more slowly, letting each step take me back in time to when everything felt simpler. Easier. Safer. More certain.
When I reach the water, I drop my shoes nearby and look around to see if anyone else is out here. It’s surprisingly empty—though this isn’t a particularly popular section of the beach. So I slip off my jeans and wade into the chill of the ocean. I don’t really have a plan, and I surrender to the moment. I close my eyes and imagine my summers with Estelle, building sand castles and pretending we were mermaids.
When the water reaches my chest and a wave rises before me, I take the plunge and dive in, relishing the cold, the salt, the invigorating rush of being submerged. Underwater, I open my eyes, letting them sting as I look around. It’s murky and hard to see anything, but for a moment, Estelle appears to me. Rather than the ghostly visage she has been, now she’s the child from my memory, her breath held, her eyes wide, her small body buoyed by the pulse of the ocean.
But then her face changes, her expression of wonder turning to fear. She opens her mouth to scream, water pouring into it, and the chill of the ocean turns hot, burning me. I look around in horror as flames surround me. I choke on the smoke, confused about where I am or what’s happening.
My vision recedes as lack of oxygen pulls me into unconsciousness and it’s Estelle’s voice that keeps me awake.
Swim. Celeste, swim or die.
Choking, my lungs filling with what feels like smoke, I try to do as she says, and when the ocean spits me back onto the shore, I cough up water and collapse onto the wet sand.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but the sun is starting to set by the time I pull my weary body back up the path toward my car.
Corbin is expecting me home soon. We are meant to look at possible wedding locations this evening, and he’ll be upset if I’m late. My lungs still burn and my head aches as I pull my jeans on and make my way back to the car.
The long drive home and rush hour traffic gives me time to compose myself. I still don’t know how to process what I saw. Are ghosts real? Can someone in a coma be a ghost? Or am I losing my mind?
It’s the last thought that leaves me most scared. I don’t know that I believe in ghosts, but I do believe in mental illness, and my family has had its share of it. My own sanity slipping is a much more likely scenario than my not-dead sister haunting me, and that reality has me facing a much harder truth. If I’m heading down the path of my ancestors, what do I do about my wedding? About Corbin? About my whole life?
Corbin is waiting impatiently when I pull up. “Where have you been?” he asks the moment I walk in the door. “We have to leave now if we want to get there in time.” When he sees what a mess I am, he pauses, his face hardening. “What did you do?”
“I’ll be ready in a moment. Just give me a chance to shower.”
I don’t wait for him to respond as I head to our bedroom and lock myself in the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I see my sister’s face staring back at me. Pale, sunken, lost. I shake my head and undress, then let the hot water soak into me and pull out the chill I still feel bone deep.
Corbin is irritated and impatient when I follow him to the car where the driver is waiting for us. Once we’re settled in the back seat, I answer him.
“I went to see my sister, then drove for a bit to think. I ended up at the ocean and... decided to go swimming.”
“In your clothes?” he asks with a sneer.
Tears fill my eyes again as I look over at him. “I miss her so much. It’s hard to imagine her not being here for my wedding.”
The hard set to his jaw softens at my words and he pulls me into his arms. “I wish I could have known her before,” he says gently, and I try my hardest not to pull back from his embrace.
My sister’s ghostly warnings still haunt me and mirror the tension I’ve felt since I woke up from that strange