The wind gusting outside woke Tabitha. She sat up on the couch, blinking in the dim light of late afternoon. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a few minutes, resting after sweeping the porch of dried leaves the breeze kept depositing there. And now it was … maybe five-thirty?
Angie would be home soon, if she didn’t have an evening meeting or dinner out with friends. Tabitha tried to remember her daughter’s schedule. At eighty-two, it was enough to recall her own to-do list each day, let alone someone else’s.
Tabitha felt around on the couch for her phone, but it was probably on the kitchen counter, next to the teapot. And her eyeglasses? Reaching for them, her arm brushed her teacup on the end table, sending the cup and the glasses flying into the darkness.
A shutter banged against the house, and a stair on the flight to the second floor creaked.
“Hello?” Tabitha said. “Angie?”
She strained to hear anything in the silence that responded. From the far corner of the living room, a shape moved.
“Who’s there?” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. She didn’t believe in ghosts. An intruder then? Tabitha gripped a couch pillow. If nothing else, she could use it knock the thief off balance when they attacked.
Unprompted, her mind flooded with memories of Caroline. As a young friend, when they were both mothers of small children, sharing a pot of lapsang tea while they gossiped. As a middle-aged companion taking that Caribbean cruise when Tabitha misplaced her favorite scarf. As an older woman hiking with her along the river towpath, trekking poles in hand.
Caroline, who passed on last month, before Tabitha could say farewell.
Yes, it’s me. The shape from the corner advanced.
Tabitha sucked in a breath. Was she dreaming? “But you’re dead.”
The form morphed into a faint, flickering image of her friend. You never kept in touch. Though not spoken aloud, Caroline’s words held a sharp bite of accusation.
“I did,” Tabitha protested. She let the pillow slide out of her hands, back onto the couch. “I called. I visited. Just not … later.”
Not when I was at my sickest. Caroline drifted across the room and back. A slight weight pressed on Tabitha’s hand—her eyeglasses. And from the end table came a soft clink of cup to saucer. Her friend couldn’t stop tidying even beyond the grave.
She slipped the glasses on, but Caroline’s image remained blurry. “I was scared,” Tabitha said. “I couldn’t offer you anything that would heal you, so I stayed away.” A coward, she acknowledged to herself. “I’m sorry.”
A light flipped on in the foyer.
“Mom?” Angie stood just inside the front door. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” She turned on a floor lamp, banishing the shadows from the room. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tabitha said. She searched for Caroline and caught a slight shimmer near the windows. “Just dozing.”
A warmth enveloped her, a sense of serenity. You’re forgiven. The flicker died away. Have a cup of lapsang for me. Only the scent of the smoky brew lingered.
Books with more of Dianna’s stories
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The wind gusting outside woke Tabitha. She sat up on the couch, blinking in the dim light of late afternoon. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a few minutes, resting after sweeping the porch of dried leaves the breeze kept depositing there. And now it was … maybe five-thirty?
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Mist hovered over the lake like a shroud. Hope stood at the point, past the flagpole and orange mums ringing its base. Nothing moved on the dark water. Too early for even the trawling fishermen. No one to witness.
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Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories, poetry and novels. Her full-length novel, Scream of the Silent Sun, was a finalist in the 2026 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for first novel.
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Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories, poetry and novels. Her full-length novel, Scream of the Silent Sun, was a finalist in the 2026 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for first novel.
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Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories, poetry and novels. Her full-length novel, Scream of the Silent Sun, was a finalist in the 2026 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for first novel.
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