Touchdown (8 page)

“I don't want to hear from you,” Goldie said. “You practically left me an orphan. You almost ruined my life, but by the grace of God did not—Do you know how it felt to be that kid in camp who nobody ever came to see on visiting day? Or what it was like trying to figure out how to be a woman when there was nobody to show me? I want to go home. Now.”

“You can't.”

“I have a wedding to finish.”

Judy shook her head. “That's not possible, sweetie. You'll love the Light, it's better than anything you can imagine.”

“Like I should trust you?” Goldie shook her head. “I have to get back to Avner. They're waiting for me.”

“I'll take you to see them,” her mother said, “but you need to understand—they won't be able to see you.”

Goldie sat down on the bed. “I'm not going anywhere with you, Mama.”

Judy stood quietly. “This is a lot to absorb, I understand. I'll be back soon after this has sunk in,” she said, and instantly disappeared.

“Good!” Goldie yelled at the space where she had stood. “You should leave! That's your specialty!”

She looked around the room and noticed a small window above the bed, where she hadn't seen one before. She stood on top of the bed and peered through the window, which opened into a dark, shallow tunnel. She saw the figure of a young man on the other side. She pushed open the window to reach him but he seemed to be resting. “Hey, are you also dreaming?” she whispered to the guy.

When he didn't answer, she crawled into the tunnel and grabbed the boy, pulling him out into her room.

“God! You reek like alcohol,” she said as she dropped him on her bed. He was cute, looked to be about her age, was tall with sandy blond hair, and had a trim yet muscular build.

When he didn't answer, she pinched his arm, hard. “Get up! I'm sick of everybody around me weirding out, okay?”

The boy groaned, even though he seemed too out of it to budge.

“Would you get up? I can't take this craziness!”

The boy's eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?” he mumbled. “And who are you? I'm Clay.”

Goldie, lost in her own thoughts, continued to think out loud. “I'm having a really weird dream. That's what happens when you go organic. I knew I shouldn't have tried that diet for the wedding but the salesman insisted the pills were ‘natural.' I think he must've put in opium or ground-up shoes or some—”

Clay interrupted Goldie's diatribe. “Pardon me, but if this is your dream, why am I in it?”

“How would I know?”

“You seem like you have an answer for everything.”

Goldie smiled. “I usually do, thank you very much, but this experience is just beyond even what I know. However I am an expert in fashion, media, and home decor so if you—”

Clay interrupted. “It makes no sense that we would we be in each other's dreams.”

“So what?” Goldie sighed. “Do I look like somebody who knows the secrets of the universe?”

Clay shook his head. “I suppose not.” He carefully observed his surroundings. “Though maybe it isn't a dream? I mean, maybe we're dead?”

Goldie laughed. “Nonsense. I'm about to get married. So this must be a dream.” His words bounced through her head and she suddenly felt anxious. Could they possibly be dead? She clutched his hand. “What were you up to before this?”

Clay shrugged. “A football game. A party. Drinking . . . ”

“Oh, good.” Goldie smiled. “So you're probably just in an alcohol-fueled slumber. I read about that in
Actors Inc.
magazine—it's a scientific fact that heavy drinking does that to people.”

“Huh? I never heard that drinking leads to dreaming about rooms in heaven.”

“Well, you should get more educated,” Goldie said. “That magazine is very forward-thinking.”

Clay shook his head. “You get your news from a magazine about actors?”

Goldie sighed and spoke slowly to Clay as if he was a young child. “Not just stars. It is a magazine about the industry. And they wouldn't print it if it weren't true. There are laws about that, you know. Fifth Amendment and all that.”

He shook his head. “This whole experience is crazy. What if it isn't a dream?”

“You can think what you want, Mr. Heavy Drinker, but I am so not dead.”

Clay stared at the girl in the tattered wedding dress. “How do you know that?”

Goldie shrugged. “Because if we are . . . then where is everybody else?”

He paused. “I'm not sure. Maybe we can't join them yet?”

“My mom said—”

“Your mom is here, too?”

“She died years ago. She said I needed to detox. You know what that means?”

“In this context?” Clay shook his head. “No idea. But I think we just might be dead.”

Goldie pursed her lips. “If—and that's a big ‘if'—we are by some God-awful chance dead, and I'm not saying that we are, then where do we go from here? Heaven for me. I think.” Goldie paused as she summarized her life. “Oh, no. I shouldn't have been so difficult with—maybe hell? Wait. Do you know how they decide? I mean are we grouped by the same life choices or . . . how does this work? Were you good or bad?”

The boy let out a moan. “Bad. Real awful.”

“Like ‘Thou Shalt Not' bad or more like ‘parking in a handicapped zone when there are like six empty handicapped spots, because you're just not in the mood to walk through the parking lot' bad?”

The boy sat up and stared at Goldie. “I caused my brother to slip up and ruin his football career, I've been leading on my girlfriend, and I humiliated my best friend. I'm a big fraud and I think a police car was chasing me last night though I can't remember why. I think my friend Leigh was pumping my chest or something.”

“You think so?”

“I was smashed. Don't really know what happened.”

“Oh,” Goldie said. “That's bad. Yep, we're in hell.”

“Ugh, that's terrible.” Clay sighed. “I suppose we're in this together. Anyway, who are you?”

Goldie ran her fingers through her hair. “Goldie Fischer, how do you do? I wish we could be meeting under better circumstances—”

“What are you in for?”

“I have no idea. Really. Can't say I was the nicest person alive, but I did what I had to do. Anyway, I'm still not convinced we're dead.”

“I hear you.” Clay nodded and looked around the room. “On second thought, it's kind of nice here—are you sure we're in hell?”

Goldie stood up and shook her head. “I'm not sure about anything, I just got here recently myself, Mr., uh . . . ?”

“Harper—Clayton Harper from Atlanta, Georgia.”

“The South? How nice. So what do you do outside of New York? Are you a farmer?”

Clay blanched. “Okay, this must be hell.”

“Why? I've watched re-runs of
Dukes of Hazard
. And I've sat through
The Walking Dead
with my dad. I can do all those accents like so cool. Especially the Southern zombies. Do you want to hear me try?”

“God, no,” he said and stared at Goldie. “I hope I don't have to spend eternity with you—that would be terrifying.”

Just then Goldie's mother reappeared. “They say it's time to go, Goldie.”

Clay's eyes widened. “Will anyone be coming for me?” he asked.

Judy stared at him, a quizzical expression on her face. “I'll have to look into that,” she said.

Goldie tapped her foot impatiently, clearly bored. “Where do ‘they' want us to go?”

Judy shrugged. “To see the loved ones left behind.”

“And then?”

“The tribunal.”

When Goldie gave her a blank stare, Judy explained. “You'll be judged there, sweetie. It's different for everybody. The choices you made below affect what happens to you for eternity. The tribunal will decide whether you will get placed in heaven or hell.”

Clay shook his head. “Even here you got to worry about where you rank?”

Goldie sighed. “Uh huh, right. Okay, let's do this crazy dream,” she said, and felt herself fall through the sky and into her living room on Long Island.

Goldie noticed at once that all the mirrors in the house were covered. Could this be true? She suddenly panicked. She knew that, traditionally, mirrors in the home of the newly dead were covered for the first week, so that the visiting soul wouldn't feel the pain of not seeing themselves in the mirror. She couldn't imagine any other reason Mindy would've had their mirrors covered with sheets.

Oh, no. Goldie was filled with dread.

She walked through the kitchen where she saw boxes of cake on the table and bit her lip when she saw the packaging on two cakes were from Goldstein's Bakery. Her family only ordered from Chantilly so somebody else must've brought the tasteless babka cakes that graced her kitchen table. She knew there were only a number of reasons someone would bring them a cake. Like an engagement party . . . a new baby . . . or a death—

“I can't believe she's gone,” Mindy cried. Goldie watched as Mindy sat beside their father and Avner on low stools in their living room. Neighbors came by to pay their respects by visiting Goldie's family, sitting back and giving them time and space to talk, and responding only when spoken to, as was their custom for comforting mourners.

Avner shook his head and turned to Mindy's dad. “I don't know, Allen, do you think it was something I said?”

Goldie stared at Avner. “Huh? What did you say? I ran away from dogs and have been having crazy dreams about a guy in a white suit, a football player, and Mom.”

Allen shrugged. “Maybe I should've given her more attention?”

“Daddy, please!” Goldie pooh-poohed her father's suggestion. “Of course you always gave me enough attention.”

Mindy sighed. “I can't imagine what she was thinking!”

“Mindy? I always told you what I was thinking! You always said I had no filter. Why are you all ignoring me? Hello?”

Mindy stared straight through Goldie toward Avner. “I can't believe she's gone.”

Goldie swallowed and tried to hold back her tears. “Mindy, why are you talking to me like I'm dead?”

Goldie's mom appeared beside her. “Because you are, Goldie. I'm sorry. I tried to tell you.”

“No!” Goldie yelled.

Judy gently held Goldie's shoulders. “It gets easier if you accept it. Just go along with it.”

Goldie stared at her mother, her eyes fiery with anger. “Like you did? Accept your weakness, your illness . . . your death? You're a coward, Mom. You always were. Leaving us to fend for ourselves because you accepted your fate.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Judy said, and shook her head. “But you must accept your limitations. This is the way of the universe.”

“I won't.” Goldie watched her father holding onto a photo of her and he looked completely lost. “I will never accept fate. I will fight for what I want every minute of every day.” Avner seemed rudderless and her little sister sat beside them, softly crying on a stool. “They need me. I have to help them.”

“You can't.” Judy placed her hand on Goldie's shoulder. “You must come with me.”

“No.”

Her mother nodded. “I understand,” she said. “Everybody needs time to adjust. I'll be back for you soon.”

She turned away from Goldie and paused beside Goldie's father. “I love you, Allen,” she whispered and kissed her husband's cheek.

Goldie watched as her father closed his eyes and put his hand on his cheek where the spirit of his wife had just kissed him. Although he couldn't see his wife, Goldie could've sworn she heard her father whisper, “I love you, too.”

Guests who'd been reviewing a photo album passed the book back to Mindy. She blinked back her tears and opened the cover, gently outlining the photos with the tips of her fingers. “Look, Avner,” she said and shared the book with him. “Here's a photo of you and Goldie at the mall.”

“Oh, I remember that day!” Goldie exhaled, finally feeling some measure of happiness amidst the current madness. “I bought a sweater there at 50 percent off.”

Avner smiled. “Yeah, I still have the sweater she got me.”

Mindy smiled, too. “I have many, many sweaters she bought me. Plus all her hand-me-downs. And shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.”

Even Allen managed to smile through the pain of their loss. “She always did have a good eye for fashion,” he said.

“Yes, she sure did.” Chumie, the woman who worked at Brenda's Boutique, was sitting among the guests and moved closer to Avner. “I have some photos, too,” she said. Chumie handed Avner an album. “Remember when we were all at your eighth birthday party?”

“Wow, I haven't seen these photos in years!” said Avner.

Mindy glanced at the picture. “You and Goldie were so cute back then.”

Chumie, dressed in a tight-fitting black dress, moved closer to Avner. “My mom helped your mother with the cake.”

Avner nodded. “The spacecraft theme, I remember that.”

Goldie shook her head. “Why are you horning in? It's my life he's remembering.”

Chumie looked straight at Goldie. “Not anymore,” she said.

“Huh?” Avner looked up at Chumie.

“You're not into spacecrafts anymore, right?”

Avner shrugged. “Yeah, it's been a while.”

Goldie pursed her lips. “You can see me, can't you?”

Chumie shrugged.

“Great.” Goldie sighed. “The only person on the planet that I don't want to interact with is the one who can see me.”

Chumie ignored Goldie and leaned closer to Avner. “Can I get you some cake? A hot piece of babka, maybe?”

Avner nodded. “That would be great. Thanks, Chumie.”

Goldie shook her head. “Oh no, you aren't.”