As my husband and I walked past the cemetery, our conversation grew spirited. “I thought about you the other day,” he said.
I begged him, “Do go on.” It was a Tuesday and I should have known I was making a mistake.
He said, “I was talking to this guy who sells cemetery plots.”
Our exchange died. I think he remembered that the only ghosts in graveyards belong to people killed there. He admitted that perhaps he’d said too much.