To Love A Ghost || ONC 2023 Shortlist

Chapter Two

Late September, 2022

There were few sights more breathtaking than the drive from the Twin Cities to River Bend in the fall. Once out of the city and across the St. Croix River bridge in Hudson, the Interstate wound through hills and forests, providing splashes of brilliant color that took my breath away. Since I'd mostly made this trip as a kid riding in the backseat of my parents' car with my nose in a book or a gaming device, I'd never really noticed how spectacular the scenery was.

River Bend itself was the same way. Nestled in a valley, surrounded by rolling forests and rich farmland, everywhere one looked, brilliant hues dazzled the eyes. Breathing the crisp scent of autumn, unhindered by traffic fumes and other less-than-pleasant city odors, drove home the fact that I'd absolutely made the right decision.

Even though at this point, I was pretty sure said decision would cost me my marriage.

As expected, Cindy hadn't budged an inch. In the weeks since I'd begun spending every weekend in River Bend doing remodeling work on the shop, my wife and I spent what little time we had together either tangled in bitter arguments or with an impenetrable wall of silence between us. Last week when I told her I was going back to River Bend to start the beginning phase of the renovations, Cindy had thrown her hands in the air and rasped, "Fine. Do what you want. You will anyway." Jabbing a finger at my chest, she continued, "You do realize that you have exactly zero skills in anything like this, right, Jace? One of these days you're going to realize that you've gotten in way over your head, and then you'll come to your senses." 

Cindy was wrong. Not that remodeling the shop and fixing up the apartment weren't going to be both hard physical work and expensive. They were. Unbeknownst to Cindy, I'd already had to dip into my 401K to cover the cost of hiring contractors for some of the projects I knew I couldn't do myself. Nor was she wrong about it being hard work. Cleaning out the shop and the living quarters upstairs and loading the junk into the trailer I rented to haul everything to the dump took a few weekends to accomplish, leaving me sore and exhausted on the drive home. But what Cindy didn't count on was how much I loved every minute of it.

In the end, I didn't tear out the wall between the two back bedrooms. I wasn't sure why I changed my mind, but standing there one evening in early September, gripping the heavy sledgehammer and ready to do some real damage, an overwhelming sense of sadness and gloom rose up in me. After a few minutes staring at the wall that moments ago I'd intended to demolish, its warped dark brown paneling staring right back at me, I shook my head and sighed.

"Okay, fine. I won't do it," I said aloud. "I'll leave the rooms as they are."

The instant the words left my lips, the dark depression that had engulfed me fled.

That night, I walked to Art's Place, a bar and grill down the street and kitty-corner from the shop. I'd eaten there regularly since starting my weekend trips to River Bend, especially when I was too tired to try cooking on Aunt Lorraine's ancient, temperamental stove. I craved a burger and an ice-cold beer, even though the evening was chilly. It was only late September, but I could already feel the approaching winter in my bones. I made a mental note to check the furnace in the basement to make sure it was ready to run for the next several months. Once winter set in, and along with it the potential driving hazards, my weekend trips would become less regular. The last thing I needed was the expense of burst pipes.

The bar was quiet for a Friday night. A couple of guys were playing a game of pool, and two women who I assumed were either their girlfriends or wives sat watching them from a table nearby. A couple of other tables were occupied, but otherwise the place was empty.