Little Do We Know

  He nodded, but he wouldn’t look at me. I tipped my head down, trying to make him meet my eyes so I could get a read on him.

  “I think you can spend your time thinking about what could have happened,” I continued. “Or you can be here and be happy about it. I’m definitely happy about it.”

  “Me too,” he mumbled.

  “Good.” I tossed his laptop to the bottom of the bed, out of reach. “No more news. Play video games. Binge-watch a show on Netflix. No death porn. No actual porn. Can you do that for me, please?”

  He kissed me. “Okay.”

  I smiled at him. “And…maybe go take a quick shower?”

  “That bad?”

  “Sort of.” I crinkled my nose. “Plus, I think it’ll make you feel better.”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t make a move toward the bathroom either.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I haven’t looked at the incision yet.”

  “At all?”

  “I got a glimpse when I changed at the hospital this morning and almost hurled.”

  “Want me to look first?” I probably sounded a little too excited. “I’m not at all squeamish. I’m actually kind of fascinated by this stuff.”

  I started to pull the blanket down, but he slapped my hand. “No way.”

  He was laughing, and it was genuine. It was good to see a glimpse of him again.

  “You’re right,” he said. “A shower will help.”

  I kissed him. His lips weren’t warm and soft like they usually were, and I wished I’d thought to pick up some ChapStick when I was at the store earlier.

  “You take a shower and I’ll get the spaghetti.” I patted his leg. “And while we eat dinner in bed, we’re going to start planning that road trip of yours. We’ll scour the Internet for the very best camping spots with the fewest bugs between here and Oregon. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Prom. Graduation. Road trip.”

  “Em?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love you.”

  I planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Of course you do.”

  I went back downstairs feeling like I’d done some good. And like things were already on their way back to normal.

  Luke was standing on my porch.

  I was used to watching him blur by my bedroom window in the dark, and the last time I’d seen him he’d been folded over and lifeless in the front seat of his car. I never expected to see him here.

  He was wearing that same varsity jacket he always had on. He looked tired, but better. Clean. A lot healthier than he had that night a week earlier.

  “Luke?” I scanned the porch for Emory, but he was alone. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Hannah.” He jingled his keys nervously and kept looking over his shoulder. “Can I come in?”

  I still had no idea what he was doing at my house, but I opened the door wider and he stepped inside. I looked down at my blue-and-green plaid school uniform, wishing I’d changed when I got home.

  “Wow! This is so weird,” he said as he walked around the house, his gaze moving up and down as we moved from room to room. “Your house is exactly like Emory’s but flipped.”

  “Yeah, all the houses on this block share the same floor plan. They’re mirror images.”

  He was still looking around, taking it all in. “Her living room is over there.” He pointed at my kitchen. “And her kitchen is over there,” he said, pointing at my living room.

  As he said it, something in the living room caught his eye. I followed his line of vision to the giant wooden cross hanging above our fireplace. On the mantel beneath it, I saw my most recent school picture and an old family portrait of the three of us.

  Luke walked toward it. “Is that your dad?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He stared at it for a long time, and I was relieved he was no longer looking at me. It gave me time to catch my breath and think of something to say.

  “He looks nice,” Luke said. “It’s been bugging me.”

  “What has?” I asked.

  “That I didn’t know what he looked like.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I started babbling. “Do you, um, want something to drink? We have lemonade, water, milk…” I realized I sounded like we were on some kind of little kids’ playdate, so I added, “Coffee,” even though I hated coffee.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He looked around again. “Can I—?” he asked, pointing at the living-room sofa.

  “No, I mean, yes, sit down,” I stammered. “Please.” I’d never been alone with a guy in my house, let alone one I watched die in my front yard.

  He jingled his keys again, caught himself, and went to stuff them into the front pocket of his jeans. When he leaned forward, he grimaced.

  He groaned and swore under his breath. “Sorry. They took the staples out this morning, but I’m still sore. I keep moving like that and forgetting how much it hurts.”

  I sat in one of the armchairs opposite him.

  “I didn’t expect to be this nervous. It’s just that…” He gestured toward Emory’s house. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “You’re probably wondering why I am.”

  I bit down hard on my lip while he combed his fingers through his hair and stared at the cross above the fireplace. Or maybe he was staring at our family portrait again. I couldn’t be sure.

  “I didn’t remember at first. I assumed Emory was the one who found me the other night. And when I brought it up, she didn’t correct me. But I guess that’s understandable.” He picked a loose thread on his jeans. “But I know now it was you. And your dad. So…I guess I just…wanted to come by and thank you both.”

  He looked up at the cross again, and then back at me.

  “Actually, that’s only part of the reason I came by. I…kind of…need to talk to someone. I mean, not someone.” He tripped over his words. “I need to talk to you…about what happened to me that night.”

  Out of habit, I reached for the tiny silver cross pendant around my neck and held it between my thumb and finger, squeezing it until I felt the sharp points dig into my skin. “What do you need to know?”

  “Everything.” He sighed. “These last few days have been so strange, and this is going to sound really weird, but for some reason I think you’re the only person who will understand.”

  “Okay…”

  “I don’t know where to start,” he whispered.

  I thought about the trick Dad always used on me when I had a big thing to tell him. “Start with something easy, like the day of the week.”

  “Hmm. Okay.” He smiled nervously. “It was a Friday,” he said, and from there, the words seemed to come easier. He told me about the game, how he got hurt, about the party.

  “I honestly don’t remember making the decision to drive over here. I guess I was kind of on autopilot.” He took a deep breath and locked his eyes on mine. “I was hoping you could fill things in after that.”

  Every time I thought about that night, I felt sick to my stomach. It was all still there, in vivid detail, hiding in the corners of my mind.

  As we sat there together, I filled him in on everything. Standing in the kitchen. Watching his car roll straight into the curb. How I could see him inside, slumped over the steering wheel.

  Then he got quiet.

  “Can I show you something?” He reached into his pocket, grimacing in pain again as he pulled out his phone. He tipped the screen in my direction.

  It was paused on a video of a girl with short hair, dark skin, and a long scar that started at her right ear and ended next to her mouth. Her name was in white block type at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen: Sienna, 19.

  Luke pressed PLAY.

  “Three years ago,” she began, “my family and I were driving to a local restaurant. We went there every Sunday night. My dad was driving. My mom was in the front seat
. My sister and I were talking about this band we both liked, and my mom turned around to say something about them. And that’s the last thing I remember.”

  I looked at Luke. His eyes were glued to his screen.

  “The police told me later that a truck had run a red light and slammed right into our car. It hit the passenger side, killing my mom and sister on impact.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “My dad and I survived. I was fine, aside from this,” she said, as she traced the length of her scar.

  I wanted to reach over and click the PAUSE button. I didn’t want to watch. This was horrible.

  “I was in a coma for three days. According to the paramedic’s report, I was unconscious when they arrived. And I might have been unconscious in the traditional sense, but inside, I was fully present, conscious on a level I’d never experienced before. I was there. I could hear the sirens and the voices as they tried to revive me. If I were to ever hear them again, I’d know those voices in an instant.”

  Sienna looked off to the side, like she was bringing herself back to that moment. And then leaned in toward the camera.

  “According to the paramedic’s report, my heart stopped. I was clinically dead for a little over two minutes. And while I was, I got to say good-bye to my mom and my sister.”

  She pressed her lips together. And then a slow smile spread across her face, making the scar on her right side even more pronounced. “The experience changed everything. I’m happy to be alive, and I know that someday I’ll see my mom and sister again. They’re waiting for my dad and me.”

  The video ended.

  “Do you think that’s crazy?” he asked.

  And even though I’d been having doubts of my own lately, I pushed it all from my mind and told him what I knew he needed to hear.

  “No. I don’t think that’s crazy.”

  It was as if the word no gave him the permission he needed to keep going. He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a piece of paper. He handed it to me, and as soon as I unfolded it, I recognized the logo on the top from the back of the ambulance.

  Dispatched priority 1 to a residence. Upon arrival to scene, found 18-year-old male unconscious in driver’s seat of car. No response to questions. No response to painful stimuli. No pulse found. Pupils nonreactive. Skin cold, lung sounds CTA.

  Patient was carried to stretcher by EMTx2, leaned back into lower Fowler’s position, with feet elevated. Crew began transport. Crew member heard weak groan from patient and began resuscitation with paddles. Patient revived. Pulse: 80. BP: 60/30. Oral and written report given and care turned over to hospital staff.

  “The doctors said the brain can only handle three minutes without oxygen, otherwise there’s a high likelihood of permanent brain damage. According to everything I’ve been told, for about three minutes, I was dead.”

  My eyes kept going back to that one line in the report: No pulse found. I thought about the girl in the video. “Do you remember what happened?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Every second.”

  We were both quiet. Neither one of us seemed to know what to say next.

  “What was it like?” I asked carefully.

  He thought about it. “Have you ever woken up from a dream that seemed so real, and you can close your eyes and picture being back in it, but when you try to explain it to someone, it never comes out right?”

  “Of course.”

  “It was like that. Only when you wake up from a dream like that, you know it was a dream. This felt so real. I know I was someplace else, Hannah. Someplace real.”

  “What was it like? What did you see?” I needed specifics. Was there a rotating tunnel? A bright light? People he’d loved waiting to welcome him to the other side? These were the kind of details I’d been searching for, the kind of things that would prove I was right to believe all those things I’d believed my entire life. I had to know more.

  “Have you tried to tell your parents? Your doctors?”

  “Sort of. The nurse in the hospital said she’s seen a lot of people flatline, and those who wake up always have a story to tell. She said that when the brain can’t make sense of something, it automatically fills in the blank with random images.

  “My parents took a more science-y approach. My dad said what you see when you die is just the brain losing oxygen and beginning to shut down. It puts pictures together, but none of it is real. But everything that happened that night was real. It was as real as the conversation we’re having right now.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s so weird. I’ve never really thought about what happened when we died. Not until five days ago. And now…” He trailed off. “And now, it’s all I can think about. I don’t know how to stop thinking about it. Something strange happened to me that night and I haven’t really been able to explain it to anyone.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “I was here, but I wasn’t. I heard your dad’s voice. He was muffled, but I could hear him talking. And then everything disappeared. And I didn’t feel scared or alone anymore. Like I was ready to go. Just totally at peace with the whole thing. And then I heard you.”

  “You heard me?”

  He nodded.

  “You were there twice. The first time, you were muffled, like your dad. But the second time, your voice was crystal clear.” He paused and locked his eyes on mine. “Do you remember what you said?”

  I pictured that night. I’d sprinted to Emory’s house and back again. When I saw the EMTs loading him into the ambulance, I ran straight through the crowd and into the street. And then I stopped next to the gurney and put my mouth to his ear.

  “I said, ‘You’re not finished here.’” My voice was shaking. “I told you that you couldn’t go yet, because you weren’t finished here.”

  He nodded. “Why did you say that?”

  I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to say before I said it. I thought Luke was dead. I figured Dad had spent all that time trying to get his soul into heaven; the least I could do was tell him not to die in the first place.

  “I had meningitis when I was ten,” I said. “I had this insanely high fever, and I could barely turn my neck. It was horrible. The pastor at our old church came to see me. I was contagious, so he had to wear a mask over his nose and mouth, but he sat next to me and talked to me for the longest time. I asked him if I was going to die, and you know what he did?”

  Luke shook his head.

  “He laughed. Right in my face.”

  “You thought you were dying and he laughed at you? Harsh.”

  “Right? Anyway, he told me there was a spot in heaven for me, but that I wasn’t going to be occupying it for a long time. He told me God had plans for me here, and they were far too big, far too important for me to leave so early.”

  I pictured our old pastor, perched on the side of my bed, eyes full of conviction. “And then he pulled the mask off his face, smiled down at me, and said, ‘Hannah Jacquard, you’re not finished here.’”

  “And you got better,” Luke guessed.

  “Actually, no. I got worse. After that, I ended up in the hospital, and then I really thought I was about to die. But I kept telling myself those words: I’m not finished here. I’m not finished here. The fever finally broke. Dad said that between my faith and all those prayers from all those people, God had no choice but to listen.”

  Luke smiled.

  “Something must have clicked in me when I saw you on the stretcher that night. I didn’t think you could hear me. I just said the first thing that popped into my head.”

  He nodded, like he was taking the whole thing in.

  “When the paramedics arrived, they never found my pulse. Then one of them heard me moan, and she started resuscitation efforts. And here I am. But I also wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you.”

  My fingers were tingling. My chest felt light.

  I saved his life.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “B
ut…now I have a problem. I don’t know what to do with all this. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Emory wants everything to go back to normal, but I don’t know how to do that when all I can think about are those three minutes. And when I try to talk about them, everyone tells me that what happened wasn’t real. But I know it was real. And I have to talk about it—I have to remember—otherwise, the feeling is going to fade away, and I can’t let that happen.”

  I stood and moved over to the couch, right next to him. “I think it was real.”

  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, like I’d said what he needed to hear.

  I wanted to tell him about the research I’d been doing. How I’d learned that every religion had a slightly different view on death and the afterlife. I thought he might find it as fascinating as I had.

  “Can I come to church with you?” he asked.

  “What?” That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

  He seemed as surprised by my reaction as I was by his question.

  “I thought you’d be excited. Emory told me you were always trying to get her to go with you.”

  I wondered how Emory had said it. I had a feeling it wasn’t as part of a glowing endorsement of me or my family.

  “Of course,” I said. “Any time.”

  “Sunday?”

  “This Sunday?”

  He nodded.

  He was serious. He’d clearly been thinking about this. “Sure. My a cappella group is performing. You can come watch us. It’ll be fun.” I pointed at the family picture he’d been eyeing earlier. “And my dad will be there. You can meet him. All my friends seem to think he’s a pretty easy person to talk to.”

  Luke turned his head and looked out the living room window at Emory’s house. I could tell something was bothering him. “Are there a lot of Foothill kids there?”

  “None. They all go to Lakeside. It’s closer.” I scooted over. “Covenant is two towns away. You won’t run into anyone you know. I promise.”

  “And you won’t tell her?”

  I almost laughed in his face. “Given that we haven’t said a word to each other in over three months, I think you can assume your secret’s safe with me.” I brought my finger and thumb to my lips and turned an imaginary key.