Ghosted

“Yeah,” I say. “We used to know each other well.”

Madison seems to mull that over as she closes the rest of the distance to the river, grabbing a handful of kale from her bag and launching it overhead, into the water. The ducks don’t hesitate, rushing right for it. It’s gone in an instant, and she throws another handful as they flood up onto the riverbank, making a ruckus.

“Jesus Christ,” I say when the ducks surround us, trying to rip the bag out of my hand as Madison giggles, throwing handful after handful, not bothered in the slightest.

Panicked, I turn the bag over and fucking dump it out, right on the ground, taking a few steps back. Madison does the same, watching me, sprinkling her kale on top of them.

“You’re right,” I say. “They like it.”

“Told you so,” she says, crumbling the bag up into a ball as she looks for somewhere to put it.

I take it. “I can throw it away.”

“Thank you, Breezeo.”

That’s all she says before darting away, running around, playing as some ducks follow her, even though she doesn’t have the kale. I grab my sling and toss the empty bags into a trashcan before approaching Kennedy. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a word, sipping juice as she watches Madison from afar.

“Crazy,” I mumble. “It’s like she’s just this tiny person.”

“She is,” Kennedy says. “Were you expecting something different?”

“I don’t know that I expected anything. I just—”

“I know.”

She cuts me off before I can finish. Does she know? Maybe. But there’s sharpness to her voice that tells me she doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t finish that sentence.

“Thank you for inviting me,” I say. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” she says. “You and I are long over, Jonathan. All that matters is Maddie.”

The way she says that stings. “Well, still, thank you.”

She nods, whispering, “Don’t make me regret it.”

I hope like hell I don’t.

Madison runs over, breathing heavily, waving her hands all around as she stammers out some half-sentences. Kennedy grabs a juice box, poking a straw in it before handing it to her. The girl sucks it down in one gulp.

“Do you have your suit?” she asks suddenly as she squeezes the empty box, crushing it.

The question catches me off guard. “What?”

“For Breezeo. Do you have the suit or no?”

“Uh, no,” I say. “Not with me.”

“Where is it at?”

“In a wardrobe trailer somewhere, I imagine. Why?”

She shrugs, giving the juice box to her mother. “Does it work? Does it go all invisible for real?”

“No, it’s a normal costume.”

“And you don’t go all invisible?”

“No,” I say. “I’m normal, too.”

She scowls. I feel like I’m telling the kid Santa isn’t real.

“But you’re a hero,” she says. “I seen it on the TV, so maybe you don’t gotta disappear, so then you can stay and don’t have to go away now.”

Those words are a punch to the chest. I blink at her, not sure if she means that how it sounds, but I’m verbally getting my ass kicked this afternoon.

“We read part of Ghosted the other day,” Kennedy chimes in. “She isn’t happy that Breezeo leaves at the end.”

The explanation doesn’t make it much better. Sighing, I sit down on the edge of the picnic table. “Yeah, I always thought that sucked. Sure, he thought it was for the best, but I figured they would’ve given him a happy ending.”

“He should come back,” Madison says. “Then he can get better and they’ll be happy.”

She’s hitting way too close to home with this shit, and she doesn’t even know it. “Huh, maybe you should’ve written the story.”

Madison’s eyes widen, her face lighting up with a smile. Her expression makes my goddamn heart act up. She’s beautiful, this kid—even more beautiful than I ever could’ve dreamed of. There’s a spark inside of her, one that echoes inside of me, the kind of spark I haven’t felt in a long time.

“I can do that!” she says. “I can fix it!”

Kennedy laughs. “I’m sure you can.”

Madison is off again, running around. I sit there in silence, watching her play. A few minutes pass before my phone rings in my pocket. I dig it out. Cliff.

“Yeah?” I answer flippantly.

“Hey!” Cliff says, sounding way too enthusiastic. “How’s our hero feeling this afternoon?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you want.”

“Just checking in to see how you’re holding up.”

“In that case, I’m doing fine.”

“Good,” he says. “Any less of a moody prick?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“Well, every little bit counts.”

He laughs.

Cliff doesn’t laugh.

“Anyway, I didn’t get the chance to check in with you after you got discharged,” he says. “You back home in LA now?”

“No, I decided to, you know... stick around.”

“Stick around,” he says. “You’re still here in the city?”

“Uh, close to it.”

It doesn’t take him long to realize what I mean. “You didn’t. Seriously, tell me you aren’t where I think you are right now.”