts don’t die with extra clothing and convincing someone to trade me their pants…”

“Are you, or are you not, a salesman?” Hetty sneered. “Strike a bargain, steal, swindle somebody, I don’t care. But you will return to Woodstone within the year with a suitable pair of pants for Trevor. And you will bring them directly to me.” She seemed to tower over him as she spoke. “And if you fail? I sent my ex-husband to Hell and I will not hesitate to do the same to you.”

The salesman looked suitably frightened, but Hetty was on a roll. She hadn’t instilled fear into the help in so long and it felt quite invigorating.

“And Mr. Schneider, if you think you can avoid me, remember that my descendant, Samantha, is a journalist. At my behest, she will use her investigative skills to track you down, and along the way she will spread a message among all the ghosts of the state of New York and beyond that you are nothing but a con man. So do not even think about trying to renege on this deal. Do you understand me?”

Wendell nodded, stunned. Wordlessly, with an air of resignation, he opened his briefcase, carefully placing Hetty’s ring in a silk pouch he reserved for fine jewelry.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Schneider.” Hetty said, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Safe travels.”

Hetty watched the shaken salesman carry his briefcase, the ring stowed safely inside, across the property line. She waited to leave until he had vanished from view. As Hetty made her way through the woods, back towards the mansion, she flexed her now weightless fingers. She felt free, empowered even.

Hetty’s triumphant air quickly turned to dread as she anticipated the reaction her missing ring would elicit from the other ghosts. Maybe, she tried to console herself, they would not even notice the ring’s disappearance. Or they would be sensible enough to avoid questioning her about it. The subject would only become entirely unavoidable if Wendell actually returned to Woodstone to satisfy his end of the bargain.

Hetty was not quite sure how to explain her actions. She could have simply given the salesman her ring and exchanged it for anything he had of value. Or she could have asked him to merely remove it from the property, with no bargain required. That would have achieved what she had initially thought to be her purpose: showing that Elias no longer had a claim to her. Instead, Hetty had been driven by an irrepressible certainty that demanding a pair of pants for Trevor, irrespective of the consequences she would face, had simply been the right thing to do.

Hetty brushed her thoughts aside as she entered the mansion, having done far too much introspection for one day. Stepping over the threshold, she beelined for the basement, her body already burning at the thought of Trevor waiting for her.

As Hetty approached the stairs she froze at the sound of conversation, only continuing when she realized it was merely Jay’s voice echoing from the kitchen.

“Babe, what do you mean a traveling salesman ghost came here?” He whined. “Ghosts can have jobs now?”

Chapter Text

Hetty had not counted on Trevor immediately noticing that her ring was missing. Okay, maybe not immediately. He was usually pretty observant, but he and Hetty hadn’t gotten to make out all day. At first, he was a little, okay, very, distracted by kissing her hello.

Trevor had missed her. He sometimes missed her when they were standing right beside each other in the crowded parlor, in the way you could only long for someone who lay just beyond your reach.

He had gone to the basement room to wait for Hetty while she escorted Wendell to the property line. Trevor was still disappointed that the salesman did not have a pair of pants for him - even if it had been a longshot. He paced, turning over the events of the day in his head, hoping Isaac would like the book when the other ghosts presented it to him tomorrow.

When Hetty bustled into the basement room, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, Trevor opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace, his hands settling on her hips as they kissed hello, in a way that felt more tentative, softer, than usual.

“You always taste like summertime.” Hetty said offhandedly. Her face was a little flushed and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling their bodies closer together.

“You’re a Peach.” Trevor beamed.

“I don’t know what that means,” Hetty narrowed her eyes and huffed adorably, “but I resent being compared to a stone fruit.”

“Hetty, no, it is the name of the lip balm.” Trevor couldn’t help but smile at Hetty’s exasperated expression. “It’s meant to be a pun.” Trevor had bought it from the same company that made the nail polishes whose names he had memorized.

“Very well,” Hetty kissed him again, her eyes bright with mischief. “I can’t say I care much for the name, but the taste…is satisfactory.” Hetty moved her hands up from his waist, gripping his face to lean deeper into the kiss, and that was when he noticed it. He hadn’t realized before how cold the metal of her ring had been until all he could feel was the smooth warmth of her fingers on his cheeks.

How had she taken her ring off? Trevor stilled somewhat, his brain trying to process what could have happened to make Hetty’s ring disappear. She must have traded it to Wendell. But for what? And why not in front of the others? Was Hetty in some sort of trouble? And was she planning to keep it from him? He was trying to focus on Hetty, on the electricity crackling under his skin and the warmth rushing through every blood vessel in his body, but his thoughts were spiraling and he broke the kiss, gasping.

The flicker of annoyance on Hetty’s face quickly turned to concern upon seeing the way his chest was heaving, as though he actually needed air to breathe.

“Trevor, are you alright?” Hetty asked. She had seen this overwhelmed expression on his face before, soon after he had found out that his parents were divorced. Hetty had never met someone so liable to assume responsibility for any problem that so much as grazed the people he cared about.

“I’m fine -” Trevor lied, eliciting an incredulous eyebrow raise from Hetty. “Okay, sorry - I just have a lot on my mind all of a sudden.”

“Would you perhaps…” Hetty began, her tone sounding unsure. “We could do some pillow talk? If that would help?”

Usually, pillow talk was after sex. But Trevor was never, ever, going to tell Hetty about that technicality.

“Okay, yeah, that would help.” Trevor smiled, his anxiety mingled with delight that Hetty had been the one to suggest talking. That would make bringing up the ring a lot easier. He knew he couldn’t keep lugging around all the conversations he was too afraid to even start.

“That was some day.” He offered, leaning gingerly on the nightstand, crossing his arms.

“Quite. And to think - we could have been trading in something other than back rubs - ”

“And TV time,” Trevor cut in with a cheeky grin, already feeling calmer.

Hetty tried to hide the fondness lurking in her glare. It had been amusing, and in retrospect energizing, watching him try to outwit her.

“And who knew, Flower is now the richest one of all of us - with all that jewelry she had to trade!” Hetty exclaimed, but frowned, internally berating herself for having brought up jewelry at all.

“Are you disappointed?” She said quietly, glancing down at her bare hands, eager to change the subject. “That Mr. Schneider did not have pants for you?”

“Yes,” Trevor admitted, shifting slightly. “But I mean what were the odds of that? It’s more…like I hadn’t even considered getting pants to be an option. And for a second it was. Sometimes that is harder. Knowing what could have been and having the possibility ripped away.” Like when you almost got banished he wanted to say, but the sentence was too heavy to release into the air between them.

Hetty scrunched up the corner of her mouth, but she said nothing. Trevor stood up, feeling stiff suddenly.

“I can’t believe Wendell can just go anywhere.” Trevor flopped down on the bed, staring up at the dismal basement ceiling. Hetty perched on the bed beside him, looking thoughtful.

“I mean, he has to lug that briefcase around, but if I were him I bet it would be fun to revisit all the places I partied when I was alive.” And he would go and find Jeremy. He worried that the memorial had been his only chance to see his brother again.

“I never went much of anywhere.” Hetty said, her expression wistful now. “To the city a dozen or so times - for important social functions - but I never left New York. To think I had all the money in the world, but I never…well, it can’t be helped.” She held her hands in her lap, briefly startled to not see her ring glaring back up at her. For a moment, she had forgotten it was gone.

Trevor could tell from the glazed look in her eyes that her mind had gone somewhere that he didn’t yet know how to reach. Hetty so rarely spoke openly about her life, before he had known her, before he had even been thought of. There was so much about her that felt like it was obscured by fogged up windows and delicate, strangling veils.

Sure, Hetty would make snide remarks about Elias or boast about the feuds she had masterminded in mansion drawing rooms. He could recite every one of her stories back to her, if she asked. Yet, when she was lamenting that she didn’t have cocaine or laudanum to deal with her emotions, Hetty seldom shared how she had actually felt about so much of what had happened to her. Which is likely the reason she wanted the drugs in the first place. Besides drugs being fun. When they didn’t lead to your heart literally exploding.

Even after being dead for 130 years, Hetty carried tension from her life in her body. Trevor had noticed that she almost never relaxed. Her posture was always straight, fixed in place by a corset and years of social conditioning. Even when she touched the other ghosts, there was something solid about it. She would grip and hold but never fully let herself fall into the other person.

He knew what a relaxed Hetty looked like, now that they had worked up to cuddling. It hadn’t really been a discussion, more like they had started collapsing after sex and Trevor certainly never made a move to leave, not when Hetty would bonelessly snuggle into him. Trevor would lie beside her, legs tangled in the folds of her dress, a loose curl laced between his fingers, pressing stray kisses to her temples, when he would feel it happen: Hetty would sigh and suddenly she was lighter, softer. For a moment, she had forgotten that there could be something to fear. It filled his whole body with warmth and pride, when she sighed like that. He wished he could skip to them feeling that light all the time.

Trevor sat up, turning to her with a serious but kind look on his face that Hetty knew meant trouble.

“Hetty, why did you -” Trevor paused, choosing his words, knowing he needed to start small if he had any hope of this discussion happening.

“You gave the salesman your ring.” Hetty furrowed her brow and frowned, slightly. Okay, no, she wouldn’t have just given it away. You don’t get rich that way. She must have gotten something for it.

“Traded it to him, I guess.” Trevor recovered.

“Yes,” Hetty admitted, still caught off guard. She found she did not know what to say to continue, or end, this conversation.

“That is why you stopped?” Hetty frowned, “Just now?”

“I was surprised. And I panicked.” Trevor was rambling now, his feelings and thoughts tumbling together on his tongue, “And I just wanted to make sure -”

“You were that alarmed” Hetty scoffed, but there was a quiver underneath it, “over my old, but admittedly very expensive, ring?”

“No, Hetty. I mean, of course I want to know what happened to your ring…” Trevor could do this. One less weight for them to carry around.“But I was concerned about you.”

This disclosure startled them both. Hetty knew her face must have betrayed her. The brief tremble of her lip was all the permission Trevor needed to move towards her.

“We only have to talk about it if you want to.” He said gently, taking her hand carefully, as though she were made of paper, and he did not want her to crumple beyond repair.

Trevor was looking at her so patiently, his expression open and calm and inviting. There it was again, that concern, that persistent caring that underlined everything he did. Trevor was always pausing to check if she was okay, noticing when she froze up or shifted her tone. She still was not accustomed to someone paying that much attention to her behavior without the intention to correct it.

And suddenly, Hetty did want to share with him. Oh, not the whole truth - Mr. Schneider searching for the pants might all come to nothing - but at least part of what had motivated her to force the ring upon him.

“I wanted to be rid of it.” Trevor’s eyes softened at her admission. Sometimes Hetty saw a tenderness in them that made her breath hitch. He kept her hand in his, and rubbed his thumb over her now bare fingers.

“When I died -” Hetty said, haltingly, “well, Elias was missing. And he never came back to the mansion. I was certain that he had left me, taken my riches and started a second life somewhere with one of his mistresses.”

“But he was in the vault.” A solemn look of understanding dawned on Trevor’s face. “And you didn’t know.”

Twenty years had felt endless to Trevor. He couldn’t imagine spending over a century wondering what had happened to his family. He had thought about it while he was waiting for Hetty. If he could travel like Wendell, if he could leave, would he really try to find them? Or would it be too sad to see his mother alone in the house where he grew up? Could he find his old apartment, or go to where the trading floor had been, knowing neither of those places held a trace of his memory? And soon everyone he had ever known while he was alive would be dead. Would he stand there and watch that happen? Maybe being able to visit more than one location as a ghost had its drawbacks.

“This whole time, I have been a widow.” Hetty said bitterly, her voice breaking slightly. “I know, now, that my marriage wasn’t -”

“It wasn’t your fault, Hetty.” Trevor said, cupping her cheek with his free hand. Hetty leaned into the touch, letting tears silently roll down her face for a moment.

Elias had her forgiveness, no matter how misguided she had been in giving it, and all she had left was regret at the wasted potential of her own life.

“I am not his wife anymore.” Hetty declared. “I had no choice about that in life, but I do now.”

Hetty’s tone was so resolute, her damp eyes so full of fire, that Trevor just gazed at her in wonder for a moment. To be so unabashedly herself, with all she had endured. She had been forced to commit to a life with a man that she truly hated, while he had never felt ready to commit to spending his life with one person - no matter how much he had believed that he wanted a future with someone. Neither of them really knew, he realized, what it felt like to be completely open, and vulnerable, and loving with another person. Yet here they stood, always on the precipice of emotional annihilation, waiting for the other to jump first, with only the faint hope that they would land softly.

Maybe she really had just given the ring away. This was her only chance to get rid of it and she took it. Like everything Hetty did, she saw her opportunity and pounced on it, consequences be damned. What she had gotten from parting with her ring wasn’t something material, but a sense of freedom that had never been possible for her before.

Trevor did not know, yet, that Hetty had taken the ring off once before. The day Elias had come back from Hell. After signing the wretched contract, too overcome with remorse to be around the others, Hetty had taken a walk out to the lake. Standing on the shore, hot tears burning at the thought that Elias would be back in her house forever now, that she was forever trapped in the home she both loved and loathed for all its memories, she had wrenched that ring off her finger and flung it into the lake, waiting for a satisfying plop when it hit the water that never came. It always zapped back onto her finger, no matter how many times she hurled it away.

“He could come back anytime.” Hetty said ruefully. Trevor knew she was talking about Elias, without her having to say it.

“If he ever does, we’ll be ready.” Trevor was not a violent person; but he would punch Elias square in his haughty, mustached jaw if it would make Hetty feel better.

Hetty nodded, and fell into his arms for a hug. Trevor rubbed small circles on her back as she rested her chin on his shoulder. And just like that, Hetty sighed, and Trevor felt her relax.

—

The next morning, Trevor sleepily stood with Sass out by the lake. The melodic birdsong and buzz of cicadas in the summer heat was punctuated only by the screams of Thor and Bjorn’s daily conversation rolling along the wind.

“THANK YOU FOR THE AXE, FATHER.”

Trevor grimaced. Their screaming somehow felt louder this morning. And he already had a crick in his neck from sleeping on the couch in the library last night.

“YES, SON, THOR USE IT TO KILL MANY DANES.”

Trevor winced. It was too early to be thinking about death; even if he was going to wake up dead every morning for the rest of eternity.

Sasappis only rolled his eyes, and turned to kneel on the ground. Jay had spent the last hour digging dozens of small holes in a spot by the lake that Sass had shown Sam last night. He would be back soon, to cover them up again.

“How did you pick this spot anyway?” Trevor asked, cupping his hands so that Sass could pour the seeds from his bag into them.

“There used to be a stream here.” Sass said, looking forlorn for a moment, before shaking his head. “The soil should still be good for growing.”

There were so many versions of this place that Trevor had never seen. Only Sasappis and Hetty were truly from here, he realized now. The rest of them had only been passing through; had gotten stuck here seemingly by mistake. What did it mean, that Sass and Hetty had been born and lived and died on this land, only to spend their afterlives watching everything they had known disintegrate and change beyond recognition? Trevor suddenly wanted to ask Sass more about it, but found he didn’t know how.

“You have to plant everything together.” Sass explained, his voice gentler than Trevor had ever heard it. “When you mix the squash, beans, and sunflowers in the same soil they help each other grow.”

“Can ghost seeds even grow?” Trevor whispered, feeling something close to reverence watching Sass plucking the seeds from his outstretched palms before patting them into the unmoving soil.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Sass shrugged. Trevor thought he saw him smile, just for a second.

—

That afternoon, all of the ghosts were in Trevor and Thor’s room, having lured Isaac there on false pretenses (a Bake-Off marathon). Really, they all wanted to see Isaac’s face when they presented him with his gift.

“Surprise!” Hetty cheered, as Trevor handed Isaac the book.

“It’s from Wendell’s briefcase.” Sass explained, slightly drowned out by Pete blurting out “We’re going to have a ghost book club!” at the same moment.

“For me?” Isaac looked genuinely moved. “Oh wow, I haven’t held a book in so long.”

“Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.” Isaac read, tracing the gilded lettering on the cover.

“Is English novel.” Thor announced, gesturing broadly. “Commentary on self-improvement and destructive nature of the class system.”

The other ghosts turned to Thor, bewildered.

“Flower explain last night.” He beamed, placing his hands on his hips.

“Great job, babe.” Flower said with a goofy smile.

“Oh Henrietta, so that is where your ring went!” Isaac exclaimed carelessly. “You traded it to that salesman to get a book for me!”

The other ghosts had not noticed Hetty’s missing ring until now, and all turned to stare at her. She clasped her hands together, but it was too late to hide the absence.

“Flower gave away her earrings for the book, Isaac.” Alberta corrected.

“Oh yeah, I did.” Flower said, just remembering. “They were trying to warn me that -”

“And it was Trevor’s idea.” Pete chimed in.

“Thank you,” Isaac said, to both Trevor and Flower, but he was distracted from the book now. He was discomfited that his dear friend had not told him about deciding to trade her ring, especially after their conversation yesterday. “So, Hetty, does that mean you got something too?”

“I didn’t realize you had anything to trade.” Pete said, when Hetty hesitated. “All I have is my Pinecone Trooper uniform. And I couldn’t get rid of that. Good for you!

“This isn’t about you Pete!” Sass snapped.

“Did small man of sales rob you of ring?” Thor demanded, his brow furrowing. “Bjorn may have time to use axe to cut his head off before he leave Farnsby’s.”

“Or did you just get Wendell to move the ring to a secret location so you can use it for blackmail purposes later?” Sass could not believe he had almost missed out on this drama.

“Girl,” Alberta admonished, “Flower traded so much jewelry away yesterday I will be mad if you were holding out that ring from us.”

Faced with this barrage of questions, Hetty did something Trevor never would have expected. She stayed silent.

Hetty’s hands were still clasped tightly together, her knuckles turning white. Her head was lowered and she was biting her lower lip, like she was waiting for it to be over.

Trevor realized he was seeing a glimpse of a past version of Hetty, of a ghost that still lived inside her, haunting her bones. And he felt so overcome, so angry in a way he had never been about anything in life, that he couldn’t help what he did next.

“Hey, guys. Lay off her.” Trevor commanded. “The ring is gone, that’s it. Finito. I’m sure Hetty will tell us the rest when she wants to. Until then, it’s none of our business.”

The ghosts were so startled by Trevor’s tone that they all fell silent and had the decency to look somewhat contrite. They mumbled their apologies to Hetty, who barely acknowledged them, her eyes fixed on Trevor with a wide, indecipherable stare.

Hetty had certainly never witnessed anyone defending her when it didn’t immediately stand to benefit them. But somehow, that wasn’t the thing that surprised her most about the whole interaction. A few months ago, she would have been scandalized that Trevor’s affection for her was so blatantly on display, but now, she found that she wasn’t at all. In fact, it made her chest swell with a tenderness towards him that she could not remember experiencing before.

“We need to lighten up if we are going to get our ghost book club organized.” Trevor announced, somewhat hoarsely, trying to get things back on track. “Hey, Pete, why don’t you tell everyone that Reader’s Digest joke from earlier today?”

Pete immediately and obliviously sprung at the opportunity to share yet another terrible joke. Trevor had heard it already, but it would give Hetty a moment to collect herself.

“What does Charles Dickens keep in his spice rack?” Pete asked. He was so happy that today’s joke was relevant to their book club. What a coincidence!

“The best of thymes, the worst of thymes.” Pete beamed, and the ghosts who got the joke groaned.

“Is opening of A Tale of Two Cities but with pun.” Thor explained.

“Literally, how do you know that?” Sass groaned.

“Thor like to do extra reading.”

—

Alberta had laughed at Pete’s joke, but really she had been watching Trevor and Hetty have a silent conversation. In twenty years, she had never seen Trevor admonish the other ghosts. He was practically allergic to conflict. And now, he was glancing at Hetty every other second? And she was glancing right back?

Hetty and Trevor must be back together. That was the only explanation. Did she need to give Trev another “if you hurt her” speech? Ooh she loved getting to put on a show! In Alberta’s mind, the “if you hurt her” speech always included some variant of “if you hurt her I will encase your legs in cement and toss you in the river.” That’s what you got for running with bootleggers.

Maybe this time she needed to give the speech to Hetty instead. She could snap that boy in half without even realizing it. Caring about someone gave them all the ammunition they needed to destroy you. And Trevor was proving to be the most softhearted of all the ghosts, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Alberta knew what it was like, to smile, and laugh, and perform to try and get everyone to like you. It was a lot easier to avoid your feelings while having fun. If the party never ended, if every night was more thrilling than the last, you would never have to confront why you were constantly chasing a high alone in a room full of people.

The conversation had moved on to the logistics of how eight ghosts were going to share one book, and who would run the meetings. Alberta decided to let it go, for now. Let them think they were being sneaky for a bit longer.

—

The first Ghost Book Club meeting had barely begun when Sam interrupted it. Isaac was concluding a lengthy series of remarks on the importance of collective literary analysis as an intellectual pursuit when Sam strolled into the parlor. The whole purpose of the book club had been to cheer Isaac up, but listening to this speech was beyond most of the ghost’s levels of patience. And they had sat through several of Pete's rope-free knot tying lectures.

“Oh, right, Great Expectations!” Sam said enthusiastically, oblivious to just how welcome her interruption had been. “Have you gotten to the part yet where Pip -?”

“Spoilers!!” The whole room of ghosts echoed together.

“Didn’t that book come out in the 1800s?” Sam asked.

“1861.” Both Hetty and Flower supplied, almost in unison, much to Hetty’s horror.

Hetty actually remembered it being released, but Flower loved to memorize dates. It was one of the easiest parts of law school. One day, when they least expected it, Flower was going to recite all the constitutional amendments and their years of ratification in order. And maybe she would throw in a fake amendment, to see if any of the other ghosts noticed. That would be fun.

“So, isn’t it a bit late for spoiler warnings?” Sam suggested, scrunching her nose.

“Some of us were already dead then, Samantha,” Isaac said pointedly, “and we couldn’t exactly keep up with our reading.”

“Oh, right. Well, speaking of reading,” Sam brandished an oversized brown envelope, “Isaac, my editor sent over some notes on the biography manuscript.”

“Don’t they like, email those things now?” Trevor asked, eyeing the envelope skeptically.

“He’s kind of old school.” Sam offered, her smile dimming. “And apparently he had too many edits to just put in an email.”

“In that case,” Isaac clapped his hands in delight, “we must cut this discussion short so that Samantha and I can immediately get to work on the first of many long sessions of meticulously editing my life story.”

Isaac moved to stand. Sam rushed forward to stop him, as if that were physically possible.

“No, Isaac, finish your book club meeting. We can start tomorrow.” She had a somewhat crazed look in her eyes. “I have some…other projects I can work on in the meantime.”

“Do you think she is finally adding my tree paragraph back to the website?” Sass asked, once Sam had zipped out of the room.

“Please.” Alberta guffawed. “After your fib about the Hi-Tree led to Sam getting protested and called the Lenape Liar?”

“And being addressed as ‘a Karen’”, Hetty chimed in, “which I understand to be some sort of derision specifically directed at women who know when a manager’s interference is warranted.”

“Well what else could she be working on? She hasn’t been to the Ulster County Review offices in weeks.” Sass still had not gotten the chance to return Shiki’s “‘sup” that Wendell had delivered.

“We here to talk book. Not Sam’s journalism. Thor worried about Pip.” How Thor managed to combine such authority and concern in his tone, the other ghosts would never understand, but it certainly got their attention.

“Small boy’s sister very mean to him. Resent having to care for him.” Thor looked emotional suddenly. “Make Thor realize, Thor lucky to have known and loved his brothers before they die in battle.”

“Oh Thor, one of my brothers went to war too. And it was not a groovy war.” Flower put her hand over Thor’s, squeezing gently as she shared. Flower did not think you were supposed to mix book club and group therapy, but she never liked to follow rules anyway. “We protested and protested, but they still kept sending people to Vietnam. I regretted every day that I didn’t stop Robby from going too, until Trevor and Sam helped me find him.”

“And he still loves me. His little sister.” Flower was crying now, but smiling too, like a star was burning bright inside her. “We are so lucky that we know our siblings wouldn’t have hurt us like Mrs. Gargery hurt Pip.”

“Thor is lucky to know you, Flower.” They were staring at each other with such mutual fondness, and yep, now they were making out during the book club meeting.

Pete cleared his throat, his voice high, “while this discussion really shows some good improv principles, lots of listening and building on each other’s contributions, it was my turn to do reading questions this week and I did prepare a substantial list.”

“We’re doing a rotation thing.” Trevor confirmed, for the several pairs of concerned eyes that were directed his way.

“Henrietta is leading the discussion in two week’s time.” Isaac announced, to Trevor’s relief. “But yes, Pete the floor is still yours for the opening four chapters.”

“Okay!” Pete clapped his hands, delighted to be serving as the book club’s troop leader. “Our story begins in an English graveyard. So spooky! Now who can tell me, what does Pip steal to free the convict?”

—

The next morning, Hetty and Isaac were strolling down by the lake, the rest of the walking crew having sped considerably ahead of them.

Hetty’s feet hurt a great deal more than she would ever express in polite company, but Isaac did not mind slowing his pace for her.

“Henrietta, I owe you an apology.” Isaac broke their companionable silence.

“For bringing me on this uneven path knowing that I am wearing heels for all eternity?”

“No,” but when Hetty looked affronted, he corrected “well, yes, that, of course. But I also wanted to apologize for my behavior two weeks ago - when you all gave me the book.”

Hetty tilted her head, trying to find the meaning in Isaac’s statement. “If you lied to us about being happy with the choice, it is far too late to correct it. Mr. Schneider is probably in Delaware by now. And Peter is invested in whether those convicts escaped recapture.”

“No. Hetty,” he clasped her hands in his. “I am sorry for assuming you traded away your ring for the book for me. And for putting you under the spotlight about it in front of all the other ghosts.”

“Thank you, Isaac.” Hetty offered a sincere smile and a nod of acceptance, knowing that Isaac would have more remarks prepared before she could formally offer her forgiveness.

When Isaac started quoting Plato, Hetty raised her eyebrows disapprovingly and he moved swiftly along. “The point is, I pushed you publicly to share information you did not wish to disclose - as to the whereabouts of your ring and any exchanges made for it - and for that I am sorry.”

“Truly, if Trevor had not forced Pete to share that nonsense joke we all might have behaved even more indecorously.” Isaac’s tone softened for a moment, his voice laced with reflection. “Trevor is a lot kinder than you or I ever gave him credit for.”

Isaac did not need to know that Hetty gave Trevor plenty of credit for his kindness behind a certain closed basement door. Smirking, Hetty allowed herself a second to soak in Isaac’s compliment for Trevor. She probably would tell him about it later, just to see him smile about it.

“Is that not what we are learning in Ghost Book Club?” She retorted wryly, “not to judge a book based on the great expectations we have for it?”

“Well, what I am learning in book club is that Pete’s questions are far too technically minded.” Isaac declared. “Why does it matter what type of alcohol Mr. Pumblechook brought to dinner?”

“Indeed!” Although Hetty suspected Pete had put in the alcohol question for Alberta’s sake.

“What matters is why Mr. Dickens gave him a dreadful name like Pumblechook.” Hetty said cattily, receiving an appraising eyebrow raise from Isaac in response. She had known him long enough to decipher his meaning.

“Excuse me,” Hetty huffed, with only feigned indignation. “I will have you know that Henrietta means ‘keeper of the hearth’ and ‘ruler of the household’; so it is a most appropriate name for me as lady of the house.”

“And I suppose you expect me to believe that Isaac means - wait!” Isaac cut off his own witty comeback, coming to an abrupt halt.

Just beyond the path, Hetty could already see the reason Isaac had stopped. The seeds that Sasappis had planted by the lakeside had begun to sprout. The bean and squash seedlings were low to the ground, but the sunflower stalks already stood a foot tall and were shooting up towards the balmy summer sun.

Isaac and Hetty walked arm in arm down to the lakeshore, and stood watching the tableaux of the plants and the lake before them. Hetty rested her head on Isaac’s shoulder.

“Apology accepted, Isaac.” She offered after a moment of peaceful pondering. “It is flattering that you think I did remotely anything with that cursed ring other than demand Mr. Schneider remove it from the property.”

Isaac held her hands in his, both of them were cold. “I was too wrapped up in my own grief, and all that discussion of engagement, to notice that your wedding ring still caused pain for you.”

Isaac had seen Hetty’s entire marriage unfold. He had been powerless to stop it, but he should have known the things he had witnessed were not so easily forgotten by those who lived them.

“I suppose,” She ventured, not wanting to reflect on her life any longer, “if the timing had turned out differently, you could have used it to propose to Nigel. If he didn’t already want ethical diamonds.”

“What are ethical diamonds?” Isaac marveled.

“Absolutely no clue.” Hetty deadpanned, causing them both to laugh.

“Probably Samantha fabricated the idea to make herself feel better about Jay having bought her engagement ring from a lesser mining establishment.” Hetty shook her head. “It is an absolute wonder that modern businesses function at all.”

“I don’t think a lot of these newer businesses are worried about their legacy, like I am with my book, or you are with your estate.” Isaac philosophized. “When you are starting out, survival is the goal. Legacy is a luxury.”

Looking out at Sass’ seedlings, which had laid dormant for 500 years waiting to be planted, and were now thriving in the morning light, Hetty felt overwhelmed by how very long and short time felt here. They had all lost a tree that had watched over the property since Sasappis’ lifetime - and now its seeds, as well as the seeds from Sasappis’ pouch - were creating a new legacy on the landscape, one that could outlast him.

“Legacy. What is a legacy?” Hetty hadn’t even realized she was singing, though it was barely audible. “It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

“Really, Hetty,” Isaac sounded more amused than annoyed, “Hamilton, again?”

“There really is a lyric for every situation!” Hetty said, hoping her eyes were dry as she turned to face him.

“Well, let’s do what Hamilton did when he saw the bill for his night at the whorehouse and skedaddle!”

“If we could die,” Hetty mused, turning back towards the path. “I imagine the rest of the walking group would be very worried that we had been murdered.”

Isaac scoffed. “As if anyone could go into battle against Hetty Woodstone and win.”

Hetty rolled her eyes, but puffed out her chest as she took Isaac’s arm. They laughed and bickered as they strolled back to the mansion, her ancestral home, where they knew Samantha and the other ghosts would be waiting for them.

Chapter Text

Hetty lay on her bed, knowing she would soon have to begin the long process of convincing her ghostly form to sleep. She wondered if Mr. Schneider would return. Hetty envisioned him walking up to her with the pants, and her triumphantly handing them to Trevor, his face transformed by a brilliant smile of delight.

Instead of filling her with vindication, the imagined scene worried her. Nigel had gotten sucked off because he was truly happy. Would the same thing happen to Trevor if he finally got a pair of pants? It sounded absurd, but once the thought had occurred to Hetty it kept rolling slowly around in her brain, making a hushed, echoing sound that felt louder at night, when she was alone.

Her reverie was interrupted by Sass literally sticking his head through the bedroom door. Hetty was too emotionally exhausted to even protest the inappropriate hour of the visit.

“Hey, man, I think Hetty was just going to sleep.” Flower said, by way of greeting.

Well, that was polite of her. Maybe Flower could be a courteous roommate - once she finally understood that hair braiding was non-negotiable.

“Sorry, Hetty.” Sass waved apologetically, looking tired, no, weary, himself.

“Flower, can I borrow the Magic 8 Ball?” He asked. “Pete wants to use it to interpret his dreams. He wakes up in the middle of the night with them. A lot.”

“Right on.” Flower nodded. “Just bring it back tomorrow before morning coffee - so we can ask it what sort of day Jay is going to have. I hope it is a good one!”

Flower threw the Magic 8 Ball across the room at Sass, who caught it clumsily. God, Flower missed playing basketball. And getting high with the point guard at halftime. It was never as fun to be high from your own supply.

“Flower,” Hetty admonished, as soon as Sass left the room, “you really ought to be charging for the use of that device.”

“But why?” Flower sounded so sincere that Hetty almost audibly groaned.

Hetty sat up, exasperated at having to lecture on the basics of business to her roommate yet again. “How else do you expect to amass a wealth in back rubs?”

“Well,” Flower offered, “Thor gives me all the back rubs I want; and I don’t need to be some capitalist tycoon for that.”

Hetty was silent, unsure of how to respond. Her spine felt stiff, like one of her ribs had popped just so slightly out of place.

“You know,” Flower ventured, her tone suggesting an avenue of conversation that Hetty already disliked, “when I am in Thor’s room...”

“I certainly do not need to hear whatever it is you get up to in there!” Hetty wasn’t prudish about sex in general anymore, it was more that she did not want to imagine one of her oldest friends and her roommate “doing it” as Trevor would say.

“No, I mean,” Flower lowered her voice, “I bet Trevor would come to our room if you invited him.”

“I don’t know what you are suggesting, Flower.” Hetty said after a pause that went on for a second too long for her to believably feign ignorance. “It would be most inappropriate…”

“Hetty,” Flower said, smiling gently, “I know you and Trevor are still a couple.”

“I beg your pardon?” She knew Trevor would not have told anyone. He was good at keeping secrets. So how could Flower possibly know? Had that infernal Magic 8 Ball revealed it to her?

“You really aren’t that sneaky, or that quiet, but I don’t think the others have noticed.” Flower said, looking increasingly thoughtful and delighted. “Maybe you are sneaky and I just pay attention more than anyone else…but that doesn’t seem right.”

Hetty was suitably stunned, but that did not seem to deter Flower from continuing her monologue.

“And whatever man, it is totally cool if you want to sneak around. But Trevor’s always going somewhere else to sleep when I go to him and Thor’s room and I bet he would be really happy if you asked him to stay in here with you.”

“Well, I- ” Hetty cleared her throat. Better to end this conversation than to incriminate herself further. “Thank you Flower. I shall take what you have said into consideration.”

“Have a groovy night, Hetty.” Flower said with a knowing smile, throwing a wink at her roommate before she disappeared through the wall.

—

Hetty crept into the library, cursing each creaky floorboard on the stairs that had slowed her descent.

Trevor was curled up on the couch, his knees bent, his face hidden from view. Indeed, his shirt was not long enough to cover his behind, Hetty noticed with appreciation.

Her breath must have hitched and disturbed him, or Trevor had not been sleeping after all, because he stirred and rolled over onto his back.

“I was rather enjoying the view.” Hetty whispered, with a coy smile.

Trevor whipped his head around in surprise, his eyes bleary but wide. He looked strangely bashful for a moment.

“Hetty, what are you doing down here?” He asked, his voice scratchy.

“Well, Flower is in Thorfinn’s room…” Trevor obviously knew that. That’s why he was stretched out on the library couch in the first place. “And I thought…”

Trevor just stared up at her. She rested her clasped hands on her stomach. Was he really going to make her spell out the invitation?

“I thought,” Hetty continued, trying to keep her voice light, “that my bed is large enough for the two of us to comfortably share. If you would care to join me?”

Trevor’s face broke out into a grin, his teeth pearly and sparkling even in the darkness. He practically leapt up, which Hetty understood to be an enthusiastic yes.

“And actually to sleep right?” Trevor held his hands out in front of him. “Not that I couldn’t go again, but T-Money really needs 8 hours…”

“Are you coming or not?” Hetty asked, by way of an answer. She knew Trevor would recognize the fond exasperation in her voice.

He caught up to her at the base of the stairs, taking her hand gingerly. Hetty gave him a small, private smile, one Trevor only saw when they were alone. They started up the stairs, but she didn’t let go of his hand. Looking at her, leading him upwards, Trevor had a glimmer of a new feeling; like Hetty was taking him somewhere he had never been before. Like they were going home.

— 

Hetty and Trevor had slept together many times, but never had they spent the whole night in each other’s arms afterwards. No matter how relaxed Hetty was after sex, she was never comfortable trying to sleep in the basement room. Trevor could sleep anywhere, a skill honed from catching quick naps on endless nights working at Lehman Brothers when he was trying to prove his worth. Lately, he had gotten used to waking up alone, in the basement, the bed cold, his fingers lightly grazing over the spot where Hetty had once been.

But now they were in Hetty’s room. She had invited him here to sleep, to actually sleep. Trevor could not explain why this felt so much more intimate than anything sexual they had done together.

Hetty lay down on the bed, sprawled out and already sunken into the pillows. Trevor settled beside her, smiling as Hetty arranged her skirts over his legs. He curled into her, his eyes already falling closed as he rested his head on her chest.

Trevor wished he could hear her heartbeat. He didn’t even know if ghosts could have a heartbeat. He was pondering this, the inexplicable rules of their ghostly forms, when he felt Hetty press a soft kiss to the top of his head. He thought he heard Hetty sigh. And then, they fell asleep.

—

Hetty and Trevor had addictive personalities. In life, they had both loved drugs, partying, and making money. Or maybe they had loved those things because they were chasing an ecstasy that the satisfaction of wealth, and being high, and outrageous social events could imitate. It felt so close to the real thing, that eventually they forgot what they were actually craving, until now.

Trevor thought he could get addicted to this feeling: waking up next to Hetty, their limbs tangled together, seeing the sunlight sparkling on her skin. If they were alive, he would be able to feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. Her hair was glowing so brightly that she reminded him of the embers of a campfire smoldering in the faint dawn light.

He hoped that every morning he woke up next to Hetty would feel as miraculous as the first. Suddenly, Trevor saw hundreds of mornings in bed together stretched out before them like a glorious sunrise. Another day in eternity did not fill him with dread now that he could start each one with her. For as long as they were both here at least.

Hetty stirred a few moments later, yawning, but smiling contentedly, like she had just woken up from a blissful dream.

“Good morning,” Hetty said, her smile spreading across her face. How was she so beautiful first thing in the morning?

“Good morning,” Trevor replied, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“We should do this more often.” Trevor said after a beat of contented silence. “If you are going to have this big bed all to yourself from now on.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if Flower and Thorfinn were aware of our…entanglement.” Hetty replied, lazily considering a scheme to make the room swap more than a one-time affair. Trevor rolled his eyes fondly. Hetty had a million ways to avoid saying the word relationship. But then again, so did he.

“It would certainly make for much more comfortable sleeping arrangements.” Hetty remarked, grazing her hand along his cheek.

“Agreed. You are much more comfortable than the couch in the library.” Trevor joked, burrowing his head into her chest.

“And you are ridiculous.” Hetty chided, while moving to gently stroke his hair.

After some more morning kisses, and a great deal of whining, Trevor got out of Hetty’s bed. He crept along the hallway back to him and Thor’s room. He should at least make an appearance there before the other ghosts emerged to smell their morning coffee.

Flower appeared in the doorway, her frame relaxed and her eyes heavy with sleep. Trevor did not have the chance to say good morning, or offer a halfhearted excuse for why he was coming from the direction of Hetty’s room. Before he could do any of that, Flower gave him a sly smile and raised her knuckle. He blinked, bewildered, before accepting the fist bump.

—

Sam and Isaac never edited the manuscript of The Other Founding Father: The Isaac Higgintoot Story without invisible spectators. And plenty of commentary. As the leaves began to contemplate turning golden, the ghosts had fallen into a new routine; adding editing sessions and Ghost Book Club to their weekly activities.

Hetty had already finished rereading Great Expectations, although the club discussion was not even at the halfway point. She found that once she had started reading she had not wanted to stop until the story had reached its conclusion. She never had been very patient.

As they would eventually discover, Hetty would be the only ghost who remembered Great Expectations having a different ending. Trevor looked it up for her, Google really was a marvel, and it turned out that Mr. Dickens had indeed rewritten the last chapter after the first edition was published.

She thought of Pip and Estella now, rather than having a chance encounter on the crowded streets of Piccadilly, meeting on the quiet, haunted grounds of Satis House. Of their joined hands, which could mean a final parting or were a sign that they would never again be parted.

She thought a lot about Estella. Estella, who thought that suffering had made her strong. Estella, who was raised by a woman who taught her to turn love into a weapon. Estella, who was married to a man who abused her, who was killed as a consequence of his own treachery. Estella, who says, “I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into a better shape.”

Hetty had been wrong to dislike her. She should not have needed to suffer. Perhaps, she could have learned the same lessons through being loved from the very beginning.

That was the scary thing about being happy, Hetty realized. When you find happiness you want nothing to change, but in order to maintain happiness in relationships you must move forward or die.

Maybe that line was not entirely accurate. Had Hetty not moved forward and died? In life, Hetty had not truly known what it meant to be a friend, or a mother, or a lover; although she had technically been cast in all of those roles. She had never loved or felt loved. And now that she knew what genuine relationships felt like, what it meant to move forward, she never wanted to give it up.

How strange it was, to be frozen looking the same as she had on the day she had died in 1890, but to feel as if her soul had been transformed, that she could not see herself as she had before. Estella had not changed since 1861, but Hetty had. It was incredible, that she could read the same words, spend time with the same character, and feel like she was having a completely new experience: like she was meeting herself for the first time. Maybe that is why people need to write: to capture their emotions with the hope of eventually reading back their words and understanding their own metamorphosis.

Hetty was beginning to understand why Isaac needed to have his biography written, why he and Sam were spending painstaking hours adjusting each sentence, paragraph, and page. Isaac was reevaluating his own history while he crafted his place in it.

Isaac read aloud. “Using his own invention, the sniper rifle, Captain Isaac Higgintoot shot Lieutenant Colonel Nigel Chessum from a distance of one hundred paces.”

“Why did you stop?” Sam asked, after a beat of silence. Her fingers still hovered over the keys on her laptop, the editor’s marked up copy of the manuscript strewn on the table around her.

“Oh lord, is there something wrong with this sentence too?” Alberta exclaimed.

“No one is making you watch this.” Sass sniped.

“It’s just, seeing my name and Nigel’s on the same page.” Isaac said tearfully. But he was smiling too. “To think that history will remember our names, together.”

“I wish I could include your love story in the book.” Sam said, scrunching up the corner of her mouth. “But my publisher says my source base is pretty tenuous as it is. Apparently most biographers go to archives to do their research.”

Alberta, once again, chimed in. “Say what you will about Creepy Todd, but his book has FOOTNOTES.”

“What do you expect Samantha to include in her footnotes? Source: A ghost told me?” Hetty remarked incredulously.

“Wait, that’s it!” Isaac clapped his hands together, staring at Sam, his eyes twinkling. “You must write mine and Nigel’s love story!”

“You want her to write a romance novel about two ghosts who dance around each other for two hundred years before one of them finally makes a move?” Sass asked, an eyebrow raised.

“What if you set it during the Revolutionary War?” Alberta suggested, looking excited. “But if you and Nigel actually got to be together then?”

“A forbidden romance on the battlefields…” Isaac mused. “A love as old as America.”

“Really?” Sass deadpanned.

“Like if those period dramas Hetty loves to watch actually had gay people!” Isaac exclaimed, undeterred.

“Excuse me! Did you not see the smoldering glances between the stable boy and the butler on Bodices & Barons?” Hetty paused, remembering. “Truly, it was quite thrilling to witness.”

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing a romance novel.” Sam cut in, before Hetty went into a scarring amount of detail.

“Oh please!” Isaac retorted. “How hard can it be?”

“Yeah Sam,” Alberta said encouragingly, a mischievous smile on her face. “Anyway, how is it any different from writing your Single and Ready to Kringle fanfiction?”

“You know about that?” Sam visibly paled, as the ghosts nodded at her solemnly.

“You really spent way too much time describing Holly and Derek building their gingerbread house.” Sass said.

“But once she gets past that, it really does get spicy!” Alberta exclaimed.

“Oh, yes!” Hetty beamed, “remember that one scene where they - ”

“Okay, fine, I’ll do it.” Sam relented, if only to end this conversation, “Isaac, I will write the love story.”

“But only if you pretend you never saw “Naughty or Spice.”” Sam looked insistent for a moment, adopting a firm tone she had learned from Hetty. “And, you all tell Trevor to stop snooping on my computer.”

“Huzzah!” Isaac cheered. Wherever Nigel was waiting for him, Isaac was sure he was glad to see him happy.

“She does know that we can’t promise that last part, right?” Sass stage whispered to Hetty and Alberta.

“Of course she does.” Hetty flicked her wrist. “But let her have it.”

—

While Hetty and Isaac were pondering, and Pete and Sass were trailing after two guests on a bird-watching walk, the other ghosts had decided to take advantage of the stillness of the B&B by watching a movie.

Trevor had picked the film, Dirty Dancing, since he was the only one who could use the remote to turn the TV on in the first place.

“You’ll like it Flower,” he had said, in between painstakingly searching each letter on the TV, “it has a ton of Sixties music.”

Trevor remembered going to see this movie in college. He must have been on a date, but he couldn’t remember anything about who was there with him. It was scary, feeling the details of his life slip away from him the more time he spent as a ghost.

“That Johnny is hot.” Alberta remarked, not for the first time.

“Yeah he is.” Trevor couldn’t help but agree as Patrick Swayze sauntered across the log, barefoot, then beckoned for Baby to join him.

Both Flower and Thor, who were cuddled up on the couch next to Trevor, also nodded in appreciation.

It was when Johnny and Baby were in bed together, that Flower started sniffling.

“Pause the movie, Trev.” Alberta said it with such authority that Trevor’s power somehow worked more reliably than usual.

“I know that song.” Flower said, now breaking the silence that everyone else had patiently held. “I can’t remember the name. But it was playing when -”

Flower had told Thor about Michael, in passing, but she had never spoken about him with the other ghosts.

“Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” Trevor remembered. That was the name of the song. But he waited for Flower to finish instead of sharing that information.

“My fiancė,” Flower tried again. “His name was Michael. We listened to this song together, on our last date.”

“What happened?” Alberta asked, her eyes wide.

Flower didn’t say anything else. She looked at Thor and gave him a nod.

“He died.” Thor said solemnly. “Very sad. Flower experience great pain, to lose person she plan to spend whole life with. Mourn future she never got to have.”

“That’s why I was so afraid to go on a two person date.” Flower admitted. “Until recently.”

“Because you were worried about Michael?” Alberta said. She could not believe they had not known this about Flower. For all the people she had talked about dating and sleeping with - the most important of all had been the one she had held silently in her memory for decades.

“No, because what if I fell in love with Thor.” Flower said, squeezing Thor’s hand, “And I had to go through that loss all over again?”

“What changed?” Trevor asked, so quietly Flower barely heard him.

“I decided Thor was worth the risk, no matter how much time we get together.” Flower smiled. “Plus, I couldn’t sit through another repeat of Pete’s improv show.”

Suddenly, Trevor was crying. He hadn’t even realized until Alberta was nudging his shoulder.

“Spill it Trev, what’s wrong?” Alberta asked animatedly. She already suspected who Trevor was weeping about.

Trevor didn’t quite know how to explain it. Romance seemed like some great, elusive thing, that came from two people thinking that each other had hung the moon and lit all the stars in the sky. But he was witnessing it, right now, both on the screen and on the couch. Had he always been this way? That he could not understand what he was feeling until he saw it reflected back at him by fictional characters? And now by his friends? Who were also dead?

“For heaven’s sake Trevor,” Alberta blurted out, seeing the tender look on his face, “if you’re worried about Hetty just talk to her about it.”

When Trevor looked stunned, Alberta threw up her hands in exasperation.

“Y’all aren’t subtle!” she exclaimed, earning nods from Flower and Thor.

“I don’t know how.” Trevor whispered. “I have never gotten to this part before. Where the feelings aren’t just all fun.”

“That’s really hard, man.” Flower said, her tears dried. “But you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Oh wait.”

“Trevor is classic people pleaser.” Thor said seriously. “Prioritizes everyone else’s emotions above his own. Not know how to communicate big feelings.”

Alberta must have looked at him with a bewildered and irritated expression, because Thor continued.

“Thor love Frasier, remember? Also, go to therapy many times.”

“We better end this conversation and finish this movie,” Alberta declared, “or I’m going to need therapy.”

As the credits rolled, Trevor realized he hadn’t understood Dirty Dancing when he was alive. He had gotten most of it - Baby’s sexual awakening, the back alley abortion, how class quietly structures so much of American life - but there was something he had missed. There was what the film was showing and what it was saying.

When someone loves you, they have to love all the parts of you. And when you love someone, you do right by them no matter what it costs you.

—

Four months after his initial visit, Wendell stumbled through the gates of the Woodstone estate, wishing he could fling the pants folded in the trunk onto the gravel rather than face Hetty Woodstone.

Getting the pants had not been easy. The only people who tended to die with extra clothes on their person, nearby at least, were hikers who perished with their backpacks still strapped to them. Wendell had gone all the way to Maine and found a reckless couple from the late 1980s who had died from dehydration on the Appalachian Trail. Thankfully, one of the hikers had a pack with an extra pair of waterproof outdoor trousers. He was willing to part with them for a few magazines. It turned out dying in the wilderness with no reading material was quite boring, so the trade had been easy to make.

He now had a pair of pants he could bring back to the B&B, but something told him that Hetty Woodstone would scrunch up her nose in disdain if he returned with lurid orange ones. Remembering what the pantless ghost had been wearing, and never afraid of a challenge, Wendell knew he needed to find suit pants - or at the very least a business casual slack - to satisfy the arrangement. The ring he had taken from her was exquisite, but he knew he would not be able to trade it to another ghost in good conscience until he had satisfied his end of the bargain.

He visited the financial districts in three different cities before finding a ghost who looked uncomfortable in his suit. It turned out that he had died in pants that were slightly too small for him. And he did not care that his new pants were orange, only that they had an elastic waistband with a lot more stretch than his current attire. The man, who had been an insurance broker in Boston, looked larger than Trevor. Better to get pants that were too big than too small, Wendell thought.

To mitigate any potential gripes Hetty Woodstone might have about the pants not fitting precisely, Wendell had tucked a small sewing kit in one of the front pockets of the pants. While exploring the Fairmont Copley Plaza - historic hotels always had interesting ghosts - he had met a maid who had died with a dozen sewing kits in her uniform pocket. He had traded for all but one of them, knowing that many ghosts would jump at the chance to repair or alter the garments they had died in.

As it happened, Hetty was standing at her favorite upstairs window for her daily ponder when Wendell began walking up the driveway. She recognized his boater hat and briefcase immediately, and shot downstairs to meet him on the lawn. Hetty did not want knowledge of her bargain with him to become public, not before she gave Trevor the pants at least.

“Mrs. Woodstone.” He said, tipping his hat to her. He already had the pants draped over his arm.

“Mr. Schneider.” Hetty nodded. But there was something hiding behind the formality of her expression, a sadness almost.

She took the pants, inspecting them quickly, as Wendell informed her about the sewing kit. He could tell she was satisfied, but couldn’t escape the feeling that it was tainted by an unnameable dread.

“Well, thank you for completing your end of the bargain.” Hetty said, finally. “I shall not delay you further.”

She scurried back into the house, the pants in hand. Wendell suddenly wondered if he had missed something monumental about her - and the meaning behind his errand.

After a moment, Wendell turned and began walking away from the mansion. He was feeling something unexpected. It took him a second to understand that he was proud. He was suddenly overcome by the realization. There was a deep sense of satisfaction in being given a quest and successfully completing it.

Instead of spending the past few months wandering aimlessly from town to town, Wendell had been driven by the goal of finding the right ghosts and making the correct trades with them, all in service of finding a pair of suitable pants to bring back to Hetty Woodstone. He had relished the challenge. Wendell had committed to a goal, and he did not feel like he had lost something despite the fact that this particular mission had not lasted forever.

When Wendell had died, he had learned that he could not remain rooted in his home, watching his wife age and grow old. He told himself, at first, that he never returned to the same spot twice to avoid dealing with buyer’s remorse from his clientele. He knew now that he was afraid of forming attachments in his afterlife. If his ghost power gave him the freedom and burden of always moving around, what was the point in building relationships? When he could never stay to see them last? But even though nothing is permanent, Wendell was beginning to think that getting invested in others was worth the risk. Especially if it meant he could feel like this again.

He had almost reached the gatepost, and was about to pass through the ghost boundary, when Wendell heard a voice call out his name.

He turned around to find Sasappis walking towards him, smiling as though he were greeting an old friend.

“Hey, Wendell, you’re back!” Sass exclaimed. He looked more energetic than before. “Do you want to see the sunflowers?”

It took Wendell a moment to remember the seeds, from his pouch. How incredible, that they had grown. “I would like that very much.”

Wendell could not believe the burst of color on the lakeshore. Dozens of sunflowers, bright golden blooms with dark chocolate brown and amber-orange seeds, had grown tall towards the sky. Their towering stems were grounded by the spreading vines of the nascent squash and beans. It felt like Sasappis was sharing a miracle.

“If you would like,” Wendell began, surprising himself. “I could bring one to that Lenape ghost who first sent me here.”

“I think Shiki would like that.” Sass said, after a beat. A sunflower was certainly more poetic than a dead deer, if a less traditional gift for a declaration of love. But Sass realized, even if it led to nothing, that he still wanted her to have the sunflower: to celebrate the past they had both shared and lost.

“And Isaac is going to want to talk with you about the next Ghost Book Club selection.” Sass continued as he picked out the biggest bloom for Shiki. “He really wants to try some other English author called Jane Austen.”

“Well,” Wendell pretended to consider Sass’ request for a moment, even though he already knew that he would visit Woodstone again. “I suppose I could search for one of her books for him.”

He wondered how many places he would have to travel to, in search of a ghost-copy of a Jane Austen novel. Wendell pictured the ghosts he would meet, the trades he would make, the new missions he might find along the way. He also made a note to find out Alberta’s shoe size before he left. After all, there was no reason he could not find flats for her while looking for the book.

Sasappis put an arm around him. Wendell realized he couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him. They walked back to the mansion together, the sunflower between them, stretching towards the light.

—

Trevor was waiting for her in the basement at his and Hetty’s usual time. Now, they were spending most of their nights in Hetty’s bed, but the basement rendezvous remained part of their days together.

Hetty walked through the door, appearing practically mid-sentence, speaking before she lost her nerve.

“Mr. Schneider paid a return visit this morning.” Hetty began, raising the pants slightly, as if Trevor could not already see them. “And here is what he brought for me, well, really for you.”

“Oh my god.” Trevor crossed the room, eyes wide in disbelief. The realization dawned on him, suddenly, of what she had done for him all those months ago. “Is that what your ring was for?”

“I traded it to him on the condition that he found you a suitable pair of pants, yes.” These were in fact, very acceptable.

“Hetty, that’s amazing!” Trevor pulled her into a hug, literally sweeping her off her feet, before really paying attention to the pants. They were suit pants and everything! And pretty close in color to his jacket!

Hetty studied the delighted expression on his face, hoping she would always remember it.

“Trevor, wait - before you put those on.” And Trevor paused, startled by how quiet her voice was suddenly.

“If we get…separated. I just need to tell you that...” Hetty had spent a long time pondering what she would say to Trevor if Mr. Schneider reappeared with the pants. If they made Trevor truly happy, she might never see him again. And it felt like what they shared was just beginning: a miracle stretched out before them. Like at twilight, when the sun is below the horizon and you think all that could be beautiful is gone, and then the sky begins to change into colors and strokes of light you have never seen before. Now that she knew, she did not want it to end.

“I would have chosen to spend forever with you.” Her voice was usually full of conviction, yet this soft-spoken sentence was the boldest declaration she had ever made.

Trevor said nothing. He slowly cupped her cheek, looking at her with the tenderness that always stole her breath, and took her left hand with his right. He swallowed, making a decision.

“You still wouldn’t be back.” He said, finally unearthing the fear he had buried in the pit of his stomach months ago.

“What?” Hetty blinked.

“If you’d been banished that day, for lying to Alberta about her murder.” Trevor breathed out. “You would still be in the woods right now.”

“I do not see how that is relevant - ” Hetty was dumbstruck. After her declaration, this was what he wanted to discuss?

“Hetty, every day I think about how we almost didn’t have this time together. I have dreams about running through the woods, trying to find you. When I wake up next to you, my first thought is always “thank god she is still here.” And my second is that I want to wake up beside you every morning for the rest of our afterlives. I didn’t know how to tell you. But, I -”

She saw it now: a vulnerability in him that he had never shown her. He was still her Trevor, but in this moment Hetty felt she finally understood him and all his contradictions. Trevor, who smiled and laughed so freely, but buried any feeling that he thought made him unlovable. Trevor, who was bold and affectionate, but let her take the lead in so many of their interactions. Trevor, who had been physically naked for so long, standing before her now, his new pants still draped over his arm, wanting to expose his beautiful unvarnished emotional self.

“If you are worried about one of us…” he stared into her eyes intently, his palm still pressed to her cheek, “you can tell me. Because I feel it too. Being scared to lose you.”

“Fine.” Hetty huffed. She sounded irritated, but he could see her eyes were wet. “Yes, Trevor, I am worried that once I give you these pants, that finally becoming suitably attired once again will cause you to get sucked off.”

She inhaled sharply, and Trevor knew she was about to use humor to spare them both from the very real emotion they were both feeling.

“Though if by some error, or perhaps my misguided attempts to banish you to Hell earlier, you end up going down, please do torture Elias on both of our behalf.”

“Hetty, I think it is going to be okay.” Trevor wanted to laugh, to release all these emotions that were bubbling up in his chest. He felt lighter, but also like he was feeling the ground firmly beneath his feet for the first time in his afterlife. “I have been holding these pants for several minutes now and I’m still here. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“You truly are a pest.” Hetty grumbled, but she swatted at him playfully all the same.

“And for the record, I would choose to spend forever with you too.” Trevor said. “We might not get that. But however long we have, it is you and me together - ”

And Hetty was kissing him suddenly, her hands cupping his face like that very first horny Hanukkah night. But there was an urgency to it now; not the frantic pace of their early dalliances, or the fevered passions of their basement room liaisons, or the tentative joy of first morning kisses in Hetty’s bed. This was something new. It was every kiss they had ever shared, but with something deeper behind it. A certainty. A commitment.

“Forever?” She intoned, her voice fervent.

Hetty’s eyes locked onto his, and meeting her gaze felt like exchanging the most tender of vows.

“Forever.” He confirmed, trying to sound serious but unable to keep his smile from spreading into the word.

Hetty nodded, then tilted her chin upwards, smirking at him. “Just remember who said it first.”

Wait, what? Had Hetty just quoted The Cutting Edge to him?

The awe must have registered on his face, because Hetty shrugged, a smug glint in her eye, and said: “Doug does say that to Kate at the end of the film, so I thought it might be important.”

—

Eventually, Trevor tried on the pants. Hetty had plans later to adjust the button on the waistband, to help them fit a bit more snuggly. And if she happened to use the extra thread to embroider her initials inside the waistband, well only she and Trevor needed to know about that. Maybe she would even add a T and a dollar sign, for his (admittedly endearing) moniker. That way, he would always have something to remember her by.

“How do I look?” Trevor struck an absurd pose, one foot planted on the bed, his hand doing a mock salute, an exuberant smile flashed in Hetty’s direction.

“Wonderful. But I rather think I might miss the view.” Her eyes flicked downward, so suggestively that Trevor shivered. “And what you have under there.”

“Well,” Trevor beamed, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he moved towards Hetty, “it’s a good thing I can still take them off.”