Death of a Kleptomaniac (23 page)

“Who's Hilda? I'm your grandpa Jean. I'm going to help you cross.”

A gray-haired woman runs through Aunt Claire. It's Mr. Dunkley's wife. What is she doing? Now she's standing on the other side of the door.

“Hurry, Molly,” my grandpa yells.

I race around the door. Does Mr. Dunkley even have a wife? It's Hilda, and she has her arm outstretched and is almost touching the knob.

“This is my destiny,” I yell. “It's meant for me.”

“Not if I get there first,” Hilda says. “I'm sick of being uncrossed.”

She tries to shove me, but her arms pass through me. I'm one hundred percent soul. But when I push Hilda's shoulder, she tumbles. I've made contact with the small amount of her that she's retrained to be a body. She falls on the floor, her legs akimbo beneath my casket.

“Grandpa, hold her.”

“I've never been to a funeral where I've had to do this,” he says.

He grabs her by the foot.

“Let go!” Hilda cries.

“Molly Weller knew who she was and where she was going,” Aunt Claire says. “I'm sure of that.”

I reach out and touch the door. My grandfather, whom I've never met until this awkward moment, takes my hand. But I can't cross yet. Not without looking at everyone I love one final time. The last person I glimpse is Henry. Sad, geeky, talented Henry. I will miss that future. So much.

“You lead,” my grandpa says. “That's how it's done.”

Behind us, Hilda is wailing about how unfair things are, about how she deserves to finally cross.

“It's my turn!” she hollers. “My turn!”

I pull open the door and walk toward a bright light. I assume my grandpa is behind me. But as I walk toward this clean nothingness, I feel myself growing heavy. It's similar to the sensation of being alive.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

But nobody is with me anymore. Not my parents, the twins, my friends, Henry. Oh, Henry. I'm walking alone. My mind is spinning with possibilities. What if this is just a dream? What if I've been in a coma? Or what if I'm headed to Heaven?

All three things feel equally possible.

The only thing I'm certain of is that I'm walking toward my destiny. That's what I know for sure. Where am I going? How will I know when I get there? In a strange way, this moment is a lot like life. It's what I was doing every day before my accident.

I keep stepping forward, a little uncertain, moving toward something unknown. I'm almost excited. The white world around me starts turning faster and faster, and I'm thrilled. There's light. And more light. How will I know when I've arrived? A pin pricks me. I close my eyes. I open them. I am here. But where? I don't know. But I am here. I am. I feel lucky. I feel happy. I feel like I'm alive.

I could not have finished this book without the support of several friends. Thank you, Stacey Kade, Cory Grimminck, Regina Marler, Joen Madonna, Ulla Frederiksen, Kristin Scheel, and Brian Evenson. You improve everything. I also need to thank Emily Schultz, who supported this book from the very beginning. I owe you. There were also several people who provided timely inspiration. Thanks to Tobias Wolff for giving me a great jazz CD. And thanks to Patrick Wolff for thoroughly answering my many saxophone questions.

And thank you to all the hardworking and wonderful people at Disney-Hyperion. Thank you, Catherine Onder, my super-smart editor, for making this book the best version of itself. And thank you, Jennifer Corcoran and Hallie Patterson, for your support and kindness and problem-solving abilities. And thanks to Christian Trimmer, Dina Sherman, Nellie Kurtzman, and Stephanie Lurie for all the support behind the scenes. And lastly, I want to thank Hayley Wagreich, for catching everything I missed. I am incredibly happy this book found such a wonderful home.