Chapter 25
Ophelia
The bed dipsas Lanston finally returns. The sun set long ago and the waves have been mild since. I dipped in and out of sleep for a few hours but now stare at the small window showcasing the glassy ocean lit up with the stars. With no lights out here, it’s as if the entire universe calls to us.
“Are you awake?” he asks quietly.
I turn and look at him from over my shoulder. “Yeah.”
Lanston grins, taking my hand and pulling me up. The sheets fall to my lap and my bare breasts are exposed, but his eyes remain soft on mine. He smooths the back of his hand over my cheek and whispers, “I want you to see something.”
He hands me a black shirt. I think it’s his, but it’s too dark to tell. I slip it over my head and follow him out onto the sun deck.
Air escapes my lips as I stare up at the night sky. There isn’t a cloud in sight tonight. The air is crisp, our breaths visible.
The sea reciprocates the stars, making it look like we are sailing across the universe, across all worlds. Could we sail into the stars? I wonder.
“This is beautiful,” I say with a hushed voice, because the stars can surely hear us.
Lanston nods and smiles at me. His eyes aren’t as dark as they were earlier. I swallow the image in my head of him reading my letter.
“Do you see the light on the horizon?” He moves to stand behind me. My skin pebbles with goose bumps as his hand skates over my arm. He rests his weary chin on my shoulder, and I follow his other hand as he lifts his finger to the line where the sky meets the sea. It’s almost indistinguishable in the darkness, but the light that brightens the small area of the sky makes itself known.
“Is that Ireland?”
He nods against my skin, leaning his head on mine. “We’ll stop in Dublin first and look at the castles, taste their potatoes, and see their libraries.”
“And museums?”
He laughs; his chest is light against my back. “Of course.”
“And their parks and art?”
Lanston wraps his arms around me, pressing his lips to my temple. “All of it for you, my rose.”
Our first destination is a clothing shop. We agreed that we wanted to have the entire experience, so we must dress the part. Lanston finds tight black jeans with dress shoes and a collared shirt matched with suspenders, while I manage to get my hands on a floral dress with a cream base and white lace over it with sewn flowers.
It’s a dress I could never afford. The fabric is unbelievably soft and looks ethereal in the light. I thought it might feel special wearing something so unobtainable, but I find that I only long for that fleeting feeling to be filled again by the next thing that’s out of reach. Isn’t that how it goes? It’s never truly enough.
Lanston leans against the brick wall of the dressing room. He hasn’t noticed my appearance yet, so I decide to tease him. I sneak out the other end of the dressing room and circle back, watching him from his right side, intending to scare him.
His hands sketch quickly over the page he’s marking up with black. The charcoal pencil flicks across the paper knowingly as his hands make the darkness in his mind come to life.
I abandon my idea of taking him by surprise and fold my hands behind my back instead, properly, how a woman in a dress such as this should behave according to social standards. My footsteps are light, and I approach his side in silence.
He doesn’t even glance up at me as he mutters, “Here I thought you were going to try and scare me.” My cheeks burn. When I don’t reply, he finally lifts his eyes to mine. Whimsy flickers through his features. “Want to see?”
I nod and lean over more to peek, but as I do so, Lanston shuts his notebook and shoots me a ridiculous grin. Light brown locks of hair drift over his forehead and in the next moment, he’s making a break for the shop’s doors, fleeing from me.
“Hey!” I shout, half flustered and partly laughing as I give chase.
Not one person on the crowded streets of Dublin looks our way. They cannot see us, but I’m as real as I ever was, taking in the crisp spring air and feeling the rush of emotions as I chase my cherished one down cobbled roads.
“Lanston, stop!” I laugh, breathing hard and trying to keep up with him.
He glances back at me and holds up his drawing notebook. “Come on, I’ve always wanted to be chased by a pretty girl,” he shouts back.
I’m not a phantom in this moment; I’m just a woman in an expensive dress running after a handsome, flirtatious man in a foreign country. The freshness of the air and buzz of the street lightens my heart.
Lanston can tell I’m starting to slow so he eventually stops at a vibrant park in the center of the city. Artwork lines the entire fence surrounding the park. Artists stand proudly next to their pieces and speak with people who’ve wandered close enough to listen, mesmerized by the creative minds the city has to offer. I’ve heard of this place, Merrion Square.
I find myself pulled in, unable to look away from all the lovely pieces from different walks of life, straight from each artist’s heart.
Lanston gives me a heartwarming smile, one that makes me ache for all the years I’ve not known him, all the lost smiles I didn’t get to see. His breaths are staggered, but the eagerness in his eyes shines so bright. He explains before I can even ask how he knew this was here.
“I overheard some ladies talking about the art here while I was waiting for you to get dressed,” he says through inhales.
A laugh escapes me. “So you made me chase you here, did you?”
“Wasn’t it fun? To run through the city and feel the cobblestones beneath your feet? To be free of eyes that would normally keep us from being our genuine selves?”
My gaze softens on him. I still can’t figure him out. He’s a wonder. I crave to see the world through his eyes and feel everything as he does. “Yeah, it was,” I admit. The ache in my chest grows.
“Shall we?” He offers me his arm. I hook my arm through his, and we stroll through the park, taking in all the paintings and drawings with awe. We stop at a few, looking longer at some black-and-white paintings that bear endearing brush patterns.
Lanston leans in and studies the techniques, intrigued by the styles. Maybe he’ll try some of them himself later.
I wish I could’ve paid for some and told the artists how lovely their work is. It would be nice if they knew two phantoms were admiring their art. By the time we finish the loop, I’m sullen with reminiscent thoughts. Lanston untangles his arm from mine and goes to stand by the black fence that lines the park.
I’m entranced by an elderly couple walking slowly through the center path of the park. Their wrinkled hands are clasped tightly and the peace of their expressions as they silently traverse the park brings a small smile to my lips.
They know each other so entirely, it’s evident. The old man buys her a flower and a painting of trees, a vibrant green like the ones around us now. She smiles at him, joy so pure yet quiet—it touches me.
I watch them until they leave and then realize I’ve forgotten myself. Where did Lanston go? How long was I watching? I look from side to side. The sun is setting and I’m alone.
As panic dawns over me, I turn completely, looking back at the fence and finding Lanston sitting between two other artists—a weary smile lifting his lips as my eyes connect to his.
He fits here amongst the dreamers. One of his suspenders has fallen over his shoulder, and the cream-colored shirt he wears beneath it is baggy and already stained with charcoal. With his notebook in hand, he tears out a page.
“I’ve just finished,” he mutters cheerfully.
My brow arches as I approach him, standing an arm’s length away. His cheeks are red; nervous energy fills the space between us.
“Are you going to show me this time?” I tease.
Lanston grins before he turns to face the fence; he tapes the paper to the steel and glances back at me again with those piercing hazel eyes. “You can’t laugh.”
I nudge his shoulder as if I’m offended. “Why would you even think such a thing of me?” He seems reassured by that and steps aside in one fell swoop.
Air invades my lungs and ceases the pulse in my veins.
His drawing is… of me a moment ago, as I watched the elderly couple.
The woman in the image stands alone, people blurring around her as if they are the real ghosts and not her. The dress is vivid, with flowers and lace blowing in a breeze. The woman clutches her dress slightly between her fingertips—not in a violent way, but with yearning. Most of all, I notice how anguished her expression is, the tears not shed but brimming in her eyes.
The pain she experiences while watching love reach its earned end—the way it’s meant to.
He really does see me.
A knot builds in my throat. I’ve never seen such talent, someone who puts every emotion and feeling they have into a piece of art. And into knowing another soul.
Tears spill down my cheeks and I hastily wipe them away before letting my eyes find Lanston. He watches me in silence, understanding all the emotions that wash over my weary mind in this moment.
Because, well, I’ve never seen how sad I truly look to others.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I’m compelled to smile. It’s what we’re taught, isn”t it?
Smile. Look pretty. Smile. Even if it hurts, smile.
“You see me,” I whisper, words I’ve never spoken.
His face remains emotionless, studying my expression as he replies, “I see you as clearly as you see me.”
I hesitate. Does he despise the sorrow I carry, the melancholy that holds me fiercely in its dark embrace, as everyone I ever confided in did?
“Do you see the ugliness that lurks beneath my skin?” I choke out the words as tears continue to fall.
Lanston’s face crumples in anguish. “No, Ophelia. I do not see any bad, ugly things. Not in you, my rose. You are the most precious of things, holding far more beauty than I could ever describe to you.”
My cheeks warm at his words, as do his.
I take a moment to straighten myself, sniffling the last of my tears away before gracing him with a wide smile. “Hello, sir. I would like to buy this picture, please.” I pull out my wallet, filled with more money than I’ve ever made in life.
Lanston tilts his head with amusement and lifts the paper from the fence, extending it to me with that charming smile he so easily steals my heart away with.
“It’s on me.”
I laugh and shove a few hundred-dollar bills in his hand. “I insist!” I say loudly, snatching the drawing from him and throwing money his way. He leans in and narrows his eyes at me. I scream as he scoops me up in his arms, lifting me from the ground swiftly and spinning us in a circle before running off with me in his arms.
Our laughs echo through the streets, bustling with cars and people.
No one can hear us.
Our laughter is a lovely sound, louder than the life surrounding us could ever be.