Saving Elijah

and we were playing "Pass the Story." I'd just finished reading Little Women, and we had great fun coming up with a new ending: Jo decides the Professor isn't for her, runs off to Japan to become a famous geisha, then meets a Japanese man named Chang (a Chinese name but who cared?) whose magic carpet transports them all around the world having adventures. The carpet, I decided, should land on Marmee's head, suffocating her just as she's making one of her annoying little cheer-up speeches to the other sisters. "Oh, my girls, you must not despond but hope and keep happy." Splat.
    In a few minutes the rest of the family arrived. After everyone hugged and kissed, and looked at each other with meaningful silences, they made some small talk, just as they always did, these two incongruous in-law couples, with the added presence of Uncle Lee. My father asked Sam's father about the lumber business, in which he had no interest. Charlotte asked Lee how his antiques business was going. Charlotte and Sam's mother talked about how much traffic there had been coming into the city that night, how cold it was that winter.
    "I brought the Elvis CD," Kate said, pulling it from her backpack. We closed the door to the NAR, put the CD player next to Elijah's ear, and switched it on, loud. "Hound Dog" blared in Elijah's ear, bright parallel lines formed inch by inch on the monitor, but he slept on, unmoved. Come on, Elijah. Get mad. How dare we tie your wrists to the side of the bed! What if you want to get up and dance?
    My daughter finally switched off the CD.
    "Tomorrow," Sam said.
    I stared at this stranger I'd been married to for all these years, studied his face carefully, his pale skin, his out-of-style glasses, the slant of his square jaw.
    "Admit it! You hate him!" A disembodied whisper, a sibilant sound, a hiss.
    I flicked at my ear, and the ghost materialized at the ceiling, right inside the NAR now. He was getting closer.
    No, I didn't hate Sam. I loved him. Didn't I? What was it I loved about him? If someone had asked me that before all this, I might have reviewed the facts of Sam, his likes and dislikes: loves a good joke; hates spinach and adores pumpkin pie; doesn't like me to wear makeup, he says, because I'm so naturally beautiful. Or his qualities: does this thing with his mouth when he's amused, a wry half-smile with dimples; incredibly affectionate and incurably boyish, still leaves me little love notes after all these years; disciplined, dutiful, and easy to please; and considerate, too. For example, adores rock music but pretends to prefer jazz when my father is around because my father does.
    "I have a lot of homework," Alex said.
    "I'm sure they'll understand," I said, taking rapid breaths.
    "How long do you expect them to cut me some slack?"
    "I don't know, Alex." I didn't. Why was he angry at me? I leaned over and pressed my lips to Elijah's cheek. His skin felt warm.
    "Why are his wrists tied like that?" Charlotte asked.
    "So he doesn't fall off the bed when he wakes up," Sam said.
    "Did the doctor say when he was going to wake up?" his father asked.
    "Any day now," Sam said. "Any day."
    "Fool!" the ghost said, lying back now, floating on an invisible settee.
    "He's not a fool," I told the ghost. "Sam just thinks of the glass as half full."
    "A regular Pollyanna," the ghost said, nasally, floating down toward me, passing over and through my family.
    "A positive outlook," I countered.
    "Complacent and self-satisfied."
    "Hopeful."
    "Unrealistic."
    "Faithful and loving."
    "So's a Boy Scout."
    "Ethical."
    Mocking laughter. "An ethical ad man? Puh-lease."
    There were those who might describe Sam's career as pushing unnecessary stuff on people who couldn't afford it. I thought of all the clients Sam had worked with over the years, a list which included corporations that had surely engaged in child slave labor in foreign countries, a pharmaceutical manufacturer hawking medications that had serious health risks, a tobacco company. And those were just the obvious ones. But wasn't that the way life was? You made compromises. I made therapeutic alliances with all kinds of people, too, counseled wife abusers, once treated a pedophile.
    "Doesn't sweat the small stuff."
    "And the big stuff?" The ghost, who was now beside me, cast a glance at Elijah, who was still lying there with his wrists tied to the bed.
    My face felt as if it might collapse, my bones seemed to be turning to paste. The ghost was making animal sounds,