Then there was early this morning, when Harold brought me to Laura. I thought it had been over half and hour since she sent that text; yet her finger was still on the phone.
A stagnant beep permeates the room. Nurses flood in. “What's going on?” Jensen asks, his voice racing with fear.
His plea is ignored while a nurse mutters something about cardiac arrest. Someone rattles off vitals and a pit crew with a crash cart rolls in with the precision of this being an expected event. The doctor enters and looks to Mom. “You still want us to act?”
Mom hesitates. She can’t back down now! I need more time. I turn to Griffin and rattle him, because he gets that some kind of puzzle is being put together and it creates a picture bigger than us all. “Don’t let them stop, Griffin! Don’t let them stop!”
“Yes!” Griffin yells. He turns to Mom. “Judy, please, go with my gut on this!”
“Yes,” Mom tells the doctor.
Another person tells my family to leave as the doctor commands, “Let's go. Everybody, clear.”
“This can't be happening,” Jensen utters. “Engagements are supposed to be the beginning, not the end. Lizetta, I'm so sorry.”
There must be a way to stay, or Harold wouldn't have been paying me the visits he has.
Jensen is right. What we had was supposed to be the beginning. That reminds me of Laura last night. What was it she said? The beginning is the end. It seems so fitting, but then—
I keep hearing about time.
The nurse tells Jensen he really shouldn’t watch, but he refuses to go. “No. Marriage means promising to be with someone until the very end, and that’s what I promised when I did the thing that robbed her of her life. I should have waited to propose. I should've—”
“Dammit, Jensen! Stop blaming yourself! And stop talking so much. I can't hear myself think!”
Laura commented about the end also being the beginning. Arlene talked of reverse time. Harold has sent me back and forth. Zolta said that I’m a traveler. Astral traveling is only bound to this plane, not to this time!
Arlene runs to Jensen. “Do not tell yourself that! You dared to live in a way that others only dream. Don't blame yourself for having the guts to live. You just keep grabbing life by the shoulders, and you keep shaking it. No matter what happens, keep shaking!”
The doctor places paddles on my chest and yells, “Clear!” Everybody steps back. The machine still wails that my heart has stopped. I try to close off my mind to the chaos and focus on where I was when the accident happened. I feel myself jerk forward. When I stop, I'm in the right space, but there's no crane in sight.
Crackers!
I focus more on that day—the weather, the position of the sun, the angle of the breeze, and the taste of hazelnut mocha that lingered in my mouth. A warp goes through me, and it reminds me of the wooziness I got when Harold threw me out of Zolta’s shop. When I open my eyes, the crane is next to me. A block away, my healthy body rounds the corner.
I race up to myself and actually run through me. The old me is unfazed. I dash back through her. Still nothing happens. I spin and she keeps coming at me with the same grin while humming and clueless to everything else in the world. Meanwhile, the crane cranks upward.
“Listen to a mother’s wisdom.”
I try to grab her shoulders as she waltzes past. I can’t grip, so I walk backward while keeping my hands in place and vibrating them, just like I did to Laura and much like Jensen’s mother suggest he do. My old body stammers when I yell, “Lizetta! Stop!”
TEN DAYS AGO
Suddenly I feel odd. Like my body starts … fizzing? Did I eat something bad? No, it’s not an upset stomach but—
An electronic ring hits my ears. I slow down and try to place it. Weird.
With a shrug, I move on my way. Just a few blocks more until—
There it is again. I need to slow down. Am I getting dizzy? Why do I feel so strange?
Creaking comes from above, drowning out the sounds of passing cars and clamoring people. It reminds me of someone lifting the lid on an old trunk in a horror movie.
“Stop!” someone yells. “Lady, you need to stop!”
A man runs in my direction. Is he yelling to me?
Boom!
Two shiny, black boards fly towards me. I cower. One hits me in the hip, the other in the arm that covers my face, and I fall back. My butt smacks onto the concrete, and a sharp pain shoots through my head as it hits the ground. Stars spark my vision before all goes black and a force yanks me upward and into the heavens.
Messages to God are love letters to the universe that transcend all boundaries.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thursday, July 20
Sweat drips from my face as I race to the shade. The heat of the parched grass stings my feet. Pressure builds in my head as the distance narrows. Just a little more! I can make it!
Finally, I reach Nirvana. Grass cools my steps and rises between my toes. A breeze blows away the heat. I twirl and fall to the ground, spreading my arms like the wings of an angel who is claiming the land as my own. A sense of peace fills my heart, knowing it is here I will stay.
A haze of gray and blue coats my vision. Light trickles in. To my left, a machine beeps with every throb of my head.
In the distance there is scampering and chatter. A lady comes into view. “Hey, there you are,” she says. Her smile breaks through the fog, bringing comfort. I hear beeping. I smell antiseptic. I’m back in my body, and in a bed. I’m in a hospital! Did I make it?
If I made it, why don’t I recognize this nurse? Shouldn’t this be like Dorothy coming out of Oz?
She alerts the Nurse’s Station that I'm awake and requests they send in the doctor. Something is said about being in an Emergency Room. That’s why I don’t recognize her! When I didn’t awake before, I was in Critical Care.
My hand gets a reassuring squeeze.
A squeeze! I felt a squeeze! And she smiled when I returned it!
“You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling?”
“Like God is trying to drive a nail into my skull. What happened?”
She chuckles. “Sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but if you can look at this with a sense of humor, you’ll be much better off. You got brained with a piano.”
This is the lamest bedside manner, ever. Oh no. This woman is reminding me of that crazy redhead. Maybe I was in Oz.
“Well, it didn’t quite go like that. A piano fell from a crane. You barely dodged it enough to not get flattened, but you still got conked. You're lucky. Had you been a few steps closer, you may not have made it.”
A doctor steps in and goes about checking me over. He asks me to move my arms and legs, and then state my name and birthday. Did I actually transcend time and make it back? Is now real? If I was just stressing out over a dream, I'm going to be cheesed!
The nurse returns and gives me a salacious look. “You up to visitors? A young man just arrived. He’s very anxious to see you.”
Jensen! I send her off with a grateful, “Yes, please!”
Steps approach my doorway and a head pops in—a head of flaming red hair. Yep, I was in Oz.
“Hello!” Harold clears his throat and slips his hands into his pockets, turning sheepish.
“Harold, what in fiery heck happened?”
He stares as if surprised; yet a ghost of a grin slips through his pretense. “Harold? I'm sorry, ma'am. The name is Albert. I'm the one who yelled for you to stop. You need to thank your guardian angel that you’re all right.”
“Harold, a little truth please? Starting with why you hushed Zolta.”
He tosses his hands up. “No one ever allows me to have any fun! Zolta was about to send you down the wrong road. If I hadn’t intervened, all would have gone amok.”
He totally was covering his own tushy!
“No, I was not covering my own tushy. I was covering yours.”
Ugh! This mind reading makes me crazy!
“Sorry.”
“So what was all that about? Is it over? What about the painting? Was it some kind of test? Now that I am back, do I need to worry about Laura stealing Jensen?” Panic hits. “Wait. When is this? I didn’t do some crazy time warp again, did I? Tell me I didn’t land in an alternate universe where he’s married her!”
Harold shakes and dips his head, then peers his eyes up to God. He must think I am an idiot. “Relax. The piano smacked you down just over an hour ago. And no, you are not now, nor have you ever been, in some alternate universe. Your travels are over, but you still have more burdens to bear. All I’m allowed to tell you is that you give Jensen reason to stay on the straight narrow. You also bring him the inspiration to keep writing, even if he needed an ego boost from your brother to show him he was worthy of respect. If he doesn’t have that creative outlet to help him express his inner emotions, he’ll stray.”
“Does that make Jimmy one of the two women? Oh no way! Jimmy’s gay?”
Harold walks to the wall and smacks his head into it. “No! Jimmy is not gay!”
“But what about the second woman? The one who is going to claim victory over Jensen.”
Harold doesn’t just toss his hands back; it’s more like he tosses back his whole body. “Do you remember when you watched that old woman die? The prayer you made showed your desire to follow through on what you need to do. You have become privy to so much. What are you going to do with your knowledge?”
What? This guy still doesn’t make any sense.
With a quick scope of the room, he tells me on the hush, “Remember, it may be your dream, but it is also Jensen’s painting. Jensen has learned from the events you experienced, whether he realizes their existence or not.”
Harold looks to the hallway as footsteps race towards us. When he turns back, his pale skin goes dark, his flaming hair turns gray, and his eyes fade into chocolate brown. My mouth drops in awe as I realize why he has always looked so odd to me—those cheekbones, that jawline.
“My grandson still needs help with his demons, else they will forever haunt him. Tell Jensen that Eddie and I are proud of him. Any time either of you is determined to do the right thing, we have your backs, whether it’s Eddie coaxing you into hitting the Escape key, a clown dropping hints, or us helping him push Bertha.” Jensen runs through Harold as he fades into a memory, yet his guidance echoes on. “Remember your prayer to live a life of boundless compassion, then you can both fly.”
Jensen heads straight to my bed. “Oh, thank God!” he says. He kisses my forehead and then draws my hand to his heart. “They told me you would be okay, but I couldn't believe it until I saw you with my own eyes. From the moment I heard of the accident, I've been a wreck.” His eyes go to the IV stuck into my arm, and his voice turns faint. “I know I did the right thing in asking you to marry me, but I feel so responsible for what happened.”
“First off, I only have a few bruised ribs, a cracked tail bone, and one noodle of a headache. As far as anything else goes, don’t be silly. Why would you feel that way?” Don’t tell me that even now he is on that trip about feeling responsible.
“Because, you were looking for stuff for the wedding. If I hadn't proposed so soon, you wouldn't have been in that spot. Do you think it was a sign that we should slow down?”
Is he absolutely nuts? I’m the one who got conked on the head. It’s easy to forget that the experience I just had isn’t the same as the one he did. “Are you crazy? Haven't you learned to take life by the horns and rattle it? Seriously, Jensen, what more needs to happen for you to get the message?”
His mouth forms a hole of silence. It’s the perfect companion to his gaze of disbelief, as his eyelids become windshield wipers to clear away the dust from his view. “How did you know?”
“Huh?”
“I came home for lunch and dozed off on the sofa. I had the craziest dream. Mom was telling me that I needed to continue to grab life by the horns and shake it. I don't remember anything before that part. Just all of a sudden, there she was, yelling so loudly that it woke me. Not much later, Jimmy called and said you had been in an accident and we all needed to get over here.”
“That’s—That’s really … odd.” Oh, this madness just got freakier. I want to tell him about my own experience, but I need to get my head together. “Hey, honey, can you get me some water?”
“Of course.” He kisses my hand, and those doggone, puppy eyes make me thank God all the more that I am safely with him. “Anything else you need?”
Just a dose of reality. “Can I borrow your phone? I need to call Griffin about something I found for the wedding.”
Jensen sizes me up through scrutinizing eyes. A smile slips across as he hands me his phone. “I should tell you that you need to rest, but for a woman who nearly got her head bashed in, you sure are thinking clearly. Glad to see it.”
I fake dialing until Jensen is out the door, and then search for Laura’s name. I’m not the least bit surprised when I see both her and Larry listed. Jensen rounds the corner into the room, and I throw the phone onto the bed.
“Couldn’t reach him?” Jensen asks.
“It can wait. I’d rather talk to you.” I also need to focus on a plan of action. If Laura really is a junkie who won’t leave Jensen alone, what I experienced was no dream: it was a warning shot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Saturday, July 22
I used to take advantage of any excuse to sit on the sofa and do nothing. Now that I'm stuck home for a week and don't have much of a choice, the thought of doing it for another minute bores me out of my skull. I’m so anxious to enjoy living again that I’ve even done my makeup and put on presentable clothing. The really bad part of it is, I've only been home a day. Being locked up for a few more may make me a little crazy.
Jensen and Paul come in from the bedroom. They've spent the morning moving my stuff over as was planned before a killer piano tried to play my funeral march. Paul sweetly gave me an earful about it. “I know you, Lizzie. Once that stuff is there, you'll be too busy unpacking to rest. You’ve got to listen to the doctor.” All the while Jensen stood next to him with his arms crossed and head nodding. Meanwhile I batted my lashes. Eventually they both tossed up their hands and caved.
Jensen plops a kiss on my head. “Last round. Be right back.” He then bends down to tell Etta, “Watch her!”
Paul points his finger at me like the rock star he is. “Stay on that sofa!”
I wait until the cars drive off before I get up. This way they won’t hear Etta bark when she catches me in the act. I’m going to fix Jensen dinner. Since my accident, my knight hasn’t left my side, which means he has been sitting around and eating takeout food while grumbling about all of the chemicals in it. He can’t fool me though. He’s been pounding down fries like he fears he will never have a chance to eat them again.
With the exception of the four beers that have taken up permanent residence, the fridge that normally looks like Jensen’s personal farmer’s market is surprisingly barren. Those beers bring me relief every time this door is opened. They also serve as a constant reminder of how fortune has smiled on me. If Jensen ever throws them out, I’ll feel like I’ve lost a friend.
Shuffling to the front door is difficult, but when I sling my purse over my shoulder, fire shoots through my back. Etta doesn’t say a word. Instead she just stares at me. It’s her way of politely saying that I’m being foolish.
“Okay, sweetie. You and the sofa win this round.” Her tail wags as she follows behind. Her stride breaks. Her tail stiffens and she suddenly makes for the door with a bark of dislike. A peer through the peephole shows why—even though my past experience as an undead spy had me knowing before I looked.
Seeing Laura brings up so many conflicting emotions. For years she caused me pain. If what happened wasn’t a dream, she has it in her to be far more awful than I ever gave her credit for. It also means that she’s in a terrible state. I’ve always hated her. Now I have reason to despis
e her, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve freedom from the horrible things around her.
With a quick adjustment of my blouse and a rake of my fingers through my hair, I face my nemesis. Though I knew what to expect, my gut turns when I see the once vibrant girl who now looks like a skeleton that has been dragged through muck. “I heard what hap—” Her painted-on grin crashes when she sees a woman. Then her eyebrows rise in the center. After she clears her vision with a few blinks, she steps back. “Lizetta?”
I pretend that seeing her is a happy surprise. “Laura? Hey! What brings you here?”
“What are you doing here?”
It’s horrible of me, but this is going to bring me immense joy. “You know my fiancé? I can’t believe Jensen has never mentioned you.” Was that too cruel? I don’t want to be her doormat, but—
“Fiancé?”
My hand pops up to show the ring. As she looks at my hand, I look at hers. It grips the neck of a bottle through a paper bag. Hello, plastic bottle of tequila.
“What!” Her body droops at my news. “You are the girl he’s engaged to? You?”
I can understand her surprise, but did she have to use that belittling emphasis? It’s hard to remember that she’s not a tramp—she’s an abuse victim with an addiction and a world of other problems that make her desperate.
“You can’t be serious! You’re the girl who has him all up in knots and bettering himself?”
Her words bring back the pain from the years of verbal abuse I endured. Why is it so shocking that Jensen loves me? It may sound cold, but even a junkie that lives a life of horror has no right to belittle me, especially when she has no idea what this heart is capable of. How much other beauty does she miss each day because she lets herself be blind?
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