“Have a seat,” Sadie says, and plops herself down on the couch.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

She frowns like she doesn’t understand the question.

“Your brothers?”

“Oh. They all have their own places now, except Seth. Josh is married. Austin’s in law school. Matt’s studying child psychology at UNL, though he changes majors every few months. They’re around, though. They come for Sunday dinners and show up if they need to do laundry.” She puts her feet on the trunk that serves as a coffee table and sighs contentedly. “It’s nice having the TV to myself.”

Everything changes, I think. That’s the only constant. We all grow up.

Almost all of us.

“I remember watching Jaws here,” I say, sliding down on the cushions next to her. “What were we, eight? My mom would have killed me if she’d known.”

Sadie shudders. “It took me years to get over that movie. I couldn’t even swim at the lake without imagining a shark in the water under me, waiting to rise up and bite me in half.”

She turns the TV on and brings up the DVR, where I see, predictably, a bunch of episodes of Long Island Medium. But there’s also Ghost Hunters and Paranormal State and My Haunting and pretty much every other ghost-related show on television. Which for some reason I didn’t expect. I wouldn’t have pegged Sadie as someone who would obsess over the occult.

“Do you have a preference?” she asks. “We don’t have to watch ghost stuff. We can watch anything. We can just veg, if you want.”

“Why do you like those shows?” I ask, because I don’t get it. I don’t understand how any rational person who isn’t wrestling with the idea of her dead brother possibly being a ghost watches those shows.

Sadie shrugs. “I’m morbid, I guess. I like the idea that we don’t stop, after we die.”

“You believe in heaven and all that?”

Her eyes meet mine, startled. “Well, yeah. I do.”

“But if heaven exists, what’s this ghost thing about?” I gesture at the TV. “So everyone Theresa hears on her show is a person who didn’t go to heaven, who’s just sticking around earth hoping to chat with whatever medium comes along?”

“No,” Sadie informs me matter-of-factly, like this is scientifically proven. “Theresa deals with spirits, not ghosts.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Spirits are people who’ve passed on to the other side. It’s like another dimension, and they can visit us and watch over us and pass along messages, but they’re at peace. Ghosts, on the other hand—” It occurs to her then that I might not want to hear this, and she falters.

“What about ghosts?” I ask, sitting up. “Tell me.”

“Ghosts haven’t crossed over. They have unfinished business in this world, so they linger.”

I want to laugh it off and say it’s all a bunch of crap, but I can’t. Not after everything. “So you think what I’ve been . . . experiencing . . . is a ghost,” I surmise. “Not a spirit.”

“Well, you saw his figure, but he didn’t speak,” Sadie explains, “which is more consistent with ghosts. Spirits are talkative. And he’s a suicide.”

“But why does that matter?” I find myself asking, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “I mean, with suicide, they want to leave this earth. They want to cross over, right?”

She bites her lip, and I wonder if she’s not telling me that she believes suicides go to hell or being a ghost is a kind of purgatory. A punishment. I wonder if she’s judging him like everyone else.

“I think with suicides a lot of times they’re hanging on to something,” she answers finally. “Some anger or some pain or something they’ve got to work out.”

“So you think my brother is trapped in my house because he has something he has to work out,” I say. “Unfinished business.”

It’s a ridiculous notion. Stupid. Crazy. Dumb.

Sadie doesn’t answer.

I take the letter out of my backpack and sit for a minute holding it.

Ty’s unfinished business.

“I don’t know that he meant to give this to her,” I say flatly. “What unfinished business could he possibly have with Ashley? I mean, they broke up. He’s dead. That’s finished business, I’d say.”

“You haven’t read it, have you?” Sadie asks in her raspy voice.

I’ve wanted to. I have so wanted to. “It’s sealed. He wouldn’t have sealed it if he wanted anybody else to read it.”

She stares at the envelope thoughtfully. “Well, you have more self-control than I do. I don’t know if I could not read it, if I had a letter like that.”

“It’s sealed,” I say again, as if that settles it.

“You should read it. Then you’ll know what Ty wants you to do with it.”

“Sadie,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not real. Ty’s not a ghost. He doesn’t want anything. He’s dead.”

Her eyes flash up to my face. “You don’t think he’s real? But what about—”

“I saw him for maybe a total of five seconds. I don’t even know what I actually saw. The first time, I might have fallen asleep watching television and dreamed it, and the second time . . .” I think about the way Ty’s face loomed up at me in his bedroom mirror. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I saw. Maybe it’s me that’s the problem. Maybe I’m . . .”