Nolan James Webb was found in the crosswalk at Burnside and Twentieth at 11:42 PM on a Sunday in November. Hit-and-run. The driver never stopped.

Audrey's last text to him: "Bring back chips if you remember."

He didn't bring back chips.

She's been paying forty-seven dollars a month for three years to keep his phone number active. Not to call him. To hear his voicemail. Two seconds of his voice: "You've reached the voicemail box of Nolan James Webb." Every night, in the dark, phone on the pillow where his head used to be. Her therapist calls it a transitional object. Her sister Diane calls it unhealthy.

On a Thursday in November, the phone rings instead of going to voicemail. And Nolan answers.

Groggy. Confused. Like he's waking from deep sleep. He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know he's dead. His actual phone  ...