Teresa Tumminello Brader was born in New Orleans and lives in the area still. She received a B.A. in English from Marquette University and is the mother of two grown children. Her stories have appeared in Rumble, Brink, Hobart, 971 Menu, and elsewhere.

Sarah informs me that her mother will be babysitting for her tonight, and not at her own home. Gail will come here, where I live with Sarah’s dad, where Gail lived until ten years ago, gone by the time she was my age. I’ve lived here for eight years, but only recently has this house—the last house Gail lived in—started to feel as if it belongs to me.

I never met Gail, but I keep photos of her up, family groupings that were here when I moved in. It didn’t seem right to take them down with my youngest stepson still living at home. Sarah disapproves of how I’ve raised her baby brother and doesn’t think I spend enough time with my husband’s grandchildren. Now she’s conjuring up her mother to remedy my shortcomings.

Gail materializes in the kitchen, clattering in the cabinets while talking to Sarah. I hide in the bedroom, unsure that it’s still mine. I switched its color scheme from forest green to royal purple shortly after I married Len. After Gail was gone, their other daughter had spruced up the bedroom for Len with the masculine green.

Sarah phoned her sister, asking her to come over and visit with their mother too. But my other stepdaughter wants nothing to do with Gail’s manifestation. She thinks it’s wrong.

I peek around the corner of the hallway. Sarah is airing her stored-up complaints about me to Gail. I thought they’d have other things to catch up on: they haven’t seen each other in ten years. Gail hasn’t aged, appearing the same as she does in the photos on the walls.

Standing behind my new kitchen counter, Gail looks up and stares at me, on her face a sharp expression unlike any in the photos. I duck back and wonder what Len will do when he gets home. Will he be happy to see Gail? Does he still miss her? Will he embrace her? Or will he be as distressed as I am? Gail being the first love of his life might take precedence over anything else he feels.

Hearing the turn of a key in the front door lock, I run down the hall to Len before he can see Gail. I throw myself into his chest, and his arms wrap around me.

“Is she gone?” I bury my face in his shirt.

“Not yet.”

I take his two words to mean that she will be, one day, and I melt in relief as a button leaves a cold, hard imprint on my cheek.