Ghost in Transit

by Mary Stroka

Honorable Mention, Prose, Create | Encounter 2025

Dear Jolene

That’s how the letter from my daughter begins. 

She reached that level of disrespect after she snuck off to Vegas to marry Rod — a name I’ve always found revolting, even before I met the man who wore it so well.

I continue to ride the train, every day, past the spot where Dad killed himself.

I swallow and swat moisture from one of my eyes.

For years now, I’ve blamed you for his death.

That little brat! How dare she, after all I’ve done for her! The coffee pot on my pristine granite countertop sounds, beckoning me, but I read on. What else does she have the nerve to say?

But Dad told me, 20 days ago

Did I read that right? I knew she had lost herself when she met Rod, but now she’s talking to the dead? I should’ve expected that a “Rod” would be nothing but trouble for my once so sweet girl whom we’d had the sense to name after my favorite fruit, not a pole.

that I need to forgive you and come back home.

No way, missy. You abandoned me in my darkest hours.

Still, something compels me to continue reading.

Jolene….Mom…I couldn’t believe what I saw. Dad — I mean, who else could it really be, Mom? The man I saw looked so much like him, and he was at the same spot where Dad died. And he talked in that Sean Connery voice that always used to make you groan. He touched the window I was looking out of on my way downtown and gave me that message, one that I’ve been fighting for weeks. But he would do anything for me, so I’m finding it in my heart to do what he asked me to do.

I hear a quiet knock on the front door, the one I’ve slammed too many times. I rise, and I peer through the peephole.

A woman in white is before me. I blink, and I brush a tear aside.

Clementine has come home.