She saw him as she stepped through the picket fence into the garden. He was hovering over the porch, watching her intensely, his eyes darker than the rest of his features. His gaze flickered once to the precious bundle she carried in her arms before returning to her face.

It had been so long since she'd last seen him. He was as tall as she'd remembered; his hair dark, but of course was nothing compared to his eyes. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and slacks, all tinged in a misty tint of grey. She thought the grey seemed lighter now, but that couldn't be right. Ghosts never changed in appearances. Wasn't that how it went?

She never realized how much she missed him until now.

He watched her bring her sleeping son up to the porch. Alan's legs were wrapped around her waist as his head rested on her shoulder, tired out from the long trip.

She stopped two steps below and glanced up at her ghost. Her eyes were sad but calm. His were quiet.

"Hello, Jan," she said softly.

He lifted a hand and stroked her discolored cheek with the back of his fingers. His touch felt like fresh, cold morning mist, a comfort that brought back memories from long ago.

"Hello, Bekah," he said. "Welcome back."

At that tender gesture, she broke down and wept.

*

Bekah first met Jan in '76, when she was eight years old. Her mother had sent her to live with her grandmother for the summer, and Bekah was apprehensive but fascinated by Nana's old house.

Nana was fondly indulgent with Bekah's obvious curiosity. "Feel free to explore, my Bek," she said. "I'm sure there are many nooks and crannys that a girl like you would enjoy. In fact, I believe there are secret passages around."

"Really, Nana?" Bekah breathed, wide-eyed.

"That's what I hear." Nana winked and pottered around the living room, looking for her knitting needles. Bekah found them sticking out from in between the sofa cushions and handed them to her grandmother. Nana accepted them gratefully. "Do be sure to make a lot of noise, will you, so that I know where you are?"

"Sure, Nana!" Bekah cried, jumping up to kiss her grandmother's cheek before bounding up the stairs.

She explored the house for two weeks but never found any secret passages. On the sixth day, however, she had found Jan.

He'd been older than Bekah then; a grown-up by far. She stumbled across him while prodding the corridor walls in search of hidden entrances.

"Hello," she said warily to the stranger. The hallway was dusty and shadowed, casting a funny sort of light on him that made him seem greyish, but he was handsome.

He smiled at her. "Hello," he answered. "You must be Bekah. Louise told me so much about you."

Louise was what Bekah's dad called Nana. Bekah stretched her neck as she looked up at the stranger. "Who are you?"

He chuckled at her candidness. "My name's Jan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She held out her hand, because her dad had taught her to always shake hands when a grown-up introduces him or herself with a "pleasure to meet you." It impressed his colleagues to meet his polite and professional daughter.

Jan hesitated briefly before taking her hand. Her small and pale fingers looked strange in his large palm; his grasp felt stranger still. Not in a bad way. Just a little cold, the way the leaves in Nana's garden usually felt after a thunderstorm. With the same sort of texture too.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

He spread his arms. "Here."

Bekah grinned, pleased at having caught him in a fib. "No you don't. Nana lives here."

"Well, I live with your Nana." He waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

Bekah frowned uncertainly. Her Aunt Maxine lived with Uncle Barry -- he wasn't really her uncle, and they weren't married, but her parents insisted that Bekah call him that -- but somehow she didn't think it was the same with Nana and Jan. For one thing, Nana was too old.

Bekah cleared her throat and tried to look important. "If you live with Nana," she said, "then where is your room?"

Jan looked nonplussed for a moment. "Welllll. . . I go from room to room, since I get bored staying in one room for too long."

Bekah giggled. "You silly."

Just then Nana called from downstairs. Bekah bade a hasty goodbye to her new friend and raced down the corridor. Just as she turned the corner, she glanced back over her shoulder. Jan stood there and gave a friendly little wave. She waved back, smiling, but as her eyes traveled down, she realized that his feet did not quite touch the ground.

Bekah ran down the steps, taking two at a time, her brow knitted in thought.

*

Nana couldn't answer Bekah's question of where Jan was from. All she knew was that he came with the house. "He's such a polite young man," she said.

It wasn't hard living with a ghost for the summer. It was actually fun. Jan often accompanied Bekah on her trips to the attic, sharing in her fascinated pleasure as she perused Nana's old belongings. Nana was quite accepting -- even relieved -- that Jan was around to look after her granddaughter, for she knew that Jan would take good care of Bekah.

During those three months Bekah nurtured a crush on Jan. He seemed amused by it, but never teased her or tried to discourage her wide-eyed devotion. She was grateful for that.

She was heartbroken when fall came and she had to go home, but Jan was there when she brought her bags to the front door. He knelt in front of her and tapped a knuckle lightly beneath her chin.

"Chin up, Bekah," he said. "Your Nana and I will be here. You can always visit us anytime."

"For shame, Jan," Nana chastised, pretending to rap him with the blunt end of her knitting needle. She did it lightly, however, barely grazing him, because heavy pressure would mean going right through him. Jan's ghost-shape was funny that way. "I'm the one who's supposed to say that." She bent down and kissed Bekah noisily on the cheek, causing Bekah to giggle. "You come back again, my Bek, you hear?"

"Yes, Nana," Bekah smiled. She kissed her grandmother back, and shook Jan's hand even though she longed to hug him tightly. She had to struggle not to display not so much as a sniffle, for she was a strong girl, and she was not going to be a crybaby in front of Jan and Nana.

"Who is that young man?" her mom asked Nana a few minutes later as Bekah climbed into the backseat of the car. Jan had found a reason into retreat to the kitchen, but her mother had seen him.

"That's Jan, dear. He helps me sometimes." Nana kissed her daughter's cheek. "He was a great help in looking after Bekah. Oh, you must have Bekah visit us more often. She hasn't come to stay with me since your dad died."

Bekah pressed her hands against the car window, looking out at the house. Jan's face appeared in the attic window, and she grinned and waved at him. He waved back.

She carried that image of him all the way back home.

*

Bekah visited Nana and Jan often until she was eighteen. Nana seemed to shrink, seemed to grow smaller with each passing year. Jan never changed; not his age, his appearance, or even that misty color Bekah had come to love.

She left for Brown when she was eighteen. She didn't have time to drive home to visit her parents, much less see Nana or Jan. Phone calls and letters were few. She attributed it to college. Then when she graduated, she attributed it to life, as she immediately moved to New York to work with a corporation that apparently couldn't do without her excellent management skills. Later she found out that the boss couldn't do without the sight of her legs, either.

She quit and returned home briefly. She went to see Nana, who spent most of her time in her rocking chair now. Her grandmother's peach-toned, crinkled skin contrasted with her white, fragile hair. Her warm spirit never left her, though, something for which Bekah was thankful for.

Jan had stared at Bekah when she first stepped through the picket fence. She stared at him too, suddenly aware again of how much she had missed him, of how different things were now. For one thing, they were closer in years. Chalk that up to his never aging. And her childhood infatuation, long thought to be dormant and dead, resurfaced with vigor.

He would gaze at her for a long time; sometimes she would look up from a book she was reading to Nana and find him watching her. He was more quiet now, no longer providing constant mischievous banter towards the girl he had once treated like a little sister. He seemed more distant.

On her last night at Nana's, he kissed her on the cheek. It happened in the corridor, as they were smiling and reminiscing about their first meeting. She had laughed, and a strange expression crossed his face. Her laughter trailed away as he looked at her, watched her, studied her in a way that caused a funny feeling to curl in her lower belly. Then he leaned over slowly, giving her a chance to draw away if she chose to. She remained still.

The kiss was not like the ones she had received in college or after. No hot, wet crowded feeling to accompany it. It was light and gentle; it made her think of fresh green mint leaves chilled from morning dew.

She stared at him, trying to read his expression, but he would not let her. He strode down the corridor and vanished around the corner. He did not show up the next day when she had to drive back home. Nana seemed just as confused and concerned as she was.

Or maybe Nana knew something Bekah didn't, as her old palm went to her granddaughter's cheek and a tender look came to her eyes. As Bekah started the car, she thought she saw a flicker in the attic window, but Jan did not show. It must have been her imagination.

*

Two weeks later, Nana passed away. The house went to Bekah's mother, but the memory of Nana still lingered strongly within its walls. Her mother grieved too much to want to go near the house, but neither did she want to sell it. Bekah found reasons not to visit. Besides, she had met a man.

She married him after a few months of courtship. It sounded so old-fashioned and romantic then: "courtship." As if she had worn long pink dresses with lace underskirts, and he had worn a black suit and a bowler hat as he knelt beside her. In truth, they spent most of their time at the office, working together. Discussing accounts long into the night. Then making love on his office desk until all their paperwork was scattered on the floor.

It was hard to remember when the blows started. Somewhere after their honeymoon and before the baby. He was the CEO by then; he could allow her more sick leave than was allocated by the company, so that she would not have to show the bruises on her face to the rest of her colleagues.

He didn't hit her when she had Alan, but then again her family kept dropping by to see her. It would have been hard for him to explain about the marks on her body.

Bekah continued to remain silent until she saw him slap Alan in the living room one day. Alan was five then. She immediately packed their bags and moved in with her parents. The divorce proceedings took weeks.

As much as she loved her mom and dad, she needed her own space. So did Alan. Her mother suggested Nana's old house, and Bekah took the key.

*

Now she and Jan stood at the porch, looking at each other, Alan heavy in her arms. She wiped away the tear streaks on her face with one hand, careful not to jiggle and wake her son. She glimpsed Jan's fist tightening briefly as he studied the bruise on her face-- faded but still visible -- but she did not flinch at the gesture. There had been times when a man -- cousin, friend, colleague -- had moved abruptly in her presence and she had flung her hands up in defense. It had been pure reflex, something she was still trying to control.

She felt no fear now. This was Jan. He would never hurt her. As she looked into his eyes, she could see that his anger was not at her, but for her.

He glanced down at Alan and seemed to swallow, which was a funny thing because she didn't think ghosts had anything to swallow with.

"This must be Alan," he said. He smoothed a knuckle over the boy's soft, fair face and tousled hair. "He looks just like you."

"How did you know his name?" She spoke softly so as not to wake Alan up.

Jan smiled. "Your mother comes here sometimes. She talks aloud. She thinks she's speaking to Louise."

"And she's not?"

He glanced away, his dark eyes faraway and distant. "Louise is happy where she is. Although if she could, she would have come here instantly to scold you for not telling us. Telling me." He returned his look to her. "Why didn't you tell me, Bekah?"

Now Bekah swallowed. "It was hard telling anybody."

His gaze never wavered. "Why didn't you come back?"

"It was just. . . hard."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead stepped back. He couldn't carry Alan or her bags -- some things never changed, and the extent of his perviousness was one of them -- so he gestured at the door.

"Welcome back, Bekah," he said as she entered. "We missed you." He was still outside when she heard him add, softer still, "I missed you."

She didn't know if he heard her whispered reply, breathed as she ducked her head against Alan's hair, "I missed you too." But as she felt a cool, gentle mist enfold her from behind, she was sure he did.

I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
-- "Hanging By A Moment", Lifehouse