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I got under the canopy and held on to the support pole as I scraped the mud off my shoes on the edge of the temporary floor.

Suddenly, a shiver ran through me and all the little hairs on my arms stood on end, freaking me
out a little. A rumble seemed to vibrate through the earth. I leaned out of the tent and looked up into the dark sky.

There was a sudden, deafening
snap
!

And then everything went dark.

I opened my eyes, unsure where I was. But I quickly closed them against the assault of the superbright lights in the room. I still didn't know where I was, but I was pretty sure I wasn't at home in my own bed, since my room couldn't possibly be that bright without the addition of about twenty sunlamps.

“She's awake, thank goodness,” I heard a distant but familiar voice say.

Slowly prying my lids open, I allowed in tiny bits of light at a time. I quickly figured out I was in a hospital room.
My
hospital room, as in I was the person lying on a bed in the middle of it.

Wow, that's messed up. One minute you're scraping crud off your shoe, the next you're waking up in a hospital room.

“Oh!” Mom, still in her wedding gown, jumped
up from a chair in the corner and put her hand on my forehead. “She doesn't seem to have a fever.”

Dad was on the other side of the bed looking down at me, a very concerned expression on his face.

“Wha…,” I croaked, my throat so dry the words wouldn't come out. Mindful of the IV line running into my arm, I mimed a drink and pointed at my neck.

“I'll go get the nurse.” Dad disappeared, hopefully to also get me a glass of water.

“Just take it easy, honey.” Mom stroked my cheek with her left hand, the one that now sported her engagement ring and wedding band. If she was here and still wearing her wedding gown, it meant… oh, crap.

I forced some saliva into my mouth and swallowed. “Honeymoon?” I managed, looking over at Stan who was standing at the back of the room by the window, still wearing his tux, although the bow tie was hanging loose at his neck.

Weird, it was probably the first time my parents had been in the same room since Mom had brought Stan over to tell Dad they were getting married.
That
had not been a good day either.

“Oh, honey, we're not going anywhere. We need to make sure you're okay.”

“What happened?” I forced out, despite the fire in my throat.

Dad returned to the room, thankfully with a paper cup, just in time to answer my question. “You were hit by lightning.” He held the straw up to my lips, and I sucked down the cool water.

Wait a minute
, I thought as his words sunk in.
I was hit by
lightning?

I stared at Dad.

He nodded. “Really.”

I turned and looked at my mom. “I'm sorry about your honeymoon.”

“She'll get over it. She's concerned about you,” someone, a woman, said. My mom's lips weren't moving, so I swiveled my head around; there were no other women in the room.

“What did you say?” I asked Mom.

“
She
didn't say it.
I
did. Oy, Lilah.”

I was looking at my mom, and there were no words coming out of her mouth, yet a female was speaking to me.

Okay, what's going on?
I was clearly losing it.

“It's me.”

I turned to look at the other side of the room where the voice seemed to be coming from. Just my dad over there.

“No. It's
me
.” The voice became more insistent, frustrated.

I looked back at Mom. “Have I had any medicine?”

She shook her head.

“Can I have some, please?”

“I guess you can't see me,” the voice said. “But I'm here. Lilah, it's
me
, your grandmother, Dora.”

HUH?

I looked back at Dad. “Do you hear her?”

“Who?”

“Bubby Dora?” Surely he'd be able to hear his own mother's voice.

Dad's forehead wrinkled up as he grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Lilah, your grandmother's been gone for four years.” He looked up at Mom. “Maybe the nurse can get her something to help her sleep.”

Good idea.

“You don't need any medicine,” Bubby Dora said. “Tell your father not to be so closed-minded. He had no imagination as a child. I see he's gotten no better since I died.
Tsk.
”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I felt my sanity slip away. Thankfully, the nurse and her sleep-inducing pills were right behind.

“Are you awake? I think we need to talk.” The voice was as loud as if there was a person speaking right next to me. I looked around the room, but despite the restorative sleep, I was still hearing things.

“You're not hearing things. Well, you are, but it's me you're hearing, your bubby.”

“Bubby?” I whispered into the dimness. “What happened to me?”

“Well, you were hit by lightn—”

“No,” I interrupted. “What happened to me that I can hear you? Are you really there, or am I crazy?”

“I'm here. You're not crazy.”

I took a deep breath. “So can you explain why I can hear you now?”

“It must have been the lightning doing something to your wiring. I can't explain it, but I felt it when you were hit.”

“Were you there?” It felt surreal talking to a disembodied voice, but I had so many questions. And it sure sounded like my late grandmother. And even if I was crazy, it was kind of comforting talking to her.

“I wasn't able to attend the wedding, unfortunately, but when the lightning hit you, it was like someone switched on a radio and I was tuned to your channel. That's the best way I can describe it.”

“Huh.”

“But I'm glad it happened,” she said.

Personally, I wasn't so sure. It was very weird. “What's it like to be dead? And what were you doing that you can be here but you couldn't come to Mom's wedding?”

There was a very long pause. So long, I began to think she was gone, when she suddenly said, “I'm sorry, but I can't tell you.”

“Oh,” I said, a little disappointed. I mean, what's the use of talking to dead people if they can't tell you about being dead?

“Sorry, Lilah, I just can't. But as you can probably tell, I'm doing okay. That's all you really need to know.”

I guess
that
was of some comfort. I smoothed the blanket around me and looked out the window, trying to gauge what time it was. Had to be late, the hospital seemed so quiet.

“So now what?” I said. Was my dead grandmother going to become a 24/7 fixture in my life?

“I need you to help me.”

My dead grandmother needed my help? For what? Was there some old mah-jongg crony of hers she needed help haunting?

“No, nothing like that,” she said. And even though it had been four years since she'd died, I could picture her standing there with her hands on her hips while she read my mind.

“Wait a minute, you can read my mind?”

“No, but I could tell by the look on your face you were thinking something awful.”

“I don't know, I thought maybe you wanted
to haunt someone. What could you possibly need my help with?”

“We need to find your father a new wife.”

“Can we go back to my other idea? I think haunting would be so much easier.” I sighed, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. “Dad is a hopeless case.”

“You're tired. Sleep on it. They're sending you home tomorrow, and then we'll figure out what we're going to do.”

It appeared I had no choice. I was going to be a ghost's accomplice in the matchmaking of my father.

Oh, this was going to be ghoulish all right.

No longer able to fight the exhaustion, I closed my eyes. And as I began the spiral down to unconsciousness, my grandmother the ghost hummed a soft lullaby until I drifted off to sleep.

The next day, after the doctor came by and told me I was okay enough to leave, Dad came to the hospital and took me home.

I was still tired and pretty messed up over the whole I-can-hear-my-dead-grandmother thing, so we didn't talk much on the way. Dad did tell me that Mom and Stan caught a later flight and went on their honeymoon, so that was a relief. Although the way he said it, it was obvious he still wasn't over Mom having gotten remarried. I didn't have the energy to say anything about it, though.

“You should go get some rest,” he said once we were inside the house.

I nodded. “I'd like something to eat.” I looked into the fridge for something, anything, to tide me over.

“Unbelievable. I just can't believe this.”

I turned to see Dad holding up the dress I'd been wearing at the wedding. I couldn't believe it either. It had several scorch marks and even a burn hole that went right through the fabric. If the electricity going through my body was enough to do that to the material, how did I survive?

The enormity of what had happened suddenly hit me, and I had to sit down. I shuffled over to the table and dropped into a chair, still staring at the dress. “I could have died.”

Dad put down the dress and approached me. “But you didn't, and that's what matters.”

I nodded, still feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“Come on, kid, let's go get you up to bed; you can have a snack later.”

He took my hand and gently guided me out of the chair and up to my room.

“Do you need some help?” he asked as I kicked off my All Stars.

I'd sleep in my clothes before I'd let my dad help me get undressed, but I did appreciate that he offered. “No, I'm okay. Thanks.”

He closed the gap between us and gave me a big hug. “I'm glad to see you're okay, kid.” His voice hitched.

I fought my own tears; it was pretty messed up to think I had survived a lightning strike.

He left, closing the door behind him. I glanced over at my computer, dying to check my e-mail (my cell phone got toasted by the lightning, so I'd been totally incommunicado since). But my eyes, heavy and protesting any more use, would have no part of it. I gave in to the exhaustion, undressing and climbing in between the sheets.

My last thought before drifting off was that it seemed really quiet. Maybe my brain was a little fried from the lightning and I had dreamed up the whole thing.

That made a lot more sense than suddenly having the ability to hear dead people.

My cat, Salvatore Lasagna, woke me up by kneading his paws all over my chest. I tried to push him away, but he certainly didn't care that I needed sleep after all the excitement of being hit by lightning. Cats are like that.

I looked at the clock: it was almost dinnertime.

My stomach growled its confirmation.

I got out of bed and put on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt before heading downstairs to raid the fridge. Halfway down the stairs I could smell pizza. Sometimes Dad knew just what I needed.

He wasn't in the kitchen, but the box was on the island so I flipped it open, grabbed two slices, put one on top of the other on a paper towel, and followed the TV sounds to the den. Dad was in
there, reading his paper and scarfing down his own slices.

“Hi,” I said, taking the spot next to him on the couch.

He lowered his paper and put the slice down on his plate. “Hey, kid, how're you feeling?”

I took a bite of my pizza and nodded. “Okay,” I said, even though I wasn't supposed to talk and chew at the same time—I needed to get that pizza in my empty belly and fast. “What are you watching?”

He glanced over at the TV and winced even though it was on a commercial. “I guess it's
The Bachelor
. I wasn't really watching.” He held his paper back up to make his point.

“Maybe he'll learn a few things,” said someone who sounded distinctly like my dead grandmother. “He could use some tips on courting.”

Oh, this is not good
, I thought.
Courting?

“Dad?” I asked.

“Mmmhmm?”

“What do you think happens when we die?”

He lowered the paper again. “What do you mean, Lilah?” His eyes softened and he cocked his head to the side. “You heard what the doctor said. You're going to be fine. Do you have a headache or anything?”

I shook my perfectly nonaching head. “No, I'm just wondering what happens after… you know.”

“We come back to haunt our families.
Woooooooo!
” my grandmother said.

Not funny.

Okay, it kind of was.

“Like where do you think Bubby is right now?” I asked, wondering if I should tell him. And if I did, would he even believe me? Probably not. He'd probably take me back to the hospital to have my head examined.

“I'm right beside you,” she said. But of course, Dad didn't know that.

He took a deep breath. “I'm not really sure. Maybe she's in heaven playing mah-jongg with her friends. Or maybe she's down in Florida, watching over your grandfather.”

“Not anymore. He's got that new girlfriend of his, Marilyn Feldman, to watch over him.”

The way my grandmother said it, I could tell she was only joking about being jealous. She made it seem like after you die, you just want happiness for the people you left behind.

Maybe that's why she said, “Oy, Lilah, we need to find your father a new wife. Look at him; he has pizza sauce on his face.”

I looked up and sure enough, Dad had sauce and even a string of cheese stuck on his cheek. I leaned over and wiped it away with my paper towel.

“I didn't know Zeyde has a new girlfriend,” I said.

Dad leaned back and looked at me. “He doesn't. Wait… what?”

Oops, busted.

“Uh, I mean… Does Zeyde have a new girlfriend in Florida?”