Pieces of Hope (57 page)

I
steeled my resolve, put on the bravest face I could manage, and slowly released
her hand. I wanted to make it easier for her. “I love you, Mom. I’ll be fine.
Please don’t worry about me, anymore.”

We had
walked only a few yards down the very straight dirt lane, past several of the
impossibly symmetrical trees, Charlotte on my left,
Rin
on my right, when I ran back into their arms. I only needed sixty more seconds,
I told myself.

Just
another minute . . .

Creesie
, Mac, and Cat had morphed into their older
selves—silver-haired, fuller-cheeked, and beautiful—too much for my tear ducts
to take. I liked them better this way. I tried to memorize them this way,
rather than their teen shells I had grown accustomed to.

Cat,
Mac, and
Creesie
held onto me, whispering words of
encouragement and love, but it was heart wrenching to hear it. I knew there was
a strong possibility I would never see them again, and saying goodbye in a
forever kind of way was the worst kind of agony imaginable. Bittersweet came to
mind. Sure, thanks to them I was returning to the living realm, but why was it
that when you took one path, you had to pass up something else equally as
great?

“You
never know,”
Creesie
comforted, her head tilting a
little as she eavesdropped on my thoughts. “Life isn’t usually a straight road,
Hope. It’s entirely possible you’ll see us again.” Her round eyes held me
steady.

“Really?”
I brightened at the idea, tears dripping down my face. And then I asked the
same thing I had wondered right after Mom died, “Where will you go from here?”

They
laughed delightedly at this, as if I were a child asking about the complexities
of the universe. And in that instant, I realized that I was.

It
wasn’t the answer I was expecting.
Creesie
had a
tendency to take a long time to get to the point so when she smiled brightly at
me, her round face glowing, I didn’t quite get what she meant. “Home,” she said
simply. “We’re all going home.”

I
thought I nodded, but it took a few seconds for that to sink in. I looked up at
the oversized moon, casting its shimmering blue light in a wide arc around us,
illuminating the wooded path that Mom and I had walked a short while ago. Then
I looked over my shoulder to where
Rin
and Charlotte
waited for me, standing before a painted sunrise that looked a lot like the one
at the Station, glowing in shades of purple-blues. Just a portrait from one of Charlotte’s
memories, something to comfort me on my journey back to the living realm.

Here I
stood at the fork in the road. Here I stood Somewhere.

My heart
ached with the thought of all the things I’d miss.

Mom had
been waiting patiently beside them, but I wasn’t about to leave without
memorizing her face one last time . . . The tiny smile lines around her eyes,
the way her wavy chestnut hair seemed to have a mind of its own (just like
mine). The way her eyes sparkled when she spoke my name. She pulled me into her
arms once again, keeping her promise that she wouldn’t leave until I was ready
to let her go. But somehow, in the midst of memorizing her scent—a delicious
combination of whispery soft petals, white cake, and clean sheets—and after
relishing the warmth of her soft arms around me, the moment unexpectedly
arrived.

“Mom . .
.” I remembered what she had said to me many years ago. On a morning she’d
spent crying at the kitchen sink, wearing an old flowered apron, when her
four-year-old daughter had given her a gift . . . just a small blue rock that
meant nothing at all. And I whispered her words back, “If I ever forget how
much you love me, remind me.”

I touched
her fingertips and walked away slowly. As I reached
Rin
and Charlotte, she blew me a kiss. It landed lightly on my cheek.

I wanted
to remember all of them just like this, smiling and waving as Charlotte pulled
back a perfect Cypress tree—too perfect—and beckoned me inside.
 

27
Waking the
Dead

“Give me
a minute,” I told them as we rounded the corner near the nurses’ station. It
was quiet this time of the night. Almost midnight.
  

“We
don’t have a minute!”
Rin
said irritably, steering me
toward my room. Then she corrected herself, “
You
don’t have a minute!”

“You
took all that time at the fair and I don’t have a—?”

“Take
your minute, Hope.” Charlotte
grabbed
Rin
by the back of the shirt. “We’ll wait
right here.”

“But
make it a quick one!”
Rin
yelled. “A thirty-second
minute!”

I
flew—flitted, more so—straight into Daniel’s room, right over the heads of the
nurses who were quietly working. Once I reached his bedside, I gasped. It was
true. He looked beyond terrible, and that didn’t begin to cover it. There were
obnoxious machines around him now—one a heart monitor, for sure—and several tubes
entering his body.

I
grabbed onto the bedrail, but my hands fell, plunging through it without any
effort on my part. I caught myself just before I fell into him. That
transparency thing was taking its toll. I wiggled my hands in front of me to
get them to solidify. It didn’t work.
 

Carefully,
I leaned down closer to his ear. “Daniel, listen. I know you can hear me.” Our
connection was strong; I hoped I was right. “You know that I love you, right .
. . and you know you can trust me.”

This
part I hadn’t rehearsed so I wasn’t sure how it was going to come out.

“So you
need to trust me when I tell you that if you don’t come back soon—and I mean,
soon
with six or seven
o’s
soon, you’re going to miss out on one hell of a life!”
I fudged a little on the next part; after all, I’d only seen one memory from
the future, but I guessed that I was more or less right. “You’re going to be an
artist. You’re going to see the world, and . . .” I swallowed, pausing longer
than I wanted to. “You’re going to love again, I promise.”

Charlotte
and
Rin
were calling me now. “Hope, get your skinny—”

“No
matter what’s happened, I love you, Daniel. And I’ll eventually forgive you. But
I know I won’t forget.” I couldn’t look at him as I said this. “I’m sorry for
that. But this isn’t our lifetime—it’s mine and Ethan’s, the one we never had. I
can explain later. But please, Daniel, please come back. I’ve seen the life
you’ll miss!”

I bent
forward, barely touching my lips to his forehead, then buzzed (at Charlotte and
Rin’s
screeching insistence) back to my hospital room.

The
entire family was there—me included.
Gigi
looked a
mess. I’d never seen her like that. Her auburn hair had grays around her
temples, her taupe skirt was wrinkled, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Like
the rest of them, she looked like she could use a whole week’s sleep. Claire
had crashed on Brody’s lap in the fake leather chair perched at the foot of my
bed, both of them seemingly catatonic. Dad, with several days’ growth on his
face, mindlessly stared off into space. I avoided looking at myself. I was
trying not to freak out. I was trying to be brave and good and not run
hysterically from the room. So it was easy to seek out Ethan and let him steal
away my worries.

I’d
forgotten the way he could stun me senseless.

It was
like I’d never looked at him before this moment. And yet I longed to look at
him for every moment thereafter. His pale violet glow was present—just a touch
around the edges, not much. But it was nice to see, anyway. It was a subtle
reminder of our dream world together, of our unique bond. I looked into his
eyes, loving the way they glowed all green and golden, and praying with every
bit of my soul that he would remind me how much he loved me before I jumped
back into that miserable wreck of a body. And then I realized. What if I
couldn’t speak when I woke up? What if Ethan didn’t know I loved him still?
   

He was
wearing street clothes, not scrubs, and distantly I could recall his telling me
that he had quit his job, blocking out the more difficult reasons having to do
with me. As he sprawled in a chair at the head of my bed, I walked up to him
and gasped, taking in that enormous shiner that Daniel had recently given him.
Up close, I could see that it had turned a ghastly green. It looked like it really
hurt. More puzzling was guessing what his explanation might have been for it. After
all, he had gone to sleep without it, and woke up with it. Huge and accusing, it
was, for me, a vicious reminder of my deception.
   

Ethan looked
miserable. And in his misery I found inspiration. It was obvious that he needed
something at this moment—a message, perhaps from the beyond.

Well,
maybe not so far as all that.

I
kneeled, leaning in as close to him as I could without actually touching his
skin. I imagined the whispers of my breath tickling his ear, reaching into his
subconscious.

Then
with great effort, I whispered as slowly as I could, “I’m
heeeerrreee
. . .”

His body
tensed. His eyes went wide.

“For
obvious reasons, I have to keep this short,” I went on, more like myself now. “But
I’m ready to start a life with you and I’m so sorry for everything. Give me a
minute and I’ll explain everything . . .”

Ethan
jumped out of the chair.

I stood
up, happily shocked, content in knowing that he had heard every word.

Rin
rolled her eyes. “Are you ready yet? Or maybe there’s
someone down the hall or on the next floor, you should visit with first.”

“Yeah,”
I agreed, ignoring her sarcasm. “Is
Amora
still
here?”

There
was a screech that hurt my ears.
Rin
looked at Charlotte, furious.
  

“Be
brave, Hope,” Charlotte
repeated. “I know this is scary, but that’s why we’re with you. To help you
to”—she swallowed—“transition.”

I raised
my eyebrows. Transition? But instead I asked, “How long will you stay?”

“Until
you tell us to go,” Charlotte said.

“Oh.
Good.” I was trying to sound brave. “Um, that will be never.” This made her
laugh. Then, I babbled, “This will make a really good story, won’t it? When I
wake up, I mean. I can’t wait to see Ethan’s face when I tell him about the
three little heads I saw on that Ferris wheel ride! Oh, and he names the dog
Finley—after his brother from that other lifetime. Hilarious!”

“Yes,
well . . .” Charlotte’s
voice dropped off sharply. Neither she nor
Rin
would
look at me. I sensed a very big and difficult
but
coming. My pulse sped up enough to set off the heart machine
linked to my physical body. The threads binding me to it weren’t nearly as
tenuous as everyone had assumed.

“Is it
bad?” Dad sprang to my side as though someone had stabbed me. It was disturbing
to see how terrified he was. That was one emotion I wasn’t used to seeing on my
father’s reliable face.

“No,
David . . . everything’s all right. Just a glitch.” Ethan moved swiftly,
flipping up switches and disabling the alarm. A nurse ran in, but Ethan waved
her off. She flashed him a courteous smile and left.

Dad
slowly sat back down, now watching Ethan as he watched me. Ethan seemed to be
studying my color—currently a deathly gray—and I thought he was thinking I
might have returned and was merely waiting for proof. A few seconds later, he
touched my face, running his fingers gently along my forehead, then down the
side of my cheek. I marveled as they lingered along my lips because I could
feel them there.

Your mother came to visit me,
Ethan
whispered in my head.
I know all about
your choice and our lifetime before.
He groaned.
I’m an idiot. Come back to me, Hope.
 

“I can
hear him!” I told
Rin
and Charlotte. Watching him
beside the bed, I smiled as Charlotte pulled my fingers from my lips.
Rin
gripped my other hand.

“Your
connection may linger for a while,” Charlotte said quietly.

“Really?”
Finally, some good news. “Can Ethan hear my thoughts, too?”

“Maybe.”
Rin
looked skeptical.

“Yeah,
I’m sort of hoping he can’t,” I admitted, looking over at him. “If he knew,
really knew how much I loved him, he might think I’m psychotic.”

I
expected them to laugh, but when I turned, I could see that they were crying.
The moment was here, pressing in on me, solid and real. I felt a ripple of fear
course through me. Looking down at my nearly lifeless body,
Rin
worked at sounding encouraging, “You can do this, Hope. You’re braver than you
know.”

“But I’m
not! I’m an enormous chicken!” I blubbered. I was so frightened I half-expected
feathers to sprout from my skin.

“Don’t
let the Colonel know,”
Rin
sniffled. “You’ll be in huge
trouble.”

I
laughed between sobs. “I’m in pretty huge trouble already,
Rin
.”

“No, no
. . . you’re fine,” Charlotte insisted, denying the obvious. “I mean, fine
might be a strong word . . . But we’re here with you and we can help.”

We took
a huge collective breath and stared mindlessly at my body. My left leg was in
the air, suspended by a frame that held it still. I looked chalky and sickly
and (in the words of
Rin
) skeleton-skinny.

“My hair
looks good,” I said to myself. In fact, I’d never seen it look any better. I’d
have to thank Claire later. She must have really worked at it.