Pieces of Hope (12 page)

“I’m all
about the happy endings,” Charlotte
chirped.

“I’m
sorry, I need to—” I pointed toward the café.

“That’s
fine,” Charlotte
said, smoothing the front of her silk dress as she and
Rin
stood. Sitting in it had left it slightly wrinkled—a detail which amazed me.
“We have a little traveling to do.” Her ethereal blue eyes were twinkling more
than usual.
     

“You’re
leaving already?” My first pangs of loneliness made me sound pitiful.
    

“Briefly,
but we’ll be back before you can miss us.”
Rin
flashed a smile, slipping a silky strand back into place. “Time passes more
quickly here than it does in the living realm. It’s pretty amazing, really.”
She slipped a glance at Charlotte.
“I’m tagging along because Charlotte
needs my help. Ten years is a long time for a mother to cry.”

Even
though I’d never given it much thought, I had to agree. And when you saw it
from the traveler’s viewpoint, it seemed completely unnecessary.
   

“Maybe
this time her mother will let her in,”
Rin
said,
slightly hopeful.

“Let her
in?” I repeated, thinking of the seventy-nine visits. “What do you mean?”
  

“Each
time Charlotte
visits, her mother closes her mind, tries to convince herself that her
imagination’s playing tricks on her.” She looked at Charlotte. “Mrs. Gooding was a different
person when Charlotte
was alive. Both of them had thick red hair, sparkly blue eyes, and an
infectious smile. Mrs. Gooding was a happy person back then.”

“If
anyone can reach her,
Rin
can!” Charlotte looked ridiculously optimistic.
Rin
, as the more grounded of the two, not so much.

“I hope
you get through to her,” I said, thinking of how difficult I must have made it
for my own mother and experiencing a sudden twinge of guilt.
 

“Eighty
times the charm!” Charlotte
bubbled in her little-girl voice.

They ran
hand-in-hand to the ticket booth, nearly tripping over their prom dresses in
the process. After receiving two coins from Mac, they exited the Station to the
waiting flat-nosed bus. I waved goodbye before stepping away from the glass.

Turning
toward the café, I saw
Creesie
making her way through
the crowd. Her mouth wasn’t moving, but I could clearly hear her telling
me—“Hold on! Wait!” It was the second time I’d clearly heard her speak without
saying a word. It must have been urgent. I’d never seen her move so fast.
Without any explanation, she looped her arm in mine and led me toward the
ticket booth.

“Two,
please,” she announced when we stood before the window.

“One for
you,” Mac said, handing a coin to
Creesie
. “And one
for the cutie beside you.” He passed another to me. I felt my face go hot,
wondering if I was really
all that
in this non-living realm, or if it
was the classic case of the new—almost dead—girl in town. Then again, it might
have been my wild blueberry scent creating such a stir.

I
sniffed the air. Nope. Still nothing.

“Where
are we going?” I asked as
Creesie
pulled me through
the glass.

“I’m
going to the hospital and you’re going to see Ethan.”

“What’s
the rush? I just got back.” I looked to the front of the Station, beyond the
many benches, past the hordes of travelers, where the picture windows granted
me a clear view of the main street. The light hadn’t altered. The horizon still
shimmered in the same sunset or sunrise hues that it always had. “It can’t be
nighttime again already, can it?”

Creesie
pointed toward the café, and the face of the
timeless clock appeared in my mind. Its message was disturbingly clear.
It’s later than you think
.

“Time
flies,”
Creesie
reminded me with a tilt of her head.
“Especially here.”
  

Several
people stood in line in front of us. Snippets of Spanish and French floated
past me like so many bits of alphabet soup, but I wasn’t paying attention.
Butterflies—the enormous kind, found only on the Sci-Fi channel—were throttling
in my stomach. As the adrenaline coursed through me, I sensed that my jitters
had little to do with traveling, and a lot to do with who I was traveling to
see.

Creesie
started adjusting my shirt, trying to smooth it, it
seemed. Then she moved on to my messy head of hair. But making sense of either
of them was a lost cause. As she continued to fuss, I asked, “What are you
trying to do?”

Creesie
made a face. “Don’t you have something nicer to
wear? I have it on good authority that Ethan’s taking you somewhere special.”

“How can
you possibly know that?” The line moved, and we proceeded ahead one step. “I
mean, it hasn’t happened yet, and Ethan’s dreaming—”

“Oh,
didn’t I mention it before?” She looked at me with genuine surprise. I could
only imagine what was coming next, what other secrets she had conveniently
forgotten to mention. “Time isn’t a consideration here.”
 

I was
almost afraid to ask. “What the heck does that mean?”

“If
there’s no such thing as time . . .” she said, speaking so slowly that it led
me to believe she thought I was incapable of understanding English, “that means
there’s no end and no beginning . . . no past, present or future. It’s
all
happening in the present. Because of
that, we can see the future here.” I closed my mouth as it fell open once
again. If this kept up much longer, I’d have to hunt down some duct tape soon.

“You can
see the future, and yet somehow you failed to mention it? That’s kind of
important, don’t you think?” It came out as more of a shout than a question,
and I got the feeling that several heads had turned in our direction, but I was
too busy glaring to check. I was thinking about Ethan and our last visit.
Couldn’t
Creesie
have told me that no harm would come
to him? Ease my worries? I could have overtaxed my heart. Killed myself!
  

Creesie
shrugged. “The future, as we see it, is more liquid
than solid. The living, frequently—more frequently than I’d care to
mention—have the tendency to change their minds. Some events are fairly
certain, like this trip, for instance . . . but you needed to be cautioned
about Ethan’s fragile state either way.”
          

I was
still huffy, but she’d made her point. “And just where are we going, Miss
Know-It-All?”

Her
round eyes went wide, and she giggled. “Oh, no, Hope . . . you’re not getting
that out of me. This is Ethan’s surprise.” We were only three people away from
boarding the bus when
Creesie
abruptly suggested,
“Picture yourself in something pretty. Maybe a dress. Make it summery.”

I
grimaced. A dress? Though I didn’t have any, Claire had several swirly ones. I
pictured one of them, spaghetti-strapped and knee-length. Like most of the
clothes in her closet, I’d seen her in it only once or twice.
  

“Yes,
much better.”
Creesie
looked pleased.

When I
looked down, I was shocked to see that I was wearing the same dress I’d just
imagined in my head.

“But
let’s try it in orange. I think it would be perfect with your olive skin.” As
she spoke, I watched my dress darken from pale blue to deep coral. Her eyes
narrowed as she studied the rest of me. “I’d love to see your hair pulled back,
show off the delicate bones in your face.” The second the words left her mouth,
I felt my hair lift, as though a pair of
 
invisible hands had smoothed it into a low, side ponytail. Then
Creesie
eyed my feet.

Please . . . no, not my red sneakers
, I
begged.

“Those
won’t do,” she muttered. Before I could protest, in place of them, a pair of
flat, strappy sandals appeared on my feet. Pausing to admire her handiwork, she
clapped her hands, her voice giddy, “Heavens to Betsy, you look lovely! What do
you think?”

I
grinned in spite of myself. “I think someone’s been double-dipping into the
fairy dust.”
  

Creesie
gave me such an exuberant hug that it was difficult
to breathe. When air entered my lungs again, she said, “It might get chilly.
Take this.” From out of nowhere, she handed me a bright yellow sweater, mom’s
favorite color. I rubbed the sunny fabric against my cheek.

“Thanks,”
I murmured. As vain as it sounded, I wished secretly for a mirror so that I
could see myself. Did I look like I belonged here? Like one of them?
      

We
walked up the steps of the bus,
Creesie
right behind
me. She lifted the sweater from my arm, tossed it around my shoulders. As I
looked back, I saw her beaming at me like a modern-day fairy godmother.

“Be back
before midnight,” she laughed mockingly. “Or else . . .”
 

8
Dream Date

The
world went briefly black, then immediately brightened to every conceivable
shade of green. What an amazing way to travel! It could really catch on with
the living. No waiting, no downtime, no traffic. The biggest negative lay in
not knowing where you might land. This trip was better in some ways, worse in
others. At least I hadn’t dropped behind the wheel of a speeding vehicle. That
was good. But the bad?

Ethan
was nowhere in sight.

I stood
alone in a small clearing where tall grasses undulated like gentle waves on the
sea. It was warm in the sun, a beautiful summer’s day, so I peeled off my
sweater and tied it about my waist. All around me, giant beanpoles of trees
sprung up like adolescent weeds, and I heard water rushing in the distance. I
closed my eyes for a moment to focus on the sound of his voice, and that’s when
something tugged at me.

I
recognized it as that same invisible force I felt whenever he was near.
Eagerly, I let it lead me beyond the swaying field, toward the sounds of
rippling water. No sooner had I cleared a narrow stand of trees than I froze
mid-step, a gasp catching in my throat.

At first
sight, he was standing in a rocky stream, casting a line, his shirt carelessly
unbuttoned, and wearing knee-high waders with low-slung jeans that showed off
several inches of
untanned
skin. His stomach was a
hardened series of ripples, his chest a mound of perfectly carved flesh. Michelangelo
himself would have been humbled at the sight of such a glorious creation. But,
like an angel seized from heaven, the thing that made my heart swell was the
way he shone in the sunshine. There, in the outline of his body, in the empty
space around him—a thin band of light glowed, pale violet in color.
   

There
was no way to take him in a single look. I needed several pairs of eyes so that
I could be everywhere at once, capture him from every angle. I struggled to
recall our first visit. Had I overlooked this? Or had it simply taken me longer
to see the essence of his soul? If I were right, if this were his truest self,
then Ethan must have danced among the divine.

Unintentionally,
I stepped forward and a twig snapped in protest. He saw me then. I stood at
least fifty feet away, but even at that distance, his eyes held me captive. Normally
an intense shade of golden green, they now seemed more liquid than solid—two
glistening pools of unimaginable depth.

“Hope?”
Happiness and confusion spilled out of him at once.

I waved
in response and walked closer, his beauty consuming me like sunshine devouring
the morning fog.
 

           
Still confused, he said, “I was just thinking about you.
How did you . . .?”
 

           
“I’ve been following you,” I said at last. My heart was
pounding so loudly I thought I might be whispering.

 
“A dream stalker?” He laughed. The sound
seemed to fill the vast space, glorious and pleasant. “Must be my lucky day.”

           
Ethan stepped from the stream, rest his fly rod on the
ground, and walked toward me. Before common sense kicked in, I thought about
running to him. It took every bit of restraint I possessed not to do it. Crazy
as it sounded, all I wanted was to throw my arms around him and feel his arms
around me. The strength of my delusion was so powerful it seemed as if he were
a missing piece of me—as if my life depended upon his strength. Maybe it did
have something to do with our lifetime before, but I couldn’t deny how right it
felt. It was as if all my life I’d been waiting for this single moment in time.

He was
still smiling when I reached him. I beamed a smile back.

“Look at
you,” he said, his voice trailing off into tones of admiration. “I wouldn’t
have pegged you as a girl who likes dresses, but I’m loving the surprise.”

Ethan
was looking at me like I was
the
most
incredible thing he’d ever seen—not something I was accustomed to—and it made
the air stick in my throat. Funny the things I used to take for granted . . .
like breathing in and out.

“A
friend suggested it,” I mumbled. As my heart pounded, I dropped my gaze and
stared straight into his rock-hard chest, which only made it worse. Quickly, I
looked off to the stream.
 

“It’s a
good look for you.” He smoothed a stray lock of hair that had escaped my
ponytail. “But then, I suspect anything is.”

           
I swallowed. It was different standing this close to him.
No hospital bed between us. No third-party buffers. It was like he was sucking
the air right out of my lungs. To be the center of Ethan’s attention was a
life-altering experience.