A warm and distant dream, p.1
A Warm and Distant Dream, page 1
A Warm and Distant Dream
Yolande Kleinn
Published by Yolande Kleinn, 2024.
Copyright 2024 Yolande Kleinn
ISBN 978-1-946316-46-2
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A Warm and Distant Dream | by Yolande Kleinn
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A Warm and Distant Dream
by Yolande Kleinn
Ghita applies for the lighthouse job because she's desperate.
Not for money: she has plenty of money, and lighthouse guardians are paid a pittance in any case. And not for the isolation either: she's more than a little nervous about how she will cope with so much time alone, considering her aggressively sociable psyche.
No, Ghita Starns is desperate for distance. As much distance as she can manage without leaving the country entirely—and a lighthouse on the shore of Lake Michigan offers a remove of just over two-thousand miles. Thirty-plus hours by car, and an undertaking even by plane. Magic won't intrude on her escape plan, either. No corporation on the entire planet has found a way to make translocation profitable next to the unreliable results and massive cost of the endeavor.
The worst part of running away is the fact that she can't tell her closest friends why she's going. If Shirou and Cara Tasse-Kimura knew her reason—if they knew precisely what she is running away from—there's a chance, minuscule but terrifying, that she would lose their friendship. Maybe it's cowardly to simply remove herself from the situation rather than owning up to the problem, but Ghita is set on her course. Time and solitude are exactly what she needs to work her way past the increasingly urgent disaster that is her heart, and a position as guardian to the Charlevoix North Tower Beacon is the perfect pretext.
The job requires a caretaker with enough magical knowledge to keep an eye on the complicated arrangement of power nodes buried beneath the tower—and just enough raw power to tolerate the beacon's tendency to draw energy from anything and anyone within reach. Ghita will be expected to monitor the flow of energy into the massive lens at the top of the tower, and report if anything goes wrong. She won't be able to fix the problems themselves, but that's beyond her purview anyway. She will be a watcher, not a repairman.
It's perfect, really. Ghita's never had much magic of her own. She's never particularly needed it, or bothered to resent Shirou his own vast supply. Plenty of the world does without, running on science and technology and modern invention. For a job like this, poised as a glorified watchdog for a system that essentially runs itself, Ghita has all the magic she could possibly need.
And while upending her life brings an inevitable pang of regret—even before she finishes packing up her home and relocating to Michigan—she knows just how necessary this will be.
"This is a terrible idea." Naoko Tasse-Kimura storms through Ghita's open front door and lets the screen slam shut behind her, then throws her lanky frame down on the last piece of furniture still standing in the increasingly empty apartment. The couch creaks under her dramatic entrance, and the fluttery fabric of Naoko's summer dress gives a flounce as though in agreement. "And I'll have you know, my parents agree with me. They're just not saying it to your face because they're trying to respect your boundaries, or whatever. But they think accepting this job is the most ridiculous thing you've ever done."
"I'll take that under advisement." Ghita keeps right on packing, carefully crumpling enough paper into the open box to make sure the breakables won't take damage while they're in storage. She's unsurprised to learn that Shirou and Cara disapprove more strongly than they've admitted, but there's no point altering her trajectory.
She doesn't let herself glance directly at the young woman glowering at her from the couch, but it's not as though she needs to look in order to have a clear picture in her mind. Ghita has studied Naoko's features far more closely than she will ever confess, from the sharp chin to the glinting brown eyes, the jet black hair framing her face at a deliberately uneven slant. In her peripheral vision, Ghita sees that Naoko is wearing a longer skirt than usual, the bright blue material falling nearly to her knees.
Naoko slouches on the creaky old sofa, making herself impossible to ignore. Her gangly limbs take up space like she alone has ever belonged there, and the impression has no business being so goddamn compelling.
After several minutes in which Ghita continues packing, pretending all the while not to notice the weight of scrutiny following her every movement, Naoko asks more softly, "Why are you going?" She sounds plaintive now instead of grouchy, more like the teenager Ghita used to know than the twenty-seven-year-old perpetual grad student she has become. "Michigan is so far away, Ghita. It's like a whole other planet."
Ghita huffs an exasperated laugh at this assessment, shaking her head as she wraps the last of a set of delicate picture frames in crinkly brown paper. She seals the box with a noisy pull of packing tape. One more package down. One box closer to gone.
She doesn't immediately search out her next task. Instead, she sits herself more comfortably on the floor, crossing her legs and tilting her head from side to side in an effort to loosen the tension from her neck. She's been packing for hours—since well before the sun came up—and now as she finally glances around her emptying living room, she finds the view surreal. Bare floor, barren walls, empty coat hooks. Even the curtains have been taken down from the windows, letting harsh sunlight cut through the little apartment and carve bright shapes across the mountains of cardboard.
"A long plane ride isn't another planet." Ghita quirks an eyebrow and finally looks directly at Naoko, watching her scowl deepen.
"It is if you can't get on a plane without breaking your contract." Naoko's eyes narrow. "You're not allowed to leave your post for more than six hours at a time. How are you supposed to have a life under those conditions?"
Ghita's not sure what to do with the fact that Naoko read the fine print of the contract. She must have gotten a copy from Cara or Shirou, both of whom Ghita consulted before signing anything. Between Cara's razor-sharp skills as a lawyer and Shirou's magical background, Ghita needed to know what she was getting herself into. Impulsive as she's being, she's not so reckless as to hand over five years of her life without reassurances.
Instead of addressing Naoko's unexpectedly detailed knowledge of her situation, Ghita says with a careful measure of honesty, "I'll miss you too, kiddo."
"Don't call me kiddo," Naoko snaps, with such ferocity that Ghita actually leans back.
Ghita blinks at her, absorbing this new information. She has no idea how to interpret the forceful reaction. Naoko first began to hate the habitual nickname when she was a teenager—so for a long time Ghita didn't use it—but she hasn't protested its return in the past couple years, as Ghita has made an ever-more-desperate effort to remind her brain that certain lines are not to be crossed. She has known Cara and Shirou for nearly the entire span of Naoko's life.
"I'm sorry," Ghita says, caution in every syllable. "I didn't realize it still bothers you."
New tension pulls Naoko's shoulders taut, then melts away into a defeated slump as Naoko admits, "I don't want you to go." The words are quiet and serious. They sound a little too close to heartbreak, and the guilt of letting down a friend is almost enough to make Ghita reconsider her decision.
Almost.
"I have to do this." Ghita blurts the words in a thoughtless rush. It feels like a dangerous confession, but she wills herself calm. She hasn't admitted anything damning. Yes, Naoko might latch on like a bulldog, tenacious as she is. But she won't reach the conclusion hidden behind the words. She can't possibly.
Sure enough, Naoko's eyes flash with emotion, and she leans forward over her knees to demand, "Why? Why are you so dead set on doing something so completely unnecessary? I thought you liked working with Dad. You have a good life here. All your friends are here. And you're just going to leave us all behind?"
Valid questions, all. The last time Ghita upended her life so thoroughly was when she told her ex-husband she wanted a divorce, and even that tumultuous era of her life didn't involve putting so much distance between herself and everyone she most adores.
"Phones exist," Ghita points out, instead of acknowledging these points. "Not to mention airplanes. And the internet."
"They're not the same," Naoko sulks.
"No. They're not." A twinge twists in Ghita's gut at just how far she is about to put herself from her entire support network—the inevitable consequence of putting herself so far away from this confounding young woman. "But I'm not leaving forever. It's a five-year contract. Hell, maybe by the time I come back, you'll finally have finished your thesis."
Naoko's laugh comes out startled and warm. "Fuck you," she says.
But she's smiling, and the softer expression is such a relief that Ghita's own stocky shoulders loosen from where she hadn't even realized her posture was so tight.
Five years will hopefully be plenty of time for
But the problem has proven persistent. It's time for more desperate measures. If distance is what it takes to move past a troublesome infatuation, then that's exactly what Ghita is going to obtain.
"It won't be forever," she repeats, making herself meet the piercing umber of Naoko's eyes. "I promise."
*
In the weeks, then months after Ghita departs, Naoko is too busy to think about anything beyond research, her thesis, and the seminar she is supposed to be teaching in the fall. But somehow, Ghita's absence is the only thing she can focus on.
Anytime her mind wanders away from her work, she's dragged right back to the morning Ghita left. Awkward goodbyes played out in front of the massive circular driveway of the Tasse-Kimura manor grounds, as Ghita loaded her luggage into the trunk of a taxi instead of accepting Naoko's offer of a ride to the airport.
It would've been so easy for Naoko to drop her off. Ghita was staying with Cara and Shirou anyway those last couple weeks, and it wouldn't have been far out of Naoko's way. But Ghita insisted, and Naoko had no choice but to watch her roll an enormous green suitcase down to the waiting cab. Ghita's carelessly styled undercut glinted in the too-bright sun, silver hair shaved close to the sides of her head. Her broad shoulders strained as she shrugged off her heavy carry-on satchel and tossed it into the trunk beside the suitcase. And then without coming back for a final round of hugs, Ghita threw a final sun-squinted smile over her shoulder, then folded her powerful frame into the backseat with a grace that might've surprised someone who didn't know her well.
Then the taxi sped off, leaving Naoko alone with her parents—Shirou and Cara pretending to be cheerful, while Naoko didn't bother hiding her scowl.
Eternity or not, five years is going to be a long damn time, and Naoko doesn't understand how her parents can be so chill about this. How can they be fine with losing their best friend for such a long time, when Naoko feels like her heart's been yanked out, squashed, and then returned to her chest in a useless pulp?
She doesn't actually ask them. The last thing she wants is for anyone to point out how dramatic she's being.
The worst part is that, despite Ghita's emphatic reminder that phones exist, now that she's gone, she never answers when Naoko tries to call. Text message replies come through readily enough, but somehow this doesn't soothe her frustrations. Naoko wants to hear Ghita's voice. And she's doing her best not to think too hard about this fact, because that way lies a rising tide of ire she can't afford to indulge. She doesn't need to stew in her frustration, when she's already angry enough about all the times Ghita has stubbornly failed to return or answer her calls.
And it is stubbornness. Despite all the things she doesn't know—including why Ghita felt such a powerful need to leave in the first place—Naoko is sure of this. Ghita Starns is not a careless woman. She is kind and thoughtful and steady, among the many reasons Naoko adores her.
Which makes the lapse deliberate, and Naoko doesn't know what to do with that.
Whenever she's at her parents' place long enough to nudge them on the subject, they provide plenty of updates on how Ghita is doing—because Ghita actually goddamn talks to Shirou and Cara. Lengthy phone calls, as far as she can tell without pushing hard enough to let on just how peeved she is.
Not just peeved, she can admit in the most private corners of her mind. Hurt. Which is not a feeling she particularly wants to face head-on.
She's glad things are going well. That the lighthouse is positioned on a lovely shoreline next to a friendly little town, with one bar and a music shop and three craft stores. That Ghita bought herself a guitar less than a month after arriving, and has been relearning music after some fifteen years without touching an instrument. That Ghita has made tentative new friends, who are already trying to get her to play a few songs at some dorky local festival that happens every autumn.
Naoko wants Ghita to be happy. She wants all of these good things for the woman who has, until this perplexing present day, always been there for her. But she doesn't understand why she's stuck getting all this news second-hand, and the wondering is driving her slowly out of her mind.
With a week left of summer, Naoko realizes with abrupt discomfort just how much work she still needs to do for her fall seminar. For all that she's been trying her best to steadily accumulate the research and sources she needs, her distraction has kept her from honing in on the lectures she ought to be preparing.
She is reasonably well-equipped to teach a seminar on astral presence and the inherent communicative resources of the subconscious mind. Considering how many iterations of her unfinished thesis have centered around dream magic, her research has skirted right up alongside these other topics plenty of times. But adjacent as the course material is to the things she has actually been focused on—her own studies and experiments not quite on point for this new topic—Naoko still feels wrong-footed about the whole thing. Imposter syndrome has always been able to rattle her, and this is no different.
The potential for magic to open up vast new realms of communication is right there, waiting to be better understood. But before this summer, Naoko never delved into the practical utility of such an exercise, because dreams are unreliable at best. Tricky to work with, useless for conveying concrete data and information. Great for feeling, for connection, for matters of urgency and heart. Definitely not an alternative for numbers and precision, which is why up until now she has stayed firmly on the more abstract side of the fence.
But she knows a thing or two, regardless. She's taken classes, been a lab assistant, worked with tenured professors in their research—especially early on, when she couldn't yet draw up her own research proposals. And for all her messy lack of focus this summer, she's managed some of the promised prep work. Enough to teach a decent class, or to fake it if necessary.
The night Naoko finally sends off the completed syllabus to the department chair for approval—just before seven o'clock, sliding in right under the deadline, like some flaky undergrad scrambling to finish a take-home final—a new thought hits her so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. There's no one else in this corner of the library to see her grab the edge of the table to steady herself. Her tall stack of books wobbles dangerously but doesn't fall, and she stares at the spines as though they have personally offended her.
She feels instantly and powerfully ridiculous for the fact that she has spent an entire summer with this topic and not considered: if Ghita won't answer the phone or return her calls, why should Naoko constrain herself to scientific technologies?
What's the point of being a magician, if she can't use magic as a tool to surmount a roadblock like this?
The only qualm that comes near dissuading her is the knowledge that, in the absence of permission, touching Ghita through dreams is an intrusive thing to do. It will be more like pulling Ghita into her own mind than invading Ghita's thoughts, but even so. Quibbling over the logistics doesn't change the fact that this is decidedly not a maneuver to attempt lightly. Perhaps not a maneuver to attempt at all, though Naoko has grown too desperate to let this particular voice of reason dissuade her.
She waits until she's home from the library—not her parents' ridiculous manor house, but her own small apartment at the nebulous edge of downtown. She tosses her schoolwork on the kitchen table that doubles as her desk, drops her purse on the chair beside it, and then drapes herself sideways across her battered old loveseat with her phone in hand.
The text she sends Ghita is more blunt than anything she's attempted all summer.
Why are you avoiding me?
Ghita's answer is a long time in coming, an animated ellipsis at the corner of Naoko's screen telling her Ghita is typing the whole time. Drafting a long reply maybe, or typing-deleting-typing-deleting in a recursive sequence. Naoko has no idea which to expect.
