Written with the prompts:  Dad was back, explore clean living and peace, go away, bottom of a crevasse covered in______, laced with ______ which made the men mellow, huddled in the kitchen, don’t antagonize the cat, for sale sign on the boat, singing, Gina saw his ghost, lost his voice, hiking in Yosemite, learn to surf, I know peace, two kinds, soon

Gina took up residence at the bottom of a crevasse covered in down quilts and fur.  Her Dad’s ghost had suggested it that first night when the mourners were huddled in the kitchen, singing sea chanties laced with profanities and a little bit of MaryJane that made her brothers mellow.  

Gina wasn’t smoking.  She’d given that up years ago so she was surprised when Dad was suddenly back, winking at her and gesturing to meet him on the patio.  She was tempted to tell him to go away; she did not want to be the recipient of his post-passage advice.  Why couldn’t he chat with her older brother Brandon or her younger brother Sean?  But he wouldn’t let up, so she slipped out the door and there he was bigger than life, and she had to admit she liked seeing him again.  He was younger, healthier, maybe the Dad she knew the year she was in 8th grade and they went hiking in Yosemite.  That was a great summer, a great trip.  Mom and Dad still together, still laughing at each other’s jokes, still teasing each other.  What happened to them?

“Now, Gina,” his ghost began without preamble, “first off I want you to go put a ‘for sale’ sign on my boat.  That’ll get you some fast cash, because, you know, it’s gonna take awhile to get the house and the stocks through probate, and I want you to get the money you need now.”

“Dad?” she took a step back.  “What the hell, Dad?”

“I know peace now, Baby.  I want that for you too.”

“You want me to die?”

“No, I wish I’d known this in life!  That’s all I really wanted: to explore clean living and peace.”

“Okay,” she said, squinting at his nearly transparent form.  “Um, you’re not making a lot of sense.”  She paused.  “Are you really here?”

“I found the perfect place for you.  Up north in Canada.  I know it will sound strange, but there’s a crack in a glacier, and—don’t worry—I’ll show you.  You’re going to love it.”

He seemed to fade away and Gina was left alone in her father’s back yard, wondering.  She was no spring chicken herself, and the idea of moving from the warm central valley to a glacier in Canada seemed way out there.  Then she remembered the first Christmas after her parents’ divorce when Dad insisted she learn to make two kinds of tamales, one for meat and one for fruit.  They were her grandmother’s recipes.  Gina still made them every Christmas—well, most years.  When she remembered this, she knew she could trust him.

Gina brought her cat Samuel with her to Canada, and together they moved into the crevasse.  It was a simple abode:  she felt like she was living inside a sapphire with shimmering blue walls made of ice.  Her father’s ghost visited on occasion, though he did little more than smile at her.  He seemed to have lost his voice now. “Don’t antagonize my cat,” she always warned him because she knew it would make him laugh.  

One night his voice came to her unembodied, perhaps in a dream.  “Now, Gina,” he said, “don’t get too comfortable here.  Next year you’ve got to move to Costa Rica.  You’re gonna learn to surf.”  Life is good, Gina whispered, and Samuel the cat blinked in agreement.  

Photo by Jennifer Latuperisa-Andresen