Pieces of Hope

by Carter, Carolyn

  “Eavesdropper!” Mac cried from behind me. “Creesie, now you’re showing off for no reason at all!” Cat pulled on Mac’s ear to turn his head, and I laughed.

  Mom moved aside several empty boxes of sweets and sank down beside Creesie. Gratitude was all over her face. Though I wasn’t reading her mind, I knew what she was thinking . . . Creesie had gotten me here. And Creesie had kept me safe. With a shudder, I thought back to my thirteen-day journey. My first pangs of the upcoming goodbye hit me square in the chest. I would miss her. I would miss all of them so much.

  Gus slid to the end of the bench; I sat down next to Creesie.

  “Try to remember that I don’t have all of eternity,” I teased her.

  She grinned. “Still trying to hurry me up, I see . . .”

  “Creesie is only here because of you,” Mom said, sending another glowing look of gratitude her way. “They say that love makes the world go round, but I’ve always thought it was kindness. I’ve been especially proud to know my children think the same way.

  “It’s because of that kindness, Katydid, and your willingness to save a stranger’s life on a drugstore parking lot three years ago that we sit here today. You gave her four more years with her beloved, Joseph. Because of you, she came within days of celebrating her sixtieth anniversary. It was a date that was very dear to her heart . . . if only because it meant so much to Joseph.”

  I had a momentary flashback to the accident, and Creesie’s death—the thought of a missed anniversary flitting through and then out of me.

  Mom went on, graciously waving off Creesie’s offering of sweets. “Once I found her, it took very little convincing on my part to get her to help. After all, Creesie’s such a good soul that even if you hadn’t saved her life, I’m guessing she still would have said yes.”

  “Sugar would have sweetened the pot, Vivienne.” Creesie reached for more of the diminishing fluff of cotton candy. At last, I could see all of Mom’s face around it.

  “In the span of a lifetime,” Mom said, “one never knows how far those kindnesses will ripple . . .”

  “Like tossing a pebble into a pond,” Creesie agreed, “and rescuing the fly from the frog.”

  “And what about you, Gus?” I asked, ignoring the truth of that analogy. “How do you fit into this?”

  In his light-as-salt accent, Gus said, “Me? Oh, I’m nothing special . . . More of an old family friend, really.”

  “That’s it?” I was on the verge of asking who’s family? But there was something weird going on with my left hand. As I reached for more cotton candy, it suddenly went see-through. “That’s weird.”

  They didn’t look startled, but all three of them stood abruptly.

  “It’s time,” Mom said, taking my hand. “Nothing to be scared of—it’s just a sign that you’re becoming even more separated from your physical body. We need to get you back now.”

  We took the same path Mom and I had meandered down earlier—only at a much brisker pace—Mom on my right, Creesie on my left—the rest of them a few steps behind. This time the moon was full and bright. And blue, like my mood. Though my heart was racing at the thought of having to say goodbye, a squeak of laughter escaped me.

  “Mom, do you have to be so literal?”

  “Not me,” she smiled, her eyes shifting toward Creesie.

  “Some things do happen once in a blue moon,” she reminded me. “I keep telling you there’s a reason for these clichés.”

  A few paces ahead, I spied a fork in the road. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Not so difficult to avoid; I was too busy crying to get a good eye-roll in.

  Their arms were around me again, patting me, squeezing me. I realized I had no idea how to tell them goodbye. I already missed them terribly.

  Charlotte’s voice in my head was unexpected. Be brave, Hope . . .

  I thought back to my mind-boggling journey, my trip down memory lane, my mother’s valiant efforts to return me safely home. I thought about Ethan and Daniel and how my life could unfold, one way or the other—in immeasurably different ways, if I only took the leap—but at least, there, it would unfold in some way. Here, I would never get that chance.

  I had one last question for her, but the words wouldn’t come. Wrapped in Mom’s arms, I inhaled the sweet scent of her. “This was your glimpse, Katydid,” she whispered. “I hope it’s a little sweeter for you now. Always remember—life is a beautiful thing.”

  By the time I turned away, the sun was rising at the end of the very straight road. It stretched on forever. Perfectly spaced Cypress trees lined either side, and grass the color of Ethan’s eyes ran as far I could see. It didn’t seem real. I thought I saw paint marks.

  “It was a painting I saw once,” Charlotte said shyly. “It looks like such a happy place, doesn’t it? I thought it was fitting.”

  I nodded as I looked again, pausing as long as I could. “I guess this is goodbye?” I choked, my voice breaking at the good. It was, I was thinking, anything but good.

  “And how do you plan on getting there, young lady?” Cat asked sharply.

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” Following Cat’s cue (the sarcasm made it easier) I glanced at my red sneakers, thought of the wonders and magical beings in this place and muttered, “I guess I’ll tap my heels together and mumble something about home.”

  There was a pause. No comeback. My heart stopped. I thought for sure that one of them was about to tell me this had been a dream—only and just a dream—until Gus threw up his long arms and howled, “Gotcha!”

  Everyone but Charlotte laughed. Then, quite seriously, she said, “Why wouldn’t we just take a shortcut?”

  “We?” It was too good to be true. “Did you say we?”

  With a snort, Cat said, “You didn’t think after all of our hard word we would send you back home alone, did you? You’d lose your way in a heartbeat . . .”

  “In a blinding instant,” seconded Mac.

  “Faster than a one-eyed Eskimo selling sunglasses in a snowstorm,” Gus concluded. It was probably the punch line of a recent and very bad joke.

  “Wha—I—Yeah, no doubt!” I high-fived Gus.

  Mom brushed back that same strand of hair, tucking it neatly again behind my ear. “That’s why we’re sending Rin and Charlotte back with you.”

  I exhaled heavily, my brave front exhausted. “That’s good news . . . great news, in fact.”

  Rin and Charlotte nodded, Charlotte more enthusiastically. This was better than I could have hoped for—I wasn’t going back to the living realm alone. With Mom and I super-glued to each other’s fingertips, I couldn’t imagine where I was going to find the strength to tear us apart. Now that Rin and Charlotte were in the picture, the separation seemed slightly less painful.

  “You can talk to me anytime,” Mom said, making sure to keep her voice light and even—almost casual—as if this wasn’t permanent. “On any given day, I’m not more than a whisper away.”

  I steeled my resolve, put on the bravest face I could manage, and slowly released her hand. I wanted to make it easier for her. “I love you, Mom. I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry about me, anymore.”

  We had walked only a few yards down the very straight dirt lane, past several of the impossibly symmetrical trees, Charlotte on my left, Rin on my right, when I ran back into their arms. I only needed sixty more seconds, I told myself.

  Just another minute . . .

  Creesie, Mac, and Cat had morphed into their older selves—silver-haired, fuller-cheeked, and beautiful—too much for my tear ducts to take. I liked them better this way. I tried to memorize them this way, rather than their teen shells I had grown accustomed to.

  Cat, Mac, and Creesie held onto me, whispering words of encouragement and love, but it was heart wrenching to hear it. I knew there was a strong possibility I would never see them again, and saying goodbye in a forever kind of way was the worst kind of agony imaginable. Bittersweet came to mind. Sure, thanks to them I was returning to the living rea
lm, but why was it that when you took one path, you had to pass up something else equally as great?

  “You never know,” Creesie comforted, her head tilting a little as she eavesdropped on my thoughts. “Life isn’t usually a straight road, Hope. It’s entirely possible you’ll see us again.” Her round eyes held me steady.

  “Really?” I brightened at the idea, tears dripping down my face. And then I asked the same thing I had wondered right after Mom died, “Where will you go from here?”

  They laughed delightedly at this, as if I were a child asking about the complexities of the universe. And in that instant, I realized that I was.

  It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Creesie had a tendency to take a long time to get to the point so when she smiled brightly at me, her round face glowing, I didn’t quite get what she meant. “Home,” she said simply. “We’re all going home.”

  I thought I nodded, but it took a few seconds for that to sink in. I looked up at the oversized moon, casting its shimmering blue light in a wide arc around us, illuminating the wooded path that Mom and I had walked a short while ago. Then I looked over my shoulder to where Rin and Charlotte waited for me, standing before a painted sunrise that looked a lot like the one at the Station, glowing in shades of purple-blues. Just a portrait from one of Charlotte’s memories, something to comfort me on my journey back to the living realm.

  Here I stood at the fork in the road. Here I stood Somewhere.

  My heart ached with the thought of all the things I’d miss.

  Mom had been waiting patiently beside them, but I wasn’t about to leave without memorizing her face one last time . . . The tiny smile lines around her eyes, the way her wavy chestnut hair seemed to have a mind of its own (just like mine). The way her eyes sparkled when she spoke my name. She pulled me into her arms once again, keeping her promise that she wouldn’t leave until I was ready to let her go. But somehow, in the midst of memorizing her scent—a delicious combination of whispery soft petals, white cake, and clean sheets—and after relishing the warmth of her soft arms around me, the moment unexpectedly arrived.

  “Mom . . .” I remembered what she had said to me many years ago. On a morning she’d spent crying at the kitchen sink, wearing an old flowered apron, when her four-year-old daughter had given her a gift . . . just a small blue rock that meant nothing at all. And I whispered her words back, “If I ever forget how much you love me, remind me.”

  I touched her fingertips and walked away slowly. As I reached Rin and Charlotte, she blew me a kiss. It landed lightly on my cheek.

  I wanted to remember all of them just like this, smiling and waving as Charlotte pulled back a perfect Cypress tree—too perfect—and beckoned me inside.

  27 Waking the Dead

  “Give me a minute,” I told them as we rounded the corner near the nurses’ station. It was quiet this time of the night. Almost midnight.

  “We don’t have a minute!” Rin said irritably, steering me toward my room. Then she corrected herself, “You don’t have a minute!”

  “You took all that time at the fair and I don’t have a—?”

  “Take your minute, Hope.” Charlotte grabbed Rin by the back of the shirt. “We’ll wait right here.”

  “But make it a quick one!” Rin yelled. “A thirty-second minute!”

  I flew—flitted, more so—straight into Daniel’s room, right over the heads of the nurses who were quietly working. Once I reached his bedside, I gasped. It was true. He looked beyond terrible, and that didn’t begin to cover it. There were obnoxious machines around him now—one a heart monitor, for sure—and several tubes entering his body.

  I grabbed onto the bedrail, but my hands fell, plunging through it without any effort on my part. I caught myself just before I fell into him. That transparency thing was taking its toll. I wiggled my hands in front of me to get them to solidify. It didn’t work.

  Carefully, I leaned down closer to his ear. “Daniel, listen. I know you can hear me.” Our connection was strong; I hoped I was right. “You know that I love you, right . . . and you know you can trust me.”

  This part I hadn’t rehearsed so I wasn’t sure how it was going to come out.

  “So you need to trust me when I tell you that if you don’t come back soon—and I mean, soon with six or seven o’s soon, you’re going to miss out on one hell of a life!” I fudged a little on the next part; after all, I’d only seen one memory from the future, but I guessed that I was more or less right. “You’re going to be an artist. You’re going to see the world, and . . .” I swallowed, pausing longer than I wanted to. “You’re going to love again, I promise.”

  Charlotte and Rin were calling me now. “Hope, get your skinny—”

  “No matter what’s happened, I love you, Daniel. And I’ll eventually forgive you. But I know I won’t forget.” I couldn’t look at him as I said this. “I’m sorry for that. But this isn’t our lifetime—it’s mine and Ethan’s, the one we never had. I can explain later. But please, Daniel, please come back. I’ve seen the life you’ll miss!”

  I bent forward, barely touching my lips to his forehead, then buzzed (at Charlotte and Rin’s screeching insistence) back to my hospital room.

  The entire family was there—me included. Gigi looked a mess. I’d never seen her like that. Her auburn hair had grays around her temples, her taupe skirt was wrinkled, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Like the rest of them, she looked like she could use a whole week’s sleep. Claire had crashed on Brody’s lap in the fake leather chair perched at the foot of my bed, both of them seemingly catatonic. Dad, with several days’ growth on his face, mindlessly stared off into space. I avoided looking at myself. I was trying not to freak out. I was trying to be brave and good and not run hysterically from the room. So it was easy to seek out Ethan and let him steal away my worries.

  I’d forgotten the way he could stun me senseless.

  It was like I’d never looked at him before this moment. And yet I longed to look at him for every moment thereafter. His pale violet glow was present—just a touch around the edges, not much. But it was nice to see, anyway. It was a subtle reminder of our dream world together, of our unique bond. I looked into his eyes, loving the way they glowed all green and golden, and praying with every bit of my soul that he would remind me how much he loved me before I jumped back into that miserable wreck of a body. And then I realized. What if I couldn’t speak when I woke up? What if Ethan didn’t know I loved him still?

  He was wearing street clothes, not scrubs, and distantly I could recall his telling me that he had quit his job, blocking out the more difficult reasons having to do with me. As he sprawled in a chair at the head of my bed, I walked up to him and gasped, taking in that enormous shiner that Daniel had recently given him. Up close, I could see that it had turned a ghastly green. It looked like it really hurt. More puzzling was guessing what his explanation might have been for it. After all, he had gone to sleep without it, and woke up with it. Huge and accusing, it was, for me, a vicious reminder of my deception.

  Ethan looked miserable. And in his misery I found inspiration. It was obvious that he needed something at this moment—a message, perhaps from the beyond.

  Well, maybe not so far as all that.

  I kneeled, leaning in as close to him as I could without actually touching his skin. I imagined the whispers of my breath tickling his ear, reaching into his subconscious.

  Then with great effort, I whispered as slowly as I could, “I’m heeeerrreee . . .”

  His body tensed. His eyes went wide.

  “For obvious reasons, I have to keep this short,” I went on, more like myself now. “But I’m ready to start a life with you and I’m so sorry for everything. Give me a minute and I’ll explain everything . . .”

  Ethan jumped out of the chair.

  I stood up, happily shocked, content in knowing that he had heard every word.

  Rin rolled her eyes. “Are you ready yet? Or maybe there’s someone down the hall or on
the next floor, you should visit with first.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, ignoring her sarcasm. “Is Amora still here?”

  There was a screech that hurt my ears. Rin looked at Charlotte, furious.

  “Be brave, Hope,” Charlotte repeated. “I know this is scary, but that’s why we’re with you. To help you to”—she swallowed—“transition.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Transition? But instead I asked, “How long will you stay?”

  “Until you tell us to go,” Charlotte said.

  “Oh. Good.” I was trying to sound brave. “Um, that will be never.” This made her laugh. Then, I babbled, “This will make a really good story, won’t it? When I wake up, I mean. I can’t wait to see Ethan’s face when I tell him about the three little heads I saw on that Ferris wheel ride! Oh, and he names the dog Finley—after his brother from that other lifetime. Hilarious!”

  “Yes, well . . .” Charlotte’s voice dropped off sharply. Neither she nor Rin would look at me. I sensed a very big and difficult but coming. My pulse sped up enough to set off the heart machine linked to my physical body. The threads binding me to it weren’t nearly as tenuous as everyone had assumed.

  “Is it bad?” Dad sprang to my side as though someone had stabbed me. It was disturbing to see how terrified he was. That was one emotion I wasn’t used to seeing on my father’s reliable face.

  “No, David . . . everything’s all right. Just a glitch.” Ethan moved swiftly, flipping up switches and disabling the alarm. A nurse ran in, but Ethan waved her off. She flashed him a courteous smile and left.

  Dad slowly sat back down, now watching Ethan as he watched me. Ethan seemed to be studying my color—currently a deathly gray—and I thought he was thinking I might have returned and was merely waiting for proof. A few seconds later, he touched my face, running his fingers gently along my forehead, then down the side of my cheek. I marveled as they lingered along my lips because I could feel them there.

  Your mother came to visit me, Ethan whispered in my head. I know all about your choice and our lifetime before. He groaned. I’m an idiot. Come back to me, Hope.