by Ann M. Noser
“Oh…” His tone sounds off, disappointed.
“What’s wrong?” I back out of his embrace, a tight feeling in my throat. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Well, of course I’m happy to see you again.” Jake doesn’t sound like he means it. He steps to the side and grabs me a towel. “I just thought it would take you a little longer to get here. Um, are you here because of Mike, then?”
“I didn’t come here on purpose, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I wrap the towel around my shivering frame. “Actually, I have no idea how I got here. Right now I’m too cold to care.”
Jake pauses, his expression puzzled. “Then go to the women’s locker room and warm up. Colleen will help you find some dry clothes.”
“Who’s Colleen?” Don’t tell me Jake has a girlfriend. I’ll smack him upside the head if he does. Especially after kissing me in front of all these people.
“Skinny. Long dark hair… “
This doesn’t sound good. Who is this chick? And what about the blonde he danced with in my vision?
Jake continues, “Always wears shirts with unicorns on them.”
Unicorns? What the heck kind of girl is this?
He smiles. “You can’t miss her. She’s about four feet tall, eleven years old, and never stops talking.”
Oh. Got it. She’s just a kid. Phew.
He gives me a gentle shove. “Go get warmed up. I’ll see you later at lunch.”
“You still eat here?” I glance around. Where am I, anyway?
“Yeah. Isn’t it great? I would have missed eating. It’s one of my favorite hobbies. But I’ve got to get back to the ladies.” He stage whispers the last part, egging on the old biddies who giggle in return.
How ridiculous. I can’t believe Jake teaches water aerobics to senior citizens. That’s not a very Frat Boy thing to do.
Jake’s eyes dip down to the towel wrapped around my body. I tighten my grip, straining the towel against my dripping clothes. Why do I feel so naked? I gotta get out of here.
“A warm shower and dry clothes sound fantastic,” I say, a false bright tone to my voice. “Where’s that locker room again?”
Jake points toward a set of silver doors. I scurry across the tiles, slipping occasionally (and hoping Jake doesn’t notice), then push through the heavy swinging doors without a single backward glance. Warmth envelops me, and Enya plays in the background.
The locker room is so warm and cozy this must be Heaven. The lockers glisten in pearly rainbow hues. I spot a unicorn shirt across the room and approach the young girl combing her long, dark hair in front of a large mirror.
“Are you Colleen?” I ask.
“Yes.” She eyes me up and down, pushing a pair of glasses up on her nose. “Where’s your swimsuit?”
“I don’t have one. I just got here. Jake said you’d help me find some dry clothes.”
She nods. “What’s your name? Let’s find your locker.”
“Emma Roberts.” I feel like I’m announcing myself on some game show. This is weird.
Colleen consults a clipboard hanging on the wall. “Let’s see. Emma Roberts, number 4514.”
I find the locker number and swing open the metal door. Inside the locker sits a pair of purple Converse low tops, jeans, and another turtleneck. Everything I like-except for the turtleneck. Something flickers in the back of my mind, but I can’t quite reach the memory.
“Locks aren’t necessary here. Stealing’s not an option.” Colleen perches on a nearby locker bench. “How do you know Jake?”
“That’s a long, confusing story.” I avoid her question by asking one of my own. “How do you know him? Do you take his water aerobics class?”
“Me?” She giggles and blushes. “No, I swim laps whenever he has class.”
“That sounds great.” Not really. It sounds exhausting.
“Can I tell you something?” Colleen whispers, “I have a secret crush on him.”
The flush rises in my cheeks, and I overreact. “You’re eleven. He’s way too old for you.”
“Yes, I know it’s stupid.” She crosses her arms and juts out her chin. “But I think he’s cute. Don’t you?”
“Um…” I pause as flashbacks of my drunken last evening with Jake flood my mind.
“Well?” She clears her throat. “Do you think he’s cute or not?”
How funny. She’s trying to feel out the “competition.” I try not to laugh because I remember how I wanted to be taken seriously at that age. “Oh, yeah, well, Jake’s hair does look better now that he stopped using that nasty hair gel. He used to spike his hair up all the time. I hated that.”
“There’s no hair gel in Heaven,” Colleen informs me.
I glance around the locker room. “So this is Heaven?” And why am I here?
“Well, sort of. Jake says it’s not quite Heaven, but a heck of a lot better than Hell.” She blushes again. “He calls it ‘Almost Heaven,’ after a song he used to like.”
“So this is purgatory?” With water aerobics and warm locker rooms? Weird. I should be more upset about this. Why don’t I care that I’m dead?
“Sort of, I guess. You wait here until you’re ready to move on.”
I remove the contents from my locker one by one. “When do you move on? And where do you go?” Am I really dead? How can I be dead?
“It depends,” Colleen says, with an air of superiority, as if I’m a small child and she’s old and all knowing.
“What happened to the long white hallway?” I ask.
She cocks her head to the side. “What white hallway? Oh, yeah. It’s been remodeled.”
“There’s remodeling in Heaven?” That doesn’t make any sense, either.
“Of course. There’s remodeling everywhere.” Colleen pauses. “Are you sad about dying?”
“Am I really dead? I don’t feel dead.” How did it happen? Is this even real?
Colleen shrugs. “I still don’t feel dead, and I’ve been here a lot longer than you. But sometimes I miss my parents.”
“Oh, no… my parents.” I sink down on the bench next to my new shoes. “What are they gonna think happened to me?” I look to her for answers, but she doesn’t have any. A dull ache grips my chest, and it hurts to breathe. I need to get away from her watching eyes. “Maybe I’ll take a hot shower and get ready for dinner. I’ll think about everything else later.”
“Yeah.” She crinkles her nose. “You should get cleaned up. You look horrible.”
Great. Thanks for the compliment, kid.
The water aerobics brigade parades into the locker room, pumping their arms and humming Elvis tunes. I watch them in wonder. I can’t find a single varicose vein, cellulite patch, or swollen knee among them. They look stunning.
After they pass, I raise my arms and peel off the soaking wet turtleneck and T-shirt.
Colleen gasps. “What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?” I glance at the ugly collection of bruises on my arms. “Holy crap. No wonder I’m sore.”
She points at my shoulder. “That’s the ugliest tattoo I’ve ever seen. Why’d you pick that?”
My upper arm has been branded with a green cobra. An image flutters to the surface for a moment of a snake under my couch, but the vision disappears before I can figure it out.
I shudder. “I’ve no idea how that happened. I don’t even like snakes.”
Colleen cocks her head to the side. “Jake doesn’t like tattoos.”
“Then don’t tell him.” I smile, trying to win her over. “It will be our little secret.”
olleen chatters as we leave the locker room, but I barely hear a word. My head is too crowded with questions. Am I really dead? What happened to me? Where did the ugly tattoo and bruises come from? My mind races, but gets nowhere. I have no answers to my many questions.
“The Eatery’s just up ahead.” Colleen points as we round a corner between two long stone buildings.
The bright lights of an arched door
way glisten on a cobbled street. The smell of garlic bread and roast beef beckon us inside the dining room, which resembles a German pub. I trail after Colleen, who races ahead to a sturdy wooden table where Jake and Claire’s dead husband, Bernard, sit eating.
As we approach, Bernard jumps up, still as handsome as Christopher Plummer and always the gentleman. He pulls out a chair. “Here you are. The seat of honor for our special guest.”
“Thanks, Bernard,” I begin, “It’s so nice to see—”
Colleen interrupts, arms folded across her slight chest. “All you Emma-fanatics should know that it looks like someone beat her up seven or eight times before they killed her.”
I turn on her. “You promised not to tell!”
“No, I didn’t.” Colleen narrows her eyes. “And she’s got the ugliest snake tattoo ever.”
“Thanks a lot,” I mutter, as Jake clenches his jaw.
Bernard frowns. “Emma, what’s this all about?”
“Who beat you up?” Jake’s hand forms a fist.
“I don’t know-“ I begin.
“She acts like she doesn’t know anything,” Colleen stage whispers. “Do you think it’s true?”
I throw her a dirty look. Are all eleven-year-olds this annoying? “If you don’t mind, I’d like to eat something before you all attack me with your questions. I’m hungry, okay?”
“Sure thing.” Jake pushes back his chair and escorts me to the buffet line. He elbows me. “So, where’s your tattoo?”
“Very funny, Jake.” I flush. “It’s not anything sexy, I swear.”
“Why am I not surprised? You avoid anything sexy like the plague—except for me, that is.” Jake smirks. “Here, grab a tray. You’re up next.”
My mouth waters as I observe the selection, my heart rate elevated by how close Jake stands beside me. “This place must be Heaven. Look at all this. There’s lasagna, cherry pie, fresh peaches, French toast, cinnamon rolls, and ice cream. I want to eat it all.”
“The cooks here are first rate because they love it,” he says, leaning close enough to raise the heat in my cheeks. “That’s what it’s like here—everybody has a job, but it’s enjoyable because it’s whatever you really like to do.”
I chuckle, trying to keep things light. “So Jake Cunningham really enjoys coaching old lady water aerobics?”
He nods, picking up a bun and setting it on my tray. “Yeah. It’s fun. Besides, those are Healing Waters.”
“Healing Waters?” Something tells me I might need Healing Waters. Would Jake take me there again if I asked? Would we finally be alone, then? The thought makes me flush deeper.
“Yes, I help those fine old ladies fix whatever’s wrong with their bodies before they move on. I’m curing arthritic knees, diabetes, and heart disease. Yes sir, Jake Cunningham’s the best doctor ever, and I didn’t even have to go to med school.”
He’s as egotistical as always, but maybe he’s right. After all, my bruises look worse than they hurt. “That’s a silly job for a Frat-boy.” I select a generous helping of lasagna. “But why do you have to heal up bodies that are already dead?”
“Not everything changes when you die. Besides, water aerobics isn’t my only job here. But I suppose you’ll need a fancier job than me, Miss Smarty Pants.”
“Maybe I could tutor. I liked doing that.” I grab a bowl of chocolate pudding. “Does anyone even go to school here?’
“Yeah. Some people are just dying to learn.” Jake pokes me in the ribs. “They never had time for it before, I guess. The math professor’s name is Parker. You’ll like him.”
As we cross back to our table, I spot another familiar face. “Sam. It’s you.”
Sam. The first soul I pulled out of the river and the first one to jump back in. He glances up. Not one thing about his demeanor suggests he’s glad to see me. I bite my lip, concerned that he appears even worse than before.
Sam clears his throat. “Emma, why are you here already? Are you okay?”
I start to reply with an automatic “yes,” then pause. “I’m not sure,” I say instead.
He grabs his tray. “I’ll come sit with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Why would I mind?”
Bernard smiles as we settle down at the group table, his eyes crinkling. “How does it feel eating lunch with those you raised from the dead?”
I return his friendly grin. “It’s pretty surreal, seeing all of you together in your own ‘skins.’ It’s like the full moon is out again.”
Bernard pats my hand. “You must have a lot of questions.”
“I do.” That’s for sure.
“And we have plenty of questions for you, not that it sounds like you have any answers.” Jake pushes the lasagna in front of me. “But you’re hungry. So eat.”
I attack my layered pasta, shoveling it in like I haven’t eaten in days. After a few bites, I look up, feeling Sam’s quizzical eyes on me. He glances away.
Jake leans toward Colleen. “How many laps did you swim today?”
Colleen flushes. “I lost track.”
“How do you know when you’re done?”
She pushes her mashed potatoes around her plate, eyes down. “I don’t know.”
“You must swim about 45 minutes, because that’s how long my class is, and you’re always there, swimming the whole time.”
“Um…” Matching roses bloom in Colleen’s cheeks.
Poor girl. Even though she kind of bugs me, I better help her out. “Swimming is supposed to be the perfect exercise,” I interject.
“How would you know?” Jake turns to me. “You hate exercise.”
“No, I don’t.” Okay, yeah, I do, but it’s so hard not to argue with him.
“Whatever you say, Emma.” He folds his arms, glancing at my empty plate. “Since you’re done eating, tell us what happened to you.”
“I already told you I don’t know,” I say. “The last thing I remember is Mike going back into the river.” I glance around the room. “Where is he, by the way?”
“That didn’t take long,” Jake mutters, leaning back in his chair.
I glare at him, annoyed. What does he have to be jealous of?
The elderly man’s fingers drum the table. “It’s strange. I couldn’t find Mike anywhere today.”
“Oh…” Suddenly the lasagna feels like a bowling ball trapped in my gut. I’m forgetting something. Something important. What is it?
“So what happened after Mike left?” Jake asks. “Come on. Tell us.”
“Not much. Walker asked me to help him with some murder cases.” That’s right, isn’t it? My mind feels like a sieve.
“Steve’s case?” Bernard asks.
I nod. “Yes. We’re going to solve it. We promised.”
“That’s good,” Bernard says.
I turn to Sam. “Do you know who all these people are? Or do you need me to introduce you?”
“Don’t worry. Sam’s up to speed,” Bernard winks. “He knows all the dirt. It’s like gossip central around here. We’ve told each other everything.”
“Everything?” I sneak a quick glance at Jake.
He smirks.
Colleen swoons. “Yeah, Jake told me how he donated both his kidneys to his sister Laura.”
I roll my eyes. Thank goodness Jake didn’t tell her we’ve kissed, or she’d probably strangle me with a unicorn shirt.
“And Mike told the others about Claire taking in Abby and Steve’s baby.” Bernard runs a hand through his white hair. “Of course, all Steve talks about is whether or not Officer Walker has figured out his murder case yet.”
“Speaking of Steve, where is he?” I ask.
They all trade meaningful glances, then Bernard clears his throat. “After Jake informed me you were here, I invited Steve to dinner, but he said he couldn’t make it tonight. He’s very busy these days, but makes an effort to eat with us when he can. He’ll send for you when he’s available, though. I guarantee he’ll want to see you.”
>
“Why’s he so busy?” I ask. “And what do you mean by ‘when he’s available’-what’s up with that?”
“You’ll see,” Jake mumbles.
Sam stands. “I’m sorry, but I gotta go right now. Can I talk to you later, Emma? Alone, if you don’t mind.” He throws a significant look at Jake.
“Sure, Sam. That’s fine.” But is he fine? I wonder.
“See you later.” Sam hurries away.
After Sam’s out of earshot, Colleen whispers, “That guy is kind of strange.”
I glance at Sam’s retreating back. My mind fills with a flashback of him jumping off the bridge, trying to kill himself for a second time. “He doesn’t seem any better.”
“Don’t worry.” Bernard pats my shoulder. “He’ll be fine. It takes time.”
I stare at my empty plate.
“Are you done eating?” Jake asks.
“Yep.” I pat my content belly. “I’m stuffed.”
“Okay, then.” Jake pushes back his chair. “You look exhausted. You should rest.”
“Yes, go take a nap.” Bernard smiles, his eyes just as kind as I remembered. “We’ll figure out the details later. And I’ll find Mike. Don’t worry.”
Jake stands and holds out a hand. “Emma, you’re coming with me.”
“What?” A half-thrill, half-fear races through me. He’s going to ask to see the tattoo, I just know it.
I follow Jake out of the dining room, waving good-bye to the others, and pretending I don’t see the half-shocked, half-hurt expression on Colleen’s face. Good grief, Jake still walks too darn fast. Two turns after leaving the cafeteria, I’m lost amid a sea of stone houses. The cobbled roads twist and turn every which way. I trail Jake’s steps, not wanting to fall behind. After about ten minutes, he halts and I run smack into him.
“Here it is.” He sweeps his arm before yet another boxy white building and opens a small wooden door.
I step into a small cozy room. Georgia O’Keefe posters hang on the wall, and a worn red Asian rug covers the floor.
“Georgia O’Keefe? I’m impressed.” And a tad surprised.
“Don’t get too excited. This place was already decorated when I got here, but now it’s ‘Home Sweet Home.’ Your old clothes are piled on the bed, all clean and dry. Your personal items are on the dresser.” He ventures over to snoop.