Owen and Liz dance. From across the room, Betty holds up her champagne flute.
"Mazel tov," Liz calls to her.
"You look pretty today," Owen whispers in Liz's ear. "I like your dress."
Liz shrugs. "It's just a dress."
"Well, it's definitely better than your wet suit."
Liz laughs. She closes her eyes. She listens to the music and smells the sweet fragrances of Betty's garden. A cool wind blows Liz's bridesmaid dress against her legs, sweeping summer away.
For better or worse, this is my life, she thinks.
This is my life.
My life.
The Change
In the year Liz turns eight, Sadie becomes a puppy again.
In the months leading up to her Release, Sadie grows smaller, her fur becomes softer, her breath sweeter, her eyes clearer. She speaks less and less until she doesn't speak at all. Before her teeth fall out, she chews up several of Liz's books. Although Sadie spends most of her time napping in Betty's garden, she has strange bursts of manic activity where all she wants to do is wrestle with Paco and Jen. Both older dogs tolerate Sadie's outbursts with considerable equanimity.
In the weeks before her Release, Sadie becomes so small you can barely tell she is a puppy. She might have been a large mouse. Her eyes seal closed, and Liz has to feed her tiny drops of milk from her pinky. Sadie still seems to recognize her name when Liz says it.
On the dawn of the Release, Liz and Owen drive Sadie to the River. It is the first Release Liz has attended since her own aborted attempt six years ago.
At sunrise, a wind begins to blow. The current carries the babies faster and faster down the River, back to Earth. Liz watches Sadie in the current for as long as possible. Sadie becomes a dot, then a speck, then nothing at all.
On the drive home, Owen notices that Liz is unusually quiet. "You're sad about Sadie," he says.
Liz shakes her head. She hasn't cried and she doesn't feel particularly sad. Not that she feels happy either. In truth, she hasn't felt much of anything aside from a general tightness in her belly, as if her stomach is making a fist. "No," Liz replies, "not sad exactly."
"What is it, then?" Owen asks.
"I'm not all that sad," Liz says, "because Sadie hadn't been Sadie for a while, and I knew this would happen eventually." Liz pauses, trying to precisely articulate her feelings. "What I am is a mix of scared, happy, and excited, I think."
"All those things at once?" Owen asks.
"Yes. I'm happy and excited because it's nice to think of my friend somewhere on Earth. I like thinking of a dog, who won't be called Sadie, but will still be my Sadie all the same."
"You said scared, too."
"I worry about the people that will take care of her on Earth. I hope they'll be nice to her, and treat her with good humor and love, and brush her coat, and feed her things other than kibble, because she gets bored always eating the same thing." Liz sighs. "It's such a terribly dangerous thing being a baby when you think about it. So much can go wrong."
Owen kisses Liz gently on the forehead, "Sadie will be fine."
"You don't know that!" Liz protests. "Sadie could end up with people who keep her cooped up all day, or put cigarette butts in her coat." Liz's eyes tear at the thought.
"I know that Sadie will be fine," Owen says calmly.
"But how do you know?"
"I know," he says, "because I choose to believe it is so."
Liz rolls her eyes. "Sometimes, Owen, you can be so totally full of it."
Owen's feelings are hurt. He doesn't speak to Liz for the rest of the car ride home.
Later that night, Liz weeps for Sadie. She weeps so loudly she wakes Betty.
"Oh, doll," Betty says, "you can get another dog if you want. I know it won't be Sadie, but..."
"No," Liz replies through her tears. "I can't. I just can't."
"Are you sure?"
"I'll never have another dog," Liz says firmly, "and please don't ever, ever, ever mention it to me again."
A month later, Liz changes her mind when an aged pug named Lucy arrives in Elsewhere. At thirteen years old, Lucy had finally died peacefully in her sleep, in Liz's childhood room. (Liz's possessions had been boxed up years ago, but Lucy never stopped sleeping there.) From the shore, Liz watches Lucy, slightly arthritic and grayer in the face, waddle down the boardwalk. She waddles right up to Liz and wags her loosely curled tail three times. She cocks her head, squinting up at Liz with bulging brown eyes.
"Where've you been?" Lucy asks.
"I died," Liz answers in Canine.
"Oh right, I tried not to think about that too much. I just pretended you went to college early and didn't visit very often." Lucy nods her sweet wrinkly head. "We missed you a lot, you know. Alvy, Olivia, Arthur, and me."
"I missed you guys, too." Liz lifts Lucy up from the ground and holds the heavy little lapdog in her arms.
"You've gained weight," Liz teases.
"Only a pound or two or maybe three, no more than that," Lucy answers. "Personally, I think I look better with a little heft."
"Multum in parvo," Liz jokes. It's Latin, meaning "much in little." This is the pug motto and a favorite joke of Liz's family because of Lucy's tendency to gain weight.
"Liz," Lucy asks, squinting up at the sky, "is this upthere? Is this . . . heaven?"
"I don't know," Liz answers.
"It isn't 'down there,' is it?"
"I certainly don't think so." Liz laughs.
The dog gently sniffs the air. "Well, it smells a lot like Earth," she concludes, "only a bit saltier."
"It's good that you can speak so well now," Lucy whispers in Liz's ear. "I have so much to tell you about everything and everybody."
Liz smiles. "I can't wait."
"But first, let's get something to eat, and then take a nap. And a bath, then a nap. Then something else to eat, and maybe a walk. But then definitely something else to eat."
Liz sets Lucy on the ground, and the two walk home with Lucy chattering away.
Amadou
On the same day Liz retires from the Division of Domestic Animals, a man she knows very well, but has never before met, stops by her office. The man looks different in person than he did through the binoculars. His eyes are softer, but the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced.
"I am Amadou Bonamy." He speaks precisely, with a slight FrenchHaitian accent.
Liz takes a deep breath before answering. "I know who you are."
Amadou notices the balloons from Liz's retirement party. "You are having a celebration. I will come back," he says.
"The party is for my retirement. If you come back, you won't find me again. Please come in."
Amadou nods. "I recently died of cancer," he says. "It was lung cancer. I did not smoke, but my father did."
Liz nods.
"I have not driven a cab for many years. I finished college at night and I became a teacher."
Liz nods again.
"All these years, I have felt despair as you cannot imagine. I hit you with my cab and I did not stop."
"You called the hospital from a pay phone, right?" Liz asks.
Amadou nods. He looks down at his shoes.
"I've thought about it more than anybody, I guess. I've thought about it, and stopping probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway," Liz says, placing her hand on Amadou's arm.
There are tears in Amadou's eyes. "I kept wishing I would get caught."
"It wasn't your fault," Liz says. "I didn't look both ways."
"You must tell me honestly. Has your life been very bad here?"
Liz thinks about Amadou's question before she answers. "No. My life has been good actually."
"But you must have missed many things?"
"As I've come to see it, my life would have been either here or elsewhere anyway," Liz replies.
"Is that a joke?" Amadou asks.
"If it amuses you, it is." Liz laughs a little. "So, Amadou, may I ask you w
hy you didn't stop that day? I've always wanted to know."
"This is no excuse, but my little boy had been very sick. The medical bills were astounding. If I had lost the cab or your parents had asked for money, I did not know what would have happened to me or my family. I was desperate. Of course, this is no excuse." Amadou shakes his head.
"Can you ever forgive me?"
"I forgave you long ago," Liz says.
"But you were so young," Amadou says. "I stole many good years from you."
"A life isn't measured in hours and minutes. It's the quality, not the length. All things considered, I've been luckier than most. Almost sixteen good years on Earth, and I've already had eight good ones here. I expect to have almost eight more before all's said and done. Nearly thirty-two years total, and that's not too shabby."
"You're seven years old now? You seem very mature."
"Well, I'm seven-eight now, and it's different than being plain seven. I would have been twentyfour, you know," Liz says. "I do feel myself getting younger some days."
"What does it feel like?" Amadou asks.
Liz thinks for a moment before she answers. "Like falling asleep one minute, like waking up the next. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I'm worried I will forget." Liz laughs. "I remember the first day I felt truly young. It was when my little brother, Alvy, turned twelve. I had turned eleven that same year."
"It must be strange," Amadou says. "This getting younger."
Liz shrugs. "You get older, you get younger, and I'm not sure the difference is as great as I once thought. Would you like a balloon for your son?"
"Thank you," Amadou replies, selecting a red one from a large bouquet of balloons that sits by Liz's desk. "How did you know my son was here?" he asks.
"I've been watching you off and on for years," Liz admits. "I know he is a good boy and I know you are a good man."
Childhood
Owen is six, and Liz is four.
When the weather is fine, they spend afternoons in Betty's garden. He wears a paper crown, she a pink tutu.
On the last of a fortnight of fine days, Liz places an old copy of Tuck Everlasting in Owen's lap.
"What's that for?" Owen asks.
"Story?" Liz smiles sweetly, revealing brand-new baby teeth.
"I don't want to read your stupid girl book," Owen says. "Read it yourself."
Liz decides to take Owen's advice. She picks up the book and holds it in front of her. And then, the strangest thing happens. She finds she cannot read. Maybe it's my eyes, she thinks. She squints at the text, but it makes no difference.
"Owen," says Liz, "there's something wrong with this book."
"Let me see it," Owen says. He opens the book, inspects it, and returns it to her. "There's nothing wrong with it, Liz," he declares.
Liz holds the book as close to her eyes as she can and then at arm's length. Although she does not know why, she laughs. She hands it to Owen. "You do it," she commands.
"Oh, all right," Owen says. "Honesdy, Liz, you're such a bore." He removes the bookmark and begins to read from Tuck Everlasting with a distinct lack of feeling: " ' "Pa thinks it's something left over from well, from some other plan for the way the world should be," said Jesse. "Some plan that didn't work out too good. And so everything was changed. Except that the spring was passed over, somehow or other. Maybe he's right. I don't know. But you see " ' "
Liz interrupts him. "Owen."
Owen tosses the book aside, frustrated. "What is it now? You shouldn't ask a person to read just to interrupt."
"Owen," Liz continues, "do you remember that game?"
"What game?"
"We were big," says Liz, "I was soooo big, bigger every day, and our faces were like this all the time." Liz frowns and furrows her brow in an exaggerated fashion. "And there was a house and a school. And a car and a job and a dog! And I was old! I was more old than you! And everything was rush-rush quick, and hard, so hard." Liz laughs again, a chortling little bird call of a laugh.
After a moment, Owen answers, "I remember."
"I wonder," says Liz, "I wonder what was so . . . hard?"
"It was just a dumb game, Liz."
"It was a dumb game," Liz agrees. "Let's not play it anymore."
Owen nods. "We won't."
"I think I was ... I think I was ... I was dead." Liz begins to cry.
Owen can't stand to see Liz cry. He takes Liz in his arms. She is so small now. When had that happened? he wonders. "Don't be scared, Liz," he says, "it was just a game, remember."
"Oh, right," she says, "I forgot."
"May I continue your story now?" Owen asks, picking up the book.
Liz nods, and Owen begins to read again.
" ' "But you see, Winnie Foster, when I told you before I'm a hundred and four years old, I was telling the truth. But I'm really only seventeen. And, so far as I know, I'll stay seventeen till the end of the world." ' " Owen sets down the book. "That's the end of the chapter. Should I read the next one?"
"Please," says Liz, sticking her thumb happily into her mouth.
Owen sighs and continues to read. " 'Winnie did not believe in fairy tales. She had never longed for a magic wand, did not expect to marry a prince, and was scornful most of the time of her grandmother's elves. So now she sat, mouth open, wide-eyed, not knowing what to make of this extraordinary story. It couldn't not a bit of it be true . . .' "
Liz closes her eyes, and it isn't very long before she falls into a sweet, untroubled sleep.
Birth
On a mild January morning just before dawn, Betty delivers Liz to the launch nurse.
"You look familiar," Dolly says, gently taking the baby from Betty. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
Betty shakes her head.
"The baby, she looks familiar, too." The nurse holds Liz up to get a better view. "She looked just like you, I bet."
"Yes," Betty says, "yes."
Dolly tickles Liz under the chin. "Pretty baby," she coos. The nurse lays Liz on the table and begins swaddling her.
"Please." Betty places her hand on the nurse's. "Not too tight."
"Don't worry," Dolly says pleasantly. "I've done this before."
Many more people attend Liz's second Release than had her first.
In addition to Betty, there is Aldous Ghent who looks much the same as when Liz first met him.
He has more hair now.
And Shelly carries Thandi in a bassinet. Thandi will be making her own journey very soon. She, of course, has less hair now.
And Curds wears a dark suit, although the custom is to wear white at births.
And, of course, Owen is there, too. He is accompanied by Emily Reilly (formerly Welles), who now acts as his occasional babysitter. She tries to interest Owen in the proceedings, but he prefers to play with his toy boat in a puddle. "Don't run off, O," Emily tells him before joining the others to watch the Release.
Owen doesn't watch when they place Liz in the River, next to all the other babies who would be born that day. Nor does he watch when the launch nurse pushes Liz away from the shore into the current that leads back to Earth. To the untrained observer, it seems as if Liz's departure has no effect on Owen whatsoever.
Curtis Jest watches Owen before deciding to go over to him.
"Owen," Curtis asks, "do you remember who that was?"
Owen looks up from playing with the boat. He appears to find Curtis's question very difficult.
"Lizzie?"
"Yes," says Curtis, "that was Lizzie. She was my friend. She was your . . . your friend, too."
Owen continues playing with the boat. He begins singing Liz's name in the unaffected way children will sometimes sing a name. "Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie," he sings. Owen stops singing abruptly and looks up at Curtis. A horrified expression crosses Owen's face. "Is she . . . gone?"
"Yes," says Curtis.
Owen nods. "Gonegonegonegonegone." Owen begins to cry in an undignified manner, although he isn't entirely sure why he is crying. Curt
is takes Owen's hand, leading Owen away from the puddle.
"You know," says Curtis, "you may see her again someday."
"Cool," says Owen, and with that, he stops crying.
From across the parking lot, Betty claps her hands. "Cigars and champagne back at the house!"
At Curtis and Betty's house, a pink and white "It's a girl!" banner hangs on the door. Curtis passes out cigars with pink ribbons tied around them. A "Happy Birthday, Liz" sheet cake is served in addition to champagne and punch.
Aldous Ghent eats a forkful of cake and begins to cry. "Birthday cake always depresses me," he says to no one in particular.
Everyone stops talking when Betty clinks a spoon against a champagne flute. "If you wouldn't mind indulging me, I'd like to say a few words about Liz," she says. "Liz was my granddaughter, of course. But if she hadn't come to Elsewhere, I never would have known her at all. I died before she was born.
"Liz was my granddaughter, but also a good friend. She was just a girl when she got here, but she grew into a fine woman. She liked to laugh and she loved spending time with her dogs and her friends. I never would have met my husband if Liz hadn't come into my life." Betty takes Curtis by the hand.
"On Elsewhere, we fool ourselves into thinking we know what will be just because we know the amount of time we have left. We know this, but we never really know what will be.
"We never know what will happen," Betty says, "but I believe good things happen every day. I believe good things happen even when bad things happen. And I believe on a happy day like today, we can still feel a little sad. And that's life, isn't it?" Betty raises her glass. "To Liz!"
What Liz Thinks
It was a pleasant enough life, Liz thinks. Though she could not remember the specific events, she senses something wonderful happened once. And she feels good about the prospects for the next.
Looking at the babies to her rear and fore, left and right, she notices that most of them keep their eyes closed. Why do they keep their eyes closed? she wonders. Don't they know there's so much to see?