Ghost of a Home Town

POV: Zia

The automatic doors of the hospital hiss shut behind us, cutting off the scent of bleach and replacing it with the heavy, floral humidity of Kauai. Clayton is carrying a small plastic bag of "essentials" they had for me—my phone (which looks way too thin and has no buttons), my wallet, and a light jacket.

"Thank you, Dr. Clue. We’ll call if the headaches get worse," Clayton says, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. It’s a protective gesture, one I’m starting to get used to, even if my skin still prickles at the contact.

The sun beams down, hot and unforgiving. I stop for a second, tilting my head back to bask in it. After the sterile, frozen air of the hospital, the heat feels like a homecoming. My stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a cavernous growl.

Clayton smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching as he opens the passenger door for me. "What would you like to eat? The patient needs fuel."

I hop into the seat, the leather warm against my legs. I don’t even have to think about it. "OH! Let’s get crazy cheesy bread from K-Mart!"

The silence that follows is heavy. Clayton climbs into the driver’s side, but he doesn't start the engine. He looks at me with an expression that is a devastating mix of laughter and deep-seated sadness.

"Zia... there is no K-Mart anymore. It’s been gone for years."

I gasp, a genuine whine escaping my throat. "What? No! That’s literally the best part of Lihue!"

"You know," he says softly, turning the key. "This isn't the first time we've done this. Over the last few years of these 'resets,' you have never failed to ask for Little Caesars at least once."

He tries to chuckle, but I see the way his knuckles tighten on the wheel. It hits me then—how many times has he had to tell me my favorite store is a ghost? How many times has he watched me mourn a pizza place?

I try to shake off the gloom, puffing out my cheeks and faking a dramatic level of annoyance. "Okay, fine. What else is fricken gone? There better still be Hamura's!" I cross my arms. "I’m serious, Clayton. If the Saimin is gone, I might actually cry. For real this time."

"Hold your breath," he says, a playful glint returning to his eyes.

We turn a familiar corner, one my parents used to take every time we come here for vacation. My heart does a little somersault when I see the weathered, humble building.

"HAMURA'S!" I squeal.

Before the engine is even off, I’m out of the truck. I burst through the door, eyes darting around. No line. Pure luck. I snag two spots at the counter and spin around just as Clayton walks in. He’s shaking his head, that "devastatingly familiar" smile back in place.

The Saimin is exactly how I remember it—the broth is a warm hug, the noodles have that perfect chew. We eat in silence, but it’s not the "tomb of silence" from the drive to the hospital. It’s a mission. I am savoring every single bite, reclaiming a piece of my life that time didn't manage to steal.

"Lilikoi pie?" Clayton asks, already knowing the answer.

"Obviously."

I devour the slice of yellow, tart heaven while Clayton pays the lady at the register. I notice he tips her generously, a quiet, easy kindness that makes me pause mid-bite. He’s a good man, my brain whispers. Even if he’s a stranger, he’s a good man.

We walk back to the truck, the sugar high giving me a burst of nervous energy. I wait until we’re buckled in before I look at him.

"Okay, Husband," I say, the word feeling slightly less like a foreign language. "I’m fed. My brain is only slightly scrambled. Where is our next pinnacle location?"