“No?”
“No. Since that first time I saw you running through the orchard.”
“When you pulled me into our tree to save me from those kids?”
“Yes. But one day you climbed higher than ever before.”
“And I fell.”
“Like a rock.”
“I was as good as gone. But you brought me back. Want to try again?”
“Seems risky.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Adam beamed. “I like this new, adventurous you.” His warm hands cupped my face, and my body trembled with anticipation as he brought his lips to mine. His kiss was tender but filled with such earnestness, such depth of emotion, that there was no doubt every human cell in that perfect “prototype” body of his was behind it.
I pressed my mouth more firmly to his, and his arms circled my waist, lifting me into the air. It was like that county fair Spinout ride all over again, turning and turning with the floor dropping away, leaving me breathless.
Only I didn’t ever want this ride to end. Not if I could ride it with him.
But all things come to an end, especially in that room. Slowly he lowered me back to earth, but instead of falling, I felt as if I’d been resuscitated all over again, minus all the broken bones. For the first time since that fall, I was whole again.
I traced the welts beneath Adam’s starched white shirt. They marked where, using a scissor blade, I’d cut through the first two letters of the word that once spelled emet. Only the last character had remained, and I had altered and added to it to form chai. Life.
“That right there is probably some of my best cosmetology work.” I kissed the air over the spot, grateful that my hunch worked. Who knows how? What I did know was that Neil was wrong; not everything can be explained by science. Call it magic, call it a miracle, call it faith. Whatever you call it, something happened when that last drop of ink entered Adam’s flesh. There was no other way to explain the red oxygen-rich blood that now flowed through his veins.
He placed both hands over mine, drew me in, and said gravely, “I still say you’ve made a poor career choice.”
I pulled back. “What? You don’t think I can manage a mortuary?”
“It’s not that.” He patted his chest with his hand. “It’s that I wonder if you would’ve made a better surgeon or tattoo artist.”
“Thanks, but I think I can do more good here, although Mr. Zmira might not agree. It’s not every day you have someone reanimated on your living-room couch.”
“I’ll be at work in his yard to pay off the reupholstering for months. I still don’t think he’s fully accepted what I am—correction, was. But the sooner he can forget the entire episode, the better. Did I tell you he connected me with a landscaper yesterday?”
“No. That’s great, Adam! That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’m going to have to learn the business from the ground up.”
I was slow on the uptake, but then—“Oh my god, did you just make a joke?”
He shrugged with embarrassment and cracked his largest smile yet. “Come on. The mourners will be here soon. Can I give you a hand?”
“I’d like that. I think he would, too. Wouldn’t you, Miles?” I gave his casket a gentle caress. “Besides, I just had the walls patched and repainted.”
Adam laughed, something he did often now. It had become my favorite sound.
“After the service Rachel and Dad are off to check out a possible location for their bakery, so I’ll be driving Miles to the crematorium. You want to come?”
“Sure, as long as the hearse has airbags.”
“Very funny. Two jokes in one day. You’re way over your quota.”
He held the door to let Miles and me through and then joined me at my side. I smiled to see the dirt under his nails. Some things never change.
Together we pushed the gurney down the hall. We bumped the chair rail only once.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A few years ago, I began a creation story about a girl who was more comfortable with the dead than the living. Without the assistance of some extremely knowledgeable, talented, and generous souls, that seed of an idea might never have sprouted to life.
First, I have to thank my steadfast agent, Abigail Samoun at Red Fox Literary, for her undying faith in me and the tale I wanted to tell. With patience and reassurance, she challenged me to take the story beyond what I thought possible and sent it out into the world.
By the grace of the goddess Fortuna, I landed in the capable and nurturing hands of my editor, Ardi Alspach—a match made in heaven! I cannot thank her enough for her enthusiasm and gentle guidance. There are not enough deep pink roses in all the world to express my gratitude.
Not even a pandemic could stop the superheroes of Team Sterling. They went above and beyond in making this book the very best it could be and with a cover to match. Team members include Irene Vandervoort, Elizabeth Lindy, Julie Robine, Kevin Iwano, Renee Yewdaev, Kayla Overbey, Blanca Oliviery, and Kathy Brock.
I’m also extremely grateful to the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), especially Lin Oliver and Stephen Mooser, for the grant that enabled me to work with the amazing Deborah Halverson, editorial wizard extraordinaire. Deborah helped me to navigate a major rewrite and to see my story’s potential. She is a gift to all in the field of children’s books.
Special mention goes to the experts who answered my endless questions: Claire Simmons and Anthony Hernandez at the Reardon Simi Valley Funeral Home. Claire cheered me on even before there was a story, and I can still feel the goose bumps of our first encounter when we discussed a certain Adam. Chuck and Linda Goolden offered me their insights gleaned from years of experience. I will forever be grateful. (Keep the anecdotes coming, and I’ll see you on the ski slopes or the steps of JUMP!) And the brilliant Karen Wadley from the Department of World Languages at Boise State University not only verified and refined all of my Latin but enlightened me as to the language’s nuances and made me laugh out loud in the process.
So many people read early versions of this book over the twelve years it took me to write it that it is difficult to remember them all, but some will never be forgotten. Eternal thanks to Lori Cook and Sally Rogan, who willingly endured countless revisions and never complained—at least not so I could hear. I will always love and cherish them both for their friendship, honesty, and unwavering encouragement. Every Batman needs a Robin, and for me that person is Rebecca Langston-George. Her humor and mad organizational skills helped me stay the course. And an extra-special thank-you goes to my critique partners and fellow sister-writers Naomi Howland, Nancy Hayashi, (pod-sister) Lisze Bechtold, Anita McLaughlin, Marla Frazee, Barbara Bietz, Anne-Marie Saunders, Alexis O’Neill, Julie Frankel-Koch, and Joan Bransfield Graham. Additional thanks to my CenCal pals Toni Guy, Charlie Perryess, and Gwen Dandridge for their helpful insights and to Erin Wilcox and Jillian Bietz.
And last but not least, I could not have written a word if not for the love and support of my family. Ian, Alex, and Brett, you inspire me every day to make you proud. To my mother, who said I could do anything I set my mind to. And to Todd—you are my Adam. Te amo etiam.
It’s been a long road, but the company has been stellar!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mary Ann Fraser enjoys getting lost—in the wilderness, in the wilds of a book, or in a world of her own creation. This is her YA debut, but she writes and illustrates for children of all ages, with over seventy books to her credit. Mary Ann is a proud member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and a founding member of the Children’s Authors Network. When she is not lost in a story, she is hiking and skiing the trails of Idaho, digging in the garden, or playing her hammered dulcimer and djembe drum (thankfully not at the same time). To learn more, visit www.maryannfraser.com.
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