Ghosting You

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “I’m in the dark room. We just finished up with the prints.”

  “Ooo, how’d they turn out? Let me see, let me see!”

  I tap the screen and after a second Reese’s face pops up. She must still be in bed because her fiery hair is kinked with curls and she’s not wearing a drop of makeup yet. I flip the screen so she can see the prints still hanging from the line. I make sure she sees my favorites—the flowers growing along the bank, the reverse profile of Chase in the kayak, the crane taking flight—all of them breathtaking.

  “Holy shit,” Reese mutters. “These are actually really good. Tommy took these?”

  “Yeah, aren’t they great?”

  “They’re amazing. Why didn’t that little shit tell me he had talent. I would have taken him under my wing!”

  “You mean asked him for pointers?”

  “You know what I mean. But seriously, these shots are kind of amazing.”

  “He’s kind of amazing.”

  She pauses. “Is that a smile I hear in your voice?”

  I wipe my face clean of any emotion, then flip the screen around to me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Mhm. Spill it, mister. What’s really going on between you and mountain boy?”

  I’ve got my deflection ready, but Tommy pokes his head through the door.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Hey, Reesie, I’ve got to run. Text you later.”

  “Not fair! I want to know the det—”

  I end the call, glancing back to Tommy. “All set.”

  “Can I ask you a favor?”

  The road is quiet under the polished tires of Nick’s sedan.

  “Nothing stopping you.”

  I fiddle with the strap of my camera bag. He doesn’t know that I’ve stowed a few pounds of stolen art supplies from school in his trunk. What am I thinking?

  “I wanted to visit Chase.”

  Nick’s grip tightens around the wheel, but he doesn’t reject the idea.

  “I know it’s asking a lot, and you hardly know me, but I need to do this. I can’t really explain it.”

  “It is kind of a weird request.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say, suddenly defensive. “You can just drop me off at home and I’ll take my mom’s—”

  “No,” he interrupts. The car rolls to a halt and then he’s looking at me with this really intense spark behind his eyes. “Let me take you.”

  I lean away from him, a palpable electricity in the air. “Y-yeah. I appreciate it. Just hang a left up here. The church is a few miles outside of town.”

  Once Nick’s eyes are back on the road, my breath unclenches from my chest.

  His willingness continues to baffle me. Why is he doing all of this for an almost-stranger? I get that Hester doesn’t offer much for the non-outdoor enthusiast, but there’s got to be a better time killer than visiting the grave of a sixteen-year-old kid with the mourning best friend.

  Unless…

  Nah. I’m reading too much into it.

  Other than informing him of upcoming turns, our trip to Mountain View Baptist Church is a quiet one. The road heading away from town is deserted. This time of day, everyone is already on the river or laying by the pool.

  The parking lot is empty too and Nick pulls into a spot in front of the small white chapel. I never understood the reasoning your parents had in burying you here. Your family didn’t even attend services. They would drag you and your brother down to Gainesville to that monstrosity of a megachurch. I never told you how much I hated that place. How the pastor’s eerily white teeth would freak me out. Or how bad I felt when your parents would force you to wear one of those obnoxious dresses with the floral print. And yet I said yes every time you asked me to go.

  I guess this place is much closer to home. I’m not complaining, for sure.

  “This it?” Nick asks, and I realize he’s already shut the car off.

  “Yeah.” I cling to the shoebox that holds the prints of you, steeling myself for the task ahead. “Would you mind popping the trunk for me?”

  Nick’s brow pulls down. “Sure? If this is where you pull a dead body out of my trunk and ask me to help bury it in a stolen grave, I’ll have to pass, dude.”

  “I’m gonna be completely transparent here,” I start, straining to keep a straight face. “I may have stuffed your trunk full of stolen art supplies from school.”

  Nick gives a nod. “Why, exactly? Aren’t art programs struggling enough without grand theft Crayola?”

  “I’m going to replace what I took.” I say, more so assuaging my own guilt than explaining myself. “Kayla is in tight with the art teacher, so she can smooth it over.”

  “Whatever you say, boss. I’m just the muscle that drives the getaway car.”

  And there he goes. Making me laugh again. The warmth he radiates helps lighten the weight on my shoulders.

  The trunk opens with a pop and I wrestle the crate of pilfered supplies out, offering Nick a sheepish grin before heading toward the iron fence that surrounds the graveyard. Thick clouds have rolled in to hold the sweltering sun at bay. Off in the distance, along the edges of the Blue Ridges, the white puffy texture transforms to gray and blurry. Rain may ruin my plans, but the fact doesn’t deter me. I trot on, a man possessed.

  The path to your grave is easy to find. It’s in the new addition, past the faded and forgotten and amongst the shiny and new.

  You’re just where I left you.

  “Is this the right one?” Nick asks as I set down the crate and pull open the shoebox of prints. He’s standing at an awkward distance, squinting to read your dead name engraved on the stone.

  “This is him.” I say, setting to work. I’ve taken everything that struck my fancy. All manner of clays and paint and—to my own surprise—a huge bottle of gold glitter. I unpack the supplies, laying them out along the well-manicured grass. The longer I stare at them, the emptier my head gets. I can practically feel my brain leaking from my ears before Nick crouches down next to me.

  “Is there a method to your madness here?”

  “We’re fixing the name.” I explain, though at this point I’m clueless as to how to do it. “His parents wouldn’t do it, so I have to do it for him.”

  Any ideas here, Chase?

  Chase?

  Nick is quiet, cogs turning behind dark hazel eyes.

  After a few minutes of brain-wracking, I’m no closer to an idea. I concede, falling back on my heels and the soft grass. “This is insane. I’m going to get us both arrested. What the hell am I even doing here? He’s gone, and this doesn’t change that fact.”

  Nick doesn’t answer my rumination but starts to sort through the piles of supplies.

  I watch him, sleeves rolled past his elbows, brushing strands of honeyed brown hair from his forehead as he works. A breeze blows by and I can’t help but catch the waft of sunshine coming from him.

  “Grieving is a process.”

  Nick’s voice rebounds off the polished marble. When it collides with my skin it ripples in chill bumps. I don’t ask him what he means, just wait, hoping he’ll elaborate.

  His hands are steady as he works, but I can’t see past him to what he’s doing. He reaches for a green glass bottle, dumping the contents out beside him. “It’s small steps. Everyday motions that stack up, helping you to make sense of the mess. Like a mosaic-” I jolt at the sound of breaking glass— “pieced together one shard at a time. You take all those broken moments, the future plans, the dreams and fears, and shape them together into a pattern.”

  Nick reaches for another bottle and the second shattering comes as less of a surprise. I digest his words as he continues to shuffle through the shards.

  “I think you’re somewhere in the middle right now,” he continues, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Too far along to abandon the work, but not far enough in to see the beautiful picture being created.”

  “What if I’m just a really bad artist?” I joke w
ith a broken laugh.

  “The best thing about art is that it’s subjective. All you have to do is convince yourself that there’s value in what you’re making, and the rest will take care of itself. Others will come to believe it too.”

  A distant rumble of thunder rolls. I pry my eyes away from Nick’s back, turning my attention to the impending rain. It’s still miles away.

  “What do you think?”

  Nick gently places a plank of particle board, stripped from the bottom of the crate, on the grass beside me. Slivers and jagged pieces of glass mix with glass beads to create the rough image of a blue river, banked with green. Small white and grey rocks part the blue water here and there.

  Air catches in my lungs. I run a finger along the edge of the wood.

  Nick knocks my hand away gently. “Careful, the glue needs to set.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. My palm tingles where he touched me.

  “It can be the new headstone,” he explains, pointing to the empty space at the top of the board. “Put his name right along here.”

  “That’s brilliant,” I say, moving beside him, careful to avoid the small pile of broken glass. “Hand me that clay.”

  Nick passes the reddish block over, and I unwrap the plastic surrounding it. It’s stiff but gets more malleable the longer I pass it from one hand to the other, kneading and squeezing.

  Nick checks the drying progress of his mosaic. “Tell me more about him.”

  “He was my best friend,” I say with a shrug. “Since the day we met back in first grade. I don’t really know what else to tell you.”

  Except there’s so much more. Countless pages. I’d never stop.

  Nick nods, quiet as he adds a few more finishing touches to his creation. Another rumble of thunder sounds and a question rises above the rolls.

  “When did you realize you’d fallen for him?” Nick asks.

  The clay drops from my hands, rolling off my knee and into the grass. Retrieving it, I try to save face. “S-sorry, what?”

  Nick grins at me. “When did you figure out you were in love with him?”

  My pulse pounds.

  “I think I’ve always known,” I whisper through the thrumming in my chest. I roll the clay between my palms, applying pressure to narrow the shape. “It wasn’t till he started transitioning that I finally admitted it to myself.”

  Nick doesn’t ask a follow up. He just nods his head and continues his task.

  “I never told him,” I continue, speaking louder so maybe you can hear me, Chase. “Not that I think the feelings would have been reciprocated. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. Chase was my person, whether the relationship was romantic or not. He understood me better than anyone else. And vice versa. I was happy just having him close.”

  It’s all true, Chase. I would have been happy just having you near. It was the way things were supposed to be. Not this fucked up version of my life where I’m alone and you’re rotting in the ground, six feet away.

  “I wish I could have met him.”

  Nick passes the board over and I outline the first letter of your name with the strand of clay. He takes another clump, mimicking my motions. It doesn’t take long to finish spelling your name. Nick reaches for the glue, but I stop him.

  “Hang on just a sec,” I say, taking the bottle. I grab the glitter next, a small smile twisting the edges of my mouth. I start with C, brushing a thin layer of glue onto the clay. Then I tip the jar of golden dust, covering it with a healthy dose. Shaking the excess, I place the letter onto the board where it sparkles like a star.

  Nick holds up the H with a cocked eyebrow and I give him a nod.

  “Let’s do them all.”

  “There. That should hold.”

  Nick steps back from the headstone, our improvised face glistening with all of its tawdry glory. It’s something to see Chase. Really, I mean it’s everything you would have wanted. Nick pulls out his phone, snapping a photo. Then he turns to me before putting his phone away.

  “It’s perfect,” I say, threading my arms under one another. “I just wish the rain wasn’t about to destroy the whole thing.”

  The storm clouds have gathered. Grey executioners waiting to take their swing at my little slice of happiness.

  “Hold that thought.” Nick sprints back toward the car.

  I can’t take my eyes off your name. It’s here now. Where it belongs. I want to carve into the marble so that I know it will stand the test of time. To show the world that you deserve to be remembered as who you were, not the person your parents wanted you to be.

  “I love you,” I whisper as the first drops of rain begin to fall. And I wish you were here to hear it. To hear all the times that I wanted to tell you. To experience all the embraces that I kept at bay. To know how it felt when I kissed you so lightly that it stole the air from your lungs.

  I ache with want for all these things and more.

  The storm is here now. Lightning flashes, accompanied by booming thunder. Nick is back from the car, holding an umbrella above his head.

  I go to wipe my face of the tears that have already fallen, but all I find is rain.

  He stands over the gravestone, protecting our new addition with the umbrella. It doesn’t matter. As soon as we leave, it will crumble. It will feel like losing you all over again.

  Nick kneels down in front of the stone, then with a swift motion he drives the handle of the umbrella into the ground, angling so the canopy covers our work.

  He ducks from under the cover, giving me a nod.

  I want to thank him. To explain how much the simple gesture means to me. But the rain is coming in sheets now and he yells something I can’t hear over the deluge before taking off back toward the car.

  I steal one last glance at your name glittering even through the shade. I exhale, then follow Nick.

  The parking lot is a giant puddle and my socks soak through my shoes. Nick and I reach the car, but he doesn’t get in right away, only leans against the side and looks at me.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, raising his voice above the pounding drops.

  No words strike the right chord. Nothing comes to mind that adequately expresses the weightless sensation that’s overtaken my body. It’s not something I can describe. I have to show him.

  I close the distance between us, arms wrapping around his wide shoulders as I pull him closer to me. Somewhere in the middle, the gesture changes course. Lips find lips. Hands find hips. Fingers grasp and tug. And between the gentle yawing and soft sighs, I feel myself letting go.

  The rain continues to batter the car roof. Fog streaks the window beside me. I’m radiating heat like my own nuclear core.

  I’m still weightless. It’s a miracle I didn’t blow away in the storm.

  Nick sits in the driver seat, keys in hand but unmoving. We’re both soaked and every neuron firing in my mind replays our kiss. The way his hands cupped my waist. How he tilted his head so our noses would quit bumping together. The shuddered breath that escaped his lips when we finally separated. I want to remember it all.

  I’m laughing too, because something hilarious has just occurred to me.

  “No wonder you couldn’t get away from Mel fast enough.”

  A smile creeps across Nick’s face. “She definitely would have been my last choice for a work relationship. Then again, she didn’t exactly take no for an answer. For the record, she totally ambushed me that night.”

  “I just did the same,” I say. “Sorry about that.”

  Nick reaches over the console to place a warm hand on my sopping knee. “Don’t be. I wanted to kiss you.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nods, brushing curls of dripping hair out of his eyes. “I have for a minute now. The feeling waned a bit there in the middle when you were yelling at me every other day, but it returned. Stronger than ever. Let’s just say, there may have been another reason I put up with Mel’s shit for so long.”

  I was wrong. It�
�s not a nuclear core in my chest. It’s the heart of a star. And when I reach for Nick’s hand, wrapping fingers around his, it goes supernova. My seat is going to melt at this point.

  “When did you start feeling that way about me?”

  His gaze drops to our hands. “I’m going to tell you something. You have to promise not to laugh.”

  “Cross my heart,” I say, dragging a finger across my chest. “Hope to die.”

  “The day we met, when I was hiking with Reese. My horoscope said, ‘Stick to water.’ And there you were, coming out of the river like some son of Poseidon.”

  “Okay, you’re making it really hard not to laugh.”

  Nick’s cheeks are scarlet. “Shut up. You said that you wouldn’t.”

  “And I’m not,” I say through gritted teeth that hold the giggles at bay.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” he says with a sigh, “but the same day, I find this cute boy splashing around in the river and I can’t help but draw some conclusions. Okay, there another way to prove this. When’s your birthday?”

  “October 29th.”

  He laughs which brings additional heat to my cheeks.

  “Scorpio,” he says, eyes finding mine. “A water sign. Coincidence? I think not.”

  I raise my free hand in the air in surrender. “I take back my historically critical tone.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “I also have to confess that I’m not particularly informed when it comes to astrology. In fact, I’m clueless.”

  Nick sits forward, excitement burning in his eyes. “What do you want to know? Drink from my fountain of knowledge.”

  “Does knowing my sign mean you know everything about me now?”

  “That’s not really how it works,” Nick says, pulling his hand out of mine. He needs both to talk. “Knowing your astrological sign is like having a codex. It will help me interpret the things you say and do. Gives me an insider’s look on how you’re wired.”

  “And how exactly am I wired?”

  Nick is already scrolling through his phone, “Hang on just a sec and I’ll tell you.”

  I reach for his hand again, and he lets me take it, pausing his search for a split second to flash me a smile. His hand is warm. Warmer than mine, which is no easy feat due to the fact that I’m currently going nuclear over here. The skin on the back of his hand is soft, while his palms have a certain rough texture that doesn’t match my own.