Chapter 4
FOUR
My hair is still damp from the shower, and I’m walking faster than usual to get back into the van quickly.
Even though it’s early September, the breeze by the ocean in Lubec is biting.
Maine is beautiful this time of year, but it’s also quite chilly.
And I’m still nursing a mild hangover. I would’ve loved to just crawl into bed and sleep off the remnants of last night, but I desperately needed a shower first.
Although I wasn’t quite ready to wash his scent off me.
The campground here is pretty nice, definitely better than many I’ve stayed at over the past six months.
Some of those were downright dirty. I didn’t always find a campground to sleep at either.
Sometimes, I ended up in a parking garage or just pulled over by the road.
So, this feels like a treat. It’s right by the ocean, and the view is stunning.
I can’t help but think about Nan. She would have absolutely adored this place. Lubec is the easternmost point in the US, and we talked many times about how we wanted our road trip to end here.
From the Pacific to the Atlantic. Our dream had been to cross the entire country together.
Who would have thought I’d have to live our dream alone?
I arrived in Lubec on the exact date I had hoped for.
Along the way, I’ve visited all the places my Nan had wished us to see.
During each stop, I made it a point to scatter some of her ashes.
She always used to say that when you travel to different places, you take a little something from each of them with you.
Now, all the places I visited in her memory have a small piece of her left behind, and I think that’s a beautiful thing.
I’m way out of my comfort zone right now.
I’d always been an anxious kid, more of a homebody, and to be honest, I still am.
But it’s not like I have a comfort zone anymore.
The house I lived my whole life in has been sold, and the city I called home is burned with traumatic memories I had to leave behind to somehow survive what happened.
All I have, all I call mine, is my van.
And it never really felt like home without her.
Nan used to tell me she felt at home everywhere she went and that wherever she was, that place became home for me too. I hoped I could learn to become a free spirit like her and find that feeling of being at home wherever I go.
Yeah, sure.
Ever since my grandmother passed away, I’ve been feeling lost and disoriented.
The world seems to have scattered in all directions, much like the pieces of my life.
I wish I didn’t feel so adrift all the time.
It’s as if finding a new place to call home is an unattainable dream. But I push those thoughts away.
I’m not going to cry now.
As I walk back to my van from the shower stalls, I notice many sleek, modern campers, and I can’t help but huff. Living in one of those would be a dream. Some even have their own showers, toilets, televisions, and almost full kitchens. In contrast, my little orange Chevy van has seen better days.
I spent six months fixing her up before starting my road trip. After everything that went down, it was therapeutic and a way to remember and honor Nan. The van was hers, a relic from her youth. She named it Van-essa.
She and my granddad bought it second-hand for family vacations when they were in their late twenties. After the kids grew up, the van just sat, rusting in the parking lot next to our house. I decided to breathe new life into the old beauty.
She was in rough shape.
I had to put in a lot of work, especially to remove the rusty parts. I gutted her completely before paneling the interior with wood. After countless hours, she’s looking beautiful again.
There’s a bed in the back, a little kitchenette with a small hot plate, drawers under the bed for my stuff, and cute little orange curtains. The wood-paneled ceiling is adorned with fairy lights. She looks great on the outside, but she’s a mess under the hood.
I had so many issues getting here and had to repair her multiple times, which drained my finances.
Now, if I’m lucky, I’m down to just enough for food and maybe a week or two of campground fees.
I need to quickly decide my next move or perhaps find a temporary job here to boost my funds before hitting the road again.
I should absolutely sit down and make a plan, but my thoughts wander away again. Maybe it’s because it’s been over a year since I’ve been with someone, but I can’t shake off the memory of last night.
Or maybe it was just all the things he did to me.
Just thinking about it gives me a tingling feeling between my legs, and I have to squeeze my thighs together. I don’t know if I like it or not that I know his name now.
Knowing his name adds a layer of complexity I don’t want. I don’t plan on staying here long—just enough time to sort things out and get back on the road. I just need some time to figure out my next steps. The last thing I need is a man ghosting around my mind.
I made it.
I kept my promise.
I brought her ashes here.
So, what do I do now?
Besides thinking about mind-blowing sex.
“Nash,” I murmur to myself with a smile as I open my van’s side door and shut it behind me. I settle onto my makeshift bed and reach out to turn on the radio next to it.
“Actually, it’s Saylor,” a voice corrects from my right, making me nearly jump out of my skin.
In a reflex, I snatch a spatula from the cooking area beside me, brandishing it defensively as I whirl toward the voice.
The cute guy from Nash’s porch is seated next to me on my bed, legs crossed, wearing a grin that spans his entire face.
“I doubt that’ll do much, but go ahead, take a swing. I’d love to see that.”
“What the hell?” I exclaim, taking in his almost-translucent appearance. I can see my pillow right through him. But what’s even more alarming is the mere fact that he’s here.
Contrary to popular belief, ghosts don’t usually haunt places.
They mostly haunt people. The spirits of the departed often still care deeply for their living loved ones, which is why they find it hard to move on when they sense something isn’t right.
It’s not only their own unfinished business that keeps them but also the unresolved feelings or issues of those they left behind.
Of course, there are exceptions. Sometimes, feelings of betrayal or anger can cause a spirit to linger around those who wronged them.
Or they may get lost and wait around the last place they knew.
There are spirits from people who died decades ago, still in the homes they lived in because they can’t find the light, and the people they loved already died too.
Or perhaps they simply don’t want to. There are so many facets to this.
However, a ghost never haunts someone they have no connection to.
I can’t feel him either.
So maybe not a ghost at all?
“What are you?” I ask him, my curiosity overcoming my initial shock. I promised myself I’d never talk to a spirit again, but I can’t ignore this guy casually sitting in my van, flashing his dimples as if he belongs here.
“What kind of question is that?” He chuckles, looking relaxed as he leans back on the palms of his hands. “What do you expect me to say? I’m a vegetarian? Well, I’m not.” I can only gape at him, unable to find words. “I’m a Sagittarius, a photographer, a coffee lover. I—”
“No,” I respond, stopping him short, my voice wavering slightly. “Are you a ghost?”
“Well, I assumed I was dead since no one could see or hear me,” he replies, shrugging. As he leans forward again, closing the gap between us, I instinctively lean back, my unease growing. “Except for you,” he adds with a smile.
So, a ghost, after all.
“B-but why are you translucent? Ghosts aren’t t-translucent,” I stutter like an idiot.
“Maybe I’m just a cool ghost.” He grins with mirth in his eyes.
While on the road, I saw spirits constantly but never engaged with any of them. Is it possible that my gift will fade if I don’t use it enough?
Gosh, that would be such a relief.
“It was nice meeting you, but I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now,” I say, my tone growing icy.
“Don’t be like that,” he pleads, his expression turning earnest. “Can you imagine what it feels like to be seen for the first time in years? Do you know how lonely it is to have no one to talk to?”
“I do,” is all I say, feeling the pang of loneliness that has crept into my life.
“See, you’re lonely too. We could be friends. I’ll make a fantastic one. I’ll always be around, especially since I’ve got nothing else to do. I can even look the other way the next time you decide you want to fuck my little brother,” he says with a teasing smirk.
His mention of ‘little’ throws me off. “You mean you’re the little brother,” I counter.
“Nope,” he replies, grinning.
“You seem no older than twenty-five,” I huff out.
But then realization dawns on me. He might have passed away in his mid-twenties. That would mean Nash could indeed be his little brother. While Nash ages, he stays young, and the thought is heart-wrenching.
“How old are you?” he asks me, curiosity dancing in his eyes.
“Thirty,” I respond cautiously, my guard still up.
“I’m thirty too. Or I would be now. But you just fucked my baby brother, who is, in fact, twenty-five,” he says, still grinning.
What the fuck?
“Look at you, gotten yourself a boy toy,” he teases. I try to swat him with the spatula, but it passes right through him. He nearly topples over with laughter before adding, “Next time, maybe ask a guy for his name and age, or even better, his ID before hopping into bed with him.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I mutter, rubbing my face in disbelief.
“What? Gaining a new best friend or the fact that you fucked a twenty-five-year-old?” Saylor quips, earning a sharp look from me.
“How do you even know that? Ghosts aren’t supposed to have a sense of time,” I retort, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
“I can read the time and date on that radio just fine,” he replies nonchalantly, prompting me to glance over my shoulder.
What the hell?
“Okay, how did he get you to go home with him? I love to watch how he picks up girls. It’s hilarious. His pickup lines are terrible, but they seem to work every time. I missed the show yesterday, though.”
I already suspected that Nash was a player. There is no way he wasn’t. He was way too skilled at what he was doing. But hearing it like this hurts my ego. So I clarify, “I picked him up.”
Why am I even explaining myself to a ghost?
“Oh, really? How?” Saylor inquires, resting his chin on his fists. His expression resembles that of a child eager for a bedtime story.
“We’re not friends. I don’t talk to ghosts. Please, just leave. I can’t help you.”
“Boo-hoo, lame. Come on. Life, or better yet, death, gets pretty boring when you’re me.
Tell me what you did. I’m the king of pick-up lines and can tell you if you are any better than him,” Saylor teases.
Choosing to ignore him, I avert my gaze, hoping he gets the hint and leaves.
“All right, I’ll share one of mine. Do you have a map?
Because I’m trying to find a route to your heart,” Saylor says with a flirty tone, and I stifle a grin.
That was just terrible.
“Not a fan?” he asks, undeterred. “How about this, ‘Excuse me, are you a beaver? Because daaamn, girl!’” I can’t help but laugh at that one, and he grins triumphantly. “See? No one does it better than me. So, how did you pick up my little brother?”
“I told him I wanted a taste of his beer, then kissed him.” I shrug, meeting Saylor’s intense gaze.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking between mine for a few moments before they wander to my lips.
I stand, frustration growing, and open the van’s side door again. “Could you please leave now?”
“Are you going to tell me your name? Come on. I told you mine,” he points out, making no move to go anywhere.
“I never asked for it,” I respond coldly. He gives me those puppy dog eyes again. I take a deep breath, my patience wearing thin. “If I tell you, will you leave?”
“Sure, I’ll go.” He nods.
“It’s Sloan. Now get out.” I motion at the door again.
“Sloan… that’s cute. Saylor one, Nash zero. See you later, Slo.” He winks, and in a blink, he’s gone, leaving me alone in the van.
I let out a sharp exhale, feeling a cocktail of frustration and disbelief wash over me. Despite myself, a small, involuntary smile finds its way onto my lips.
I shake my head slightly. “Unbelievable.”
What did I entangle myself in here?