“That morbid son of a bitch.”
Josh probably thought this was the funniest destination on his postmortem travel itinerary.
Dom and I just paid fifteen dollars each to enter Vulture City, Arizona. We both arrived in Phoenix a few hours ago, and because our flight times ended up being so close together, I reluctantly agreed to share a rental car with him. We checked into our rentals, got changed, and headed to the coordinates.
Which brought us here.
To a ghost town.
Dom huffs a dry laugh and leads the way through the wooden fence posts that signify the start of Vulture City.
Ironically, this dead civilization is rather lively. People wander around the dirt roads, some on their own like Dom and me, but others are led by guides dressed in Old West outfits. If Josh were here, he probably would have begged for a cowboy hat and sheriff’s badge of his own.
Everything—not just Dom’s humor—is dry here. Going from Seattle to the desert, my skin feels like brittle paper on the verge of cracking and crumbling away. I reach behind me to slip my water bottle out of the side pocket on my backpack. The container is slim, lightweight, and insufficient for this climate. I doubt it’ll last me another twenty minutes from the way I guzzle half in one go.
I was not properly prepared. October is supposed to be cool, but here the temperatures have already crept to the high eighties and threaten to keep going. Even my SPF 60 sunscreen seems inadequate in the powerful sun. I pull the brim of my hat low over my face and hurry to catch up with Dom.
He’s come to a stop in front of a building with a hand-painted sign that reads Brothel.
“Wow. Having trouble with the dating apps?” I ask. “Need some privacy in there?”
Dom tries to glare at me, but I spot the twitch at the corner of his firm mouth. “Looking for some shade to read his letter so you don’t burst into flames halfway through.”
“Was that your way of calling me a vampire? The sexiest of monsters? If so, I take it as a compliment.”
Dom’s lips curve further. “You’ve got the look. And the bite.”
I scoff. Then I scurry up the wooden steps into the building like the sunlight-fearing creature he called me. It’s not that I hate the sunshine. It’s just that I know how painful overexposure can be. On sunny days, I like to enjoy the natural light from the cool shade of my condo while curled up in my armchair or sitting on my floor.
Not in the middle of a desert with zero cloud cover or conveniently placed awnings.
Dom’s chuckle follows me through the door, and soon his feet do, too.
Then he flinches and mutters, “Hell,” and clutches his chest.
I turn to see the shape of a looming figure and jump back before snorting when I realize we haven’t found a ghost, but instead a mannequin dressed in period clothes. The fake person is the most modern thing in the room. Time has worn away the remnants of what the former inhabitants left behind. An aged piano sits pressed up against the wall, and a warped mirror hangs across from it. A sturdy black stove in the corner has a simple kind of beauty to it. Not that I’d want to see it lit in this sweltering heat. As I shuffle farther into the brothel, the floor gives—only slightly—under my feet. A reminder that the boards have lived far longer than I have and still remain.
Dust floats in the air and settles on my tongue. I pull out my water for another swig.
“Charming,” I offer after my drink, tilting my head toward a creepy baby doll watching us from the next room. “What a place to spend an afterlife.”
Dom’s presence looms at my side. “You think this place is haunted?”
I let my eyes trail up to his face, trying to discern if there’s any mockery in his expression. But Dom reveals nothing.
“If there are ghosts here, I’m not about to say there aren’t and then piss them off. But if you would like to bring down some old-timey prostitute spectral wrath on your head, go for it.” I wave toward a vanity with a cracked mirror.
Dom opens his mouth but pauses when I press my hands against his chest and give him a hearty shove toward the next room. “Over there. You can insult the dead once I’m not in the splatter zone.”
Dom rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he mutters, “Coward.”
Before I can come back at him with a witty retort, he draws his backpack off and unzips a small pocket. From it, he produces one of Josh’s letters.
“Want to read it?” he asks, extending the envelope to me.
I accept the offering, and as my fingers clutch the missive, my eyes flick between our wrists.
Love, Josh
My tattoo is visible, having healed nicely, with only some itching and soreness. Now the black lines are smoothly embedded in my skin. If I close my eyes and run a thumb over my wrist, I can’t even feel them.
But I find myself tracing the letters all the time.
Ten months, and I still think about him every day. I’m not sure an hour has passed without a thought of Josh. A flash of his smile in my memory. The urge to text him about random things in my life.
As the envelope slides free of Dom’s grip, I search his wrist. There, peeking out from under the wristband of his watch, are the edges of the same letters.
Suddenly self-conscious, I focus on opening Josh’s letter, wanting to read it before another ghost-town visitor decides to stroll into the brothel. Excitement thrums through my veins in anticipation of getting one more piece of my brother. When I pull out the paper and see Josh’s familiar scrawl, I can almost hear his voice in my head reading the letter aloud.
Dear Maddie & Dom,
Welcome to Arizona!
I’ve explored plenty of ruins in my travels, but never got around to any of these abandoned mining towns.
Is it spooky? Do you see any ghosts?
If I end up being a ghost, I hope I haunt someplace cool and not this hospital. Maybe you all should perform an exorcism here just in case, so I don’t get stuck floating around for eternity in this backless gown. Though they are nice and breezy…
Sorry. Getting off topic.
Now, your task, should you choose to accept it (and you better accept it because I’m dead and I said so) is to have a Josh-story sharing fest. As you explore Vulture City, I want you to tell each other stories only you know about me. Yes, I’m that vain. And I give you permission to be brutally honest. Tell the funny ones, but also tell how I screwed up.
Because I did. I know I did.
Tell each other the things you regret not doing with me. Here, I’ll go first.
Maddie, there’s a town in Wales that’s full of bookshops. I regret not taking you there and buying every story you wanted. Dom, I regret not going to more Phillies games with you. I got so focused on always seeking out new experiences, I forgot how good a classic could be.
Maybe I’ll haunt Citizen Bank Park and you can grab an extra beer for me next time you go.
Try not to have as many regrets as I do.
Spread me with the desert sand and take a picture with a cactus for me.
Love,
Josh
“Hell,” Dom mutters, and I couldn’t agree more.
I know these trips are entirely about Josh, but we haven’t done much talking about my brother. The question I asked Dom a moment ago was a big step for me.
Now I’m supposed to spend the next however many hours sharing stories? Stories Dom doesn’t already know?
Those pieces of Josh that have only ever been mine.
But he has to tell me things, too.
It’s an exchange. And in the end, I’ll have more of my brother than I did when this day started. It’ll be like Josh lived a little longer.
“Let’s walk. Explore.” Dom doesn’t use his commanding tone. Instead, he speaks carefully, with a questioning tilt of his head toward the open doorway.
“Yeah. Okay.”
As we step over the threshold, I suddenly remember the phone call with my mother. How she wanted to come. How if I’d given in, she’d be here for whatever we both say next.
I could never have given up my Josh secrets to Cecilia Sanderson. Not to a woman who would use them to entertain strangers.
I turn abruptly to face Dom and stumble a step back when I come face-to-chest. He grabs my shoulders to keep me from tumbling off the porch.
“Sorry. I was walking too close,” he says.
“Has my mom called you?” I blurt.
Dom’s lips tighten, and I know the answer even before he gives a short nod.
“Did she ask to come on these trips?” I clarify.
“Cecilia doesn’t ask to do anything.”
Though accurate, I don’t like how he phrased his answer. My stare swings toward where we parked, expecting to see her striding toward us in her designer bohemian wear, talking about how this reminds her of Burning Man.
“I told her no.” Dom’s low voice brings my attention back to him.
“You did?”
In that moment, I realize Dom still has his hands on me, and his thumbs are rubbing soothing circles against the bare skin my tank top reveals. As if coming to the same realization, Dom drops his hands and slips them in the pockets of his shorts.
“Did Josh ever tell you about the time we got your mom’s car towed on purpose?”
I gape at the man I’d always thought of as Mr. Responsible. “No.” I choke on the word and my disbelief.
Dom’s lips tilt in a rueful smirk. “Josh showed up at school and I could tell he was pissed. And you know, he didn’t get mad. I knew it was bad. He told me Cecilia had thrown out a bunch of your books when you weren’t home. Books that meant a lot to you.”
I remember that. One was a signed copy by my favorite author that I only had because Josh drove me to a bookstore in the city and stood in line with me for an hour so I could meet her.
Cecilia had apparently wanted the shelf to display her collection of healing crystals and didn’t see the point in me keeping books I’d already read.
“After school, we went by your house, got the spare key to her car. Josh knew she was in a yoga class or something, so we found her car, parked it in a fire lane, then called the cops to report it.”
“Oh my god.” I gape at him. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” Dom leans in close, until our foreheads almost touch, and holds my eyes with his. “I don’t regret it. Never have. Never will. You both deserved better than her. Better than Florence, too.”
I swallow hard and turn away, mind reeling as I think about the immature but also oddly sweet act Josh and Dom did for me.
“That…” I clear my throat, certain the dry air is what is making it so hard to speak. “That was a good one. Guess it’s my turn to think of a story.”
Dom grunts and steps around me, walking into the bright sunlight.
The glow of midday caresses his skin, soaking into his arms and neck like kisses from a lover. The sun adores the Perry family as much as it hates me. Still, just because Dom tans when I burn doesn’t mean he’s immune to an overabundance of UV rays.
“Sunscreen!” I call after him.
He pauses halfway across the narrow dirt road, turning back to me. With sunglasses over his eyes, I can’t read his expression. But even if he’s rolling his eyes in exasperation, I will not let up on this.
“Did you put on any sunscreen?” I ask as I jog up to him, pulling my backpack off so I can rummage in it for the bottle I bought at the airport gift shop.
“No. It’s fine.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter in a deep voice, mocking him. “Arms out.”
Dom hesitates, then extends his mile-long arms. Luckily, I decided to buy the spray type. My lungs do weird fluttery clenches when I imagine rubbing lotion on every inch of exposed skin.
Spray allows me to keep my distance.
I apply a coating of protection to his arms, then his legs from the knees down. When I circle around his back, I encounter a problem.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re entirely too tall?”
He snorts. I poke him in the kidney.
“Squat. I need to get your neck.”
“This is overkill,” he argues even as he bends his knees.
“You’ll be thanking me in twenty years when you don’t have skin—” I choke on the final word I was about to say so flippantly.
Cancer.
That is the worst word to ever have existed.
Dom turns, and I cover up my painful misstep.
“Wrinkles. When you’re not a wrinkly mess.” Then I busy myself replacing the bottle in my bag.
“You’re right,” Dom speaks softly. “I don’t want wrinkles. Thank you.”
I humph and sling my backpack on. “Right. Okay.” My eyes scan around the abandoned town and alight on a set of saloon doors. I point to them. “Let’s look for ghosts in the bar. And did Josh ever tell you about the time he helped me look for a prom dress?”
The concerned creases around Dom’s mouth ease as he smiles. “No.”
The memory of that day blares like a bright butterfly of joy in my mind, coaxing a reluctant grin of my own. “Oh, really? He never shared how he decided to get involved? How he decided to try a few on himself?”
Dom’s laughter booms loud, reverberating through the sun-soaked air.
Bringing life to a place that was once void of it.