It was well into the evening when the conversation started up.
He really wasn’t looking forward to talking to her again. She had this tendency to blame others for things she was totally responsible for.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she was saying.
He went to reply.
“When I think of all the medical bills I had to pay, all of the after care, the medications. In short, I ended up with one hell of a bill. It took me almost six months to pay it all off.”
“Well,” he replied, “you probably don’t want to hear this, but one does have to ask what you were doing out there in the first place. I mean, it’s an old car, not really good for maneuvering through the sort of terrain you were in at the time.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” she replied, “the car just came out of nowhere. He must have seen me! He just ploughed right into me.”
“Yes, but they were only dirt tracks. What were you doing there?”
“Cant a girl just make her way out to the beach in the evening? Just to park somewhere, then wander down and sit on the sand looking out across a moonlit sea.” She fell silent for a moment. She went on, “I know it’s not everybody’s cup of tea, but it’s certainly something I like to do.” She gave an audible sigh; and with that, the room fell silent.
He hoped he wouldn’t be hearing from her again anytime soon.
He sat reflecting sadly on the fact that once you’ve found that you possess the knack of talking to the dead, you’re really stuck with it.