The Apparition at the Counter

I never thought I’d be the kind of person to see things, not really. Sure, I’d had a few strange dreams after late shifts at the herb shop, but nothing like what happened that Tuesday afternoon. Marcus, one of our regulars, had been absent for two weeks, which was unusual. He usually came in every few days to pick up his favorite blend of chamomile and lavender, his go-to for stress relief.

When he finally walked through the door, I was relieved to see him. He looked thinner, darker circles under his eyes. ‘Hey, Marcus! Where’ve you been?’ I asked, trying to sound light. He gave a tired smile. ‘Had to go to New Mexico for my grandmother’s funeral. It was sudden.’

As he spoke, I saw her. A woman in her seventies, standing right behind him, dressed in a vibrant turquoise dress, white hair pinned in a neat bun. She smiled warmly, like she was glad to see me. I blinked, and she was still there. I thought my mind was playing tricks, perhaps I’d conjured an image from the way Marcus mentioned his grandmother. I looked away, focused on the register, and when I looked back, she was gone.

I didn’t say a word. I cashed him out, wished him well, and he left. My coworker, Lena, noticed my stunned expression. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. I hesitated, but eventually told her I thought I saw someone with him. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Go tell him, you’ll feel better.’ But I refused. What if I was wrong? What if I made it up and ended up looking like a fool? Or worse, what if it was real? Then I’d be the ‘crazy’ lady who sees ghosts.

Weeks passed, and I tried to forget it. Marcus came in occasionally, and I never saw the woman again. I convinced myself it was a trick of the light, a momentary lapse of attention. But then, one Saturday afternoon, he returned for the first time in a month. He looked even more haggard. As he handed me his usual order, I noticed a small photograph stuck to the back of his hand with a piece of tape. It was of an elderly woman in a turquoise dress, the same one I’d seen.

My heart raced. I pointed to the photo. ‘Who is that?’ I asked. He glanced at it, his expression darkening. ‘That’s my grandmother,’ he said, then pulled the photo off and studied it. ‘She died a month ago. I just got the photo back from the funeral home.’

I opened my mouth to tell him about the day I saw her, but nothing came out. He looked at me expectantly. I took a breath and said, ‘I think she came to visit me that day she died, you know, to say goodbye.’

His eyes widened. ‘She was here? How?’ I explained the brief vision, how she stood behind him, smiling. He listened without interrupting, his hands trembling. When I finished, he let out a shaky laugh. ‘She always said she wanted to see where I went for my tea,’ he said.

That night, I couldn’t shake the image of her. The next morning, I found a note slid under the shop’s door. It was from Marcus. He wrote that he’d always believed in signs, but never thought he’d get one from beyond. He thanked me for telling him, for letting her say goodbye.

I still don’t know if it was real or if my mind created something to comfort him. But whenever I see a flash of turquoise out of the corner of my eye, I like to think she’s still watching over him, and me.