“This place is a lot like Vegas,” I assured him, thinking what a tragedy it would be to cover that spectacular face in hair. “What happens here stays here.”
It took an extra moment for him to compose himself. Making him laugh probably wasn’t the fairest thing to do, but it was well worth the wait.
Ethan looked softly into my eyes, dropping his shoulders and his chin, then tilting his head a little to the right. As he tightened his brow, the outer corners of his eyes pulled down, and his mouth parted slightly. It was the most innocent expression I’d ever seen in my life. I understood exactly what I’d be up against if he ever used it against me.
“That’s pretty good,” I marveled. “Did it come in handy?”
“More than you can imagine.” He flashed a wicked grin.
“What else?” I begged. “Give me one more.”
“I speak a little Gaelic. Try to, anyway. It’s an old Irish language—rather difficult to master. My great grandfather was born and raised in Ireland, and Dad lived there until he went off to college in the states. That’s where my mother and he first met. But after I came along, they made sure to visit Ireland every summer. Poppy’s been gone almost five years now, and not a day goes by that I don’t I miss him. He was an amazing old guy.”
He had a faraway look in his eyes. I could tell he was thinking of his great grandfather. And then, just as quickly, the memory faded.
“Sure you’re ready for this? Bad Gaelic is my specialty.” I nodded a little, and he added, “I’d love for you to see Ireland with me someday. It’s not a fair comparison, but it’s almost as beautiful as you are.” I smiled so big my cheeks started to ache.
A few seconds later, I was all ears as Ethan dazzled me with a few words of Gaelic. The language wasn’t as fluid as French—more guttural like German—but I could hear the age of it as he spoke. Though he took the time to translate, it wasn’t really necessary.
“Dia dhuit,” he began, his voice even deeper than usual. “Technically, that means ‘God be with you.’ But the locals use it more as a greeting, sort of like hello. There’s also Cronáim thú—I miss you. Oh, and we shouldn’t forget the ever popular Tá mo bhriste tri thine!” He laughed, and I laughed with him, secretly wondering why he’d taken the time to tell me that his trousers were on fire.
At last he explained, “I don’t know why Poppy taught me how to say that, but he used to laugh till tears ran down his face whenever I did.”
We were quiet for a few minutes after that, listening to the glorious sounds around us, our own private concert. Then Ethan stood and took my hand, and without a word, we walked closer to the falls. In real life, there wasn’t a fly-fishing stream anywhere near nor was there a view of the falls from this side. The ground sloped down at such a steep angle that it was impossible to stand without tumbling down the hillside. But in Ethan’s version, a level platform of earth made a perfect site for viewing.
As we looked down at the rocky pool at the bottom, I had a sudden inspiration.“Let’s climb down and put our feet in the water!”
“There’s no easy way to get down there,” he said. “The sides are too crumbly.” Then he pointed out the obvious. “Besides, you’re wearing a dress. That can’t be the easiest thing to climb in . . . though I’d love to see you try.” He flashed an effortless smile. It was a good thing I saw it out of the corner of my eye; that way I didn’t feel its full-impact. It was sort of like being sideswiped instead of struck in a deadly head-on.
Taking a second to compose myself, I motioned toward the falls. “Why not take the stairs?” Before us, a wide set of steps led the way down to the small pool at the bottom. If he could fudge reality, so could I.
“What—?” he began. “Oh, that’s right, you have connections.”
I took a step, but Ethan scooped me up in his arms and carried me down. Though he was watching where he was going, careful not to drop me, I was looking only at him, my arms tight around his neck. His body was so solid, so warm, the twin beating of our hearts so real. When at last we reached the bottom, a gentle mist sprayed our faces.
“Hope, I know I didn’t answer everything you asked . . . But like you said, we have all the time in the world.” Ethan’s deep voice drifted up at the end, leaving a giant floating question mark in the air, begging for an answer. Suddenly, I felt overcome.
I wanted to reassure him. I wanted to tell him that, soon, we would pick this up in the living realm—that I was merely taking a break from life, a vacation of sorts. I wanted to say these things and yet I questioned if I possessed the courage to return to my body. Experience the pain of my accident all over again and my mother’s death?
And what if things were different for us there? Should I even assume there would be an us? What if Ethan didn’t find me as fascinating in the living realm as he did here? No one else seemed to think I was. How could the real world ever surpass what we had here?
Despite my turmoil, I nodded to assure him. When I did, I saw a flash of something out of the corner of my eye. A shadow. Or maybe not. It was above us, near the top of the falls, not quite in the right place for a shadow, on the wrong side of the sun.
And then, it hopped. A sudden chill ran through me.
Startled, I looked back at Ethan, realizing with a laugh that it must have been Rin and Charlotte, or possibly Creesie, spying on us. I was about to mention this to him when his image flickered like a light bulb about to go out.
“One last thing . . .” A seriousness settled into Ethan’s eyes that stifled my words. “I dream about them, Hope—more now since I’ve met you. Actually I dream about us, and our lifetime before. It’s you. It’s me. I’m sure of it.”
For some reason, my trip inside his head came to mind. The girl, the lake, the war . . . Was she supposed to be me? And was Ethan actually himself, but in the body of his past life? Same souls, different bodies? Was that what the dream had meant?
“You need to come back . . .” Ethan urged, pulling me from my thoughts. “We may not have much time.”
To lighten the mood, I reminded him, “That’s your so-called truth talking.”
“There may be a logical reason for it. You need to come back so we can make it right.” He spoke so softly I could barely hear him. “Next time, there can be no falling. . .”
9 First Loves
When Ethan suddenly vanished, I landed with a thud on my backside.
Despite the stupidity of it, I shouted into the blackness, “Wait! Wait! What does that mean . . . no falling? Is that code for something?”
As I scrambled to my feet, a gentle voice called, “Hope, are you there?”
Frowning, I didn’t respond. Was there no such thing as privacy here?
“Hope?” Creesie called again, louder this time.
Lost in my head, it was easier to ignore her. Clearly, Ethan remained convinced of our earlier lifetime together. What wasn’t so clear was why I didn’t feel as certain of it. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t recall any dreams of other lifetimes of my own. As I pondered his mysterious “falling” comment, I slipped into something more comfortable—a silky sweater, darker jeans, my favorite sneakers. But I imagined my hair in two braids instead of the ponytail. It kept my too-wavy hair off my face.
“This is no time to dilly-dally, young lady,” Creesie commanded.
Then, as if someone had drawn back a thick velvet curtain, a bright shaft of light appeared from nowhere. A small, dark head peered inside. Linoleum tiles in burgundy and beige were visible beneath Creesie’s feet.
‘“Next time, there’ll be no falling,’” she repeated. I cringed as I imagined all that she had heard. Her eyes twinkled. “No, I wasn’t listening the entire time, merely the last few minutes. You can’t blame me, really. He is quite the romantic. But you’ve completely forgotten the process of unraveling, haven’t you? All in good time,” she mumbled. “All in good time . . .”
“Sue me. I’m human.” But I appreciated her keen observation of Ethan.
Her foot tapped impatiently, but she was smiling when she said, “What are you waiting for—a written invitation? That can be arranged, you know.”
Squinting, I leapt into the brightness, and observed that we were back in the main hallway of the hospital, directly across from the elevators. Creesie dropped her arm and the east end of the hallway fell back neatly into place. There wasn’t a wrinkle, crease, or flap in sight. In fact, there was no indication we had just passed through anything.
I eyeballed Creesie with scrutiny. To the best of my knowledge, the only route of travel was through the Station. As we trotted around the corner to the ICU, we made no sound as we walked. Nor, without some effort, could I detect the floor beneath my feet. Was this a bodiless thing? If so, it was eerie, to say the least.
“Isn’t there something you’d like to tell me?”
“Oh!” Creesie looked a little startled. “Did I forget to mention shortcuts?”
I groaned, slapping a hand on my forehead.
“Did you miss the tour guide training program?” I asked.
Creesie pealed with delight “Your mother mentioned you had a delightful sense of humor. I agree. You’re an absolute hoot!”
“Great,” I said, narrowly avoiding a nurse as she hurried past. “That should make me very popular with the over sixty crowd.” Creesie gave another pleasant snort. “I am a little curious, though . . .” I paused. Was it rude to ask? “What sort of occupation did you have before . . . I mean, before—”
“Before I died?” she asked in an easy tone. At least with this mind-reading thing I didn’t have to nod. “Believe it or not, for over thirty years, I was a fourth grade teacher.”
“That is hard to believe,” I admitted. “Are teachers usually this forgetful?”
Wagging a finger at me, she laughed again. “I keep telling you it’s this place. The living always think we have nothing to do when we’re dead. Whatever gave them such an idea? We have a lot on our minds. A lot!” she repeated, churning along at a steady pace.
Inside the oval-shaped enclosure of the nurses’ station, nothing much was going on. A few nurses were chatting in low voices, answering phones, or scanning computer screens. I could only imagine what Creesie had deemed so urgent that it necessitated a shortcut, but I could think of several fabulous ways to use one in the future.
As we leaned against the counter, opposite my room, she apprised me with a long, glowing look of approval. “That’s lovely,” she said. “You’re dressing much better these days.”
“What can I say? I’m working my way out of a funk.” I gestured toward my body, motionless and sickly pale.
“Yes, your body really doesn’t look so hot,” she said matter-of-factly.
I made a face. “Thanks.”
My family, sprawled about the room, filled up every square inch like some sort of frat party gone bad. Snoring loud enough to wake me from the dead, Dad and his brother, Donald (who resembled an older Matt Damon) were reclining on two chairs at the foot of my bed. With her neck crooked at an awkward angle, Gigi slept beside me in that hideous green chair Ethan had once occupied. The second bed held Brody and my sister. He had wrapped himself around her like an overgrown vine—Claire beneath the covers, Brody on top. Dad’s orders, I would bet. He had always been fairly pretty strict with us. It was good to know that, despite my recent departure, he was keeping a close eye out on Claire. She usually needed it.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, noticing the pale light peeking through the wide window of my room. “What are the visiting hours around here, anyway?” I asked. “It’s only what, five in the morning?”
Not bothering to turn her head, Creesie continued to stare at my body. I detected a trace of something hidden in her expression, and I didn’t think it was anything good. “It’s one of those new-fangled hospitals, open 24/7, supposed to be better for the patient.” The expression faded, and Creesie looked back at me.
“Hmm . . . just like 7-11,” I joked, but my voice cracked. I could feel my family’s pain even through their slumber, and something close to guilt coursed through me. This was entirely my fault and I knew it. Several times, it had occurred to me that all I needed to do was return to my body, wake up, and their pain would ease. It wouldn’t completely go away. After all, Mom would still be gone. But it would definitely lessen . . .
And yet that reason alone wasn’t enough to make me come back. Selfishness held me prisoner. I knew very well why I hesitated.
As the seconds passed, I became more agitated, their anguish melding with mine, expanding and festering, growing larger than I could contain. Not meaning to, I snapped, “Why’d you bring me here, anyway? Are you trying to guilt me into going back?”
Creesie took her sweet time answering. Moments later, she stepped away from the counter, and motioned for me to follow. Rather than taking the shortest route, and zipping through the nurse’s station, we took the long way around, stopping in front of an identical room opposite mine. It was empty the first time I’d explored the ICU. I was certain of it.
But not today.
Hearing the question in my head, Creesie said, “He’s been in and out of surgery a few times. That’s how you missed him.”
My neck gave a too-familiar tingle. Before we even entered the room, I knew who it was. A small moan escaped me. No, not him. Please, not him.
The first time I saw Daniel Hartlein he was six years old.
We had flown into Los Angeles with the Alexanders, and had plans to head off to Disney Land the next day, but with lots of sunshine and half a day to kill, we wound up at our lame hotel pool because Brody was terrified of the ocean. The pool was crowded and noisy (and I kept wondering why everyone wasn’t at the beach where I certainly wished I was), but at least it had a diving board. There were a couple of signs telling everyone that there was no lifeguard on duty, even though we could see that with our own eyes. I was suspended in mid-air when I first spotted him. Just this scrawny kid floundering near the middle of the deep end, and swallowing half the pool by the looks of it.
What I did wasn’t much—it really wasn’t. But I couldn’t just let him drown. Eyes wide open, I swam underwater and gave him a good hard shove toward the side—enough for my mother to reach in and yank him safely out of the water. She wrapped him in a dry towel and hugged him until he caught his breath. I sat with my legs in the water, studying him the way you might a wet puppy that had almost drown. My insides felt all mushy and soft, and I couldn’t say why I couldn’t turn away. Though it didn’t make any sense, there was just something about him that wouldn’t let me. His mom, Anna, was nearly as skinny as her son, and twice as scared. Together, they were a pair I would never forget.
The second time I ever saw him he was leaning against my locker, eyeing me like I was some undiscovered species. That was different. I was fourteen-years-old, and didn’t cause heads to turn. At least, not that I’d noticed. Then again, none of my goals included conquering the XY chromosomes. Graduate top of my class, attend Colorado State, earn a D.V.M. just like my dad. That was the plan.
But he was different, and I could feel it. Though I didn’t know at the time that he was the same boy I’d saved from drowning when he was six, the universe knew it. He was like a meteor rocketing to my earth, and I couldn’t have avoided the impact even if I had wanted to.
I could still see him in that moment. His wavy, sandy brown hair, longish all over and falling into his eyes . . . Daniel’s eyes . . . How easily I’d get lost in them. They were closed now, but it didn’t matter. I’d memorized the color. Grayish blue. Same as the sky before a storm. It suited him.
Wrenching myself from my thoughts, I gasped as I approached the side of his bed, stopping short of touching his skin. I couldn’t tolerate feeling his emotions any more than I already did.
“Creesie, why is he—”
Creesie patted my hand where it rested on the bedrail. “We were in the accident with you. He was driving the—”
“Gre
en car . . . the one that struck me.” I couldn’t believe the odds of it. How was it that the two people I’d saved in my lifetime had been in the accident with me? It was just as Brody had said—freakish.
“It’s no coincidence,” Creesie divulged, looking over at his bandaged head. “Both of you needed a second chance. This is it.”
“This . . .” I waved my arms about, “is it?” I was unable to keep the sarcasm from seeping out. “No winning lottery tickets? No free rides to college? Was this all they had left—two near-death experiences?”
“You were forewarned,” she said lightly. “But you kept going.”
“What?” I started to protest, but stopped short. The nightmare, the one that had haunted me for seven nights. And Mom’s warning. Save yourself. It wasn’t the easiest connection. How could I have known that the old woman in the street was actually me?
“You were expecting a post-it?” Creesie said pleasantly.
“Something a little clearer would have been nice,” I grumbled.
Walking around me, Creesie sank into the chair beside Daniel’s bed and I stared after her. My head was pounding with the rhythm of a thousand tiny fists, and they were all trying to break through.
“Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Hope.” With her head inclined slightly to the right, I knew she’d heard the question I was about to ask. “It’s an old expression— means you shouldn’t second-guess your gifts, but should happily accept them.” Raising a hand of objection, she said, “And yes . . . before you disagree, it is a gift. Rarely are folks given second chances in life. This is yours. Choose wisely, my dear . . . one or the other.”
One or the other. Live or die? Did she have to make it sound so matter-of-fact?
As the difficulty of my choice began to sink in, I saw additional complications. In my mind, unbidden, I envisioned all three: Ethan, here; Mom, elsewhere. And just where, I asked myself, might that leave Daniel? Stuck Somewhere with me?
Pieces of Hope Page 11