Free Long Ride Home by Elizabeth Hunter

Night One
     
     
     
    Oregon Coast
    April 2007
     
     
    Jena Crowe McCann was driving down the Oregon coast and breathing in the cool night air when her husband’s ghost appeared to her. She slid her hand along the car door, pressing down the button that would crack the window open so the smell of salt and pine filled the air. Then she took a deep breath, holding the fragrance in her lungs for as long as she could before she let out a long sigh. 
    Lowell’s ghost kept her company, silently watching the oncoming lights and occasionally glancing over a phantom shoulder at his sons. The boys were sleeping in the backseat, both exhausted after a final day of packing and saying goodbye to friends and the suffocating helpfulness of their neighbors. His ashes rested in a simple urn carved from cedar, which was placed into a box with a few other mementos from his too-short life. Jena would give the box to his parents when she and the boys got home.
    Home.
    “I’m going to miss that smell,” Lowell said.
    Jena glanced over. “Can you smell that? Really?”
    His shadowy outline frowned. “I’m not sure if I can smell it, or I just remember the smell of it.”
    “Well, that clears everything up.”
    “Hey, I’m as new at this being a ghost business as you are at seeing ghosts.”
    “I don’t see ghosts. I just see you.”
    “Really? Never before?”
    “Don’t you think I would have told you if I saw ghosts?”
    Lowell smiled and leaned back in the seat, turning his head so he stared at her profile in the low light from the dashboard. “I don’t know. You always had your secrets.”
    “I didn’t keep secrets from you.”
    “I didn’t say you kept them from me, just that you had them. It’s okay. I like that I never figured you out completely. You were my favorite puzzle.”
    A sharp ache pierced her heart. “Am I still going to see you when we get there?”
    “I don’t know.”
    She drove on in silence, listening to his soft voice as she navigated the twisting roads lined by dark conifers.
    “Do you think I’m making a mistake?” Jena asked. “Moving so soon?”
    “No. It’s a good move. It’ll be a new start for all of you.”
    “I feel like I’m moving backward.”
    “Nah.” He grinned. “Moving back, not backward.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “You know. You’re just not seeing it.” He crossed his arms. Arms that had once held her tightly. Held their sons. Thrown darts at their favorite pub in college. Arms that had carried her name. The boys’ names. Favorite verses and patterns tattooed permanently onto all too un-permanent skin. 
    “I miss your arms, Low.”
    “I miss your everything.”
    She blinked back tears and forced herself to focus on the road. In the rearview mirror, she saw her youngest, Aaron, shift in his seat. Lowell turned his head to stare at the small boy who was the spitting image of himself.
    “The boys need this, Jena. They need to be around family. Even my crazy people.”
    “Don’t forget mine.”
    “Them too. And our friends. And Joe and Allie’s kids. Ted and Ollie and everyone. They need to be in a place where they’re going to be understood. Where they won’t have to hide.”
    “I’m afraid for them.”
    He frowned. “Because of me? That’s not how it works; you know that.”
    “Still, I worry.”
    “You’re a mom. It’s part of your job.”
    She sniffed. “Damn straight it is.”
    Lowell grinned again. “That’s my girl. You’ll watch them like a hawk.” 
    “Haha.”
    He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he watched the road ahead. “It’s the right move. The boys need to go to your mom and dad’s diner every day after school for a milkshake and help with their homework. They need to go fishing with my dad or pull weeds with my mom at the park while she lectures them about native plant species and water conservation. They need all that stuff. And you do, too.”
    “I’m pretty well educated about water conservation