This Is a Book - Demetri Martin [40]
The next few months were the happiest of George’s life. He had found the perfect woman. She was smart, beautiful, sexy, and fun. And at the same time, she didn’t cramp his style. He still had his days to himself and plenty of nights to go out with his buddies when Sheila was off haunting a detective or visiting a witness.
Halloween was spectacular. George threw a big party. Everyone came. Sheila was a hit. It was a great way to ease his friends into meeting her. A couple of his more skeptical friends couldn’t see Sheila at first, but soon everyone met her and warmed up to her. As George’s friends started to know and accept Sheila, he started to think about asking her to be his wife.
Then, one afternoon, George heard a knock on his front door. When he opened the door, he found a man standing there with a somber look on his face.
“Hello. Are you George?”
“Yes, how can I help you?”
George had a bad feeling about this. He wondered if this man was one of the detectives Sheila had been haunting. Had something happened?
“I’m Mark.”
“Hi, Mark. What is this about?”
Mark sighed and looked at George. “I’m Sheila’s husband.”
George froze. He didn’t know what to say. “Are you a ghost?” asked George.
“No.”
“Oh.” George didn’t know if he should feel better or worse. He invited Mark in to talk.
They sat down at the kitchen table.
“Sheila never told me she was married,” explained George.
“I’m not surprised,” Mark replied.
George fixed Mark a drink and grabbed a club soda for himself. George was no longer drinking, thanks to Sheila. As Mark talked about Sheila and their marriage, George listened closely. But he was feeling so many emotions at once, it was hard for him to concentrate.
“How did you find me?” George asked.
“Well, I get in touch with Sheila from time to time, you know, through a psychic. The last few times I tried to contact her, one of her dead friends answered, saying things like ‘Oh, she just stepped out’ or ‘sorry, you just missed her!’ ”
George was still in shock. Mark continued.
“So, I started to get suspicious and asked my psychic if he could find out anything for me. For a little extra money he went through some of Sheila’s stuff, and—”
George interrupted. “Wait, ‘Went through some of her stuff’? You mean, up there?”
“Yeah,” Mark replied. “He’s a very good psychic. Anyway, when he was going through her stuff he found your name and address.”
George stared at his kitchen table and tried to digest everything Mark had told him.
“God, I don’t know what to say. I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Listen,” said Mark, “I’m not telling you what to do or anything. I just thought you should know what the situation was. I mean, it’s not like Sheila and I are still living together, obviously, but I still do have feelings for her, and as far as I could tell, we were still working things out.”
A few minutes later they shook hands and Mark left. George was devastated. “How could this be?” he thought. “Why hadn’t she said anything?” George sat on his couch and stared at the wall until he fell asleep.
George awoke to find Sheila floating next to him on the couch. She was tired from visiting the brother-in-law of the murder victim. He always asked her difficult questions about the case and usually tried to photograph her. It always put her in a bad mood.
George felt uneasy. He couldn’t look at Sheila. She knew something was wrong.
“Is something bothering youuuuuuuu?” she said. Her vowels still rang out from time to time, mostly when she was feeling more emotional.
“Well,” said George, “I was wondering if there was anything you wanted me to know about you, about your life, maybe that you haven’t told me. We never really talk about it.”
“Uh, no. Nothing I can think of,” Sheila responded. “There’s not much to talk about really. As you know I died from an allergic reaction after eating some chili. Sometimes they put peanut butter in it, which I didn’t know at the time. But I’ve told you