The Edge of Light

The ghost was throwing leaves again. Every morning around ten o’clock, it grabbed handfuls of them off of the shrub that grew alongside the parking lot. The ghost had no strength (new ones never did), and so the leaves did little more than scatter across the gravel drive. On a windy day, they might blow into the street as she walked by.

Noa didn’t know the woman. She passed by the restaurant at the same time each morning, in pencil skirts or trousers, a leather handbag thrown over one shoulder. Someone who worked in town. He hadn’t been home long enough to meet many people yet, and that was harder when you never went out. 

He took a broom and brushed the leaves away from the restaurant’s front steps even though diners wouldn’t line up for another seven hours. The ghost paid him no mind. It was staring after the woman up the street. A family member, maybe, or a girlfriend. They tended to ignore everything else. Even if Noa did feel sorry for it, talking to a ghost wouldn’t do any good. It hadn’t taken form.

He might not have noticed it at all had it not been for the leaves. The ghost didn’t have a face, nothing that could help with identification. It looked more like residue than something conscious, a swirling mass that sometimes blurred the morning light. Not the sort of thing a normal person would notice, but Noa had seen things like that for as long as he could remember. Kids at school had called him a freak, but to him those blurs and smears had been as everyday as ants marching on the playground. Once he learned that not everyone saw those things, he’d stopped talking about them. 

It wasn’t anything to worry about. They rarely hang around long, a month or two at the longest, until their mortal connections waned and they could no longer materialize. After that, who knew what happened. With his phone, Noa took a picture of the tree. He finished sweeping and went inside to help his dad with the marinade.

---

Across the next week, he ate breakfast on the restaurant’s porch while he checked his Instagram and waited for the confetti of leaves. He watched for the woman: on Monday she wore her hair up, Tuesday it was pulled back low on her neck, Wednesday up again, Thursday wet. On Friday she was late. The ghost swirled, agitated. 

Noa photographed the shadows stretching along the driveway and shaded his eyes to observe the ghost’s nervous flickering. Seven minutes later, high heels clicked up the sidewalk. She was walking faster than usual. Red leaves rained down on the driveway. There was no breeze today and the leaves stayed in a circle around Noa’s feet. He kicked one away, but feeling pity for the ghost in the tree, he called good morning as the woman went by. Despite her haste, she slowed and turned a bright smile his way. The ghost stopped swirling.

Noa sighed and covered a yawn. “You’ve gotta try something besides leaves. She has no idea you’re there.”

Another handful of leaves floated down. He frowned. He rarely spoke to ghosts anymore. It wasn’t worth the risk of them following him home, even if most of them couldn’t hear him. He could feel this one looking at him, that familiar crawl on the back of his neck. He was surprised it had acknowledged him. It must be someone he’d known before. The town wasn’t much larger now than it had been growing up here. Curious, he raised his eyes. 

The outline was faint but the ghost had taken a shape. A man about his age. Colorless. It sank from the top of the shrub, floating a few feet above the ground where a head might belong. Its arms and legs were fog that disappeared at the wrists and at the ankles. The apparition pulsed. It would drain its own energy soon. Noa squinted, searching his memory for a name. He wasn’t close with anyone here besides his parents. He’d had a couple friends in high school, but they’d lost touch after he’d moved away and changed his number.

He squinted, focusing on the eyes. They seemed to shine even though he could see through them. He had a feeling of familiarity, as though he’d looked into those eyes before. The air grew heavy, thick like in a locker room. 

Ky?

The name came to his lips. Kyle’s parents had owned a popular seafood business on the harbor. Growing up they’d seen each other most summer mornings when Noa had gone with his parents to buy fish for the day, and sometimes Mr. Knight would take both boys crabbing for a few hours when he wasn’t fishing. Noa had always been shy, but having the class showoff as a friend had given him an unexpected social boost when he’d started elementary school. 

Kyle had been the only person he still confided in about ghosts. They grew closer in middle school and apart by the end of eighth grade. After that they’d talked just a couple of times when it was unavoidable. Noa only went to the harbor when his parents sent him, and when they entered high school, he and Kyle had no classes in common. He’d watch him in the hallways, the popular fisherman’s son, men’s cross country champion. Noa wasn’t the only one who had stared. 

The last he’d heard, Kyle had turned down a university scholarship and earned his captain’s license. When had he . . .

Recently, from the looks of him. Within the last few weeks, probably around the time Noa moved home. For a few seconds, he was unable to speak and gripped his T-shirt over the place where his chest felt tight.

“She can’t see you,” he said, more kindly than he meant to. 

Kyle‘s expression indicated he didn’t understand. Noa exhaled resentment. Why did he feel sorry for Kyle fucking Knight, of all people? 

“Is there something you need to tell her?” he asked.

Kyle appeared to think, then nodded. He rounded his mouth but no sound came out. Mom bellowed from the kitchen door, scolding Noa for messing with his camera when he was supposed to be working. She needed help lifting the flower bags.

“Be right there,” Noa said and turned to face Kyle again, but he’d gone. Materializing must have drained him. 

“See you tomorrow or whatever,” Noa said and slumped inside.

Ghosts had followed Noa as a child when he’d been naive and acknowledged them, but he didn’t notice Kyle lurking anywhere inside the restaurant. Mom lectured him about wasting time as they prepped the steaks.

“There’s no money in photography. Everyone’s got a smartphone these days.” 

Noa didn’t bring up his portfolio or his 42K Instagram following, or the dead friend (is that what they’d been?) in the driveway. Mom didn’t trust anything she couldn’t touch. She’d only called him home because of Dad‘s heart attack. The restaurant needed an experienced host and Noa didn’t require training. His parents hadn’t supported his decision to study art, but they hadn’t stopped him from leaving the first time. He’d agreed to help for one summer.

“I’ve got something I need to take care of tomorrow morning,” Noa said.

“Oh?” Mom didn’t look up from the counter. “What’s that?”

“I’m meeting a friend for coffee around ten. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Just be back before lunch. We have a delivery coming.”

“I remember.”

---

Before the dinner rush, he looked up Kyle’s obituary. It didn’t mention a wife or kids, only his parents who had both survived him. Kyle’s Facebook wall was filled with condolences. Noa found his other profiles linked and was surprised to learn that Kyle had been following his photography account. 

The next morning he waited until the woman came up the sidewalk and followed her into town. Anyone who saw him would dismiss him as a tourist. He followed at a distance and stopped every block to snap a picture of something. The woman walked up Broadway to the shopping area and disappear through a single door beside a children’s clothing boutique. Above the door was the name of the local newspaper. 

Noa sat on a sun-warmed bench and pulled up the newspaper’s website on his phone. On the staff page was a photo of a woman who looked like her. Susan Andrews, born in Ohio, one cat. There were no pictures of Kyle on her social accounts so he ruled out dating, and Kyle didn’t have a sister. Had the paper been writing an article about the family? Sometimes ghosts got stuck on the last thing they’d been working on, but Noa couldn’t exactly walk into the paper’s office and ask. He’d made that mistake before. He’d have to get her somewhere they could talk. 

When he returned to the restaurant, he handed his mother a latte and tied his apron.

“I didn’t think you had any friends left here,” Mom said. “Isn’t that what you always tell me?”

Noa made a face. “Did you know Kyle died?”

“The whole town was at his funeral. I sent you the obituary.”

“Sent it how?”

“Email, I think.”

“Mom, I’ve told you I don’t check that.”

“Whose fault is that?” She turned to the sink to wash her hands. “I wondered why you hadn’t said anything. I never did figure out what happened between the two of you. You were inseparable for a few years. It was like I had two sons. His parents were asking about you the other day. You should go and see them.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

She looked at him, finally, with a melancholy smile. “You know, if you’d put something on that scar, it will fade. I’ve been saying this for years. You’re such a handsome boy; it’s a shame to have a scar like that on your cheek! I read about a new cream the other day. I’ll order it for you. It’s late enough, we should start on the salad. Get down the largest bowl.”

---

Noa emailed Susan Andrews his portfolio link and a request for freelance work, but after three days without a reply he figured his email had been lost or ignored. He continued eating breakfast on the porch. Red leaves were scattered across the driveway again today, and he shivered at the chill on the back of his neck like the brush of fingers.

“Do you remember who you are?” Noa asked, catching his breath. He didn’t turn around. 

Kyle materialized at his side and shook his head. 

“You used to run track. Do you know what track is?” 

The ghost opened his mouth like he was trying the shape of the word. 

“It’s a sport where you run. You win if you’re the one to reach the finish line first. You tried to recruit me a couple of times when we were in middle school, said I would be good for distance.” Noa pointed towards Susan a block away. “Did you work with her? Are they running an article on your folks?”

Kyle stared after her with no reaction.

“Do you recognize this place? Do you remember me?” 

Still no reaction. Noa took a steadying breath. 

“I wish I thought you’d come here because you’re sorry. If you did, look. I’m not mad at you anymore, not for the rumors and not for the . . .” He brushed a finger over the scar. “We were kids. I shouldn’t have told you about what I see. It’s weird; I get that. Of course you wanted to confide in someone else.”

What he was saying now was for his own benefit. He knew that, but the words came out anyway.

“I’m okay. I’m doing well career-wise. Not sure what that’s gonna look like with me being back here, but everyone likes pictures of the ocean, right?” He turned to look at the ghost. “Noa. It’s Noa, Ky. Don’t you recognize me?”

Nothing. Nothing. The ghost swirled in confusion and disappeared.

---

On his next day off, Noa sat outside of the newspaper’s office shy of five o’clock and waited for the staff to leave. Susan didn’t come downstairs until almost six and, instead of the reverse route she took to work, went two blocks down to a restaurant on the first floor of an old brick building. She sat at the varnished wood bar and was drinking a martini with a twist when Noa claimed the stool two seats away. He ordered an ale and waited for the foam to dissolve. Susan tapped a thumb ring against her glass and sighed.

“Long day?” Noa asked.

She looked up and smiled. “Deadline. I’m going back to the office after this, but I just needed to clear my head. I’ve never seen you in here before. Where are you visiting from?”

“Broad Street. My parents own a restaurant there. I only came back to town recently.”

“Oh, I think I’ve talked with you before. Sorry, you’re out of context. I’m Susan.” She shook his hand. “I only moved here a few years ago myself. What made you come back?”

“My dad’s not doing well. He’s not gonna die or anything, but he can’t run the front of the house in his condition. I was crashing on a friend’s couch in Delaware so it’s not like I had a reason to refuse. What do you do? You mentioned a deadline.”

“I work for the Gazette. We go to print in the morning, but of course there were last-minute changes. I’m waiting on an updated file.”

“Hey, you might be able to help me. I’m looking for someone I knew growing up. Do you know the Knight family?” Noa watched for a reaction from the corner of his eye. Susan paused with her glass on her lips as though she was thinking but after a moment shook her head.

“It doesn’t sound familiar, but I’ve never been good with names. Did you try Facebook?”

“That’s a good idea, thanks.” 

Her phone chirped. “That was too fast.” She threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar and shouldered her bag. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Noa.”

“Good talking to you, Noa.” She nodded to the bartender and left. 

Noa frowned at the ice melting in his glass. Kyle had been staring at her for days. How was it possible she didn’t know him?

“Noa Lennon?” 

The bartender was looking at him, a fellow early twenties face. He was mopping the counter with one hand.

“It’s Matt. We sat next to each other in history senior year. I thought you were back. How’ve you been? I hear your photography’s really taken off.”

Noa wiped the surprise from his mouth and extended a hand. “Hey. Good, man. How are you?”

“Hanging in there. Listen, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop but Kyle died about six weeks ago. Didn’t anyone call you?”

Hearing it stated so bluntly, Noa didn’t need to feign shock. He swallowed hard and shook his head.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Matt said. “I figured, since the two of you were . . . Not even his parents?”

“How?” Noa asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Car accident. Drunk driver. They said it was over fast; he didn’t feel anything.”

Noa laid his hands on the bar and stared at his fingers. They were dry from mornings spent in the kitchen and not out with his camera. “How was he, at the end?”

“Same as ever. He talked about you all the time, where you were traveling, shows your work was in. It was really hard on him when you first left town. He always felt bad about the way you two broke things off.” Matt made a slashing motion with his finger across his cheek. 

Noa touched his lips. “No, he . . . I didn’t realize the locker was open.”

Matt frowned and turned a guilty expression toward a line of liquor bottles. “If any of us were the reason the two of you had to hide things, I’m really sorry. We were assholes back then.”

Noa was the one to frown this time. Was Matt talking about Seeing? “What do you mean by hide?” he asked.

“Don’t be mad at him. He didn’t say anything to us, but it was pretty obvious from the way he went on about it that you two had something going on. It was kind of an open secret around town. Girls stopped trying to ask him out years ago. When he heard you were moving back home, that was all he could talk about.”

“I don’t understand. I haven’t seen Kyle since I left here.”

“Huh? Didn’t he fly out to your art show at the beginning of the year?”

Noa slowly shook his head. “I don’t know what he said to you, but we hadn’t been friends since middle school. We definitely weren’t what you think.”

His vision blurred. Matt handed him a cocktail napkin and excused himself to pour a beer for another customer, then settled in front of Noa again and leaned over the bar on folded arms.

“I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No.” Noa cleared his throat. “Did he really fly out?”

“Jamie drove him to the airport and he showed us pictures of Chicago when he got back. There were a couple of you in the gallery. None of you two together, but I figured he just didn’t show us those.”

Noa’s skin felt hot and cold all over. His own memories of that night were out of focus. He’d spent it shaking hands, accepting champagne, answering a culture journalist’s questions. That woman he’d gone out with for a couple weeks, she’d been there. Had Kyle seen them together? Was that why he hadn’t approached?

Again, Noa shook his head.

“I don’t know what to say,” Matt admitted. “If you want to talk about it more, let me know. I’m off on Tuesdays. That drink’s on me, by the way. Welcome home.”

Noa wiped his eyes and gave Matt his number. 

When he’d finished the beer, he walked toward the ocean instead of the restaurant and sat on the sand. His chest felt tight. He wanted to vomit. He threw a handful of sand toward the water and hid his eyes against his knees. If Kyle had really been sorry about the rumors, he should’ve said it outright. At that point they hadn’t spoken in a couple years. Anyone would’ve thought he was going to hit them if he’d cornered them the way he had Noa in that locker room. He’d never been kissed before. Kyle had pressed up against him, whispered his name. Noa had been so shocked he’d shoved him and stumbled into the locker door. Afterwards he’d run until he’d thrown up and cleaned the blood off his stinging face with saltwater. 

He’d refused to report it. Dad called the harbor store and threatened to break Kyle’s legs if he ever showed up at the restaurant again. The last time Noa had seen him was at graduation.

He waited for the sunset and took its portrait, and walked home. Kyle swirled in the tree, turning slightly as Noa went past the drive. Within his chest, something ached.

“You can come inside if you want,” he said but Kyle remained fixed, waiting for morning.

---

At breakfast the next day, Noa was going over the evening’s reservation list when there was a knock on the porch door. Expecting it was delivery he needed to sign for, he was surprised to look up and see Susan waving through the screen.

“Oh, hi,” Noa said. “Did you make your deadline?”

“Barely but yes.”

“Coffee?”

“Thanks but I have a meeting in a few minutes. I just wanted to tell you something. After I got home last night, I was thinking about what you asked me, and I realized you must’ve meant Ky. I only knew him socially so his last name didn’t click. Mostly bar chat. He was a regular where I saw you last night. He’d been after me to meet a friend of his, a photographer who’d just moved back to town. He brought it up every time I saw him. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Noa blinked, dazed, and gave a halting nod.

“I found your email in my inbox last night. Sorry, they tend to get buried.” She smiled apologetically. “He was really proud of your work. If you’re still interested, stop by my office this week. I may have an assignment for you.” 

She gave him her business card and waved goodbye. On her way out of the drive, she knelt down. 

“You almost never see leaves this color in the summer.” 

She took one with her.

After she left Noa couldn’t stop crying. Kyle would be gone now, but he had chosen the restaurant. That was enough, even though he hadn’t recognized it, even though he hadn’t recognized Noa. He’d returned here out of all the places he could’ve chosen. 

Noa hated the pride that had kept him away from this town for six years, the pride that kept Kyle from apologizing. Like the scar, he would live with it. He would think about this moment until he died.

Through the window, red leaves fluttering in the breeze drew Noa’s eye. The morning sunlight outlined each of the branches. He stared through them to the other side.