Seen
Marcel 1986
Eli handsthe diary and the envelope back to Grace, but his eyes aren’t on her anymore. They focus on the being behind her. A flicker of curiosity crosses his face and then…a smile. Small, but sure. He sees her.
Clara startles. Her eyes go wide, spine pressing against the wall as if she could fade through it. It’s the look of someone who isn’t used to being noticed—who’s spent too long in silence, tucked away in the periphery. But here and she’s visible.
“Well, Grace, this is quite a discovery for you, I’m sure. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Grace lets out a soft, relieved sigh. “I would love one, thank you.”
She takes a seat at the table across the room, completely unaware of the spectral presence only a few feet from her, while Eli moves to the coffee, the clink of ceramic and spoon the only sound tying me to the present.
“Do you take cream?” He asks over his shoulder.
“If it isn’t a bother, yes, please.”
“Not a thing.” Eli glances toward the pantry, eyes narrowed with quiet urgency. He moves toward the small space and slips inside, the door whispering shut behind him.
Eli turns to me, voice low. “There’s a spirit with her. Do you know who she is?”
My throat tightens until I can barely breathe. “That’s Clara. Eli, I haven’t seen her since before I passed.”
His expression changes. “Did you know about all this? That you were a father?”
I shake my head too fast, too hard. “No. Not a clue.” My hand drags through my hair, my chest a riot of heartbeats and memories. “Eli, this is too much. My heart won’t stop pounding. Clara…she’s the only one I ever?—”
He cuts in softly. “You don’t have to tell me, I can see it written all over you.” He pauses with a heavy exhale. “Listen to me. You don’t get moments like this twice. The pull to this ranch that made her follow Grace here—it’s a gift. You can stay hidden and let it pass, or you can take hold of it and find out the truth.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, “Not yet. I can’t even get a full breath in.”
Eli sighs, not out of impatience, but with understanding. “Then breathe, catch it. But don’t take too long. Life’s short on second chances, and this looks a hell of a lot like one to me.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder, looking in my eyes. “I’ll be right out there. When you’re ready, I’ll help you through it.”
Then he’s gone, the door left cracked, and I’m alone in the half-dark.
I step closer to the gap and look out.
And I see her.
Clara’s moving through the kitchen like she’s remembering it with her hands, tracing the edges of picture frames, trailing her fingers over the long dining table. Her presence hums in the air like static before a storm. Grace, blind to her, is sipping coffee and thanking Eli for the welcome, lost in the moment.
But I’m not. I’m lost in Clara.
Time has painted her in new strokes. She’s softer in some places, sharper in others. The girl I knew is gone, replaced bya woman carved by years I didn’t witness. Her cheeks have thinned, her shoulders set with a quiet gravity. Her body moves with weight now, with intention. She’s fuller, stronger. But her eyes haven’t changed. Still that fierce, restless hazel. Her soul still shining through them.
I brace my hand against the wall. The floor feels unsteady beneath me. I can barely stand.
Clara.
She’s here. After all this time, she traveled north.
And just like the first time I saw her, I’m wrecked by her.
Cowboy
Clara 1923
