Pieces of Hope (32 page)

I was
thinking back . . . thinking back. Had something happened in between? I . . .
Yes, there was something pressed in the middle! A thin slice of beauty in a
sandwich of horror . . . memories of a musty old gym, a forgotten slow dance,
and my first glimpse of an earlier Ethan. That’s why I hadn’t struggled. Buried
bits of treasure had resurfaced from a time long ago. Bittersweet memories I
thought I would never revisit again.
 

More
confused than ever, I gaped at
Creesie
. “So that’s
how they steal your soul? They steal your memories first?”

“
Rin’s
flare for the dramatic isn’t always the most telling,”
she said. “It’s more of a melding than a stealing . . .”
Or a sucking
, I thought humorlessly. “Although their stay isn’t
usually permanent—they get bored easily, you see—the aftereffects often
linger.”

I bit my
lip, recalling all too vividly what she meant.

“And
that shouldn’t be your only concern, young lady!” Cat bellowed from across the
room. She was glaring at me, her seventeen-year old face frowning with
disapproval. “Don’t forget that there are people waiting for you—people
counting on you! Your family, friends, and this boy . . . Quinn . . . Quinn . .
.” She groaned, snapping her fingers before Mac’s shocked face. There was an
audible gasp from Charlotte.
Senility had finally set in; Cat couldn’t recall Ethan’s name. This wasn’t much
of a shock to me.

“You
mean Ethan, sweetheart,” Mac said quietly. “His name is Ethan Reid.”

Cat
thought about this for a split second. Looking confused, then angry again, she
hurried on, “This wonderful young man has been waiting for you, Hope, and here
you sit in indecision eating cake with a bunch of . . . a bunch of old, dead
people!”

“Hey,
we’re not old!”
Rin
made big, I’m-so-offended, eyes
at Charlotte.

“Well,
you’re dead, aren’t you?” Cat snapped back.

For
once,
Rin
had no comeback, which I admit I rather enjoyed.
Her soul-sucking comments had gotten on my last nerve, or maybe all this
pressure had left me with a short fuse. Either way, I was feeling very on-edge.
Cat’s
punchiness
was catching.

“
Creesie
warned you from the get-go that your time here is
limited!” Rising from the couch, Cat let her fury fly. “The living weren’t
meant to remain here for any length of time and still sustain their earthly
connections! You cannot survive between two worlds! Do you understand how very
grave your situation is?”

I avoided
rolling my eyes (logically assuming that this might make her—if it were
possible—angrier), but I did think Cat had used the word
grave
to illustrate a point. As in, I wasn’t far from it. So
instead I nodded vigorously, though not as quickly as Cat had wanted. Eyeing me
with disgust, she stormed off to the kitchen. No one said a word as we listened
to the deafening banging of pots and pans and pans flying about the kitchen.

Moments
later, Gus gave my leg a pat. “It’s not you. She’s always had a wildcat’s
temper. We don’t call her Cat because it’s short for Catherine.”

“She
hadn’t expected you to be here this long,” Mac said, but I could barely hear
him for the banging. “She’s worried about you.”

I gave
Mac a weak smile. If the two of them actually had been married, I already knew
who wore the pants in the family.

“I get
it.” My voice sounded small. “If I were her, I’d be upset with me, too.”

“But
you’re not in any hurry . . . to return, I mean?” With her hands resting in her
lap,
Creesie
tilted her head in a manner I’d seen far
too many times. I flinched before I answered.

“Not
really,” I answered, thinking I sounded a little guilty. “It’s my choice and
Ethan is fine with it . . . well, more than fine with however long I need to
decide.” I fudged on that last part, but I would have sounded like a selfish
idiot if I hadn’t.
    

“Ever
heard of the will-to-live?”
Creesie
went on, ignoring
my lie.

“Sure,
it’s when a person lives or dies based on his desire to do so.” I had watched
Grandpa George suffer through five long years of lung cancer because he
couldn’t bear the idea of leaving my grandmother, Gigi. I didn’t think it was
always a good thing.

“Yes,
you’re right, I suppose. Under threat of a terminal illness, it could prolong a
person’s suffering . . .”

In
frustration, I threw my hands in the air.
Was
nothing off-limits?

Creesie
apologized with an angelic smile. “Sorry, I keep
trying not to listen, but it isn’t as easy as you might think, especially with
our connection growing stronger.”

I had
noticed recently that I was able to hear her thoughts—well, all of theirs—as
easily as if I could hear my own, but it was infrequent, at best. During down
times, which often felt like they had changed channels on me, I knew they were
intentionally blocking my reception, though I hadn’t any idea why. The dead
were apparently full of secrets.

“Will-to-live?”
I prompted, pulling
Creesie
out of some internal
conversation with Mac, now was leaning her way. In the background, the banging
was diminishing.

Creesie
looked at me, and without bothering to check, I
felt eight other eyes fixed upon me in that same moment. It was unnerving,
mostly because I sensed something awful was coming, though
Creesie’s
expression gave nothing away.
 

“Let’s
say someone gave the impression—unintentionally, of course—that she had lost
the will-to-live. Do you think the body could survive long without it?”

“That
wouldn’t . . .” I drew my brows together. “How could that happen?”

“If
someone . . . again, entirely by accident . . . wandered from their physical
body for too long a period of time . . . wouldn’t that make it appear that they
had lost the desire to live? And wouldn’t it also, simply by not choosing,
become a choice by default?”

My legs
started to bounce as my pulse sped up. Shakily, I handed my glass to
Rin
.

“Are you
saying what I think you’re saying?” My voice cracked, disappeared. “If I don’t
make a choice soon, my body will
think
I no longer wish to live—and I might die before I’ve even had the chance to
choose? Give it to me straight. Is this will-to-live thing more urgent than
having one of the depraved invade my nearly-dead body?”

“Now
that they’ve seen what Charlotte
can do, they’re probably thinking you’re a bit more trouble than you’re worth.”
Creesie
spoke without emotion. “At least for a while.
So, yes—this matter should be deemed far more urgent.”
 

I looked
at each of them. They wore matching expressions of compassion. Or pity. It was
too much to take. It was all just too much. My last nerve gave way.

Exasperated,
I bellowed, “I don’t believe this!”
 

Well, I
did, but it seemed stupidly unfair. If I had it all straight—and I thought, for
once, I had—I’d survived my mother’s death, lived through a near-fatal
accident, fallen desperately in love, rescued my beloved first love, nearly had
my soul stolen and lived to tell the tale—only to have the single most
important decision of my life stolen from me? Because of what? A stupid
will-to-live? Who made up these crappy rules, anyway?

I sprang
from the couch and darted for the door. I had no idea where I was going; I only
knew I wanted out of there as fast as possible, away from constant reminders of
the choice
I wasn’t ready to make,
and one which might not be mine to decide for long. I was at the end of the
block when I stole a glance back at
Creesie’s
house
and spotted a good-sized structure hidden in a tall tree in her backyard. The
tree’s outstretched limbs whispered of comfort, begging me to come and climb
them. In a rush, I ran back.

The thick,
nubby branch was just low enough for me to jump up and grab with an oversized
leap. My fingers didn’t reach all the way around, but I flipped my legs through
my arms and hung upside down by my knees far too easily. Before my heart had
the chance to beat again, I whipped myself up. Perching ballerina-like on the
tips of my toes, I leapt at the next branch, a good thirty feet up. I was
starting to realize how much I missed climbing. Compared to maneuvering a crag,
this was child’s play. But it had its benefits. With every leap, I could feel
my lungs expanding with air. I was exhilarated by the freedom of it. By the
third limb, I was already quite the acrobat—flipping up and performing a double
backward somersault before landing gracefully on the limb above it. Following several
more death-defying flips through the air, I jumped down one hundred feet,
settling lightly onto the roof of the small, wooden structure.

It was a
child’s tree house, though large enough for me to squeeze inside. From the
shingled roof, I saw an escape hatch, lifted it, and bounded soundlessly
inside. There were two small windows on the front and back. The small front
door was open, and I could see wide-planked steps that led to the ground.
Beside the steps was a long rope made for hauling up food and other supplies.
Or possibly, quick escapes.
  

“Joseph
built it for his and
Creesie’s
girls—
Dollie
, Annie, and Edie.” I knew Mac had just appeared; he
certainly hadn’t been there the breath before. Sitting cross-legged in the
opposite corner, and wearing the widest grin ever, he hadn’t even startled me.

“Ever
heard of knocking?” I muttered, still angry.

Ignoring
me, he went on, “Thank goodness Joe built it big enough for all three of the
girls. Otherwise, you and me might be a tangle of arms and legs in here.”

“Even
so, all your hot air is making it a little stuffy,” I huffed, and Mac snorted
with pleasure. Smiling back was easier than I cared to admit. There was
something about him that made me feel very much at ease. He gave off a sort of
fatherly feel.

“Want to
go for a rooftop sit?” he suggested.

Once we
were on the roof, I got a better view of the neighborhood. I guessed that I was
watching
Creesie’s
memories from an earlier decade,
possibly from when her girls were little. The details were amazing. She had
lived on a lively block, and the fifties must have been her favorite. Kids rode
their bikes up and down the block. Neighbors waved hello to other neighbors as
they washed their cars in their driveways. And everybody was dressed up, like they
were on their way to church. Mac and I watched in amazed silence. It was like
being inside an old black-and-white movie—but in color.

Sadly,
other thoughts crept in.

“Mac,
why do you suppose life is so unfair?”

“I’ve
often wondered that myself, doll.” Mac stretched out his short legs. “If I had
to guess, I’d say that sometimes what we think is unfair is really just us not
seeing the big picture, the grand plan. The best decisions are often the
hardest ones.” He narrowed his eyes at the sun. “Then again, sometimes life
just royally sucks, doesn’t it?”

 
“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I’m
working on being cool,” Mac said, in this really stupid voice.

“Isn’t
there an age limitation on that?”

“In my
mind, I’m only twelve,” he reminded me, and I laughed. Then he changed the subject.
“You have other questions for me. Uh, well . . . I
imagine
you do.”

“Yeah,
right. Eavesdropper.” I faked a snarl.

“You are
sort of an open book, kid.”

“I’m
trying hard not to be.” But it obviously wasn’t working.

“Best
not to bottle things up. Just get it off your chest,” he told me.

I’d
never been in a position where so much was going on that it seemed there was no
place to begin or end. I had behaved terribly, and it kept getting worse. Doing
the right thing no longer seemed like an option. I was determined to get what
I
wanted, without regard to what anyone
else thought or needed. It wasn’t right, but there it was. Just the glaring,
ugly truth.
   

I went
with the first words that made any sense. “Did you ever feel like your life was
a total mess, Mac? Like you have much up in the air and you just keep messing
up?” I took another few moments to think, the chaos swirling like a tornado in
my mind. “I thought I had enough to deal with when it was just me in the
picture. But now—” I broke off. I didn’t have the energy, or maybe the courage,
to say the rest.

“But
now, there’s Daniel,” Mac prompted, and for once it didn’t make me feel weird
that he was listening to my thoughts. It made me feel loved.

“I don’t
understand how Daniel got stuck at that Station.” My cheeks were hot as I
considered this next part. “And I try not to think about how Ethan is going to
react when he hears how I behaved.”

Mac just
nodded as he listened. He seemed bored by it, as though he’d heard it all
before. He was looking off into the distance, watching the busy street below
us. Because of his apparent lack of interest, I was able to speak the words I
almost couldn’t admit to myself.

“But
behind it all . . . behind all that, I have this one wish that hangs in the
back of my mind. It’s ridiculous to wish for, but it never goes away . . . And
no matter how often I tell myself to stop wishing for it, no matter how much I
tell myself to just go back to where I belong and let it be . . . I can’t make
myself do it.”

I knew Mac
knew what the wish was about, but to his credit, he pretended he didn’t. He
took a deep breath, then said, “Yeah, doll. Some things are awfully hard to let
go of.”