Pieces of Hope

by Carter, Carolyn

  Vigilant with my task, I examined the items on his nightstand to see what secrets they revealed about him, absently thinking of my old hand-me-down nightstand and what it might say about me. If memory served, it was cluttered with one dirty sock (which I’d never been able to find the mate to), a blue climbing harness, a package of Twinkies, and beneath all that, a now seriously overdue library book—Zadie Smith’s, White Teeth.

  In dust-free contrast, the nightstand on the right side of Ethan’s bed held a modern lamp (matching the one on the left), his hospital ID badge (featuring an unsmiling Ethan), and a classy-looking Breitling watch. My heart sank when I looked at the time. Already it was past 6:30, and I would bet his shift would be starting at the hospital soon. If so, that left us precious little time together, something I would never get accustomed to.

  He walked through the doorway then, a towel cinched about his narrow waist, his dark hair wet from the shower. For several heartbeats, I couldn’t breathe. Abruptly, I sat up, turning away until the sensation lessened. It seemed so unfair—lopsided, really. It wasn’t as if I affected him this way . . . extracted the air from his lungs, left him gasping for air. How could the sight of him still cause me to react with such intensity? Though the idea of it seemed inescapable in his dreams—where the standard rules of reality no longer applied—I assumed that, once we returned to the living realm, and his human flaws came into focus, any effect he had on me would be minimal.

  But evidently I’d underestimated Ethan.

  Although his pale glow was absent, everything else remained unchanged. I didn’t know what surprised me more—that an earthly being could be so beautiful, or that Ethan profoundly affected me body and soul. He seemed to defy the laws of nature, but, with a smile, I realized there could be an explanation. Across the top of his back, and written in Latin, a tattoo marked his golden skin. Caelitus mihi vires.

  My strength is from heaven.

  Ethan picked up a comb from the dresser, and with barely a glance into the mirror above it, dragged it through his hair. Despite efforts to the contrary, it settled into its own disheveled path. Embarrassed to realize I was spying on him, a nervous giggle—almost a hiccup—escaped me. I was on the verge of admitting that I was intruding somewhere that I didn’t belong. But even as that thought began to sink in, it wasn’t enough to make me leave. Just a slight blip registering on my conscience radar.

  Ethan rattled his head, but unlike his behavior at the hospital, this time he looked around the room with an obvious sense of purpose . . . as if he were looking for someone.

  For me? Again, I giggled.

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Hope?” He stopped himself once, then asked again with less reluctance. “Hope, is that you?”

  “How did you know?” I asked, but Ethan only rattled his head again.

  It brought to mind something that Creesie had told me about people at the Station, something about it taking a lot of practice to move like turtles. Did I move faster than the living without my body? I drifted back to the sound of my mother’s voice, to the instant before the car accident. Gnats in my ears—that’s what it first sounded like—an annoying buzzing of insects. Was that what I sounded like to Ethan?

  I spoke slowly, almost painstakingly, like a record barely spinning, dragging out each sound as though it were a word in itself.

  “I’mmmm . . . heeeerrrre . . .”

  Ethan’s eyes went wide. He fell back against the dresser. “Holy—!”

  His towel slipped, but he grabbed it and tucked it tight. I hadn’t meant to frighten him, but it was funny nonetheless.

  “That’s not funny, Hope!” Ethan spoke in a low growl, rather than his usual deep, soft tone. His jaw tightened same as I’d witnessed during his argument with June, and I was thinking twice about the frightened part. Reading Ethan was apparently not my best subject.

  He scowled, an unfamiliar line appearing between his eyes.

  “Don’t move! I’ll be right back,” he warned as he strode off. I made sure I didn’t budge a centimeter. I froze on my knees at the end of his bed, both hands tightly gripping the upholstered footboard. It was a bit too much; my fingers slipped right through it.

  When he returned, he was dressed in dark green scrubs that made the color of his eyes seem more intense than usual. With a huge sigh of relief, happy that he wasn’t about to leave me anytime soon, I noticed that his feet were bare. My gratitude doubled when I saw that the line on his forehead was absent, and his jaw had relaxed. With great care, he eased himself onto the bed as if he feared he might squish me. Propping an arm out to the side in a u-shape meant for me, I crept up slowly beside him and curled my body around his.

  “I’m sorry about all that,” he said, looking off toward balcony. The sky was now a blistering orange. It was going to be a sunny day. “But, in all fairness . . . you did almost give me a heart attack.” His deep voice was pleasant, almost a caress. I stifled a sigh.

  How eerie this must be for him—hearing my voice, but not seeing my body. I made myself swear not to utter another peep today if I could help it. Not only did I not want to put Ethan in another bad mood, but it was extremely difficult to speak that slowly for any length of time. A person’s natural tendencies just sort of took over.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he went on, his voice eager and full of future promises. “And I’ve already decided where I’m taking you next. Don’t ask for hints. Think of it as a double surprise.”

  I gaped at him, happiness causing a warm sensation to radiate from my toes to my head. If he was making plans to see me while he was very much awake, then that meant he believed that his dreams were real! Sensing my presence in the living realm was one thing; believing I could follow him into his unconscious, quite another.

  “I think you’d want to know that I had another dream about us in our other lifetime. I dream almost nonstop now,” he said. “The guy is maybe nineteen or twenty. In one dream, he was wearing a military uniform. I looked it up and it’s definitely from World War II. But the girl—Oh, the girl . . .” Ethan got this dreamy expression on his face, and I saw the girl in my head before he described her. “Shoulder-length blonde hair, parted on the side. Dark red lips. And each time I’ve seen her she’s wearing a dress.”

  I bit my lip to keep from speaking. A dress? No way was it me. Already guessing at my reaction, he looked in my direction and laughed.

  “I know what you’re thinking . . . but I swear,” he insisted. “She is you. She’s got this way about her, funny and clever, and yet smart and serious all at the same time, and she has this one expression that reminds me of you.”

  The sun broke through on the horizon, and his golden green eyes glimmered in its light. They held me captive me as he continued.

  “I’ve been thinking . . . What if she loved to climb? Wouldn’t that be wild? What if you’re so great at it because you’ve done it before?” As his attention drifted up to the dark-beamed ceiling, his tone grew nostalgic. “In that last dream, we—they—were slow dancing to one of my favorite songs. I had a bad feeling in my gut when I woke up. I could tell some sort of ending was coming.”

  He gave a slight shudder as if he were trying to stave off the feeling.

  “Anyway, there are too many similarities to brush off as coincidence. In the dream, the song that was playing, well, it’s been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. That might not be so strange except that I have no idea where I might have heard her music. She’s an artist from the forties, long before our time—”

  I stiffened, recalling the song that was playing in the diner when I’d first arrived, a song both familiar and unknown. To borrow on Brody’s limited vocabulary, freakish came to mind.

  “Before the dreams,” he said, still staring off at the ceiling, “I couldn’t explain why I loved music from that era. My Aunt Elisa chalks it up to an old soul thing. At least with you here it’s starting to make sense . . .”

  Old souls, I mused thoughtfully. How many years be
fore this lifetime had he and I been bumping into one another? Or if the strength of my reaction were any indication, how many years had we completely missed one another? Even now, with Ethan right beside me, it disturbed me to think of us ever having to separate again.

  “Should I guess that you’ve looked around the place?” he asked. Without thinking, I nodded into his shoulder. “Don’t be too impressed,” he said. “It was all my parents’ idea.”

  He pointed at his dresser, indicating the pictures I’d seen earlier.

  “That’s them at my recent graduation from Tufts University—Patric and Madeline. Madeline didn’t like the idea of me throwing money away on rent so she decided to buy this place. And Dad went along for the ride, like he usually does.” He looked sideways at me, his eyes full of mischief. “Between you and me, I’ve secretly wondered if that’s the key to a long and happy marriage—”

  Throaty laughter escaped him, but I’d already guessed the punch line.

  “You know, going along with whatever your wife wants.”

  If it were possible, I would have reached up with my lobster toes and pinched one of his tender inner thighs. Hard.

  Still laughing delightedly, he said, “I don’t know why I think that’s so funny. It’s possible I’m delirious with you here.”

  I curled my toes under as my stomach did a little flip.

  “Anyway, just after graduation, Madeline found this old building.” His shrug seemed to indicate this sort of thing happened all the time, but it went against my natural impulses not to blurt out a response. What parent buys a building for their twenty-year-old son? As if sensed my shock, he explained, “It’s nothing special. Madeline’s family buys and sells real estate all over the world. Think of it as the family business . . .”

  He studied the details of the room before speaking again.

  “You should have seen it a few months ago—holes in the walls, windows boarded up—the place was trashed.” He flashed a smile. “Although my mother threw a fit, I did a lot of the work myself. Now we have two levels completed, this one and the first floor, where we’ve rented the space to this amazing Moroccan restaurant.” I watched something brighten his expression. When he spoke again, his voice dropped lower, softer. I could feel it vibrating on my skin. “I’ve been thinking that after . . . that is so say, after you wake up, I’d like to take you there for our first official date.” I watched a smile dance across his face.

  Then he changed the subject.

  “But as for the refurbishing, Patric is really getting into it. He’s an architect. At least, he used to be. My father’s retired now. But he designed the overall space and then Madeline designed the interior. There’s not a lot of me around here unless you checked out the storage closet and found my camping gear and kayak. That and the books. My tastes and Madeline’s are worlds apart. If you asked her though, she’d probably say she’s average. Down to earth, even.” He laughed at some inside joke.

  I looked again at the woman in the photo. Earthy didn’t come to mind.

  “My father could get by in this life with almost nothing. He started off that way. But Madeline. . .” He left his thought unfinished, pausing to drag a hand slowly through his hair. Whatever he was dancing around, he almost seemed embarrassed by it.

  “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough so now’s as good a time as any to tell you. It won’t be so shocking when you hear it a second time.” He paused. “What I’m trying to say is that my mother’s side of the family has more than their fair share of—eccentricities.” He made a face as if the word didn’t feel right on his tongue. Then, he said, “My family always thought of me as older than my years. They didn’t understand me much, and I didn’t like to tell them much. As a kid, it earned me the nickname, ‘little man.’”

  Though I had no idea where he was going with this, I smiled. Ethan had that old soul quality to him.

  “On my tenth birthday, I cut a trip to South America short because Madeline wanted to throw me a party. She got the entire family excited about it. But I wasn’t quite as thrilled. I wasn’t great with people lavishing attention on me. Elias Burr, my grandfather, was sent to interrogate me. He was supposed to find out what my idea of the perfect gift was. The man was relentless.” As Ethan thought back, he shook his head in disbelief. “In the end, all Burr came away with was that I was an outdoorsy kid—a concept lost on my family—indoorsy was more their style. I told him as little as possible—maybe talked about a recent fishing trip and saving for a small boat someday. I think I even mentioned some countries I planned to visit soon . . .” He laughed again, louder this time. “But, in a million years, I couldn’t have guessed what was coming . . .

  “On the morning of my birthday, Madeline woke me up and announced that I had a special surprise waiting in the driveway. I flew down the stairs, flung open the door, and was struck speechless.”

  I had no idea what was so funny to Ethan, but the sound of it—the feel of it—was too contagious to stop. Ever so quietly I laughed with him, anxiously waiting to hear about this gift. But it took him several tries to stop laughing.

  “My crazy family had bought me a yacht, insisting it was, get this . . . ‘a small boat, perfect for fishing.’” He whispered conspiratorially, “I guess the secret’s out . . . My family is certifiable. Your boyfriend’s the only sane one in the bunch.”

  Boyfriend? Did that imply I was now the girlfriend? I beamed a smile at him.

  Ethan shifted as the alarm on his watch sounded, accidentally leaning into me as he reached for it on the nightstand. I felt his body go rigid. Watched his eyes go wide.

  “Hope? Is that you?” He tightened his fists and grimaced. My heart was pounding in my stomach. “I. Feel. You!” He sounded out of breath. Excited. “I can feel the way you feel about me. God, it’s so . . . intense!”

  My entire body instantly got hot and I vaporized from the bed, moving faster than I was aware that I could move. I felt invaded, encroached upon, exposed. I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to still the swirling in my head, watching as Ethan struggled, for once, to breathe. Painted on his perfect face was that wrenchingly innocent look I’d feared.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, Hope,” His voice was so raw it caused the hair on my arms to rise. Then his eyes scanned the room—searching for me, I was sure of it. But how was the more obvious question. Inexplicably, his gaze froze and his eyes found mine. “I can’t believe this.” He looked away, down at the floor, pausing between words as if he were experiencing something monumental. Painful. Or pleasurable. It was impossible to tell which. “I was just looking right at you, wasn’t I?”

  I pushed myself farther into the corner and held my breath.

  An astonished smile erupted on his face. He took several steps towards me then knelt down. Now, less than a foot from me, he raised his palm and dropped it. “You’re right there, aren’t you?” He looked happily shocked, gaping at me with wide-open eyes. “You have such an energy about you. How did I ever miss it?”

  I froze in the corner, stopping just short of pushing myself through the wall. Despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. Aside from that, his intrusion had left in a weakened state and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to leave.

  Ethan glanced hurriedly at the watch on his arm, gave an irritated look, and walked over to a large dresser. He yanked out a pair of socks. His shoes were visible at the end of the bed. He slipped them on while still standing, knotting them quickly. Then his eyes brightened with a sudden thought. “See me tonight,” he urged. “I’ll make it up to you!” He blew me a kiss before he ran out the door. “Tonight,” he repeated. “I’ll be waiting!”

  I slid down the wall, acutely aware that something was wrong. In the brief instant the two of us had connected, I hadn’t felt anything emanating from Ethan.

  Nothing.

  How was it that I could sense everyone else’s emotions . . .

  Feel their desires, their innermost longings, their
pain . . .

  But not from the one person I most wished I could?

  11 Realizations

  After three unsuccessful attempts to peel back a portion of the wall—thinking that a visit to Amora might lift my spirits—I gave up on a shortcut and imagined myself back at Liberty Station. Several young people, speaking in foreign tongues, were awaiting their turns at the revolving door when I arrived. I stood behind a boy in a cottony-white turban and a black-haired girl with dark, enchanting eyes. As I watched them, I asked myself if Ethan and I made an equally stunning couple, or if the idea of this was laughable. Perhaps he outshone me here as easily as he did in the living realm.

  It wasn’t a sad thought, I realized, just a realistic one. With all the joy surrounding me at the Station, it was difficult to sustain a bad mood of any kind for more than seconds at a time. This place was like chocolate cake for the soul.

  In the bustling café, I spotted Creesie at our usual corner booth. Rin and Charlotte sat across from her, and all three of them seemed spellbound by a tall, teenaged boy who knelt beside the table. Golden-haired and animated—I questioned if he could speak if his hands were tied behind his back—he had them grabbing their sides in hysterical laughter. Every once in a while, Creesie would cry, “Oo-hoo!” or “Oh, no!” and the golden-haired boy would continue as she rapped her hand on the table.

  I broke into a grin at the sight of her. Making my way through the crowded café, I slid into the booth beside Charlotte, noticing that neither she nor Rin were dressed in their usual prom-wear. I raised an eyebrow at their attire; their bright T-shirts mimicked mine. We could have passed for triplets.