Pieces of Hope (7 page)

The
once-distant memory punched me in the stomach. Tears burned my eyes as I
recalled my mother’s message, “I’m not really dead.” It had been real! The
sensations, her touch, the way her perfume had lingered afterwards. I hadn’t
imagined her. I hadn’t made her up. My mother was there! She’d heard my
wish!
  

“Oh,
no!” I wailed, covering my face in my hands. “What have I done?”
    

“There
there, don’t be so hard on yourself,”
Creesie
comforted. “It often requires more than one visit for the living to understand.
You’ll see her again, I’m sure of it, when she thinks you’re ready. For now,
she’s giving you some much-needed time to yourself.” Then, she added, “Well,
there’s that and she doesn’t want to interfere in your decision.”
   

“Decision?”
I moaned, sounding more like myself. I’d only just arrived and there was work
to be done? I sniffled a little as I said, “What kind of decision?”

“Oh,
you’ll know soon enough. We prefer to let life unravel in its own time.”
  

And then
it sort of slipped—not out of my mouth—into my head.
Amora
came to mind, and the question she’d asked at the hospital, and I felt stupid
even as I thought it.

In
response,
Creesie
uttered, ‘“Am I an Angel?’” She
snickered freely, her head thrown back, her mouth wide open. “That’s a
knee-slapper! Most of the Angels I know would laugh till their wings hurt if
they heard that one.”

I folded
my arms across my chest like a pouting child, waiting for her laughter to
subside. When it came to the topic of Angels (especially in this place), who
knew?

“Let me
try to explain.” Obviously,
Creesie
was eavesdropping
again. She tapped a finger to her lips. “Think of me as your travel agent. I’ll
be at your service anytime you require assistance with your . . . travels.”

Still
grumbling, I said, “So I guess you’re dead, too.”

“Oh,
very much so,” she replied. “This is my second time. Technically, I also died
three years ago, but it wasn’t my time yet. I was lying splat in a parking lot,
suffering from the agony of a heart attack, when a young girl saved my life.
She didn’t make a big deal of it, just did what she thought anyone should do.”
Again, I got the notion that she was hinting at something. Unfortunately, my
brain was on sabbatical. “Truly touching,” she went on. “And heroic! Just a
fifteen-year old girl trying to do the right thing.”

I closed
my eyes as another image came barreling back. But this time it was more like I
was there—reliving it rather than remembering it.

A
swirling pile of leaves stopped me dead in my tracks as I left Afton’s drugstore, a prescription in hand for Mom.
Although it had been only a few months since her breast cancer scare, she was
doing much better. After wiping the dust from my eyes, I spied an old lady at
the opposite end of the parking lot clutching her chest, her face screwed up in
misery. As I ran toward her, she slumped hard against her car door, then slid
from view. I reached her, seconds later, placed my hand near her mouth, then
pressed my head to her chest. Nothing!

Holy crap! What if she dies in my arms?
I attempted unsuccessfully to recall our CPR lessons from Biology.
What were those stupid counts again?

Telling
myself that I could do this—that I had to do this—I straightened her out, went
three fingers above her breastbone, and pressed firmly with both hands. I tried
not to think about what I was doing. Breathing into the mouth of a mannequin
was one thing, but this was something else entirely. The procedure was
deceptively simple. Thirty chest compressions followed by two short breaths . .
.
     

My eyes
flew open. I looked at
Creesie
—young, smiling, happy.

“You’re
Mrs. Brown?” I said, startled. “But . . . she had to be pushing eighty. And
you’re what . . . seventeen, eighteen—?”

“Nineteen.
Then again, I’ve been told I look young for my age.”
Creesie
patted her hair and smiled. “Souls, remember? You’re seeing the beauty of our
souls. Most of us didn’t die young, although some of us did. Ever heard the
expression, ‘you’re as young as you feel?’ It takes on a whole new meaning after
you’re dead. Of course, right before we visit, we have to alter our appearance.
Otherwise, no one recognize us.”

I
smiled, seeing it clearly for the first time, snapping it all into place like
pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit together so easily. It was then that I heard
him. I closed my eyes to give him my undivided attention. A voice, beautiful
and melodious, spoke in my head.

“Who is
it?”
Creesie
asked, probably already knowing the
answer.

“Just a
boy.” My voice was barely a whisper. I opened my eyes.

“Can’t
be just any old boy,” she declared. “There has to be a strong connection in
order to hear people. Especially the living! He must be someone special.”

“He says
he thinks he knows me, but I’m sure he’s mistaken. If he met me then that would
imply that I’d met him, and trust me, there’s no way I’d ever forget that
face.” I shrugged so she didn’t think I was making a big deal of it.

“Yes,
well . . . it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”
Creesie
nodded thoughtfully as my eyebrows knotted together. “Soul groups tend to
travel together throughout lifetimes. Sort of like best friends for eternity.
Ever meet someone and feel as if you’ve known them all your life? There’s a
reason for it.”

 
“Oh!” I said, suddenly thinking of Ethan.
Forever. How mind-blowing was that? Still, my group of forever friends probably
filled one small room, whereas my sister’s required a whole stadium, possibly
all of Antarctica. Claire was very popular.

Creesie
motioned for Cat, and two warm slices of peach pie
with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream arrived almost instantly. We both slid
our forks into the pie, and lifted it to our lips. It melted in my mouth.
  

“He
reminds me of my Joseph,”
Creesie
gushed. “Has a good
heart, too. I can feel it.” She scooped the last of the ice cream from her
plate, and then raised her eyes to mine. “You’re free to go see him, Hope.
After all, now you’re a traveler, too.”

“Liberty
Station,” I mumbled under my breath, realizing the implications.

“There
are, of course, a few guidelines you should bear in mind.”

“Guidelines?
You mean rules, don’t you?” I was never a fan of such things.

“As I
said, we’re very organized around here,” she reminded me. “The universe has an
order to it. I would have thought you’d figured that out by now.”

Though I
didn’t fully understand, I nodded as if I did.

“First
off, these are just people.” She waved one arm around. “Best not to use the
word ghosts. It’s archaic and has quite the negative connotation. After all, do
we look like things that go bump in the night?” I believe she meant it
rhetorically, but I shook my head anyway. “And spirits?” she snorted. “Too
ethereal! Often makes the living think of Angels, which . . . as you’re aware,
we are not.”

I nodded
again. This was easier than I’d expected.
 

“Oh, and
be careful about feeling other people’s emotions. It can be difficult for
newbies
to handle. Strong emotions, either positive or
negative, can be so powerful that they incapacitate you. Try not to let any of
the living walk through you.”

I
shuddered, remembering far too well how I could feel my sister’s panic, and the
grief of
Amora’s
mother from clear across the room.
Even the tall boy from the accident. I couldn’t tell where he ended and I
began. His feelings for Caroline became my feelings for Caroline. Though she
didn’t mention it, I supposed the reverse was also true. I tried not to think
about my earlier glimpse into Ethan.

“Just
one thing,” I asked, wanting to confirm my status. “You said I wasn’t” —I
struggled to speak the word—“
dead.
”
     

“Heaven’s
no! You’re very much alive,” she insisted with a sweet smile. “You’ve merely
separated from your body. It’s the reason you can experience some of the things
we can, but not quite all.”

“And
since I’m not dead, where does that leave me exactly?”

“You’re
Somewhere,” she said matter-of-factly, as if she assumed I would both
understand and accept this brief explanation. The slack expression on my face
must have given me away because, after another long thoughtful moment, she
said, “Try to think of it as the point between; it sounds so much more
impressive that way.” I got the sneaking suspicion she was making a joke, but
neither of us laughed. “Then again, most folks here just refer to it as The
Station.”

She
pointed to the front of the building, in the direction of the floating sign,
but on this, I needed no clarification. I was more than a little confused about
how and where and what I was, but I could certainly read the signs.

“Somewhere?”
I pressed, trying to understand. “But where is that exactly?”
 

She smiled
pleasantly, her brown eyes, round and wide. “Somewhere is halfway to
Everywhere. Just this side of Anywhere. That’s the beauty of it.”

“That
doesn’t tell me a thing,” I complained. “Can’t you be more specific?”

 
“Some things are simpler than we can ever
imagine. In time, I think you’ll come to understand.” With a straight face,
eyes twinkling, she added, “Then again, being dead helps.” She slid across the
bench and reached back for my hand. “Don’t dilly-dally,” she ordered in a
motherly tone. Searching my eyes, she extracted his name. “Ethan wants to see
you!”

I gawked
openly at everyone as we made our way through the Station, but no one seemed to
care or notice, which made me feel way better about staring.
Creesie
was right; no one paid much attention. It was slow
moving through the crowd, but as we got closer, I could see that we were
heading toward the ticket booth in the corner. It was the size of a wide
window, and etched into the wooden panel below it were the same ornate figures
I’d spotted on the elevator doors in
Amora’s
room.

The word
TICKETS hung above the window in large capital letters. After waiting our turn,
a boy with reddish-blonde hair greeted us. He wore a golfer’s cap a couple
sizes too big for his head, a neatly pressed uniform, and a smile the size of Texas. The tiny gap
between his front teeth made him all the more adorable.

“What’s
the story, morning glory?” he asked
Creesie
in a
lively voice.

“Mac,
I’d like you to meet our new arrival.”
Creesie
looked
over her shoulder at me. “This is Hope Valenti.”

“Well!”
The boy greeted me with an impish grin. “Welcome to the Station, young lady!
We’ve been expecting you. Name’s Johnnie McAllister, but everyone calls me—”

“Mac?” I
smiled at him. It was the first thing I’d gotten right all day.

“Well,
ain’t
you the cat’s meow?” Mac wagged his finger at me and
winked. “If I was about thirty years younger, I’d let you chase me around the
block. I might even let you catch me!”

“Thirty?”
Creesie
snorted. “More like sixty, but who’s
counting?” Leaning on the counter, she grasped Mac’s hands in excitement.
“Hope’s ready to travel!”

“Swell!”
Mac said, equally delighted. “You explain the ropes to her?”

“Not
yet, but I will. Patience is a virtue, you know.” She made it sound more like a
reminder than a cliché.
 

“Preaching
to the choir, sister! If I’d learned about patience years ago, I wouldn’t have
pulled out in front of that speeding car.” Cheerfully, he muttered, “Lesson
learned.” Into
Creesie’s
open palm, Mac dropped a
large wooden coin with those familiar carvings. He grinned at me, tipping his
red hat politely. “Happy travels, young lady.”
 

It was
slightly disconcerting to look into his twelve-year old face and realize that
somewhere behind that façade lurked a possibly seventy-year old man, but I
couldn’t help but be charmed. Though I had no idea how this worked, as I rolled
the coin between my fingers, I said, “I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“Sooner
than you can imagine, doll.” Mac flashed another grin.

Creesie
led me to the wall of glass just as several
travelers passed straight through it. I was so excited I could hardly breathe.
I was going to see Ethan! I—But how?

“All you
have to do is get in line, wait your turn—no butting,” she reminded me, as if I
would do such a thing. “After you walk up the steps of the bus, drop your coin
in the slot, then walk straight down the aisle.”

“And
then what?” I was fixated on the tiny wings fluttering above the open door of
the very shiny and silver, flat-nosed bus.
 

“Think
of Ethan. You’ll enter directly into his dream.”

My
stomach drew up into a knot. “And I’ll be Ethan? Or myself?”

Creesie
frowned, then smiled. “Why yourself, of course,”
she said, still smiling. “Why would you ask?”

“Just
nervous,” I told her. And I was. Every worst-case scenario I could imagine came
to mind. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. “What if I take a
wrong turn and end up on Mars?” I groaned.

Creesie
chuckled. “Just watch with me a minute.”

Sure
enough, it was just as she had said. Passengers walked through the open door of
the idle bus, up the three steps, down the aisle—and vanished!

“Oh,
there is one little thing . . .”
Creesie’s
smile
drifted, her pleasant tone turning somber. “Remember that while you have
separated from your body, the same isn’t true for Ethan. Almost no harm can
come to you. But for the visited, that isn’t the case.”