“The first time I was reading Jefferson’s diary, a cardinal landed on the window ledge right outside,” I said to Patrick. “Some people believe cardinals are messengers from beyond.”
“Some people do,” Jefferson said cryptically.
Once Patrick filled me in on what to listen for, with intense focus, I caught seventeen high pitched notes—seventeen—after the first two, like a slide. “That’s a cardinal?”
“Yes.”
“I hear them all the time,” I said.
“Your loved ones are around you,” Jefferson told me, or maybe it was Patrick. I was staring up into the trees, so I wasn’t sure.
“I was reading about ghosts recently,” I said in response, “and I really want to believe what a lot of the articles said, about how most souls pass over with no problem into peace.”
I wanted to believe it now, too, as I
