Edy Partridge couldn't sleep. She was tired beyond exhaustion but sleep still eluded her. She never slept well in new places and even though her family home was familiar; she hadn't been back in nearly fifteen years and felt unsettled in the big bed that had once belonged to her great-grandparents.

Edith and Marshal Partidge had built the lake house as an investment for family reunions and get-togethers as their family grew, but after their deaths, Edy's father and his siblings frequented the house less and less. Edy, to her knowledge, was the only visitor the home had had in nearly five years, and the home smelled closed in. So, when she knew sleep wouldn't come; she got up and started setting the house to rights. She pulled all the furniture covers and threw them in the wash. She dusted, vacuumed and scrubbed until her arms were weeping. Then she put on a pot of coffee, threw some breakfast burritos in a skillet to warm and sat down in the newly cleaned kitchen.

The first rays of dawn were sifting through the widows above the sink and as they filtered through, I could see the dust motes in the air. What I didn't expect was for those dust motes to settle across from me in the crude shape of a person. Shock swept through me and I nearly toppled my chair in my hurry to get away from the table. "Jesus."

I didn't waste time hurrying to a different room, all the while convincing myself that what I'd seen was just a trick of the light. I moved to the wrap-a-round porch and shook rugs, swept off more dust, wiped down the porch swing, and enjoyed the light breeze that kissed the air.

"Edy," I dropped the rag and cleaner in my hands. I knew I was alone and the echo of my name still rang in my ears.

A soft chuckle had the hair on my neck and arms standing on end. "Who's there?" I called, gripping the broom as if it would actually protect me.

"Don't you see me?"

I whirled around, frantic to recognize a person in the empty air.

"This is stupid," I huffed. Turning, I stepped back toward the doorway and froze as I felt a light pressure on my arm.

"Please wait," the voice was softer now, but still had that same familiar quality.

"Leave me alone!" I said, trying not to let my fear soak the command.

"Edy, please."

"I don't know you!" I yelled, turning to encompass my entire field of view. "So, please-just leave me alone."

When no answering plea met my ears, I stepped into the house and shut the door firmly behind me.

Heading back to the kitchen, I turned on my radio and blared classic rock so loud that my ears were vibrating. Then I cleaned my dishes and ran them through the dishwasher my dad had installed a few years back. Anything to keep my mind from detouring to places I didn't want to visit. Jasper Murphy was the love of my life for a very brief time when I'd been younger and probably dumber. Then he'd died and my still broken heart didn't want to think about him, and it certainly didn't want to remember.

The music worked for a while, until my head started to pound. So, instead, I headed upstairs, grabbed my workout clothes and my weights and headed to the finished basement for a sweat session. An hour later, I was sufficiently warmed up, too much so for a shower. So I tossed a salad together in the kitchen, grabbed my new favorite author's latest novel and sat down for lunch and some gritty fantasy. I was loving the new set of characters, and the plot was a unique twist on a classic trope. I could totally imagine myself as a barista who moonlights as an invaluable assassin.

"Edy," I stopped reading and pretended that my hand wasn't shaking, despite the salad bite trembling on the end of the tines. "I just want to talk. Considering I can't do much else, talking is a pleasure."

"I don't care," I said forcefully. "I don't know how you know my name, nor do I want to know. I'm perfectly happy if we mutually agree that the other doesn't exist."

"But," the voice said and I closed my eyes tight when a shadow started to shimmer into my vision. "We loved once."

"Yeah well," I sighed. "Once was a long time ago."

"I've waited for you," the voice continued and despite my best efforts to the contrary, Jasper's voice rang through. "The least you can do is hear me out."

"Hear you out?" I scoffed, obviously not over the angry grief that bubbled up in my chest. "You died, Jasper. What could you possibly need to say to me?"

"You have no idea how long I've had to think about everything I could have said, should have done."

"And what good does it do now?" I asked, dropping my food back into my unfinished lunch bowl. "It won't bring you back and it certainly won't help me move on."

"It might," he argued, typically himself.

I sighed heavily, knowing I wouldn't get a moment's peace until I let him have his say. "Fine," I conceded, folding my hands with every ounce of sarcasm I could muster. "Say your piece."