"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to," Poppy said.
She was happy.
It was very late the next day. Almost midnight, in fact. The witching hour. Poppy was standing in a place she'd thought she'd never see again, her mother's bedroom.
James was waiting outside with a carload of stuff, including one large suitcase of Poppy's CDs, smuggled for them by Phil.
In a few minutes James and Poppy would be heading for the East Coast and Poppy's father.
But first, there was something Poppy had to do.
She glided quietly toward the king-size bed, making no more noise than a shadow, not disturbing either of the sleepers. She stopped by her mother's still form.
She stood looking down, and then she spoke with her mind.
I know you think this is a dream, Mom. I know you don't believe in spirits. But I had to tell you that I'm all right. I'm all right, and I'm happy, and even if you don't understand, please try to believe. Just this once, be!ieve in what you can't see.
She paused, then added, I love you, Mom. I always will.
When she left the room, her mother was still asleep---and smiling.
Outside, Phil was standing by the Integra. Poppy hugged him and he hugged back, hard.
"Goodbye," she whispered. She got into the car. James stuck his hand out the window toward Phil.
Phil took it without hesitation.
"Thank you," James said. "For everything."
"No, thank you." Phil said. His smile and his voice were both shaky. "Take care of her . . . and of yourself." He stepped back, blinking.
Poppy blew him a kiss. Then she and James drove off together into the night.