To Love A Ghost || ONC 2023 Shortlist

Chapter One

March, 2022

"You hate it." The words fell from my mouth like pieces of lead, echoing throughout the empty, rose-scented room.

My wife stood in the middle of the vacant shop, hands on her hips as she took in her surroundings. I'd been talking nonstop, words tumbling out in a rush. As I extolled the great points of the place—an excellent location on the busiest section of Main Street, the solid structure of the brick building, the recently updated electrical wiring, the three-bedroom, two-bath apartment upstairs we could rent out for additional income—I became aware she wasn't listening, not really, and I, too, fell silent. Slowly, Cindy turned in a circle and I could hear her thoughts as clearly as if she shouted them right in my ear. When she finally did speak, she didn't shout. She didn't have to.

"Nooo," Cindy said slowly, drawing out the word. "I don't hate it, even if it does smell like a musty old funeral home." She gestured at the dusty plate glass window offering a view of approximately half of River Bend's Main Street. "It's this town. I mean, my God, Jace. Why would you want to hang on to a property in a place like this?" She strode to the window and peered outside. "There's nothing here. No decent shopping, no good restaurants, no theater or nightlife. No culture. What do people even do around here?"

I sighed and walked up behind her, squeezing her shoulders gently and planting a kiss in her soft brown hair. "Aunt Lorraine left this shop to me. It's been in the Palmer family for decades."

"I know, and I can kind of understand the sentimentality. If you absolutely insist on keeping it, I suppose we could rent it out, which would cover the property taxes, at least. I mean, what else can you do?"

I didn't respond. Yeah, finding a renter was probably the most sensible thing, but deep down I knew I couldn't do that any more than I could sell the property. No, I knew what I wanted to do—something I hadn't given serious thought to in so long that I'd nearly forgotten about it. The dream of owning my own coffeehouse and bookstore had been shoved aside long ago, put away in favor of college, then a nine-to-five job, then a house in the suburbs, then a wife.

Hell, I wasn't even seriously thinking about it this morning when we'd made the drive from the city to River Bend so I could go through and sign the paperwork, making me the new legal owner. But the minute Aunt Lorraine's estate lawyer placed the keys in my hand, a sense of rightness had slammed into me from every direction. As if something missing inside me had clicked solidly into place, an inner light illuminating the truth about how unhappy I'd been living in a cookie-cutter suburb, working a mind-numbing desk job downtown, and dealing with the hellish commute back and forth five days a week.

My mind ticked over as I considered the possibilities. I had a 401K which had earned hefty returns on a few higher-risk investments over the last few years. Plus, I could take out a small business loan. I could make it work. I knew I could. I just had to get Cindy on board.

Problem was, I had no clue how to even broach the subject with her, never mind bring her around to the idea. My wife was content with our lives the way they were. She worked as an office manager in a prestigious law firm and loved her job. She enjoyed the variety of restaurants, shopping, concerts, and nightlife the city offered, and I couldn't fault her for that. It was what we were accustomed to, what young professionals like us did. Together we made a good, steady income, keeping our heads above the ever-increasing cost of living in the Twin Cities. We were financially secure, and we'd talked about starting a family in the next year or two. We had a close circle of friends, mostly other young, married professionals, who we regularly socialized with. We had built ourselves a solid, well-scheduled, and predictable life.