Another click preceded the sudden onslaught of spotlights.
As my eyes adjusted, an underground paradise came into view. Inside a cavern, man-made lights illuminated God-made wonders.
From the cathedral-like ceiling, crystals bound together to form what looked like a castle made of diamonds. Beneath it, a smooth pool of glittering gold lay undisturbed save for the one drip gliding down a formation into it.
All around us, rich, colored lights reflected off crystal formations, making me feel as though I were standing in the center of a giant crown of jewels.
As I looked up at the magnificence that seemed to have no end, my mouth fell open. Everyone’s mouth fell open, even Harry’s—who surprised me by being a small, neat man with a kind face. Still plastered to his mother’s side, the little boy who’d been screaming his head off seconds ago now looked completely at peace with his wide eyes and cherub cheeks.
I turned to Craig. “This is incredible.”
With everyone fixed on the cavern, he gathered me in his arms and locked eyes with me. “Do you see, Jenny? One minute blackness and the unknown, but then just like that, everything changes.”
I felt myself start to choke up as I considered the analogy Craig had presented me. I’d known logically that when death overtook me, the pain and fear would be so very brief in the grand scheme of eternity. I knew that those few scary moments accompanying my passing would be nothing compared to the eternal splendor awaiting me on the other side. I’d wake up in heaven—pearl gates, streets of gold, mansions, and all of that. Even though my mind understood, until that very moment I hadn’t truly grasped it in my soul. When it hit me, it hit me hard and it was all I could do not to drop to my knees.
Craig pulled me tighter against him. “I love you, Jenny.”
In that moment of nirvana, my heart forgot all the reasons why I wasn’t allowed to love him . . . and it just did.
Chapter Thirty-one
The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. Isabella spent more and more time with the Prestons, while Craig and I became steady companions. When September was ushered out by October, it took what remained of my health with it.
I had always found it difficult to fully enjoy the beauty of autumn. The trees ablaze with color were certainly magnificent to behold, but to me, these brilliant flashes of gold and crimson fluttering to the ground were little more than a pretty curtain falling on a soon-to-be empty stage. I had always hated the thought of winter’s impending arrival, and that was true this year more than ever.
As I did most mornings, I sat with an afghan tucked around my thin legs, waving good-bye to my daughter as she trekked off to school, hand in hand with her cowpa.
Weeks ago, when Lindsey offered to enroll her in Tullytown Elementary, it was all I could do not to bawl. Not just because my little girl was no longer a baby, or the fact that I wouldn’t get to sign her up myself, but because I hadn’t even had the sense about me to think of it.
Watching my dad walking hand in hand with her reminded me of the father I knew as a little girl—the daddy who packed my lunch, walked me to the bus stop, and pushed me on the swing so high that my mother would shriek with terror. For the first time, I found myself considering that he may have loved me as much as I loved Isabella. Somehow this seemed both likely and impossible.
I called after them, “Bells, you have your lunch?”
She turned and held a small brown bag high above her head. Every day I asked her, and every day she responded the same way. I think the question was just my lame excuse to see her beautiful face one more time . . . just in case. I rocked back and forth in my chair, watching the two of them make their way to the very corner where I had waited as a child.
As they disappeared around the bend, I turned my attention to the lawn. By the time they lowered my casket into the ground, this grass would be faded to the color of straw. Seeing the vibrancy of the green bleed from it a little more each day was like watching sand slip through an hourglass, and boy, was it slipping fast.
A gust of wind rang the chimes that my father had hung the week before. Mama Peg said they reminded her of church bells, but to my ears they sounded like claws on a chalkboard. I pulled my sweater tighter and brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. The moment the chimes quieted, I felt another breeze, this one much warmer than the last. Strangely the chimes remained silent. Instead, I heard a familiar voice whisper, Fall begets winter; winter begets spring.
I rocked faster, trying to ignore it. More and more frequently, I’d hear what sounded like someone sighing cryptic messages into the wind. Instead of these strange little tidings that I’d long since given up trying to decipher, I wished they’d say something useful like “You forgot to put water in the teakettle” or “Hey, your zipper’s down.”
Now and then, hands I could not see would stroke my face or arm, covering me in a fresh crop of gooseflesh. Sometimes I would even smell strange fragrances, like incense or spices, for which I could find no explanation.
I liked to imagine that the closer I got to death, the more the spiritual realm opened to me, releasing glimpses of the afterlife. That’s what I wanted to believe, but a little research indicated that David was probably spot-on when he suggested that the cancer had spread to my brain.
I considered scheduling a CAT scan so I could know for sure but decided it really served no purpose. Tumor or no tumor, it changed nothing. My body was in far worse shape than my mind.
After fifteen minutes or so, my father sauntered back and kissed my cheek, just as he did every morning. His lips felt cold against my fevered skin. “See you later, pumpkin.”
“Where you off to in those snazzy britches?” I asked.
He looked down at his checkered pants, then back to me. “I thought I’d teach Miss Rachael how to swing a nine iron. Her drive—” he chuckled—“or should I say putt, needs a little help.”
“You’ve been seeing a lot of her.”
He shrugged. “She’s not your mother, but we have fun.” He looked like he was about to say something else but changed his mind. “Tell your grandma I won’t be home for supper.”
I suspected his new love life had less to do with his fondness for Rachael or golf than it did with having an excuse not to be around me. I didn’t think he could stomach watching someone he loved waste away . . . again. Although his growing distance bothered me, I figured if my dying jump-started his living, at least something good was coming from it.
“This must be getting serious. That’s three times this week.”
His face turned shades of red. “Oh, c’mon, Jenny. I just like having someone to pal around with. I’ve only been seeing her a couple months. It’s no more serious than you and Craig.”
I almost choked on that one. He obviously didn’t understand what Craig and I had become to each other.
“Can you get Isabella off the bus this afternoon?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He squatted beside me and gathered my hands into his. That gesture, coupled with the exaggerated concern on his face, made him look like a soap opera actor. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
I pulled my hands away. “Good grief, Dad. I’m not dead yet.”
He looked as if I had slapped him. “I wish you wouldn’t talk that way.”
“I’m just tired of everyone treating me like I’m a china doll. I’m not made of porcelain; I’m not going to break.”
Something hit the sidewalk. I looked down at an acorn, then up at the squirrel scampering across the gutter.
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning back to my father. “Go. I’m fine. You kids have fun.”
He stood and looked down at me. “Jenny, make sure you eat today.”
It took everything in me not to say something sarcastic, but I reminded myself that his motivation was love. “I’ll try.”
He studied me a moment, then nodded.
I watched his car back out of the driveway, then gathered up my blanket and went inside.
>
The kitchen smelled of Mama Peg and maple syrup. My grandmother sat at the table with a half-eaten stack of pancakes in front of her. Her breathing sounded labored; her skin was the color of ash. In other words, she looked like she usually did.
I picked up her dish. “Finished?”
She glanced up from her crossword. A bit of breakfast clung just above her lip like a mole. “Put that down. I’ll take care of it.”
I draped my blanket across the back of a chair. “I’ve already got it.”
She stood and took the dish from my hand. “You don’t need to be doing that.”
“I’m fine.” I reached for the plate again.
She pulled it back. “Jenny, you need your strength.”
I felt my cheeks catch fire and something inside me snap. “Stop it!”
She flinched. “Honey—”
“Honey, nothing. News flash: You’re not the picture of health either, in case you haven’t noticed. You want me to start treating you like an invalid?”
I snatched the plate back out of her hand and marched over to the sink. After shoving the pancakes into the garbage disposal, I scoured the plate as if it had an inch of caked-on grease, trying to work off my frustration. It seemed like a day couldn’t pass without someone trying to remind me that I was dying—as if I could forget.
I scrubbed and scrubbed until my anger had slipped down the drain with the last of the suds. I wrung out the sponge and stood there, trying to get up the nerve to turn around.
Preparing to face her, I looked out the window at the lake, drew in a breath, and braced myself for retribution—the cold shoulder, a lecture, or at the very least, a disapproving scowl. When I turned, Mama Peg was doing none of those things. Her reaction was something far more punishing—she was crying.
I don’t think I’d ever felt as bad as I did at that moment. I hurried over and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Mama Peg.”
She lowered her hands, revealing glistening eyes and a trickling nose. “It’s okay, Jenny. We all have our moments, and you were right.”
I kissed her forehead. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”
She picked a napkin from the table and wiped her face with it. “No, you shouldn’t have, but I probably would have reacted the same way if you treated me like we’ve been treating you. I wasn’t crying because of that, anyway.”
I waited for her to explain, but she just dabbed at her face. Afraid I’d send her into another crying fit if I pushed the issue, I decided not to ask. My grandmother had always been our family’s pillar of strength, and seeing her break down shook my sense of well-being, which was quaking as it was.
After we progressed past tears into small talk, I felt safe enough to excuse myself for my morning nap.
“Okay, kiddo.” She blew her nose. “I’m going to putz around a bit. Then I might rest too.”
I started to walk away.
“Jenny?”
I turned around.
“You know,” she said, “sometimes I tend to focus so much on the future that I forget about today.”
“Me too,” I said.
“You’re dying, Jenny, that’s true; but you’re also still living.”
* * *
As I lay in bed, a strange buzz zipped past me. I looked around and saw no movement except flecks of dust hovering on a sunbeam. I shut my eyes. Not a minute later, there it was again.
I pushed myself onto my elbows and looked around my bedroom. Isabella’s stuffed koala sat on the dresser. I squinted at him and he stared back with coal eyes. Suddenly one of the eyes took flight. The buzzing sound grew louder as the eye barreled through the air toward me like a kamikaze pilot. Before I had time to make sense of it or react, it crashed into the side of my face and dropped to the bed. I rubbed at my cheek and looked down, thankful to find not a koala eye but a way more logical stinkbug. He lay upside down atop my cover, his threadlike legs squirming in the air.
I gently flicked him upright and he flashed across the room again. I laid my head back down and was almost asleep when I heard, Zzt, zzt, zzzzzzzt. I let out a frustrated groan and sat up. The noise continued. Looking up, I spotted a blur of black slamming around the inside cover of the overhead light.
“How in the world did you get in there?”
David used to make fun of me because I wouldn’t let him kill flies. Instead, I insisted he catch them and release them outside. He would mumble to himself as he obliged. After watching my mother die, I just couldn’t stand to see anything suffer . . . not even an insect. I pushed myself off the bed as the bug grew more and more frantic inside his light-fixture prison. “Calm down. I’m coming to let you out.”
An armchair sat by the window. I tried to lift it, but it was too heavy, and I was too weak. Giving up, I dragged it to the center of the room, just under the light. Cautiously, I climbed up on the cushion, reached over my head, twisted the tiny screws holding the cover in place, and removed it. The moment he tasted freedom, the ungrateful bug rocketed into my face again.
As I batted him away, I felt the chair cushion slip under my foot. I threw my hands up just in time to protect my face from colliding with the floor. Though my shoulder took the brunt of the blow, it was my foot that exploded in pain. I grabbed it and groaned.
Mama Peg called up, “Jenny! You okay?”
It took me a minute before I could even answer. She called again, this time panicked. “Jenny, answer me!”
“I’m okay,” I called back, afraid that if I didn’t answer right away, she’d try to come up after me, huffing and puffing, dragging that tank of hers. “I’m getting up.” I pushed myself off the floor, cringing at the soreness in my wrists.
Lately, I hurt everywhere, all the time, but this was worse than usual. Slowly I made my way onto my knees and stood. The moment I put my full weight on my feet, a fresh jolt of pain shot up my toes to my ankle and knocked me back to the ground. This fall wasn’t nearly as bad as the first, but when I tried to get back up, the room twisted and whirled, blood rushed to my head . . . and everything faded.
* * *
I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I opened my eyes, two gluey-white pools blinked back at me. Labored breaths that smelled of syrup puffed on my face. Disoriented, I pulled my head back and squinted. Mama Peg lay on the floor beside me, her oxygen tank flat on its side. Wiry hairs sprung out from her off-center bun like coils through an old mattress. “Jenny?”
I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming. “Why are we on the floor?”
“You fell,” she said. “Twice, I think, by the sound of it.”
My body lay at a strange angle with my leg bent behind me as though I were preparing to kick a ball. I straightened it out, cringing at the pain. My right foot was double the size of my left. It took me a second to remember why. “If I’m the one who fell, then why are you on the floor?”
“Misery loves company.” She wheezed through strained breaths.
“You sound horrible.”
She coughed. “Thanks.”
I motioned to her tank. “You made it all the way up here dragging that?”
“The things we do for love,” she said.
I tried to push myself up, but my head pulsated with pain. I laid it back down.
“I quit trying too,” Mama Peg said with a frown. “Looks like we might be here awhile.”
“When’s the last time you were up here?” I asked.
“I stopped doing stairs about five years ago.” She turned her head and eyed the room. “I like what you’ve done with this place.”
I followed her gaze. It did look cute. I tilted my head back and glanced at the striped blue valances I’d hung. “I found those curtains in the attic.”
She studied them. “They look a lot better in here than they ever did in the den.”
“Thanks,” I said.
We lay there awhile just staring at each other until I finally said, “I’m afraid if I try to get up again, I’ll pass out.”
>
Her bushy eyebrows looked even more unruly than usual. “I might need a forklift to get me off this floor.”
“We should probably call someone to help us,” I said.
She twisted her mouth thoughtfully. “I hate to be a bother.”
I laughed at that.
“Glad you can find humor,” she said.
“It is pretty funny.”
She smiled a toothless smile. She must have removed her dentures to take a nap. “I imagine it would be, to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always did find humor in strange places,” she said.
“Wonder who I get that from.” If I had inherited anything from Mama Peg, it was her sense of humor, and she knew it.
I leaned on my elbow and propped my head on my palm. My head throbbed, but a little less than the first time I had tried to raise it. I figured if I lay like that for a minute or two, it might settle down. “Hey, why were you crying earlier?”
She focused on the ceiling instead of me.
I regretted the question. “It’s okay; you don’t have to answer.”
“No,” she said, “it’s okay. It just struck me that you were really dying.” She traced her finger over a spot on the oxygen tank where the green paint had flecked off. “And that I was dying too.”
I felt as if I should say something insightful or comforting, but what was there to say? We really were both dying. It probably needed to strike her sooner or later.
Her naked gums looked more gray than pink. I couldn’t help but focus on them as she spoke. “What time does Bella get off the bus?”
Alarm and adrenaline filled me. “Shoot. How long have we been lying here?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. We both were out for a while.”
I looked at the alarm clock on my dresser. The dread I felt at missing Isabella’s bus was far worse than the pain in my temples. “Twenty minutes ago.”
With what looked like great difficulty, Mama Peg pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Kid, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can stand by myself.”