by Ann M. Noser
Oh dear, where to start?
Mom smiles. “When you were a little girl, you used to tell me everything.”
Until you told me Elsie wasn’t real. You were wrong.
She twists the rings on her fingers. “Things are so different now.”
No kidding. “Yeah, they are.”
“Now you’re all grown up, making grown-up decisions, and…”
“Mom?” I wonder what I can say that won’t get her all riled up. The last thing I want right now is a lecture. “Have you ever made a really bad decision?” I’m not even sure which decision I mean. When I didn’t stop Mike from swimming the Chippewa River? When I tried to get him back? Everything’s so messed up now.
She laughs. “I’m flattered you think I haven’t, but bad decisions happen to everyone. The important thing, honey, is what you do afterward.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I squeeze her perfectly manicured hand.
“You’re welcome.”
I stand up and move away from the piano. “Listen, I don’t want to keep you up. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“Are you going to get any?”
“Probably not.” Wow, I told the truth. That seems a rarity as of late.
She pauses, a hand on her hip. “Want to watch a movie with me, then?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say, grateful for the distraction. “How about Point Break?”
“Sure! Don’t tell your father, but I think Patrick Swayze is unbelievably hot in that movie.”
I pause. “Mom, which movie do you like better: Point Break or Dirty Dancing?”
“Ooh, I can’t decide―it’s a tough call.” Mom grabs some blankets and settles on the couch as I download the movie from the Internet.
During the movie, I sneak glances at my mom as she ogles a shirtless Patrick Swayze. Despite my sorrow, I appreciate my mom’s effort in having an all-girls slumber party to try to cheer me up.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
“Merry Christmas, honey,” she replies with a smile, barely taking her eyes away from the bare-chested surfers.
I try to smile back, but it’s hard. I don’t have any idea when or how I’ll ever feel “merry” again.
Christmas morning I wake dog tired, and look it, too. I don’t even bother brushing my hair or teeth before I trudge to the breakfast table. I wear the oversize flannel pajamas guaranteed to make my mother cringe.
“Emma, maybe we should go shopping tomorrow.” She eyes me over the rim of her coffee cup.
I shrug. “Maybe―”
The doorbell jangles, and I jump in my chair.
My mother flashes a grin as she rushes to answer the door.
“Oh, I knew you’d be back!” I hear her exclaim from the front hallway.
I drop my milky spoon and thunder down the hall toward her buoyant voice.
A young man stands in our doorway. He looks exactly like “Jake” to everyone else on the planet but me. He even wears the real Jake’s brown leather jacket, not that my mother knows this.
But it isn’t Jake.
It’s Mike.
y heart flutters like an injured bird as Mike steps into the foyer out of the cold. In the background, I can hear my mother tinkling like crystal. I grimace, wishing she would hush her exclamations of adoration.
“Emma?” Mike whispers. “What’s going on here?”
“Um…it’s kind of a long story.” I need to get Mike alone for this conversation. I glance down and realize that not only am I wearing pajamas, but they are my ugliest pair. Then I remember I haven’t brushed my teeth or my hair yet. I’m looking the complete opposite of hot. Great. Way to make a good impression.
“Come with me.” I grab Jake’s sleeve and yank Mike down the hallway. I spot a fraternity shirt peaking out from underneath the leather jacket. I push him into my room and lock the door behind us to delay my mother’s approach. “Why are you wearing Jake’s clothes?”
“Laura gave them to me.”
“Oh.” This disturbs me, but I don’t have time to wallow. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. What exactly did Laura tell you?”
“Only a little.” Mike scratches his head. “She said she was waiting for me. I was soaking wet, so she brought me inside to dry off and change clothes.”
“That was nice of her.” I don’t know what else to say. Somehow, Mike’s reappearance renders me unable to think clearly.
He hands me a crumpled piece of paper. “Then Laura brought me to the bus stop and told me how to find you. She said you were expecting me.”
Laura printed off online directions. In the middle of her sorrow, she took the time to help someone else. Someone she doesn’t even know.
“You do realize that you’re dead, right?” I speak bluntly, the quickest way to find out what Mike already knows and what I’ll have to teach him.
“I gathered that. I remember swimming with you, but after that, everything went dark for a long time.”
“No light?” How could there have not been any light for a guy who put off college to care for his sick mother? And what about Jake? I refuse to think of Jake trapped forever in the dark. He has to be somewhere better by now. Please.
“After a while, I found myself in a really long hallway of blinding, bright light. Far off ahead of me, there were people walking. I tried to catch up to them, but the hallway seemed to stretch out longer the faster I went. A man standing next to a door asked my name, then shoved me into a dimly lit closet. He said I belonged there, along with all the other people crowded in there in the dark.”
“How awful!” I grimace. “I thought the afterlife was supposed to be peaceful.”
He shrugs. “Well, it wasn’t so bad, at least not at first. I didn’t feel tired or hungry or scared, but eventually, I got restless. The same man let us out one by one, so there got to be more room after a while, and he asked if we wanted chairs. I said yes, figuring it would give me a chance to escape.”
“Escape? Where would you go?”
“That’s just it. The hallway had disappeared. As soon I got out of the closet, I floated upward until I hit something cold and hard above me.”
I think a moment. “You mean ice?”
“Yeah, ice. Then I realized I couldn’t breathe anymore. I kept ramming against the ice, until finally―”
I can almost see it in my mind. “You broke free.”
“Yes, I guess so… Um, Emma… Laura said you cast some spell to raise me from the dead?” Mike doesn’t sound like he believes it.
“Um…” Holy hell, this is embarrassing. I never thought about how I would explain myself once I did bring Mike back.
Mike clears his throat. “Laura also mentioned something about you bringing back two other guys before me?”
I pick at my pajama sleeve, wishing I’d changed, washed my face, done my hair, or something.
“One of them being her older brother?”
I can tell he wants me to deny this―all of this. “Jake,” I whisper.
“So you’re telling me…you’re some kind of witch?”
My mother chooses this awkward moment to knock loudly upon the door. “Emma?”
I jump at the noise. “Yes? What do you want?”
“Honey, it’s Christmas Day,” she calls through the door. “When are you going to come out and spend some time with your family?”
My eyes narrow. She just wants Jake to entertain her, but he isn’t here anymore. Oh crap, I haven’t even told Mike what his name is supposed to be now. I need to stall.
“Mom?” I squeeze just outside my door, signaling for Mike to be silent. “Can you give us a little privacy? Jake and I need to talk.”
“Oh, Emma.” She fusses with my limp bangs. “While you’re at it, you also might want to do something about your hair.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promise. Actually, it won’t hurt me to clean up a little bit.
“Find out if he’s hungry. We’ve got plenty of food, but we’re out of orange juice.”
“We’re going to make screwdrivers later, just like we do every Christmas. It’s tradition.” She takes out some money from her purse. “Could you two go to the store for me?”
“Sure thing!” I smile. Thanks, Mom. I needed this. “And, don’t worry, I’ll do my hair first.”
I inform Mike we’ll leave for the grocery store in less than five minutes. Then I flee into my private bathroom with an armful of clothes.
We back out of the garage in search of an open store.
“Mike, we have a huge amount of information to cover,” I warn as I speed across town. I pepper him with all the details: who he’s supposed to be, how he should act, and what he should already know about my parents.
Then we stalk the mostly empty aisles of the grocery store.
“Thank goodness nobody’s here. I don’t want anyone overhearing us,” I whisper in Mike’s ear, hissing like a pestering insect as we roll our cart down each aisle. The grocery cart’s front right wheel wobbles and squeals. I swear, if there’s one crappy cart in a thousand, I’m always the one to pick it.
As we meander through the fruits and vegetables, I explain how Sam, Jake, and Mike appear in their true form only to me.
“I need to show you your double image in the mirror once we get back home.” He must think I’m crazy. And maybe I am.
I fight the jolting cart, talking nonstop. We have so much to discuss: the pregnant Abby, the plagiarizing Amanda, and his brother Kevin. Mike says virtually nothing until halfway down the cereal aisle, he moans and rubs his stomach.
“Are you okay? How are you taking this?” I ask as a customer dashes past us with a can of cranberry sauce in hand, narrowly missing our cart in his hurry.
“I think I’m just hungry. Am I supposed to get hungry?” Mike asks. “I thought you said I was dead.”
Oh no, I must not be explaining things right!
“Uh, Mike, you can pick out anything you like. It’s on me―Merry Christmas.” This isn’t going well. I want to be kind and understanding. Instead, I act frantic and pushy. Why do I always have to be so nervous around him? Aren’t I over that yet?
“So, you’re saying that even though I’m dead, I can still eat?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Awesome.” Mike piles Frosted Cherry Pop-Tarts, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Chex Mix into the cart.
“And you’re saying that I don’t look like myself to others, although I still sound like myself.”
“Yes, that’s true.” I hadn’t noticed it before, but Sam and Jake did sound different.
“And you’re the only one who can see my true self.” Mike must have enjoyed a really high metabolism during his life the way he loads up my shopping cart with Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, watermelon Jolly Ranchers, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
“Yes, to everything.” So he does understand. Maybe the only one confused here is me. Do I still have feelings for Mike, or has Jake changed all that? Mike still looks cute, but so does Robert Downey, Jr., and I’m not in love with him… Mostly not, anyway.
“Okay, I’m done,” Mike announces.
I turn into the checkout line when Mike reminds me about the orange juice.
Whoops! I’d forgotten. I sure wouldn’t want to explain that to my mom.
As we load the car, faint electronic Christmas carols tinkle across the crunchy, half-plowed parking lot. During the ride home, Mike steals glances at me, but not in a flattering way.
“You’re different than I thought,” he says.
“Really?” What’s that supposed to mean? “How so?”
“You sure talk a lot more than you used to.”
That doesn’t sound like a compliment. “Well, you need to know what’s going on.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Kevin was the one who thought you were stuck up because you didn’t talk much and never wanted to take study breaks with us. I never thought that myself.”
“Oh.” I don’t want to talk about Mike’s brother. Kevin’s opinion of me has only gotten worse with time. And if I don’t change the subject now, I’ll end up saying something mean. “So…how are you handling all of this? Are you doing okay?”
“Well, I’m kind of freaked out by the fact you seem to hang around with dead people a lot. Even if I’m one of the dead people.”
Maybe I shouldn’t tell you about Elsie, then.
When we arrive home, we find my parents tipsy with holiday cheer, so I don’t worry so much about passing Mike off as his predecessor.
My mother raises her expertly plucked eyebrows at the number of grocery bags we brought home. “Looks like you guys cleaned out the store.”
“Yeah. Mi―Jake is really hungry.”
She and I watch in wonder as Mike tears into box after bag after box.
I don’t know where he puts all the food. He just eats and eats, never seeming to tire of it. I wonder if it brings him comfort somehow.
By the time we all sit around the Christmas tree, the unbelievable amount of groceries Mike consumed has given him indigestion. He sweats and moans and stretches.
The rest of us watch in growing concern.
“Why don’t you get Jake some Pepto-Bismol before he gets sick on my freshly cleaned carpet?” my mother asks as she refills my drink. She doesn’t offer Mike a refill, but he probably doesn’t want―or need―one anyway.
I take Mike by the arm and lead him away. “Come on, Jake.”
We walk down the hall to my room. “Sit in that chair while I see what I’ve got in my medicine cabinet.” I only feel a little bit sorry for him. Why on earth would anyone eat so much?
“Which would you prefer? Pepto-Bismol, Immodium, or some fruit-flavored antacids?” I call over my shoulder.
Mike moans. “Maybe I should make myself throw up.”
I wince. “Just don’t let my parents hear you. They already think you’re acting really weird tonight. Do you always eat this much?”
“Never,” he groans.
“Why didn’t you stop then? You should be more careful. We can’t make my parents suspicious. Stop acting like a total moron, or we’ll never pull this off.” Did I just call him a total moron? What’s wrong with me? Three months ago, I thought I was in love with this guy.
I hear a low, gravelly chuckle. “My sister-in-law Dorothy used to call me that―a moron, I mean. Man, I hated that woman.”
I race back to the room. A tall, elderly man sits in my favorite chair, a patient look upon his handsome face.
Mike is nowhere to be seen.
y knees melt to water. “Where did Mike go? Who are you?”
The slender, white-haired man smiles. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Bernard Mundahl.”
I scan the room. “But where’s Mike?”
“I’m still here,” I hear Mike’s voice as the older man begins to shimmer. “I’ve just got company.”
The glittering light over Bernard grows brighter. Then he disappears, and again Mike sprawls uncomfortably in my chair.
“What is going on here?” I shriek, then clamp a hand over my mouth. “I hope my parents didn’t hear that.”
Mike shrugs apologetically. “I kind of cut in line, but I would have come back for the others when I figured out how―”
“A likely story.” Another flash of light, and a college-aged man with short, sandy brown hair appears.
I gasp at the second stranger. “Just how many people are in there now?”
I drag him―or them―into my large bathroom and stare at the mirror in horror. Beside the expected images of Mike and the body on loan, I also see Bernard and the second young man.
“Is this all of you, I hope?” I ask.
They nod.
I glance from one to the other. “Wait, I recognize both of you.”
“You do?” asks Bernard, the tallest of the three men.
“I saw your photos in the police station,” I ex
plain. “Officer Walker had a picture of each of you tacked to his board. Your picture…” I point at the younger stranger. “…had ‘presumed drowned’ written across it.”
“Did it really?” The sandy-haired boy narrows his eyes. “And who is Officer Walker?”
“He’s a campus cop,” I say. “Apparently, he also investigates drownings. But I’m afraid I don’t remember your name. Mine’s Emma Roberts.”
“If you must know, mine’s Steve Lawrence,” he snaps.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” says Bernard. “He’s quite moody.”
“So let’s see―we’ve got Mike, Bernard, and Steve.”
Steve flashes a cold look that makes me shudder. What is wrong with him, anyway?
“Does anyone know what’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you all here at once? I’m used to only dealing with one of you at a time.”
The faces in the mirror look from one to the other until Bernard takes charge. “Here’s what I think happened. Mike jumped ahead of everyone else in line, so we were going to have to wait. But who knows for how long, and if a full year passes and no one calls you back, they take you out of storage, and send you on your way up the hallway into the brightness.”
I stop him, already confused. “Who’s ‘they’ and what’s ‘storage’?”
“The gatekeeper, of course,” Steve mutters.
“The gatekeeper?” I shiver.
Bernard shakes his head. “That’s just what Steve calls him.”
“I realize you think he’s really Saint Peter―” Steve begins.
Mike turns to Bernard. “How’d you get past him, anyway?”
“When he turned his back, I hit him over the head with one of the chairs.” Bernard mimes the action with his long arms.
Mike balks. “You think he’s Saint Peter, and you knocked him out with a chair?”
Bernard pauses. “You’re right, maybe that was a bad idea.”
I will have to keep a close eye on Bernard. For an old guy, he seems rather unpredictable. “So, what’s storage? Is that the dark closet Mike talked about?”
“I don’t really think it was a closet―” Bernard begins.
Steve crosses his arms. “We were held there, like dogs at the pound, for a year in case someone summoned us.”
