Ghost of a Chance

By Janice Hussein

Written en plein air at The Gorge White House, Hood River, Oregon

"What's a ghost to do?" Ross Hukari said. They'd been meeting here at the Gorge White House for 4 years, and now this sable-haired mortal wanted to break up. He just wasn't on solid footing here—though he was standing in his old office.

Danielle wouldn't look at him. And he'd worn his WWII uniform, with Technical Sergeants stripes and beret. He knew he looked handsome—strong jawline, sandy hair, big blue eyes.

"So, you met another ghost?" he said, wondering why she preferred ghosts to "real" men. He strolled to the front room—deserted now at opening hour of the Farm's winetasting—and headed toward the staircase. She followed.

"Well yes, I'm sorry. You and I see each other once a year during Plein-Air Write-Out. You're literally, here today, gone tomorrow." She glanced up, smiling. "We've drifted apart?"

"Will I at least see you next year? Can we stay friends?" he said, "steadying" her on the wooden stairs.

"You could never just be friends," she said, grinning. "I can so see through you."

He laughed. They'd first met when he was 63, she was 18. He'd been taken with her, but loved his wife. There were rules. "But at least you can see me—do you know how long I waited for someone who could? A decade!"

"Well...my new boyfriend—"

"What does he have that I don't?" They'd entered the Master bedroom. He opened the balcony door.

"I can see him more often—every full moon." Passing through to the balcony, she "touched" the cleft in his chin.

"'Of all the gin joints, in all the…, she walks into mine.'"

"'Play it again, Sam'? Well, you can't say I'm walking 'out of your life' again." Danielle leaned her arms on the white railing, gazing toward Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood. He stood beside her.

"Okay, who would you chose if you were on the other side?" he said.

"Why do you appear only during the Plein-Air?"

Ross sighed. "It's all the creativity, openness to possibilities. And a little wine probably doesn't hurt. I'm more likely to be seen."

"Liar. Isn't there some rule for ghosts where you must tell the truth?" she said, arching a brow, smiling up at him.

"Gees, woman. Why would you think there's another reason?"

"Because you would choose to materialize more frequently, if you could. I know that now!" Her green eyes met his. "It's something else, but you won't tell me."

They heard footsteps. His son-in-law appeared carrying a "Closed" sign; he retrieved a paint can, tested the railing for dryness, closed the door behind him, and posted the sign.

"Huh, he…" Ross said. "Wet…paint?"

She looked stunned. Then lifted her arms from the railing. No paint.

He laughed. "You're…"

"…not mortal," she said.

"But I saw you talking to that writer…"

"He had a hands-free phone. I needed to know if you cared. How else could I?"

"So," he said, taking her hand, "this is what you writers would call an HEA."

"Emphasis on 'Ever.'"