"I know I'm not funny," Fisher told James seriously. "And you don't have to believe me, although judging from the look on your face, you sort of want to. If only to get an explaination." James looked like a caged tiger right about now, so it would be best to tread carefully. "And I don't know any of those people you just mentioned." Fisher dropped his hands at his sides. "I don't know anyone," he confessed. "You're actually the first person I've talked to so far.
"But your mother... well I'm not sure where she came from, but it seems she's gone through a lot just to get here and talk to you, so I think the least you can do is listen to what she has to say." Fisher licked his lips, anticipating the next move. The biggest problem most people had was the idea that some stranger was going to be present for what was usually the most openly emotional time in their lives. Fisher didn't blame them; it was no walk in the park for him, either.
"Look," he told James honestly, "I keep secrets. As a translator for dead people, I kind of have to. So don't ignore her just because you don't want anyone knowing anythign about you, because I won't say anything. And frankly, I could care less about whatever you two talk about." He glanced back over his shoulder, apparently listening. "Her name is Sloane," he said carefully, "and she just wants you to know that she's sorry... for that time before your father died." He listened again, then nodded. "And she really loves you, James. Even though she thinks she never showed it right."