The Ups and Downs of Being Dead

by M. R. Cornelius

  Once Madeline Wingate completed her celebrity deathwatch update, Sam trotted up to the podium to give his science report.

  His spiel this time was on the development of a molecular matter printer to create the blueprints for a body that nano-robots would build. An eerie ‘wooo’ was provided by someone in the back.

  After the meeting, a lot of the temps moved over to the hotel bar and commandeered an empty table at one end of the room. Bernie was regaling friends with his imitation of a constipated pope. Sam had another contingency of temps cornered, expounding on the blood-brain barrier.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier,” Maggie told Robert. “But Robbie was arrested about a month ago. A drug bust at some apartment. He was immediately remanded into custody since he’d skipped out on his bond. He’s in the Fulton County jail now, awaiting his trial.”

  “Great,” Robert said. “I suppose Suzanne will make me go see him while we’re visiting Rachel.”

  “Have you seen Angie?”

  “No, but she’s on the list, too. Suzanne and I want to check out Hawaii, but we figured we’d get all the family stuff out of the way before we go.”

  “Are you leaving right after the meeting?”

  “Heck, no,” Robert said. “I’m a changed man. I can sit through opera now. I’ve gone the wrong way on a train for five hours and had to turn around and go back. I believe Suzanne has plans to investigate the sewer system of the entire city here.”

  Maggie chuckled. “I forgot. You’re getting sex regularly. That always has a profound affect on a man’s tolerance level.”

  Robert reared his head back in shock. “That has absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  Nevertheless, Robert tagged along with Suzanne and Maggie and a bunch of other temps who took the Grayline tour of Montreal; eight hours of trudging through the Bell Centre where the Canadians played hockey, a visit to the Museum of Fine Arts, and the Olympic Stadium with its funky inclined tower. He even took a side trip to the Notre Dame Basilica with Suzanne and Maggie.

  His only stipulation was that he and Suzanne would dine alone, and then spend the evening together. Maggie gave him a leering wink, the old bat.

  They were just coming back into the hotel when Maggie skidded to a halt.

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “It’s Joe. My husband.”

  She scurried toward an old man who seemed a bit lost and disoriented. He spotted her, but didn’t seem nearly as eager to meet up. His stooped shoulders drooped even lower, and his bandied legs almost refused to hold him.

  Realization sank in, and Maggie pressed her fingers to her lips.

  “You died,” she said softly.

  He gave her a sheepish nod, as though he hadn’t meant to.

  She reached out a hand. “I hope you didn’t suffer much.”

  The shrug he gave her was non-committal.

  “I was at the retirement center at Christmas,” she said, a quizzical look on her face. “You looked happy. And healthy.”

  “I was,” Joe said.

  After quickly introducing Robert and Suzanne, Maggie threw her hands up.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “You just missed the meeting. They could have introduced you.”

  The expression on Joe’s face steadily deteriorated as Maggie babbled on about how he would have to wait for the December meeting but by then he’d be old news.

  “How did you find us?” she asked.

  “The new greeters at the center thought you might still be here.” He looked uneasily at Robert and Suzanne. Then lacing his fingers together, Joe concentrated on his hands. “There was an incident. Over Memorial Day.”

  Maggie’s head tilted to the side in confusion.

  “Jason and Lucy picked me up,” Joe went on. “To spend a week with them in Sebring.”

  Maggie filled in the blanks for Robert and Suzanne. “Jason is our son. They live on a lake in Sebring, Florida.”

  “Anyway,” Joe went on. “Travis and Heath were both home for the summer.”

  “Those are our two grandsons,” Maggie said.

  “It’s always so loud, their friends shouting and the music playing.” He turned to Robert, the eyelids of his rheumy eyes sagging. “I can’t hear the television over all the noise.”

  Robert nodded.

  “I decided to take Jason’s pontoon boat out.”

  “Oh, good,” Maggie said. “Did you and Jason take your fishing poles?”

  “Jason was at work, Maggie,” Joe said. Her eyebrows twittered.

  “Who went with you?”

  Joe lowered his head and shook it.

  “Joe?”

  Without looking up, he continued. “It was just going to be a short ride around the lake. Maybe back into Cutter’s Cove. I forgot what Jason said about the hydrilla being so overgrown along the shoreline. I guess I got too close.”

  Joe looked to Robert for support again. “That stuff grows underwater, you know. You can’t even see it until it’s too late sometimes.”

  Robert gave him another encouraging nod.

  “The darn weeds got all wrapped around the propeller. Killed the motor. I waited, hoping another boater would come by.” Joe’s voice waned. “But it was Tuesday.”

  Maggie’s anger was building. “And I’ll bet you didn’t have your cellphone.”

  “No! I did!” Joe insisted. “I tried to call the house, but the boys didn’t answer.”

  Maggie harrumphed, and Joe went on.

  “I found a piece of an old cane pole. Thought if I could get the motor tipped up, I could scrape the weeds off the propeller.”

  “You tried to raise that motor by yourself?”

  “I know.” Joe waved away her protest. “That was stupid. I lost my balance and fell in.”

  “How far were you from the shore?” Robert asked.

  Joe threw his hands up in the air. “Not that far! I could have easily waded to the bank.” His face contorted into that sorrowful expression again, and he turned to Maggie. “But I was splashing a lot.”

  “Oh, no.” Maggie moaned quietly.

  Robert didn’t understand what had suddenly upset her.

  Joe tried to put his arm around her to comfort her. “He was a big gator, Maggie. Probably a good seven feet.”

  “Dear God!” Robert blurted out. “You were attacked by an alligator? What an awful way to die.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” Joe said. “Mostly, you’re traumatized by the idea. Knowing what’s happening. But the pain isn’t that horrendous. It’s over pretty quick.”

  Robert shuddered and looked at Suzanne. She was horrified.

  “Who found you?” Maggie asked. “Not the boys!”

  “Not who, Maggie. When.” Joe’s voice cracked as though he might cry. “It got dark. The pontoon drifted quite a ways away from where I fell in. And of course, my body was dragged into the underbrush of a small inlet.”

  He paused, too choked up to continue.

  Closing her eyes, Maggie said softly, “They didn’t take you to the Cryonics Center.”

  Joe closed his eyes and shook his head. Robert felt so bad for the man. Here he was confessing to his wife about a really stupid mistake, and he had to do it in front of strangers.

  “There was so much damage by the time they found me,” Joe said in a whisper. He shook off his grief before going on. “And Jason was so distraught. He knew my wishes. He wanted to carry them out. But the medical examiner insisted there was nothing left to salvage.”

  “Oh, poor Jason,” Maggie said. “I know this must have been so hard on him.”

  Joe nodded. “He even flew to St. Louis to meet with the director of the Cryonics Center. I went with him. But the staff there agreed with the medical examiner. There was nothing to preserve.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The flight back to the States was like a wake.

  After Maggie found out about Joe, she just collapsed into herself. It was more than a Bela Lugosi where she
zoned out. Even when she was walking through the airport, she was lost in some catatonic state.

  For all her ability to help others cope with their shattered lives, she seemed unable to deal with her own. Joe was at a distinct disadvantage in comforting her, since he’d royally screwed up. Robert felt just as helpless. Suzanne was the only one who seemed to be able to reach past Maggie’s pain.

  “I got down in the dumps a couple months ago,” she told Maggie. “Thinking about Robert coming back without me. But you know what he reminded me of? That it’s going to be a long time before technology figures out how to reanimate him. It could be eighty years.”

  Suzanne paused to make sure Maggie was listening before she continued. “He told me I had a choice. I could be miserable, and make him miserable, too. Or I could enjoy those eighty years with him and deal with the rest later.”

  That didn’t sound at all like what Robert had said, but Maggie seemed to find comfort in Suzanne’s version so he let it go.

  Suzanne had a way of listening beyond his words to hear what he really meant to say. He was trying hard to learn to do the same.

  The four parted company at JFK. As Suzanne put it, Maggie and Joe needed some healing time. Personally, if Robert had pulled a blunder like that, the last thing he’d want to do is be alone with Amanda.

  Joe had no idea where they’d be heading. And Maggie was too distraught to decide.

  “Let’s set a meeting place and time,” Suzanne said to Maggie. “How about three months from now. September first, Robert and I will be at the Washington Monument in D.C. If you want to join us, we’ll be there all day.”

  Robert wasn’t sure Maggie even heard, but Joe nodded in agreement.

  As he and Suzanne boarded a flight to St. Louis, Robert had a vision of Maggie and Joe hanging out in limbo at JFK all summer.

  * * *

  Since Suzanne had no idea where Mark lived, they went to the brokerage firm where he’d first met Angie.

  He had an office, not a cubicle like a lot of the other men who looked to be about Mark’s age. That said a lot about his success with the company.

  He was just wrapping up a phone call, and when he finished, he leapt out of his seat and dashed out of his office. Hanging on the far wall was a captain’s bell that Mark dinged three times.

  It must have indicated some kind of sale because all the men and women sitting in their cubicles dropped what they were doing to go congratulate him. There was lots of hand shaking and back slapping, but instead of basking in the glory, Mark encouraged the others by saying if he could do it, so could they.

  Robert sensed a palpable rage boiling in Suzanne.

  “Let’s go wait in the lobby,” he suggested. “And we’ll follow him home.”

  Mark’s house was a renovated bungalow in Kirkwood, a suburb of St. Louis. Once he parked his briefcase on a chair in the living room, he headed for the kitchen. Angie was standing at the counter, but the moment she heard his footsteps, she quickly spun around, grabbing a towel to dry her hands.

  A big smile lit up a face that had been bruised and swollen beyond recognition just months ago. She had an unpretentious beauty that some men might find plain. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck; she wore minimal make up, but it did wonders to add color and dimension to her face.

  “How was work?” she asked as she turned to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of white wine, and poured one glass.

  “Great! I landed another big account today.”

  He took the wine glass she offered, pulled out a bar stool at a small island centered in the kitchen, and sat. The newspaper was strategically placed, still folded, as though Angie had brought it in and left it for Mark.

  “Would you be sweet and pick up my dry cleaning tomorrow?” he asked. “I want to wear my worsted wool suit at the meeting Thursday.”

  “Sure.”

  He spread out the paper and scanned the front page.

  “You know, on second thought, I’ll do it. I wanted to get a new shirt and tie anyway.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Would you? You’re an angel.”

  “I’ll be over by the mall anyway. I have a doctor’s appointment at ten.”

  Mark turned the page of the newspaper and took a sip of wine. “Hey, did you happen to send a thank you note to the Perkinson’s?”

  “Sure did,” Angie said. “Raved about the food, the guests, and their darling children.”

  Angie carried a steaming pot to the sink and drained some pasta. For the first time, Robert noticed that she still walked with a limp.

  “You didn’t pour it on too thick, did you?” Mark glanced up from the paper. “I don’t want to come across cloying.”

  “What is she?” Suzanne asked. “His new personal assistant?”

  “She’s home all day,” Robert said. “And it sounds like she’s volunteering to run his errands.”

  “Oh, please. He didn’t say one word about her going to the doctor.”

  “I suppose she goes pretty regularly. She still can’t work.”

  “So that makes her Mark’s gofer?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “And what was that about her pouring it on too thick? He’s the king of heavy-handed compliments.”

  Mark closed the newspaper. “Sometimes it’s the small things that can slip you up.”

  “Oh my God!” Suzanne huffed. “He’s coaching her? It’s just like my mother and father. Their whole life was about his career.”

  Robert considered pointing out that her mother hadn’t worked, but he knew better than to fan that flame so he kept his mouth shut.

  “She planned the parties, did the shopping, cleaned the house. All my dad did was mix the drinks.”

  Robert offered a harrumph.

  “My mother was always trying to groom me to be a good wife, I guess hoping I was going to marry some doctor or lawyer.” She shook her head like she was trying to get her hair out of her face. “They were so disappointed when I married Phil, the building contractor. I guess they were afraid all our entertaining would be at the American Legion.”

  Angie left the pot in the sink and walked over to the counter.

  “Everything will be fine,” she said, leaning over to kiss Mark.

  He blew out a breath. “I sure hope so.”

  “She’ll never leave him now,” Suzanne moaned. “My last hope was that living with him while she recuperated might open her eyes.”

  “Open her eyes to what?” Robert asked. “You still can’t give me one concrete reason why she shouldn’t be with him.”

  She gave Robert an imaginary elbow to the ribs before she stormed out of the kitchen. They didn’t even stay through dinner.

  “Are you kidding me?” Robert said as he chased down the street after Suzanne. “We flew all the way out here for an hour visit?”

  “Yes. And now were going to Atlanta and pop in on your daughter. At home. Let’s see how long you stick around there.”

  Robert wasn’t holding out much hope that Rachel’s relationship with Min was a temporary fling. But he was not prepared for the eight by ten photo prominently displayed on the end table in the living room. It showed Rachel and Min both in white gowns; not necessarily wedding gowns, but they were beautiful brides none-the-less. At the bottom of the frame was a small gold plate with the date of their ‘exchanging of vows’.

  He’d been out of touch with Audrey’s, but Robert would almost bet that Rachel had chosen her satin, straight-line halter dress from their collection. Or she’d made sure her dress became part of the collection.

  Although it was still dark outside, Min was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee. She was still in her robe and slippers. As she poured water into the machine, she talked on her Bluetooth. It must have been a business client in a different time zone.

  “I can get a quote to you by noon,” she said, “but I really think you should consider holding off until you hear from The Neilson Group. Their decision co
uld affect our whole campaign.”

  She pried open an English muffin with a fork and dropped both sides into a toaster.

  “No problem,” she said. “Call me any time you hear something. That’s why I’m here.”

  High-heels clicked on the hardwood floor of the living room, and Rachel appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked Min.

  Without turning, Min said, “I thought you could use the sleep.”

  Rachel’s shoulders slumped. She walked up behind Min, put her arms around Min’s waist, and kissed the back of her neck.

  “I didn’t mean to get so defensive last night,” Rachel said. “Forgive me?”

  “Sure.” Min swung around in Rachel’s embrace and hugged her back.

  “Believe it or not,” Rachel said, “I’ve still been thinking about our conversation.”

  “Is that good or bad?” Min asked.

  “I’m trying to keep it good,” Rachel said. “Like you said, you work from home. Most of the time you’re either on the phone or on your computer.”

  The toaster popped up. Min appeared quite excited about Rachel’s comment. She squelched a grin while she retrieved the muffins and spread a thimble’s worth of butter on each half.

  Rachel poured two cups of coffee.

  “You said you’d carry it,” she said as she set the cups on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

  “Absolutely,” Min said.

  “And we’re not going to obsess over clothes, or shoes, or—”

  Reaching out, Min laid her hand on Rachel’s and gave a gentle squeeze.

  “I’m sorry you had such a rotten childhood,” she said. “But I promise it will be different with us.”

  “Rotten childhood?” Robert asked. “What is she talking about? My kids were dressed in Atlanta’s finest. They went to the Lovett School for Godsakes. Amanda pulled out all the stops for birthday parties, even for Rachel.”

  Then he remembered passing by Rachel’s bedroom door when she was only five or six. Amanda was trying to dress Rachel for school, but Rachel was refusing to cooperate. As quickly as Amanda could get one argyle sock on Rachel’s foot, she was pulling the other one off. And all the while, Amanda was pleading in that whiny voice of hers. “But they’re so cute. See how they match your sweater?”