Page 46 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
Trains aren’t aseasy to come by as you’d think, at least not in Montana. We’re going to have to make it all the way out to Whitefish to catch an Amtrak.
The hybrid SUV we take from the lot of a car dealership is brand new, slick black, and has that toxic new vehicle smell that gives you headaches. I’ll never get over how weird it is just to take things as a phantom. It’s strange how real it feels, how the salespeople don’t bat an eye as I snatch the keys from their desk.
My crotch rocket was hard to part with. In a way, I understood how much pain Jericho had felt over leaving Harlow behind. The motorcycle had been a significant part of my life, but Ophelia assured me we could find another throughout our travels.
Jericho and Yelina were jittering with excitement, hardly sparing time for a swift “see you soon” and exchanging phone numbers so we could be in contact later on, then off they went.Their bucket list is taking them to Hawaii first. Yelina swears a vacation she never got will soothe her ghost.
I only give Harlow Sanctum one final glance through my rearview mirror. Emotions swell in my chest, but I’ve felt enough heartbreak and sadness within those walls; I won’t give it anymore. So, I take a deep breath and smile; Ophelia’s hand wraps tightly around mine as we leave the misty mountain institution behind.
Goodbye Wynn. Goodbye Liam. My lower lip quivers but is replaced with hope. My story can begin here. We can leave everything else behind.
I drive.
It’s been a long time since I’ve driven anything but a motorcycle and God, does it feel good to have a steering wheel under my palms again. I prefer a crotch rocket, but I won’t fuss about it. Speeding down the interstate and blaring music with a girl in the passenger seat makes me feel eighteen again. Not that I’m complaining about being forever twenty-nine.
Ophelia scowls at me and turns the music down. I don’t even know what song it is; so many new artists have come out since I died, but I like the tune.
“You could’ve told me you were utterly insane. I would’ve driven us,” Ophelia teases, rolling her eyes dramatically and looking back out the side window.
My brow twitches with her ire.
“Are you so against having fun?” I laugh as I tap the brakes enough for her to jerk forward as she tries biting into her donut. Icing gets all over her upper lip and nose and I have to suck in my lips to keep from belly laughing.
“Lanston!” She shoves the donut in my face, sticky icing smearing over my cheek and hair.
“Hey, I’m driving!” I say urgently, because I’m already steering us off the side of the road going ninety. The dust whirls up behind us and the car nearly tips as I slam on the brakes.
We breathe heavily, icing on both our faces with strands of hair stuck to our noses and cheeks. The donut slides down the windshield slowly, leaving blue streaks in its wake, before flopping on the dashboard.
I look at her, and she turns to look at me. Our eyes are both wide with adrenaline. There is no middle point in which we smile first or giggle; both of us burst into laughter—the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your sides burn.
Tears prick her eyes as she tries and fails to wipe the frosting from her face.
I retrieve some napkins I stuffed into the center console after we picked up donuts and pass her one, keeping one for myself and joining her in trying to get the icing out of my hair.
She’s faster than I am.
The napkin I used is completely worthless; I need an entire handful to get the rest off my cheek. I glower at her. My lip still turned up in a smirk because it’s way too funny not to laugh at, even though it sucks.
“See what you did?” I tut.
She lifts her chin. “Youstarted it.”
I notice she still has a dot of frosting on the top of her lip. My hand moves without even thinking. Her eyes widen as my thumb swipes gently over her skin. Her mouth parts a bit and my eyes linger there, admiring every soft aspect of her.
Ophelia sips in a sharp breath and looks away, her cheeks reddening.
“We should hurry, or we’ll miss the train,” she says, staring out the window and refusing to turn toward me. I narrow my eyes at her. Then I slip my hand over hers. She turns her head, but instead of surprise, I find heat burning in her eyes.
I smile—a simple but charming one. “Don’t worry, Miss Rosin, I’ll get you on that train.” I turn up the radio and it’s a song I actually know this time: “Ride” by Lana Del Rey.My hands return to the wheel and I floor it.
She lets out the sweetest squeal as we’re ruthlessly thrown forward.
“Lanston!”
But after a few moments, she starts singing along to the song, and I join in. I sneak glances over at her, her wild purple hair blowing in the wind, with the window rolled down. Her feet kicked up on the dashboard and all I can think of is how beautiful she looks and all the light she emits into my weary soul.
“Tickets, please.”
