After another minute had passed, my dad looked to me. "He's really here?"
"Really."
"This better not be a joke."
I gave him a half smile. "I'm being serious, Dad."
He rubbed my shoulder. "My mother, your grandmother, always used to say that she saw ghosts...I always thought it was a bunch of BS, but..." He looked at me again. "Where is he?"
"To my left."
My dad's eyes were faintly hopeful. "What does he look like?"
I looked to my ghost. A broad grin was on his face: he was being acknowledged at last. I'd never seen him so happy before.
"He always wears a black jacket, black pants, and boots...his hair is messy and he smells like cigarett smoke." I had never described him aloud before, so I hoped I was doing an okay job. "He's smiling."
My dad looked to my left. "I wish I could see him..." His hands rested in his lap. "Can he hear me?"
Gerard rolled his eyes, and I laughed. "He just rolled his eyes."
"So that's a yes, then?"
"Yes."
Dad swallowed, lowering his gaze, then looked back up. "I love you, Gerard."
Tears sprang up in Gerard's eyes, and he touched my father's hair. He moved in and kissed his forehead.
As if Dad could feel it, a smile lit up his face.
"I love you too, Frank. Always."
| THE END |
