Ezra’s pride and hopes were smashed. He felt inadequate, useless. He always felt like a disappointment to his father, still, it always hurt when he said it out loud like this. But if there truly was danger, he would protect Clara from it. They would tackle it together. No matter how his father viewed their roles, it was always best when they did things together.
His father’s figure was fading, melting into the stones of the fireplace. There wasn’t much time left and Ezra wasn’t broken-hearted about that. He wouldn’t try to convince him to stay. He wouldn’t even attempt to fight fate.
“I…” his father looked away, his voice growing gruffer. “I do love you, you know.”
Ezra was so shocked he couldn’t respond. It was more surprising than seeing a ghost or hearing how disappointed his father was in him. I love yous from his father were rarer than displays of emotion. He hadn’t heard it in years, and it convinced him this couldn’t be real. His father wouldn’t tell him he loved him, would he?
Before he could respond, his father faded away, leaving him questioning his sanity and his safety.
18
Despite how much Ezra tried to avoid waking Clara up, his tossing and turning all night hadn’t gone unnoticed. She wasn’t up quite as much as he was, but he woke her periodically and she was worried about how restless her husband was getting. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t want him to feel bad. When she woke though, she decided to do whatever she could to make his day a little smoother. He needed to cut down on some of the stress, for both of their sakes.
She got up as quietly as possible as to not disturb his slumber. It looked like he was finally at least somewhat peaceful, a state which had taken him far too long to attain. She crept across the floor and shut the door behind her. Then, she went into the kitchen to work a little magic of her own.
Even though Ezra was the cook of the house, Clara was rather good in the kitchen herself. She got to work on breakfast and Ezra’s favorite, a mocha latte. She knew he’d have a long day ahead of him, so she kept it at least somewhat healthy with homemade oats, fresh fruit, and a veggie omelet.
She was grateful she had taken the time to cook for him once he walked down the stairs. His hair was a mess, eyes red with exhaustion. His clothes were rumpled, and he was slumped in defeat. He looked even more drained than she imagined he would.
“Something smells delicious,” he said as he joined her in the kitchen. He yawned as she turned to hug him and followed it up with a kiss.
“Just for you,” she said. “I know you had a long night and I want to do whatever I can to make your day a little easier. You need to find ways to relax. I think the stress is getting to you.”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. She handed him his latte then got back to work.
As Ezra watched her, he became absorbed in his thoughts about his father and the frightening night he had. Having been removed from the situation for a little while, he had started to question himself and his sanity.
Was he hallucinating? Was he dreaming? That was the only possible explanation. Ghosts weren’t real, his father couldn’t have come back simply to scold him. Though he found it fun to entertain elaborate and fantastical ideas when he was reading, he never genuinely believed in that kind of thing. He was grounded in reality. He knew it couldn’t be true.
But it felt so real in a way other dreams hadn’t. He could recall his father’s exact features in their ghostly haze, the colors of the room, his distinct voice. It was just like a fully formed memory with nothing to distinguish it from the other things he’d done in his day-to-day life.
The only thing that made him question if it was real was the impossible nature of it all. His father was dead. He couldn’t have talked to him. Despite what he knew though, he couldn’t process it as something that wasn’t real. It was too real. Too difficult to get out of his head.
Dreaming would’ve been the most favorable explanation, though it would’ve been a particularly vivid dream on the scale of which he hadn’t experienced yet. Hallucinating… Well, it’d be better than being visited by an actual ghost, but not by much.
Was he so stressed he started hallucinating? Ezra hated to even consider it, but he had no choice. Perhaps it was time to see a doctor. Perhaps he needed to make more of an effort to relax and work on his mental health. Perhaps his father had come back as a ghost.
No.
He grabbed some plates and set the table as he considered if he should tell Clara about seeing his father. He told her about the troubling thoughts he had so far, but this went beyond feeling like his father was watching him. The two could be kind of connected. It made sense that one thought might lead to the other, but having an odd feeling was a giant leap away from actually seeing your dead father. What would she think of him?
She’d think he was crazy. Of course, she’d think he was crazy and he still couldn’t get everything his father said out of his head. He had made it clear he thought Ezra hadn’t been the greatest husband to Clara so far, that he hadn’t protected her, he made a horrible choice in coming here. What if his father was right? What if Ezra was a terrible husband?
It was one of his greatest worries. He wanted to
