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disability so that she could spend her days and nights in and out of dreams of what might have been.
    “Jacob, what am I supposed to do with you?”
    Jacob felt her bewilderment and was filled with an overwhelming need to protect her. But did that mean continuing to watch over her or did it mean leaving her in peace? This he must ponder while she slept. As much as he wanted to be with her always, her happiness and peace of mind were paramount to him. He resolved to do what was best, whatever that might be.
    “Margaret, may I prescribe a cup of chamomile tea and a warm bath and you have my word on my honor that I won’t be in the bathroom while you soak. I worry about all the stress you’re under. You can sort out the logistics of what to do with me later after you’ve relaxed a bit.”
    “Alright, maybe I should do that. Thank you, Jacob. So, just to clarify, once I lock up and leave, you will not be with me. I’ll go home, alone, have a long soak, have my dinner and then sleep . . . and you won’t be watching over me. Is that correct?”
    “Quite. I’m going to remain here in the shop and I’ll see you in the morning when you open up.”
    “I can go for that. So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”
    “As you wish. Just remember this: if you ever need me, anytime, day or night, just call me or pick up one of my books or call my name.”
    “I’ll remember. Thank you, Jacob. It means a lot to me to have you in my life. I think.”
    “Being in your life is something I have longed for. It is even sweeter than I could have imagined.”
    Jacob bowed with chivalrous affect and then he was gone from her sight.
    Maggie spent a few moments pondering her situation and trying desperately to decide whether she was grateful for this amazing phenomenon or whether she was grateful to finally, at long last, not have to deal with reality ever again.

Chapter 9,
    in which Maggie follows a suggestion, becomes better acquainted with her specter and grows more comfortable with the idea
    of her possible insanity

    Maggie did just as she was prompted to by her new companion. She treated herself to a luxurious bath replete with bubbles, candles, some Bach on the little portable CD player and a cup of chamomile tea. Then she ate a salad while she looked up more information about Jacob on the internet, just as any tech-savvy woman today would. Afterward, she played with the cats for a bit, and then slipped under her down comforter for the night.
    She awoke after a full night of dreaming the dreams of angels. She was thankful that there had been no night terrors or other disturbances. She laid there for a bit, just trying to enjoy the here and now. At this moment, there was no calamity in her life. No one was calling her. She had nothing pressing to do. It would be a routine day, she told herself.
    Once she finally forced herself out of bed, she hurried through her morning routine anxious to get to the bookstore and see her new friend. She drove with the classic rock blaring on her car stereo and singing at the top of her lungs. She was a girl again. She thought how easy it is to forget one’s gender when you have little to no interaction with the opposite sex. You become a sort of neutral entity.
    This time, when she unlocked the shop door and flung it open, she did not call out for Hemingway, but rather, she cried out, “Jacob?”
    The only response she got was a peeved meow from the feline in residence.
    “You’re not Jacob, silly! Have you seen him?”
    Hemingway flipped her tail indifferently and moved toward her empty food dish.
    When she got to her desk, there was nothing to let her know he had been there. No poetic or literary tokens of his alleged affections. No appearances. Just the banal surroundings that she had grown accustomed to until recently. For someone who had been dead for so long, Jacob brought lightness into the world of dusty old books and to her dismal outlook. She couldn’t imagine where he could be