For all these reasons, I hesitate to trust the feeling of contentment I’ve felt this March. Ironic how the best time of my life has come only after my actual life ended. Lately I’ve been suspended in this blissful state of near happiness, and I’m terrified it’s all about to come crashing down around me. I’m afraid that one of these times I’m going to blink and wish myself into the living room and be transported someplace else entirely, like a bad joke. Instead of the couch, I’ll end up back in my penthouse apartment just to find out this has all been a dream after all.
When I was alive, I loved stuff. Never satisfied, I collected more of everything. I collected clothes, wine, antiques—anything I could show off and spend obscene amounts of money on. At the time I considered myself a connoisseur, a great collector of exquisite things. But the truth was I wasn’t happy and bought stuff to fill the void. But this new life sustains me in a way I never thought possible. The giant hole inside me suddenly is full.
Karen is happy too, even though she’ll never admit it. She’s much too cynical. But she laughs more often and doesn’t flinch when I touch her. Her entire demeanor is more relaxed. She’s even okay to sit on the stairs and watch a movie with Jimmy and Wren. We don’t need to hide in closets so much.
Rekindling our romance is proving harder than I expected. This Karen is much different than the one I broke up with. I’m the problem. In my real life, I never had any difficulty gaining a woman’s affection. I collected women the same way I collected everything else—with an appreciation for beautiful things, but one was never enough. Perhaps it was the women I chased after, but I never had to try very hard to get their attention. The last woman I actually had to pursue may have been my own Karen back in high school. As an adult, I relied on my looks and my money and exuded confidence in both. Certain women were immediately attracted to this combination. These girls didn’t demand much of me emotionally. They enjoyed expensive dinners, shiny trinkets, and great sex. When they started asking for more, I walked away without a second glance. Another one was always waiting to take her place.
Karen is not like these women. I can’t rely on nice things or money to win her over, since I have access to neither and doubt it would impress her if I did. Unlike the clingy girls I used to run from, she’s even more emotionally detached than I am. She’s not sensitive like most girls and sees the world in black and white, always saying exactly what she means. Feelings don’t dictate her world. But this hard shell she’s built around herself is what makes her even more delicate, in my view. She acts so strong and so tough, but if her childhood was anything like my Karen’s, I know she’s learned to be this way out of self-preservation. This brittle hardness is the end result of years of protecting her heart. It’s my mission to break her shell, even if it takes me an entire afterlife to do it.
***
“What’s the best memory you have of your James?” I ask her. We lie with our hands behind our heads and stare up at the glow of the constellation on the nursery ceiling. We love talking about our other versions, our lives before we died. It’s like free therapy. It’s nice sharing our innermost thoughts, the parts we never knew existed. It’s easier to do it now than ever before.
She closes her eyes and thinks back to a different time. I watch her go back to her life.
“We had a lot of great memories,” she says, eyes still closed. Her lashes are so long they almost brush her cheekbones. She’s not wearing any makeup, just like how she came into the ghost world, fresh-faced and scrubbed clean. “There was one night that I’ll always remember, though,” she says. She absently spins the silver ring on her right hand around and around.
“Tell me about it,” I nudge. Getting her to share isn’t easy. She’s so used to holding everything inside, it’s natural for her. I truly believe she could have spent her entire afterlife in silence and been okay. It would have driven me crazy.
“We were sophomores. James had just turned sixteen, so he had his learner’s permit. He wasn’t allowed to drive without his parents in the car yet, but by the summer he would be able to drive all on his own. We were both pretty excited about the freedom it would bring us. His parents even bought him a Jeep for his birthday. One of the ones with the removable top.”
For my own sixteenth birthday, I got a Jeep just like that. I guess some things do remain the same from life to life. Thinking back to my adolescence, I remember considering a license to be the ticket to adulthood. I can’t help but smile at the memory.
“One night in early March, my parents had this terrible fight,” she says, and I’m reminded of my dislike for the month. “They fought constantly, but this one was worse than most. My dad was drunk, and my mom was on a rampage. I doubt they even knew I was in the house. It was always about them,” she says bitterly, twisting the ring faster around her finger. “I called James in the middle of the night just to hear his voice. He was the only one I could talk to about my parents. I was afraid if I didn’t call him, I’d end up going into the other room to try and break up the fight, and that was never a good idea.” She closes her fists and takes a breath, reliving the pain. “It was probably like two in the morning, and it was a school night, but he answered on the first ring. Luckily, he had his own line in his room, so it didn’t wake his parents.”
In high school, cell phones weren’t yet a thing. Nowadays it would’ve been a text message, no threat of waking anyone with a bothersome ring. Like her James, I too had a private line in my bedroom. My dad took it away when I started acting like an asshole teenager, probably sometime in my junior year of high school.
Karen continues, voice shaky. “I told him I was scared and wanted to leave the house. I needed to get away from all the yelling. He listened and convinced me not to run away. He even made me laugh. After a few minutes I was already calmer. Talking to him drowned out my parents in the other room and almost made me forget where I was. He had that effect on me. He was my safety blanket, and after we hung up, I was able to put myself to bed.” She bites her lip and shakes her head a little, her lips turning up into a smile. “But that wasn’t all. About fifteen minutes later I hear something hitting my window. My parents had quit screaming by this time. Dad was probably passed out and Mom had locked herself in the bedroom, so the house was quiet. I went to the window and there he was, standing outside in the bushes, throwing stones at my window.” She laughs, cherishing the memory. “Like a modern-day Romeo calling up to my balcony.”
This never happened in my existence. Clearly her James was much different from me, much better. I always knew Karen had a rough home life, but my solution was to have her hang at my house. Or better yet, take her to the mall.
“He drove his Jeep to my house in the middle of the night even though he wasn’t supposed to be driving alone. If his parents found out, he would have been grounded—or god forbid he was pulled over, who knows what would’ve happened.” She shakes her head. “But none of that mattered then. I opened the window and he crawled inside. Luckily, I was on the first floor, but I bet he would have climbed the gutters to get in. He handed me a daffodil and hugged me. In the middle of March, he found a flower poking out of a snow-covered patch of mud along the driveway. We lay together until I feel asleep. When I woke up, he was gone. He left me a note saying he’d see me in homeroom.”
I don’t even know how to respond to this story. This boy was amazing. Unfortunately, I fear Karen’s expectations of me may be too high. I’m not that James.
“He sounds like he was pretty special,” I say, not looking at her. “You were lucky to have him.”
She nods. “I know. I wish I knew that back then. I was an idiot.” She sits up suddenly, eyes lighting up.
“Let’s go outside,” she says. I’ve never seen her this animated. It’s contagious. I feel excited at her energy.
We end up in the backyard. There is still a scattering of snow on the ground. We walk toward the picnic table, leaving the snow behind us untouched.
“I know you aren’t the
same guy I dated,” she says, before we settle down. She takes my hands across the table. They feel warm, even though I can’t feel the temperature in the air.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to say. “I’m not like him. I was never good to my Karen. I took her for granted. I was so self-absorbed, and I couldn’t imagine a future with her in it. I thought she was just my high school girlfriend and it ended there.”
“It’s okay, I don’t blame you for anything. I don’t want you to be that same James.” She lets go of my hand and pulls the ring off her finger. She holds it in her fingertips, inspecting it. “My James was great, but I’m not stupid; I know he’s not mine anymore. He belongs to some other lucky woman out there. I gave up his love a long time ago, and I’m not hanging on to it anymore.”
“Did you ever love anyone else after him?” I’m curious. It seems like we both lived our lives without a lot of love.
“No. I punished myself for a long time after we broke up. Telling him it was over hurt so bad I couldn’t face another loss like that, so I didn’t let myself love again.”
“Me neither. But for me, it wasn’t all caused by Karen. I loved her in my own way. When my sister died, I gave up on love. Losing her broke something inside of me. I didn’t want to hurt that badly ever again.”
Karen puts the ring on the table. “James gave this to me senior year. It was a promise ring. We had no intention of getting married that young, but he told me it was a promise to always love me, no matter what. I’ve never taken it off.” We look at it, shining on the table. “I want to start over.” She glances at me hopefully. “I want to start over with you.”
“I’d like that,” I say, picking up the ring. It’s a simple silver band, but there’s an inscription along the outside. Karen and James, forever and after. How appropriate. I take her left hand and slip the ring onto her finger. “Some version of me gave you this ring once. I hope it’s okay I give it to you again.” She smiles at me, eyes wet with tears. I can tell she’s looking at me and not wishing I were some other James. “Karen, will you be with me, forever and after?”
“Yes,” she whispers, reaching across the table and taking my face in her hands. “Not that I have much choice,” she kids.
She kisses me, and I know for certain this is the best March ever.
47
Jimmy
Age 36
June 2007
“Where are you taking us?” Wren asks. She sits in the passenger seat of our truck, but her body pulsates with pent-up energy and she strains against the seat belt, looking out the window. “I hate surprises!”
I keep my eyes on the road, resisting the urge to smile. Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at keeping secrets from Wren. Not an easy task, but a rewarding one. She says she hates surprises, but she’s lying. I know from the look on her face during every big reveal that she actually loves all the intrigue.
“You’ll find out when we get there, little Miss Impatient,” I say, turning the radio up. Tim McGraw sings a familiar song, and she’s instantly distracted and starts singing along.
Tim croons about getting lost in a corner booth, and her face lights up. “Mexico?” she asks, mouth turned up in a half smile. “You’re taking me to Mexico, aren’t you?”
I chuckle. “You got me. I even called the radio station ahead of time and asked them to play this song,” I kid. She sticks her tongue out at me. When the song hits the chorus, I join in, a slightly off-key duet.
While she was at the grocery store yesterday, I packed two duffel bags, one for each of us. I probably should have sent her on some other errand, since now we have a house full of food that might spoil while we’re gone. Unfortunately, it was the only reasonable excuse I could think of to get her out of the house.
Our anniversary is this month, and Wren’s birthday is just around the corner. As if these weren’t reasons enough to get away, Wren’s been in remission over a year, one of the longest healthy periods ever. Since the miscarriage, we haven’t had much quality time together, and we’re in desperate need of a break. We’ve been working on fixing our marriage after losing the baby, but something is still missing. I hope to find it this week. Maybe if we get away, we can take note of all the good things in our lives that have been overshadowed by the bad lately.
“Are we going to Vegas?” she asks, as soon as the song finishes. I shrug, refusing to give her even one hint. “You know, I could just rummage through my bag and use my impressive skills of deduction to figure out where we’re going.” She twists in her belt and reaches an arm toward her bag before I can block her with my own arm.
“Eyes on the road,” I say, shifting my own gaze steadily forward. “Also, we are definitely not going to Vegas.” My wife is often brilliant, but she has zero sense of direction. We’ve been driving northwest from Boston for three hours, and for some reason she’s still convinced we’re heading for an airport.
“Chicago?”
I laugh. “No, I’m not driving to Chicago. What would I pack for you if we were going there, anyway?”
She thinks a moment. “Windbreaker?” I roll my eyes at her. “Florida?” Apparently she’s going to keep throwing darts at the map of the United States until she hits the right city.
“Wren . . . does it look like we’re driving to Florida?” I ask, causing her to look out the window at the trees and mountains we’re passing by.
She frowns. “No,” she admits reluctantly. “You better hope it’s someplace good, or else I’m going to claim it’s a kidnapping.”
“It’s someplace good,” I promise. She grabs my hand and starts singing to the radio again.
***
“It’s absolutely beautiful,” Wren says. She stares in awe at the falls, a light glittering of dew coating her long lashes.
The water cascades powerfully from all sides, so loud it’s like we’re in a bubble of white noise. We’re in a crowd of tourists, but their chatter is drowned out and it’s as if we’re alone.
“Niagara Falls was my next guess,” Wren says, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, though. I know how much you like to think you fooled me.”
“Of course,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against my chest. She leans into me, and I drop my chin onto the crown of her head. Her hair smells like strawberries.
“I could stand here and watch this forever,” she whispers. We’re both mesmerized by the expanse before us.
Niagara Falls wasn’t the first place I thought of when I began planning this trip. Vermont was an option. We both enjoy a quaint bed-and-breakfast and early-morning hikes into the mountains, so I know for certain she’d have loved it. But we’d been to Vermont a million times. This trip needed to be special. I thought next of the Outer Banks. However, it’s been a cold spring, and I thought a beach trip would be more enjoyable when it’s warmer. New York City could’ve been fun, but the prospect of all the intricate planning and crowds turned me off. One day I was flipping through the channels and came to a nature station. It was a feature on Niagara Falls, and I knew right then that that was where I’d take her.
The endless way the water cascades speaks to my soul. It looks like it will fall forever, never ending, from some limitless source. There’s always more. The conflict between the inherent power and the soothing serenity of this continuity is both unsettling and comforting. It reminds me of a marriage. It can be rough, but from this roughness comes its greatest strength.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she says, finally turning to face me. Her eyes are filled with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. When she smiles, my insides relax. Happy tears. “Nothing is wrong. It’s all very right.”
I kiss her forehead, and we both turn our attention back to the falls.
48
Wren
Age 36
August 2007
I’ve missed my last two periods. When June rolled into July an
d it didn’t show up, the first seeds of hope were planted. I promised myself I wouldn’t jump the gun and kept the news to myself, even though my intuition was screaming at me to take a test. I wasn’t ready to face the disappointment of a negative sign, so I practiced patience—which is never easy for me. After July’s cycle passed, I couldn’t control my excitement and ran to the pharmacy.
At this point, the test isn’t even necessary. I know. I feel a baby inside me, the same as last time. I’m craving salt again. All I want to eat is chips and salsa. Last night I dreamed of pretzels and peanuts. I plan on hitting the drive-through for lunch and ordering a supersized fry all for myself.
There are other signs. The smell of bleach makes me nauseous. All of the kitchen and bathroom cleaners with even a hint of it cause me to throw up whatever salty snack I ate last. Over the last two months, my fingernails have grown so long and strong. Then there’s my hair. It’s already halfway down my back, and it was trimmed a week ago. It hasn’t grown this much since before I was diagnosed.
Jimmy doesn’t know yet. I wanted to keep it to myself until I was sure. Even after I was sure, I hesitated to share the news. I’m scared of his reaction. Common wisdom says three months is the safe zone for most pregnancies, and I’m almost to that point. I contemplated waiting the final week or so before telling him, but the guilt over keeping this monumental secret is wearing me down.
Today is the day I will tell him. Although he will be over the moon with happiness, he will also be terrified. The last pregnancy left scars on both our hearts and minds. I’m only hoping we can move past the fear and enjoy the blessing bestowed on us.
Niagara Falls. I’m positive this is a result of that magical few days. After months of grieving, we finally were able to let some of the pain go and watch it wash away with the falls. Jimmy and I found our way back to each other that week in June. Maybe we’d never fallen apart completely, but we were close. After the miscarriage, we’d held pieces of ourselves back from one another, each for our own reasons. Although we never played the blame game, we both had been holding on to too much anger. At the falls, we forgave each other. I’m not even sure we knew exactly what for, but we did. It felt like a fresh start.
Sometime, Somewhere Page 22
