There's a ghost in my house. I hear her singing. A little girl. Why is it always a little girl? The light through the window is barely enough to see by, but the sky outside is very pale. Clouds slide ... [+]
"Are you scared?" I ask Dad over the phone. "What do I have to be scared about?" he says. "We're locked in our rooms." He's always been tough like that, stoic, but I wish I could see his face, hug him. I know from weekly reports the nurse sends me that he's thin, frail. But he still gets up every day, does his morning exercises, makes himself breakfast. The last time I saw him, Julie and I helped him moved into this retirement home, thinking he‘d be safer here. I was about to visit him this spring when the virus struck. "I wish we could Zoom," I say. Dad‘s computer doesn‘t have a camera, and h