Back from the Grave
Kurt Satterfield sat beside the hospital bed, held his wife's hand and watched her chest gently rise and fall with each precious breath she took. He was afraid that if he turned his head away, the motion would stop. His gaze went to her face. He wished she would open her eyes so that he could see them one last time, but the hospice worker had told him she would probably never wake up.
"How much time do we have left?" he whispered to the unresponsive woman.
Despite having been married for more than sixty years, Kurt was not yet ready to say goodbye.
Like photographs in an album, images of their life together flashed through his mind. The couple had met in their junior year in high school when Laverne's family moved to Pittsburgh from New Jersey. It may not have been love at first sight, but it was damned close to it.
He stared at his wife's white hair, remembering when it had been the color of maple leaves in the fall. Now close-cropped, when she was sixteen, her tresses fell halfway down her back. How often, he had buried his face in that radiant red mane. If he closed his eyes, he could no doubt call to mind the scent of the shampoo she once used. But he dared not abandon his self-imposed vigil for fear she would take that moment to pass from this earth.
Nurse Pegram, walking past the room in the hallway, was not surprised to see Mr. Satterfield sitting at his wife's bedside. He had been there for three straight days, leaving only to take short trips to the men's room.
"Would you like me to get you something to eat?" she offered.
"No, thank you, but I suppose I could use a cup of coffee to help me stay awake."
"When was the last time you got some shuteye?"
"I took a nap yesterday morning."
"You need your sleep."
"I want to remain awake by Laverne's side until she goes."
Nurse Pegram knew it was pointless to argue. Kurt was not about to listen to reason. When she returned with the cup of coffee, he appeared as though he had not moved a muscle.
"I don't know how you like it, so I brought up a couple of creamers, sugar and artificial sweetener."
"Thanks," he said, opening a single-serve cup of Coffee-mate with both hands.
As he dumped the creamer into his coffee with his left hand, he immediately took hold of his wife's hand with his right. It appeared to Nurse Pegram that the man believed he could prevent his wife's soul from leaving her body if he held onto her and refused to let go.
"I'll be down the hall if you need me," the nurse said and left the room.
Kurt sipped his hot coffee, rubbing his wife's fingers with his thumb as he drank. A bittersweet smile appeared on his face as his mind went back to 1958.
"I remember our first date," he said. "I picked you up in my dad's Thunderbird. You were wearing blue pedal pushers and a yellow blouse. Your hair was pulled back in a ponytail. We went to Primanti Bros. for burgers and fries before heading over to the Garden Theater to see Steve McQueen in The Blob. Remember that movie? We laughed at what we thought was a ridiculous theme song for a horror movie."
Although he was not much of a singer, Kurt remembered both the lyrics and the upbeat melody and sang them to her.
"Beware of the blob. It creeps and leaps and glides and slides across the floor right through the door. A splotch, a blotch. Be careful of the blob."
It was while he was singing this song, still holding on to her hand, that Laverne took her final breath. With tears in his eyes, Kurt stared at her chest for several minutes as though willing it to resume its up-and-down movement. Despite his heartfelt prayers, begging God for just a few more minutes of life, his beloved wife remained motionless.
* * *
Allegheny Cemetery, one of the oldest and largest burial grounds in Pittsburgh, contains the final resting place of composter Stephen Foster, Baseball Hall of Famer Josh Gibson, actress and singer Lillian Russell, Harry K. Thaw who famously shot and killed architect Stanford White and, most recently, Laverne Satterfield. Six months after the woman's body was interred, her husband still made daily visits to her grave. Neither rain nor snow kept him from placing fresh flowers on the burial mound.
Donna Madigan, the couple's only child who lived in a retirement community in Florida with her husband, had traveled to Pennsylvania for the funeral. Once back in the Sunshine State, she regularly called her father on the phone and pleaded with him to move south.
"Pennsylvania is my home," Kurt replied.
"But with Mom gone, you're all alone."
"This is where she's buried. If I were to move to Florida, who would tend her grave?"
"Please tell me you're not still going to the cemetery every day."
"It comforts me to be near her."
"Dad, you're not getting any younger," Donna pointed out, hoping to reason with her father. "You shouldn't be living on your own. What if you fall or get sick?"
"You mustn't worry about me. I'll be fine. Besides, Pittsburgh has great hospitals."
After the widower removed the wilted red roses from the brass vase in front of his wife's headstone and replaced them with a bouquet of pink carnations and baby's breath, he opened his folding canvas chair and sat at the foot of the grave.
"Donna phoned me again today," he announced, beginning a one-way conversation. "She's still trying to convince me to move to Florida. It doesn't seem like she's going to give up any time soon."
The sun that had previously been shining down upon the old man was swallowed up by swiftly moving storm clouds.
"It's not supposed to rain today. Maybe it will blow over."
Moments later, he felt the first drops. Thankfully, it was nothing more than a summer shower.
"You used to like the rain," Kurt said, reminiscing. "That time we went to the Jersey Shore and it began to pour, you were the only one walking on the boardwalk. Everyone else ran for cover. Your clothes were drenched, and water dripped from the ends of your hair. God! You were beautiful!"
"You're getting wet," someone said.
Startled, he first thought the voice came from below the ground at his feet.
"Would you like to borrow my umbrella?"
Kurt turned and saw a teenager in a hooded sweatshirt standing behind him, holding a rainbow-colored umbrella.
"I didn't mean to scare you," she said, seeing the alarmed expression on his face.
"You didn't," he assured her. "I didn't realize anyone else was around. I thought I was alone."
The old man's eyes widened as he scanned the girl's features.
"Forgive me for staring," he apologized, "but you look a lot like my late wife."
"Is that her there?" she asked, nodding her head toward Laverne's headstone.
"Yes."
"Here, take my umbrella," the teenager offered as it began to rain harder.
"What about you?"
"I'm fine. I like the rain."
"I have a better idea. Why don't we share it?"
Oddly enough, the young girl had no qualms about huddling beneath the umbrella with a strange man.
"I'm Kurt Satterfield. What's your name?" he asked.
"My friends call me Pepper."
"Then that's what I'll call you."
"You must miss your wife a lot," the girl said, noticing the fresh flowers on the grave.
"I do. She was the love of my life and my best friend. Whose grave are you visiting?"
"No one's."
"What are you doing here then?"
"I like it here. It's peaceful. I much prefer walking through the cemetery to hanging out at the mall, especially on a day like today."
"What's so special about today?"
"It's raining," she replied and stepped away from the umbrella so that she could twirl around in a joyful circle.
"You're getting soaked. You don't want to ...."
Pepper lowered the hood on her sweatshirt, exposing her long red hair to the rain. Kurt suddenly felt as though he had been hit with a Taser. With her soaking wet hair hanging down around her face, the girl's resemblance to his late wife was uncanny.
* * *
It was still raining when Kurt returned to his house. He took a Hungry-Man frozen dinner out of the freezer and put it in the microwave oven. He ate his lonely meal for one in front of the television, something he never did when he was married.
Laverne and I always enjoyed our meals together, he thought nostalgically, even when Donna was a child. Families today don't have those good dinnertime conversations.
He could not imagine sitting at a table where one or more people were texting or playing games on their cell phones. Times have certainly changed, and not for the better!
After finishing his home-style meatloaf—which tasted nothing like the meatloaf Laverne used to make—he tossed his trash in the garbage can and rinsed off his fork in the kitchen sink. Rather than scan the channels on the television for something that might spark his interest, he turned off the TV and went to what his daughter had nicknamed his "man cave" and what he still thought of as a den. He scanned the shelves of his bookcase, looking for a book that might take his mind off his loss. What he found instead was his high school yearbook.
"I forgot I even had this."
He took the book to the living room and looked at the faces of the students who belonged to the class of 1959. Some of them were lost in his memory. Even reading their names failed to trigger a recollection. What made identifying these people even more difficult was the writing that was scribbled over their faces. It was customary for students to "sign" classmates' yearbooks. In doing so, students wrote personal messages on their own photos.
Kurt kicked off his shoes, pulled the lever on his recliner and began to read them. Freddie Kreiger had wished him good luck in college. Woody Brill told him to remember the good times they had on the baseball team. Alvin Whitford promised to keep in touch—which he didn't. Greg Mobley jokingly advised him not to take any wooden nickels. His stroll down Memory Lane ended abruptly when he read Sally Szabo's comment: "I bet Ricky and I will be married before you and Pepper."
"Pepper?" he cried.
A long-lost memory of double dating with Ricky Farris and Sally, Laverne's childhood best friend. The two couples went to Kennywood Amusement Park for the day. While waiting in line for the Wild Mouse, Sally joked about Pepper being afraid of rollercoasters.
"Who is Pepper?" Kurt had asked.
"My parents nicknamed me Red Pepper when I was a toddler," Laverne informed him. "They later shortened the name to Pepper. Nobody calls me that anymore, though."
"Except for me," her friend laughed.
Kurt put the yearbook down, and stared out the window, amazed at what he had just discovered.
"So, Pepper is Laverne! That means my wife has come back from the grave! But why is she a young girl again? Why isn't her ghost that of an eighty-two-year-old woman?"
The spirit's age did not bother him for long. His beloved Laverne was restored to him; that was all that mattered.
* * *
Kurt woke early the next morning. Since the cemetery's gates did not open until ten o'clock, the old man had a few hours to kill. Hoping for another encounter with Pepper, he spent more time than usual in bathing, shaving and dressing.
"Laverne always liked this color on me," he said, choosing a blue button-down dress shirt he'd purchased from Jos. A. Bank at the Ross Park Mall. "I think I'll wear the gray and blue striped silk tie with it."
It was the first time he had put on a tie since attending his wife's funeral. In fact, in the seventeen years since he retired, there were only a few occasions when he bothered with ties. Still, he had no trouble tying it. It was like riding a bicycle. Once you learn it, you never forget how.
After donning his jacket, he looked at his Rolex watch. He still had ninety minutes until the cemetery opened its gates. He looked at his reflection in the mirror above his dresser.
"I could use a haircut."
Luckily, Brooks Heller, his recently retired barber, would gladly give his white hair a trim.
"Don't you look handsome!" Monica, Brooks's wife, exclaimed when she answered the door. "Don't tell me you have a date this early in the morning."
"It's no date. I'm just going over to the cemetery."
While the Hellers admired their friend's loyalty to his deceased wife, they both thought it was time for him to move on. No doubt he still had a few good years left. Why would he want to waste them?
"There's someone I met there," Kurt admitted as he sat down on the kitchen chair.
"You don't say," the former barber said with surprise.
"Yes. She's a delightful young woman named Pepper."
"And is this Pepper a widow?" Monica asked.
"No," Kurt laughed. "She's only sixteen years old."
Brooks and his wife exchanged worried looks. Why was an eighty-two-year-old man going to such pains with his appearance for a teenager?
Although Brooks politely refused payment for the haircut, Kurt insisted he take the money. Unlike the customer, the barber was not a wealthy man.
"I better be going. The gates open at ten."
"A sixteen-year-old girl," Monica said as she watched Kurt drive away in his Mercedes. "That worries me."
"I'm sure his interest in her is innocent," her husband declared. "I've known him long enough to know he's no pedophile."
"That's not what worries me. He's getting up there in years. I read that one-third of the people over eighty-five have Alzheimer's. Kurt is going on eighty-three. He's dangerously close to that age."
"Well, I'm sure his daughter is keeping an eye on him."
"All the way from Florida?"
* * *
Kurt sat in his folding canvas chair at the foot of Laverne's grave. His head turned from side to side with the regularity of a lighthouse beacon.
Where are you? he wondered, searching for Pepper.
It was early yet, though. The bells from St. Mary's Church had only just rung the eleventh hour.
"You are going to show up today, aren't you?" he asked Laverne's grave rhetorically when those same church bells signaled the noon hour.
One o'clock came and went. Two. Three. Four. Still, Kurt waited for the teenager to show. At ten minutes to five, he gave up hope. The cemetery gates would soon close. Disappointed, he folded his canvas chair and put it in the trunk of his Mercedes. As he drove away, a song began to play on the radio. It was "Love Me Tender" by Elvis Presley. Stunned, his eyes went from the road to his dashboard. He always had his radio tuned to an all-news station.
Has someone changed the station on me? he wondered.
It was impossible. Not only had the car been parked less than twenty feet away from him, but its doors were locked. No one could have possibly sneaked inside. Yet somehow the digital readout changed from 1250 AM to 95.3 FM. What the old man found more astonishing was that the particular song being played was "their" song, his and Laverne's. It was the song that played during the first time he kissed her. It was also the song they selected for their wedding reception when they danced for the first time as Mr. and Mrs. Satterfield.
It can't be just a coincidence! Laverne—or Pepper—must be responsible.
Once the song ended with Elvis's promising, "For, my darling, I love you, and I always will," a new record immediately began to play. It was another song by Presley: "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"
"Yes," Kurt said aloud. "I am lonesome, Laverne. I've been so ever since you passed away."
On the drive back to his house, the widower kept his eyes on the road but let his tears fall. A third Elvis song played just as he turned onto his street, one that perfectly described how the old man felt for his deceased wife: "I will spend my whole life through loving you, just loving you." Unlike Elvis, however, who had a reputation for being a ladies' man, Kurt had spent his entire life loving one woman.
He pulled the Mercedes into the garage and turned off his engine. The three classic songs by the King of Rock 'n' Roll had boosted his spirits. Even though Pepper had failed to make an appearance, he would return to the cemetery the following day—and every day thereafter as long as he was physically able to do so. Maybe she would be there. If not tomorrow, then possibly the next day.
"If there's a way for you to come back to me," he said, hoping his late wife's ghost could hear him, "I'm sure you'll be there eventually."
Four days went by, but there was no sign of the redheaded teenager. On the fifth day, the weather forecast called for heavy rain. The threat of a downpour did not deter him. Rather than a suit and tie, he wore jeans and a T-shirt and brought along a North Face rain jacket and his umbrella. He had been sitting in his canvas chair for more than three hours when the dark clouds rolled in. Shortly thereafter, the first drops began to fall. The storm soon worsened, prompting Kurt to don his jacket and put up his umbrella.
"Now, this is my kind of weather!"
The old man turned at the sound of the familiar voice.
"Pepper!" he exclaimed with joy.
"Did ya miss me?"
"Yes."
"Good. It was a real kick hanging out with you the other day."
"Really? Our age difference doesn't bother you?" he asked.
"Nah. You're a lot cooler than the guys my age. They're nothing but jocks and greasers. I figure if I want to improve myself, I ought to hang around with squares."
"Is that what you think I am? A square?"
"Yeah," Pepper replied honestly. "But there's nothing wrong with that. I bet you were cool when you were my age."
"I suppose Huey Lewis is correct. It is hip to be square."
"Huey who?"
"Nothing," Kurt said, forgetting that the girl from the Fifties would not understand a reference to a song from the Eighties.
"Age doesn't change people that much," the teenager theorized. "Take Elvis, for instance. When he's in his eighties, he'll probably still be swinging his hips and belting out rock 'n' roll songs."
Kurt remained silent. He did not want to tell Pepper, who obviously idolized Presley, that the singer would die when he was forty-two. He remembered that Laverne had cried when she learned of his death.
"You're getting soaking wet," he declared, noticing her drenched hair and clothing. "Here, get under my umbrella with me."
"That's okay. I like the rain. Besides, I'm already soaked to the skin."
Thankfully, despite the precipitation, the temperature was warm. There was no fear of Pepper getting sick. But, then, if she was really Laverne's ghost, that meant she was already dead.
* * *
Throughout the summer, the bizarre friendship between the elderly widower and the teenage ghost continued. Kurt soon realized Pepper would only appear on rainy days. He was glad it was a wet year. Then the temperatures slowly dropped, and the leaves on the trees turned color. He wondered if the spirit would still appear to him come winter.
Maybe I'll only get to see her when it snows.
One evening in mid-October, he was driving home from the cemetery when he saw a Ford Focus parked in his driveway.
Who can that be? he wondered. I don't know anyone who owns a Focus.
He parked the Mercedes next to the Ford and got out of the vehicle. He felt a pang of apprehension when the front door of his house opened. Was he the victim of a burglary or home invasion?
"Dad, where have you been?" Donna asked. "I've been calling your cell phone all day, and I haven't been able to reach you."
"I'm sorry, I guess I forgot to charge it. What are you doing here?"
"Don't you remember? I sent you a text telling you I was coming up for a visit."
"Did you? It must have slipped my mind."
It was just as Donna had feared. Her father was becoming forgetful. At his age, that was an early warning sign of dementia. Not only would she have to get him to see a doctor, but she would also have to convince him to move to Florida so that she could care for him.
"You didn't answer my question," she said once the two of them were sitting at the kitchen table having coffee.
"What question is that?"
"Where were you?"
"I was at the cemetery," Kurt replied.
"All day?" Donna cried. "And in the rain?"
"I was under an umbrella. See. I'm dry."
"What do you possibly do at a cemetery for hours on end?"
"I've made a friend there."
"Oh? One of the groundskeepers?"
Kurt saw no reason to lie to his daughter. (He just would not share his suspicions as to Pepper's true identity.)
"No. Actually, it's a teenage girl."
"What was a teenager doing in the cemetery?"
"She likes to walk there because it's peaceful. You'd like her. She's a nice kid. She's sweet, smart, funny, and she reminds me so much of your mother at that age."
A warning bell rang in Donna's head. Was her father attracted to this young girl because she looked like his dead wife?
Now, more than ever, I need to get my father to Florida where I can keep an eye on him!
* * *
The following day, Donna accompanied her father to the cemetery. In part, she wanted to see this teenager who had so impressed him, but also to visit her mother's grave.
"I'll drive," she offered. "It's such a nice day out. I thought we'd have lunch. Maybe we'll go to the Grand Concourse. I haven't been there in years."
"All right, but we'll take the Mercedes. No use putting the extra mileage on your rental car."
The first stop was the florist where both father and daughter purchased mums for Laverne's grave. Once Donna entered the gates of the cemetery, she kept her eye out for a redheaded teenager.
"I don't see your young friend," she said as she parked the car.
"She won't be here today."
"That's right. She's just a teenager. She must be in school."
"No. It's not that. She only comes here when it rains."
"That's odd."
"Your mother always did like the rain," Kurt said in a soft voice as though speaking to himself.
"My mother?"
"Oh, I meant Pepper. She likes the rain."
"Pepper? That's the girl's name?" Donna asked, trying to quell the apprehension that the name had stirred. "That was Mom's nickname."
"I suppose that's a common nickname for someone with red hair."
It seemed like a plausible explanation, but his daughter could not help worrying.
Since the sun was brightly shining despite the cool autumn temperature, Kurt was easily convinced to leave the cemetery after only a short visit. Before going to lunch, they drove around Pittsburgh so that Donna could see what, if any, changes had taken place since she had last been home.
"Ah, the Duquesne Incline!" she exclaimed when she saw one of Pittsburgh's two funiculars. "Remember when I was a kid how I used to love riding it!"
"I do," her father reminisced. "You would go up and down, and up and down. Then your mother and I would take you to Primanti's. We had some good times as a family."
"Yes, we did. But there are still good times ahead of us. Hank and I plan on taking a cruise in January. We want you to come with us."
"I couldn't possibly do that."
"Why not?"
"We've been through this before. I won't leave Pittsburgh."
"Dad, isn't it time you moved on? Mom is dead. You can't change that."
"She's not ...."
Kurt suddenly fell silent. He did not want to let his daughter in on the secret he cherished.
"She's not what?" his daughter prompted.
"She's not someone I can forget. I won't move to Florida. I have to be near her."
Donna sighed. It was like hitting a brick wall. She loved her father, but he could be pigheaded sometimes.
* * *
The patter of raindrops hitting the roof woke Kurt the next morning. The rain brought a smile to his face.
"I've made pancakes," Donna announced when he went downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Nothing like a yummy breakfast on a lousy day like today."
"Remember when your mother used to put chocolate chips in your pancakes?"
"Maybe I'll go over to Kuhn's and buy some. If I don't put them in pancakes, I can always bake Tollhouse cookies."
"My favorite!"
"Why don't you come with me?"
"I can't. I'm going to the cemetery."
"We can stop there on the way," Donna suggested.
"It's raining out. Pepper will be there."
"Good. I can get to meet her."
"I'd rather go alone," Kurt said reluctantly. "I don't want to spring a surprise visit on her. Let me tell her you're here in Pittsburgh first. Then I can set something up."
"All right. I'll see you when you get home."
Before heading to Kuhn's, Donna followed her father to the cemetery. She parked at a safe distance so that she could surreptitiously keep an eye on him. She watched as he sat in his canvas chair, beneath a Burberry umbrella. For twenty minutes, his head periodically moved from side to side as though he were looking for someone.
Maybe this Pepper isn't going to show today, she thought.
Then she saw her father stand up. She was close enough to see his face. He was smiling. Now and again, his head nodded and his lips moved.
He's talking to himself.
No, she realized, he was talking to Pepper. But there was no one there!
* * *
When Kurt returned from his visit to the cemetery, he saw two unfamiliar cars in his driveway in addition to the Ford Fusion. He assumed Donna had met up with some old friends and invited them to his house for coffee. He was therefore surprised to find both Sterling Linhart, his doctor, and Walt Stoll, his attorney, both of whom were long-time family friends.
"What a surprise!" Kurt exclaimed.
The look of concern on the men's faces puzzled him.
"I'm afraid this isn't a social call," the doctor declared.
Donna hoped if she explained the situation, it would soften the blow.
"Dad, I've asked them here because I'm worried about you. You've exhibited some peculiar behavior."
"I assure you there's nothing wrong with me. Quite the contrary, I haven't felt this good since before Laverne died."
"Donna told us you have a new friend," Sterling said.
"Yes. Her name is Pepper."
"She was at the cemetery today, wasn't she?" his daughter asked. "That's why you spent the entire day there, isn't it?"
"Yes to both questions."
"I followed you there this morning, Dad. I watched from the car. You were talking to someone."
"Yes, Pepper."
"There was no one there!" Donna exclaimed, visibly upset. "You were having a conversation with thin air!"
"You really didn't see her?" Kurt asked.
His daughter shook her head.
"I guess then I'm the only one she appears to."
"We all think you should be examined by a specialist," Sterling declared.
"That's not necessary. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm sure your mother will make herself known to you in her own good time," he said, addressing the last comment to his daughter.
"My mother?"
"Yes. Pepper is your mother. She appears to me as she was when I first met her."
After Kurt answered his daughter's and the doctor's questions, he excused himself and went to the bathroom. Once he left the room, the three visitors had a private consultation.
"I have to agree with you," Dr. Linhart told his old friend's daughter. "He'll need to see a neurologist for the necessary tests, but based on what I've seen here, I believe he has Alzheimer's. And since he's having hallucinations, my guess is that it's progressed much further than you had thought."
"I can't leave him here on his own. What do you suggest I do?" Donna asked the attorney.
"Depending on the results of his tests," Walt explained, "you might want to petition the court for elderly conservatorship. That would give you the legal right to make decisions on his behalf."
"If the court grants this, could I then make my father relocate to Florida?"
"Legally, yes. But I don't see how you could physically get him on a plane if he doesn't want to go."
"We can sedate him," Sterling suggested. "There are medications I can give him that will make him more compliant."
Kurt, whose trip to the bathroom was only a ruse, was standing in the hallway, listening to every word being said in the kitchen. He was stunned that his daughter would go to such lengths to get him to leave Pittsburgh when he specifically told her he wanted to stay.
With the help of my two old friends, she's going to kidnap me!
If she managed to get him to Florida, he might never see Pepper again. He had lost his wife once; he could not survive losing her a second time.
* * *
"Was that a car I heard?" Donna asked.
"Where is your father?" Sterling inquired. "Is he still in the bathroom?"
Donna got up from the table and walked out into the hall. The bathroom door was open, and no one was inside.
"Dad?" she called. "Where are you?"
Walt looked out the living room window and noticed that the Mercedes was gone.
"It looks like Kurt drove off in his car. My guess is that he overheard at least part, if not all, of our conversation."
"We'd better find him," the doctor advised. "If he's upset, there's no telling what he might do."
"I think I know where is going."
"Let's take my car," the attorney suggested, and all three people got into his Lexus.
Following Donna's hunch, Walt drove to Allegheny Cemetery. As the daughter had presumed, the Mercedes was parked near Laverne's final resting spot.
"There's his car, but where is he?" Sterling asked, seeing no one near the grave.
"Why don't we spread out and look for him," Walt suggested.
Suddenly, the showers that had ended an hour earlier unexpectedly returned. The light sprinkle quickly turned to a steady rain.
"I've got an umbrella in my car," the lawyer announced. "I'll go get it."
Just as he neared his Lexus, a pretty, redheaded teenager appeared on the road.
"Are you Pepper?" he asked.
She walked past him as though she had neither seen nor heard him. As the girl neared Laverne's grave, Donna and Sterling stared at her with awe.
"She does exist!" the doctor muttered.
"It's ... it's my mother! I recognize her from an old photo in the family album."
With their eyes on Pepper, neither of them noticed that someone was opening the driver's door of the Mercedes.
"Look!" Walt exclaimed, pointing to the young man who emerged from the vehicle.
"Oh, my God! It's Dad!"
Like Laverne, he was only sixteen years old.
"I don't believe what I'm seeing!" Sterling cried as the two spirits met near Laverne's headstone.
Pepper took Kurt's hand in hers. Moments later, the two teenage lovers vanished. As suddenly as the rain had started, it stopped. The sun came out and shined brightly down on the mums the old man had put on his wife's grave.
Donna Madigan, racked by grief and guilt, sobbed hysterically. The doctor comforted her as best as he could. Meanwhile, the lawyer walked over to the Mercedes, intending to close the open car door. As he neared the vehicle, he saw Kurt Satterfield's body slumped over the steering wheel. He felt for a pulse, knowing he wouldn't find one. His client and good friend was gone. The realization brought mixed emotions. He was sad that Kurt was dead, but he was also happy that the grieving widower was reunited with the woman he loved.
"Beware of the Blob" Written by Burt Bacharach and Mack David.
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC.
"Love Me Tender" Lyrics by Vera Matson and Ken Darby. Music by George R. Poulton (from a Civil War ballad entitled "Aura Lee"). Published by Elvis Presley Music in 1956.
"Are You Lonesome Tonight?" Written by Roy Turk and Lo Handman in 1926. Recorded by Elvis Presley in 1960.
"Loving You" Written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. Recorded by Elvis Presley in 1957.
Whenever Salem and I go to Pittsburgh, we always stop at Primanti Bros. Salem loves their tall boy sandwiches, and I love the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Pie.
