Twenty-Six
“Thank you for calling, Detective. I appreciate you keeping me in the loop.”
Out of the blue, Detective Barrett called Esther after her last class of the day. After months of not hearing a whisper from him, he finally has an update. Presumably. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Esther keeps nodding and humming along to show she’s listening.
I wait expectantly as Esther ends the call.
Instead of filling me in, Esther kicks off her shoes and sheds her work clothes, leaving her dressed only in her undershirt and boxers. Her expression is drawn, giving no hints if there was good news or bad.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Esther asks, brows furrowing.
“What’d he say?”
“Oh, sorry. I assumed you could hear him.” She smiles apologetically in my general direction.
“I was giving you space to process. Uh, your missing persons case is being transferred to a cold case investigator,” Esther says hesitantly, as if worried how I’ll react.
“He’s followed all of the leads he could come up with.
Angel basically signed off on it. If I didn’t know you were already, you know… ” she trails off.
“Dead.”
“Right. If I thought there could be a chance you were alive, I would push him to keep it open. But at this point, it would probably be a matter of finding and identifying your body, and frankly…” she trails off again.
I wince. “I wouldn’t want to subject even Angel to that.
” As confused and disappointed as I am that my death will go unsolved, I am relieved that my brother doesn’t have to deal with it on such a visceral level, on top of being haunted by our parents.
That Esther never has to confront the reality either, while we’re both insulated in this bubble of domestic comfort.
“Exactly.” Esther shrugs, but her nonchalance is undermined by the sorrow in her eyes.
“When are we, anyway?” I wonder how long they investigated.
“June seventh.”
I died on July first; they actively searched for me for less than a year. For some reason, I thought they’d have to keep looking for longer than that. I hate that I’m disappointed, both in not solving the mystery of my own death, and that they gave up on me so easily.
“Wait—June seventh?” Angel’s birthday. My annual indulgence has arrived. “Can you look up Angel on your phone again?”
“Uh…if you insist.” Esther pulls out her phone and checks his main page first, where he’s posted his usual gym selfie.
It’s captioned it with his standard #birthdayrepchallenge #neverstopgrinding and #blessed garbage that he includes in all of his posts.
“Oh, it’s his birthday? No wonder I didn’t like him, if he’s a Gemini. ”
I laugh with her.
“What were your big three?” Esther clicks his latest video, where he’s posted a time-lapse of him on #legday.
I scrunch my nose, trying to remember. “Cancer sun, Scorpio moon, Cap rising.”
“Oof. That’s wet, Luce.” She laughs. “The Capricorn saves you.”
I huff in mock offense. “I’m taking ‘wet’ as a compliment.”
Esther merely laughs again. My favorite sound. “I’m a Taurus sun, Libra moon, Pisces rising. In case you were wondering.”
“That tracks, but I already knew that. You told me in a dream.” The first one, where she made me eggplant parmesan and peppered me with questions that I didn’t answer.
When I was alive, that Libra moon would have been the “dealbreaker” of choice.
Not that I put any value in astrology, but shit like star signs was my tool to avoid getting serious with the few people I slept with more than once.
Strange, how easily people accepted that as a valid reason.
“Sorry, this isn’t going to work; I have trauma from Air signs” and “Our charts are not compatible” were more acceptable excuses than “I’m just interested in casual sex” or “I’m emotionally unavailable and unwilling to work on that. ”
Now, the idea of keeping Esther at arm’s length seems like torture. She could be an Aquarius like my mother, and I’d still love her.
“Aw, you remembered my sign? I knew you cared,” Esther teases. “Looks like Angel posted to his story, too. Want to watch?”
I lean in closer over her shoulder, catching a hint of jasmine from her hair. “Yes, please. I used to look him up on his birthday every year to make sure he was doing okay. And then his posts would be so full of shit I was reminded why I didn’t stay in touch.”
“Well, let me know if you want me to slide into his DMs again.”
We mock his posts together as she clicks through photos of his morning smoothie, him posing with his car, and a spread of his lunch. I’m about to tell her we can stop, when he posts a selfie of himself crying and asking for prayers.
“That’s different.” I frown. Angel always pretends everything is perfect. Even when Mom went missing, his posts were too cheerful and optimistic that she’d be all right.
His selfie is followed by a video of him, visibly distraught, posted a few hours ago.
“Today is probably the hardest day I’ve ever experienced.
” His voice is hoarse, and he talks like he’s utterly defeated.
“It’s sinking in realizing I’m all alone now.
My dad died when I was a baby. My mom’s been missing for years and was declared presumed dead last year.
And now my sister’s missing persons case has gone cold.
” Angel shakes his head, covering a sob with his hand.
“That’s my whole family. And I’m the only one left.
Birthdays are supposed to be a celebration, but who do I have to celebrate with? What do I have to celebrate?”
This is followed by another video—this time with fewer tears, but Angel’s face is still haggard.
“Thank you to everyone for reaching out. It’s nice to know I’m not alone in the world.
I have you guys, my fans. My life is so blessed, and I have to remember that.
I’m going to spend my birthday praying for Lucy and my parents.
My mom always told me what a blessing I was to her when times were hard, and y’all are what keep me going, like I did for her.
I hope your blessings keep you going, too.
You’re someone’s blessing—my blessing—so remember that when everything seems bleak! ”
Esther and I sit in silence after his video ends. Eventually, Esther whistles low. “Your brother is going through it.”
I swallow heavily, stunned by my brother’s vulnerability. “I’ve never seen him like that before.”
“Want me to reach out to him?” She goes back to Angel’s main page, where he’s just posted the picture that Esther found in my belongings.
The one with Dad holding me, holding infant Angel.
Another emotional caption of him counting his blessings, and how we’re watching over him.
Comments are already in the hundreds. Some are bots, but a surprising amount are hearts and genuine messages of support.
I sigh. “Part of me wants to say it’s bullshit. He treated me like shit his entire life. But he learned that from Mom, and I don’t want him to end up a ghost like me or our parents. So yeah, can you reach out to him?”
With a nod, Esther sniffles. “What would you like me to say?”
“Honestly, you’re better at this shit than I am. What do you usually say to your family? ‘Hope you’re well, thinking of you,’ that kind of stuff?”
Esther furrows her brow. “That could be a little disingenuous if I tell him that. Apples and oranges, you know? They’re the ones who cut me off, whereas he’s the one who’s been cut off.
” She holds up a finger before I can protest. “I know, it’s not your fault that you’re…
you know, dead, but I would feel abandoned in his shoes.
” She groans in annoyance. “I hate that I’m empathizing with someone who called me a chubby six. ”
“So what would you want to hear? In his shoes?”
Her foot bounces as she thinks for a moment, before Esther gives up with a wince. “Could I turn that back on you? You know his shoes better than I do.” She glances in my direction. She’s staring too far to my left, so I move over where I can pretend she’s looking me in the eye.
Her nervous energy is more understandable, now that I have to turn my concern for Angel into words; after several moments of consideration, I’m ready to give up without trying.
But this may be my only chance to tell Angel what I’ve always wanted to hear.
The one time he’s broken enough to listen to someone other than Mom.
The only moment where I’m empathetic enough to comfort the brother who made my life hell.
“I’d tell him that I’m sorry his family isn’t there for him anymore, and he should find more people to care about and who care about him.
That I would want him to be happy and loved.
That our parents would want him to be happy and to enjoy everything life has to offer.
That it’s not too late for him. That he doesn’t have to be alone. ”
Message sent, Esther looks up from her phone with tears in her eyes. “You’re not alone, Luce.”
“Neither are you.” I ground myself and squeeze her shoulder. “But it is too late for me. I should have tried harder when I was alive.” I scoff softly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in this situation if I had someone to split the damn box of wine with!”
“I would have loved to split the box of wine with you. Even if you drank bitter-ass red wine.” Esther smiles weakly, looking up at me.
“And is it too late for you? For us? I mean, you’re here!
I can talk to you!” Her eyes trace down my body and back up to my face.
“I can see you, just a little, but enough! Maybe you’re not as dead as you think you are. We have a chance, an opportunity—”
“An opportunity for what? To haunt you? To what end?” I keep talking before she can answer my hypothetical question.
Her relentless hope isn’t helping her, not with this.
“I can’t be what you need, Esther. You deserve to have a normal life, meet someone brave enough to actually answer your questions or kiss you when you’re awake.
Someone…alive. Who can love you the way you deserve. ”
“We have a chance to love each other now!” Esther frowns, blue eyes still digging into mine.
As much as I want to escape the silent demands she’s making of me, the questions she doesn’t need to voice, I can’t bear to look away. I shake my head. “We missed that chance when I died.”
The moment hangs heavy between us. As much as I want to disappear, I can’t bring myself to lose focus.
Not when her blue eyes are staring into mine like this.
Not when I know it’ll break her heart for me to vanish from sight.
Faint as I may be, my visibility is a lifeline for her, and I will not withdraw that, as vulnerable and exposed as I feel.
A buzzing sound breaks the tension, and I disappear the moment her eyes flick away to the phone in her hand. Angel replied to her message. I’m relieved for the excuse to hide from her harrowing gaze.
“He wants to see me again. To ask some questions about you. What do you think?” With a gasp, Esther looks up, eyes widening in distress when she can’t see me anymore.
“I’m here, Esther,” I reassure her softly.
I always will be, as long as she needs me.