“I sang to you when you were a baby,” he says. “All the time. Remember?”

I shake my head, partly because I really don’t remember and partly because I can’t believe my dead brother is just sitting on my bedroom floor, talking to me like this isn’t completely insane.

Pat smiles and he looks too real to be sitting here right now. “You liked that ‘Hush Little Baby’ song,” he tells me, picking at the ancient, stained carpet and avoiding eye contact. “But I could never remember the words after the diamond ring part, so I just made them up. You didn’t seem to mind, though.”

I know he probably expects me to say something, but all I can do is stare. He starts singing:

“If that diamond ring won’t shine,

Patty’s gonna buy you a porcupine.

And if that porcupine’s too sharp,

Patty’s gonna buy you a golden harp.

And if that golden harp’s too loud,

Patty’s gonna buy you a fluffy cloud.

And if that fluffy cloud’s too far,

Patty’s gonna buy you a brand new car.”

I laugh. “Buying a car for a baby sounds pretty irresponsible.”

“Financially?” he asks, “Or just in general?”

“Both,” I answer, shrugging.

Finally, he meets my eyes. He looks so much like dad it’s scary—all of him broad and angled, except for the gentle curve of his smile—but I don’t tell him that. He laughs, too. My chest constricts.

“I can’t remember the last time you smiled like that,” I say quietly. Almost instantly, all the light vanishes from his face.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he retorts. His teeth disappear and he presses his lips into a line. He doesn’t sound angry, but he always sort of looks it.

“There hasn’t been much to smile about lately, Patrick,” I tell him. I can’t help the bite in my voice. “I don’t know if you heard, but awhile back, my brother died tragically young and left me here to suffer alone.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“I know you didn’t,” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not right to be mad at the dead.”

“No, it’s okay,” he corrects me. “I’ve been terrible. I’d be surprised if you weren’t mad.”

“Pat—”

“I mean it,” he says. “I told you I’d fix everything, and then I disappeared. And then I just went off and died. I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am. I’ll never be able to fix it.”

I step over and sit beside him on the floor. “If you’re looking for suggestions,” I offer. “You can start with that fluffy cloud?”