This Time for Keeps

by Maureen Child

  This Time for Keeps

  by Maureen Child, written as Kathleen Kane

  Copyright 1998 by Maureen Child

  To my daughter, Sarah Child, for pigtails and dimples, for old movies and Little House on the Prairie, for Garth Brooks and Reel Big Fish, for driving too fast and dances with a "Big Finish." For late night gossip sessions, bear hugs, shared tears and hysterical laughter. But most especially, for your gentle heart. Being your mother has always been a gift for which I'm grateful daily. I love you.

  PROLOGUE

  Los Angeles, Present Day

  Tracy Hill died in a freak bowling accident.

  She never would have been at the bowling alley in the first place if it hadn't been for the new, blue-eyed lawyer working for her advertising firm. She'd agreed to meet him there and had taken her friend Linda along for moral support.

  Of course, if ol' Blue Eyes hadn't bought the fries and if Linda hadn't cheated on her diet, the accident wouldn't have happened. As it was, Tracy sat on the bench awaiting her turn and watched as Linda shoved two French fries into her mouth just before picking up her bowling ball.

  Up and down the length of the Wonder Bowl, pins smashed against the wall and fell into a pit, sending a thunderous crash echoing through the building. Tracy glanced at the lit scoreboard on the wall at the end of the lane and smiled. She was winning.

  Linda held the bowling ball close to her chest and began her halting "lucky walk" to the foul line. As she neared her mark, she swung her right arm back, preparing to hurl the heavy ball down the gleaming wooden lane.

  Instead, that bowling ball slid from her grasp. Her lingers, slick with the grease of too many French fries, couldn't hold it.

  Tracy stared in disbelief as the black ball flew at her. Closer, closer. All she could see was that solid, heavy orb of blackness hurtling toward her head. Then the world and everything she had known splintered in a blinding flash of pain.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Screw karma, I'm not going back." Tracy shook her head and gave her surroundings a quick glance. If this was Heaven, she wasn't impressed. Honey-toned paneling covered the walls, recessed lighting shone down on her from the ceiling, and the three desks on the golden floor were unremarkable. Golden floor?

  Her eyebrows lifted as she gave the polished gold bricks beneath her feet her full attention. All right, so it wasn't an ordinary office. She shifted her gaze to the bank of windows along the far wall. Outside, a deep blue sky stretched on forever. Frothy white clouds butted up against the building, preventing her from seeing the ground— if Heaven had ground.

  Turning her head slightly, she looked at the three spirit members of the Resettlement Committee. At least, she assumed they were spirits. It was either that, or the three of them were headed for a truly bizarre costume party.

  The instant she saw them standing in front of their desks, she silently named them Tom, Dick, and Harry. Tom wore what looked like a Brooks Brothers suit, Harry looked as though he'd stepped out of a recreation of the signing of the Constitution, and Dick was wearing a floor-length toga, of all things.

  Surprisingly enough, except for the differences in their outfits, they looked a lot alike. Each of them had snowy white hair, pale blue eyes and a worried expression creasing their features.

  A thread of apprehension unraveled inside her. Should she be worried that they were worried?

  "Miss Hill," Tom said in what he probably thought was a most convincing tone. "You must go back. There are rules, you know."

  Yes, she knew. The moment she died, she had remembered each of her previous existences. Along with all of the rules involving Reincarnation. Frowning, Tracy sat down on a straight-backed chair and crossed her legs. "Forget it, guys," she said and folded her arms over her chest. "Been there, done that."

  "I beg your pardon?" Harry asked.

  Apparently, Heaven— or wherever— didn't keep up with slang. She brushed at the soft, worn fabric of her favorite jeans and told herself that at least she had been dressed comfortably when she died. If she had to spend eternity in high heels, she would have really been cranky.

  "Listen fellas," she went on and gave them each a smile before continuing. "From where I'm sitting, Reincarnation is the pits. I appreciate that it's your job to get me back to Earth as quickly as you can, but frankly, I’m just not interested." Actually, all she was interested in at the moment was a nice cold glass of white wine. Almost before the thought had formed in her mind, a crystal goblet appeared in her hand. As she watched, a pale gold liquid rose up in the glass. Smiling to herself, she took a sip. Not bad.

  "Miss Hill," Tom spoke again. "According to our records," he paused to consult an ordinary looking clipboard, "you were not scheduled for collection for several more decades."

  "Decades?” she echoed, her fingers tightening around the crystal stem.

  "I'm afraid," Tom continued, "your… demise was premature."

  "Premature." Reaching up, Tracy pushed her short blond hair behind her ear and wished for chocolate. Instantly, a small, delicately made table appeared at her side. Resting atop it was a silver tray bearing a wider assortment of chocolates than she had ever seen before. Grinning, she chose one and popped it into her mouth. Heavenly, she thought, then smiled. Oh, she could get used to this.

  “If you would please pay attention to the matter at hand,” Tom snapped, eyeing her treat irritably.

  "Sorry," she muttered and dutifully swallowed. "But really, premature or not, I died. It's over. Finito. Finished. Done." Tracy shrugged, flicked a crumb of chocolate off of her UCLA sweatshirt and reached for another candy. As she popped it into her mouth, she grinned. "And I'm in no hurry to go back, thanks.”

  "This just doesn't happen," Dick whispered to himself, wringing his hands like one of the witches in Macbeth.

  "Most extraordinary," Harry agreed with a solemn nod.

  Finishing off her second piece of candy, Tracy stood up, set her wine glass down on the table and looked at the three faces studying her. "Look guys, you can't force me to go back, right?”

  The three of them frowned in concert, then bent their heads together for a whispered conversation. After a moment or two, they straightened again. "No," Tom admitted. "But we do implore you to listen to reason.”

  "What reason could you possibly give me to go back to Earth?” she asked. “Every time I have a life, it ends in disaster.”

  "Now really," Tom interrupted, "aren't you exaggerating just a bit?"

  “Am I?” she retorted, eyebrows arching high on her forehead. "Check your precious records if you don't believe me."

  Obediently, he bent his head and began flipping through page after page of shining silver parchment. While he looked, Tracy talked.

  "Take the Chicago fire, for example," she said and nodded when the suit frowned. "Not only did Missus O'Leary's cow wipe out most of the Windy City, the damn thing got me, too.”

  "Hmm…"

  Ignoring the three of them, she went on, warming to her theme. "Then there was the wagon train."

  "Now really, Miss Hill," Tom said, obviously the spirit in charge. "One can hardly bring up a wagon train incident. At that time, all of those who traveled in such a manner took great risks.”

  "Yeah," she shot back. “But how many pioneers died when a potbellied stove fell out of a wagon and landed on their heads?”

  He scowled. "Not many."

  “And what about the Titanic?"

  "Eh?" he muttered and searched through his papers again.

  "The Titanic," she repeated, tapping her foot against the golden floor. "Steerage? Drowning?"

  "Yes, well. Most of the souls on board perished in such a fashion. Hardly remarkable.”

  “I’ll bet if you look, you'l
l find that I'm the only one who drowned in a barrel of beer the night before the iceberg.”

  “Oh my,” he muttered and looked up from the records.

  “See?” she said, lifting both hands in an exaggerated shrug. "With that kind of history, why would I want to go back? What's next? A satellite drops out of orbit and lands on me?”

  "Now, now," one of them soothed.

  "Forget it," Tracy said flatly and shook her head. "Besides, I wouldn't go through being a kid again for anybody. I hated being a teenager. Zits and depression. No thanks."

  Tom tossed his ledgers onto one of the matching desks and faced her squarely. “Miss Hill, I must tell you that you are risking eternity with this rash decision.”

  "Huh?"

  "Each soul has a different path," he explained in a strained tone. “And each of those souls must progress through many lifetimes to learn the lessons it needs to proceed to the next dimension."

  "So," Tracy said thoughtfully, “You're telling me that if I don't go back, I won't get to go forward either."

  "Precisely." He beamed at her.

  "I can live with that," she said after a moment's consideration. After all, any place where chocolate was available on demand couldn't be too bad. And if she was already dead, she wouldn't be gaining weight. She didn't care what Tom, Dick, and Harry said. This place sounded like Heaven to her.

  “One of you try to talk to her,” Tom muttered and stepped back.

  "My dear," Harry said gently, "we really can't allow this situation to go on. You must live the ninety-five years for which you were originally scheduled."

  Ninety-five? Wow. And she had never believed in working out. If she had exercised too, she might have made it to one hundred and ten. If not for French fries and bowling balls, that is.

  “If we could arrange for you to reenter life without having to start from scratch, so to speak, would you reconsider?”

  "You mean. I wouldn't have to be born and grow up again?” she asked, wanting to clarify his offer.

  "Exactly." He smiled at her benignly and waved one hand behind his back at his two cohorts who were trying to get a word in.

  Apparently, his idea wasn't a popular one with the others, but as much as she hated to admit it, Tracy was intrigued. This might just have a few possibilities. “Say I agreed to go back." She added, "Hypothetically," when the three spirits looked triumphant. "You'd have to agree to meet certain conditions.”

  "Unheard of," Tom snapped.

  "Hush," Harry told him waspishly.

  "Oh dear.” Dick whispered, now beginning to wring the fabric of his toga.

  "What exactly are these conditions, Miss Hill?" Harry looked over the tops of his granny glasses at her.

  "First," she said and picked up her wine for a quick sip. "I want to go back as the same age I was when I died."

  "I don't know…” Harry looked at the others.

  "This was your idea," Tom told him, effectively taking a step back from the entire affair.

  "Twenty-seven was a good age for me," Tracy stated plainly. "Not too young and not too old. So how about it?"

  Harry's lips tightened. "Agreed."

  Tracy grinned. This might work out pretty well after all. Just remembering all of her previous incarnations had her ready to bargain for the best deal possible. After all, if she was going to live to be ninety-five, she wanted to be damned comfortable doing it.

  “I also want to be a female again." She grimaced slightly as she admitted, "I always have been, and frankly, the idea of being a man doesn't appeal to me at all. No offense."

  "None taken, I assure you," Tom said snidely and Tracy's brows lifted. She hadn't expected heavenly beings to indulge in sarcasm.

  "A twenty-seven-year-old female,” Harry repeated.

  "Also," she said and began strolling slowly around the office, well aware that the three spirits were turning in place to keep wary eyes on her. "I want to be as healthy as I was and live my entire allotted ninety-five years."

  "Certainly," Harry muttered. "That is the whole point of these negotiations.”

  "Good." She stopped, turned, and smiled at the three of them. "I also want to be wealthy."

  "Well, really!" Tom scowled at her, then looked to Harry.

  “This is completely outrageous.”

  Tracy's smile broadened. She took another sip of the rather excellent wine, then said, "It's you guys who need your records straightened out. I'm perfectly content to stay right where I am.”

  Another huddled conversation with three voices blending, arguing. Finally, Harry turned to her and nodded. "Done. Wealthy it is." He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “We have a deal, then?"

  "Not yet. There's just two little things left," she said.

  "What is left?" Tom demanded.

  "I don't want to fall in love again," Tracy told him, swallowing back a quick flush of embarrassment. All right, so it sounded silly. But damn it, she had lived eight lifetimes and each of those lives had ended abruptly— usually because she was traipsing around after some man. Heck, she wouldn't even have been at the blasted bowling alley if not for that cute new lawyer at her firm. A brief pang of regret erupted in her chest at the thought of never seeing him again.

  Utterly flustered, poor little Dick started quivering, sending the folds of his toga rippling around his reed-thin body.

  "We can't promise you that," Tom snapped.

  "Why not?" she demanded.

  "Because it's simply not our department," Harry told her with a helpless lift of his shoulders.

  "Well, I'm not going to risk it again." She shook her head firmly. "No sir. Men have been nothing but trouble for me since 1320 when my own Sir Galahad charged his horse right over me in the dark.” Nope, if she was going to go through all the trouble to live again, then she was going to do it on her own terms. And love was not part of the bargain. Tracy sighed. "Sorry boys, guess it's not going to work after all."

  Harry, adjusting his tiny rectangular glasses at the end of his nose, spared a quick glance at his fellow spirits before turning back to study Tracy. He nodded slowly and promised, "We will do all we can to keep you from finding love."

  "That's the best you can do?" she asked.

  He smiled gently. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

  Healthy, wealthy, and nearly seventy years to enjoy it, she told herself. Surely she could avoid love this time. With a little extra insurance.

  "In that case, the one last thing I want seems to be the most important.”

  Tom's eyebrows lowered dangerously.

  Harry spoke up quickly. "What is that, my dear?"

  "I want to be able to remember all of my past lives."

  "Absolutely not!" Tom huffed indignantly.

  "Oh, this is most improper," Dick whined.

  "We have found," Harry said, loud enough to be heard over the others, “that having such memories only clouds the judgment.”

  She was ready for that argument. "But this isn't your usual type of case, is it?"

  “No…"

  Tracy's gaze shifted from one to the other of them and finally settled on Harry. "If you can't guarantee that I won't fall in love, the least you can do is let me remember why I shouldn't.”

  "I suppose…"

  Tom gasped, clearly horrified that Harry was weakening. "Look, it's not like I'm going to tell anybody." She laughed and shook her head. “Heck, even if I did, who’d believe me?"

  "There is that," Tom admitted.

  “So it's a deal?” she prodded.

  The three of them muttered amongst themselves for several long, worrisome moments, but finally, they quieted and Harry nodded. "Agreed," he said. "Although, I must tell you, we do have our reservations about this.”

  Tracy grinned at him. She refused to be worried because they insisted on it. With the information she'd gained through eight lifetimes, she knew she could handle just about anything. "Trust me. It'll be fine. I'll remember everything, right?"

  “Everything.”
<
br />   "And the memories stay right up until the day I die again?"

  Three short nods.

  "Okay, guys," she said and shook the hand Harry extended toward her. "It's a deal. So," she asked. “When do I leave?”

  Tom smoothed the lapels of his suit, then reached for his clipboard. He glanced at the top page, then looked back at her. “Immediately,” he said. “There will be an appropriate body ready in approximately seven minutes.”

  "Wow, you guys work fast." She finished the last of her wine, set the glass down on Tom's pristine desk, and enjoyed it when he frowned in response. As she moved across the office to a suddenly wide-open doorway, she glanced over her shoulder at the three spirits. "I'll stay in contact with you guys, right?"

  No answer.

  Tracy stopped, cocked her head to one side and narrowed her gaze thoughtfully. "Hey, I want to be able to get in touch with you guys if everything isn't just the way we agreed."

  Harry took a step forward and nodded at her. “Very well.” He waved one hand in the air, then extended that hand toward her.

  Tracy came closer and he dropped a gold ring into her open palm. Her gaze narrowing, she picked up the heavy band to examine it. Brushed gold with a delicate, etched vine running across the top of it, the ring was beautiful. And way too big for her. "What's this for?" she asked, glancing up to look into Harry's eyes.

  "When you want to contact us, simply hold onto this ring and visualize us."

  “Hmm." She nodded thoughtfully and ran the tip of one finger across the etched golden leaves. "Pretty."

  "The vine," Harry said softly, "represents the Tree of Life. There are nine leaves, one for each of your incarnations."

  She smiled, slid the ring onto her thumb, and let it fall off again into her palm. "Like I said, pretty. But couldn't you have found one that fit?"

  Tom grumbled something unintelligible and one look at his face told Tracy it was just as well she hadn't understood him.

  Harry took the ring from her and threaded a long gold chain through it before hanging the necklace around her neck. "Wear it like this, Tracy," he said, giving her a small smile.

  "Okay," she told him, lifting the heavy band to tuck it beneath her shirt. "But I still think it would be easier to just give me one that fits."