My boyfriend James died on my birthday about five years ago. I was shattered. Everyone thought we were going to get married one day. I thought so too.

He was on his way home from my party. I tried to persuade him to stay the night in my family's guest room. "You've had way too much to drink! Look at you! You can hardly stand let alone drive!" But he declined my offer and wished me a happy birthday and with a quick kiss on the lips, he was gone. Two days later, after numerous search efforts, his car was found in a ditch just three miles from my house. His battered body was inside. And people wondered why I felt guilty.

I never wanted to date again. That is, until I met Max. He reminded me of James, which is probably what attracted me to him in the first place. We went out for a while, but something inside me kept me from getting too close, told me that I was cheating on James. I tried telling myself that James was gone and he was never coming back. Nothing helped ease my grief. So me and Max broke up. He was upset, but when I told him about James, he seemed to understand. "Here's my number." He handed me a cocktail napkin with some numbers scrawled on it. "Call me sometime?" I took the napkin, but I never called him. We lost touch and I pretty much forgot about Max. But I never forgot James. Oh, no. He was never far from my mind.

Two years later, I was sitting at my desk in the corner of my dorm room working on a term paper when my roommate Emile interrupted me.

"Hannah? Phone."

I looked up, reluctant to stop writing, to see her standing in the doorway that connects our living room/bedroom to our kitchen, one hand placed on waist, pushing her gray cargo pants down to show her bony hips. She held the phone in her other hand and shook it at me impatiently.

"Who is it?" I asked her. "Did they say?"

Emile shrugged. "Some guy."

"Some guy?" I asked incredulously. Usually the guys called for Emile, not me. And it definitely wasn't David or Aaron, my only guy friends. They only called me on my cell number. I doubt they even knew my home number. I stood up anyway and took the four steps it usually took to cross our little room in one stride. Emile thrust the phone in my hand so violently, I almost dropped it. She turned and retreated back into the kitchen where she had Bright Eyes blasting from her portable CD player and grabbed a Popsicle from the freezer. Emile wasn't necessarily a bad roommate, she was just a bitch.

I took the phone back to my bed and sat down cross-legged. "Hello?" I asked uncertainly into the receiver. I got no response. "Is there anyone there?" No answer, just faint static. "Okay, look, who-ever-you-are. This isn't funny! Stop calling here!" This had to be the fourth time this week that someone had called and then hung up.

"It's not your fault."

"W-what?"

"It's not your fault. I should've listened, should've stayed the night. It's my fault."

"James? But you…" I couldn't speak.

"I love you, Hannah, and I always will."

"I… love you too."

"Goodbye, Hannah."

"Bye…"

His deep voice faded into static, but I didn't hang up until the static became so loud, my ears began to ring. I slowly lowered the phone and sat, staring at it as I held it in my lap. The red 'talk' button pulsated as the static echoed from the receiver. I pushed the 'off' button and stared at the phone a while longer. My hands were shaking and tears were pooling in the corners of my eyes.

"This has to be some cruel person's idea of a joke," I concluded. Convinced of this, I pressed the 'talk' button and dialed star69. I grabbed the note pad off my desk and jotted down the number read off to me. I hung up and looked down at the number I had written. My breath caught in my throat. It was James' old cell phone number. I picked up the phone once more and dialed those familiar digits. The automated message played:

"I'm sorry, the number you have reached is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again. I'm sorry, the number you have reached-." The phone slid from my fingers. His voice played back:

"It's not your fault… It's not your fault…"

"It wasn't my fault," I said quietly.

"What?" asked Emile. She was standing in the doorway with a concerned look on her face and a melting Popsicle in her hand. "Are you okay? You look like crap."

I smiled weakly. "Thanks, Emile. You sure know how to make a girl feel better."

She walked over to me and sat down on the corner of my bed. "Sorry." She rubbed my shoulder roughly with her free hand. "But really. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay now… I think." I eyed her Popsicle warily. "Don't get any of that on my sheets, please."

She took another rather defiant lick and tossed the remainder in my trashcan. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"More sure than I have been in a really long time."

"You know what always makes me feel better? A Popsicle, I'll go get you one!" She jumped up to go but I pulled her back down, wincing at the thought of Emile's homemade lemon Popsicles in their tiny ice-tray prisons.

"No, that's okay. Save them for yourself."

"Oh. Okay, then." She stood and left the room.

Once Emile was gone, I knew what I needed to do. I had to rummage around in my desk drawers to find it, but I knew it was in there somewhere. There it was: Max's number.

I picked up the phone, punched in the numbers, then waited. The answering machine picked up: "Hey, this is Max. Tell me something good!" I waited for the beep, then took a deep breath and began.

"Um… Hey, Max… It's Hannah. I was just wondering if you wanted to… go out sometime. If you don't, it's fine, but I was just thinking about you and… it would be really nice to hear from you. So call me back? 549-0819. Talk to you later. Bye." I hung up and sighed.

I looked around the unusually tidy room. My eyes caught my reflection in the small mirror I had hanging on the wall over my bed. I crawled closer to study myself. Man, Emile is right… I do look like crap. I pulled away and saw something else in the mirror.

I saw James. Or, rather, I thought I saw him. He was standing behind me. He nodded and smiled. I whipped around. "James?" I called.

But there was no one there.