Life After Death: A Story of Love, Loss, and Living

by Jamie Hitchcock

  Nathan barely managed to tune back into the conversation in time to hear Alex explain, “I just have to throw something away and grab a snack for the road. You don’t have to wait for me if you don’t want to.”

  Nathan nodded and extended his arm slightly to shake his friend’s hand.

  Alex grabbed the hand firmly, squeezing it in a sequence of various configurations that concluded with a fist bump and a stiff nod.

  The pair parted as Alex turned right toward the coffee stand.

  Nathan turned left and continued home. He hurriedly followed the path back the way he came, over the boardwalk and down the paved walkway until it diverged into a gravel path. The trail cut through a cluster of laurel bushes before connecting to the sidewalk at the edge of a quaint commercial strip.

  Nathan’s building was a few blocks down the road, toward the ferry docks. As he approached, he saw a petite girl with long, brown hair pacing laps along the sidewalk by the front door. Her curls bounced around her waist with each anxious step.

  Nathan rushed to meet her. “Cece, what’s up? What’s the matter?”

  Cecelia Jones, or Cece, as everyone called her, had been Nathan’s girlfriend since their senior year in high school. She was a popular girl of limited ingenuity, whose faintly exotic beauty had given her much in life. Her green eyes shone brightly against her tan skin. Her small frame accentuated her more delicate features with the illusion of voluptuousness.

  The two of them had grown up next door to each other and had been friends for most of their lives. Unlike Nathan, Cece had gone to college after high school; but similar to him, she chose the safest, closest option by enrolling in a university less than fifteen minutes from her parents’ house. Their mutual aversion to risk also extended to their relationship, which was how they found themselves still together now, nearly five years later. Nathan acknowledged that it wasn’t the most thrilling relationship he’d ever had, but it was the most comfortable, and there was something to be said for comfort and reliability.

  “Nate, I’ve got some big news,” Cece explained hurriedly. She shifted uneasily from side to side.

  Nathan swiped his keycard to open the front door of the building.

  “You’re really starting to worry me,” he replied. “Let’s go inside, huh?”

  He held the door open for her, gently guiding her into the lobby with a hand on her lower back.

  Inside the elevator, Nathan removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the neck of his shirt. The whites of his eyes were irritated by thin, red lines.

  Uneasy, Cece leaned against the corner of the elevator, arms crossed tightly over her waist.

  On the third floor, Nathan unlocked his door and held it open for Cece. Stepping through the threshold into his small, dark apartment, he tossed his keys on the table and walked a few steps to the fridge to grab a beer. She followed him to the kitchen. He offered Cece a beer as well, but she waved it off.

  “No, thanks. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” She hesitated before blurting, “I’m pregnant.”

  Nathan stopped, motionless. He was stunned. Pregnant … how could that happen? Well, he knew how it happened, but he had not prepared himself for the potential consequences of that action. He hadn’t even considered being a father yet, and he definitely hadn’t thought about Cece as a mom. It’s not that she couldn’t do it exactly – she was caring and kind – but Nathan had always been bothered slightly by her tendency toward frivolity and eccentricity. He was struck by the seriousness of the situation.

  His thoughts reeling, Nathan forced himself back to the present.

  “Pregnant? Are you sure?” he asked, still dumbfounded.

  “Yes, pretty damn sure. Three pee sticks and an ultrasound sure. I’m twelve weeks.” Cece looked down at her stomach, rubbing it softly.

  “What do you think, Nate? Are you happy?” She stared at him anxiously. Her green eyes looked pale in the dull light.

  Nathan wasn’t sure how he felt. One minute he wanted to hug her, the next minute he had the urge to punch a hole in the wall. Just to be safe, he kept his position on the opposite side of the room.

  Measuredly, he replied, “Uh, I don’t know … it’s a lot to take in. I think I just need a minute.” He chugged the rest of his beer as he paced back and forth in the little kitchen before finally perching uneasily on the edge of the couch cushion.

  Cece slid onto the seat beside him and rested her hands on his knee.

  “I know it’s not something we planned. I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but not seriously. We’ve been together for over five years now. Haven’t you thought about it at some point? I was definitely shocked at first, too. But I think we can do this, Nate. I think … I think I want to keep it.”

  This brought Nathan to attention. It never even crossed his mind that she wouldn’t keep it. Nathan was many things, but he wasn’t a murderer. He would never dream of asking her to … to … get rid of it.

  “Of course we’re going to keep it,” he said instinctively, grasping both her hands. “I just need some time to wrap my head around it.”

  Cece sighed in relief. She stood to grab him another beer from the fridge.

  *3*

  Back at the park, the sun was low, casting long shadows as it neared the horizon. Amara packed her things to head home before the daylight was lost entirely. She left her book on the folded blanket with Kianna while she went to the restroom by the coffee stand, stopping briefly in the shop to buy a bagel for her evening study snack.

  Exiting the shop, she noticed the pompous blond boy from earlier standing by the trashcan outside. Their eyes met for a brief second before he dropped his gaze and quickly took off toward the parking lot. Amara was surprised. He definitely didn’t seem like the type to be that deeply wounded by her previous rejection. She tried to dismiss his odd behavior, but his dramatic reaction gave her pause. Had she been too harsh earlier? She reflected on this thought as she walked back to her spot.

  By the time Amara returned to her friends, Kianna, clearly eager to leave, was on her feet with the blanket folded across her arm. She handed it back to Amara.

  “Hey, listen,” Kianna said as she combed her fingers through her long blond ponytail, “I know we’re supposed to go to that music thing later, but Charlie asked me to get dinner with him. You don’t mind, right?”

  Amara sighed quietly, releasing the disappointment from her voice before she replied, “No, its fine. I’ll just go by myself.”

  “Okay, cool. Well, we’re going to get going then.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Do you have my book though?” Amara asked urgently. “I left it here when I got up.”

  “I thought you put it in your bag,” Kianna replied.

  “No, it was on the blanket.” Amara began scanning the ground.

  “I don’t have it,” Kianna repeated. “Are you sure it’s not in your backpack?”

  Amara checked her bag. They also canvassed the immediate surrounding area, but it was nowhere to be found. Most of the people in the vicinity had already left with the evening chill, leaving nothing for a hundred yards around her. Amara was upset. It was her favorite book, and that copy was a gift from her sister. With a sigh, Amara reluctantly admitted that it was gone.

  Resigned, she began walking down the pavement toward the parking lot. She followed a few paces behind the group, lingering to watch the couples who remained on the boardwalk as they basked in the fading light.

  At her car, she tossed the bag on the passenger-side seat and stood to wave as Kianna and Charlie drove by. She slid behind the wheel and cranked the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered lazily before finally turning over. She flipped the gears in reverse and glanced over her right shoulder to back out of the stall.

  Just as she started to ease her foot off the brake, something tapped urgently on her window. Startled, she whipped around to find the source of the noise.

  “I think this belongs to you,” a young m
an said, pressing a book against the window. Aware of his imposing presence in her window, the man stood a forearm’s length away from the glass, turned slightly to minimize his broad shoulders.

  Her eyes widened and she rolled down the window to retrieve the book.

  “Where did you find that?” She asked. The tips of her fingers unintentionally brushed against the back of his as she grasped the book.

  “In the trashcan. I was sitting at the tables outside the coffee shop and I saw a guy chuck it in the trash. I thought I saw you reading this earlier when I walked by. Is it yours?”

  Amara had a good idea who that guy was. The blond boy’s reaction as she left the shop made a lot more sense now. That wannabe jock hadn’t even bothered to recycle it. She tried in vain to resist rolling her eyes.

  “Yes! Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me. This is a special copy.”

  “Oh yeah? Is it signed or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. I just mean, it was a gift from my sister.” Her answer felt silly as soon as she heard the words aloud.

  “That’s cool. I’m glad there are people who still appreciate the classics.” He waved a hand at her bag. “Have a good day.”

  The man made an awkward bow before turning to walk away. His shaggy auburn hair fell in front of his eyes as he leaned forward.

  “Wait,” Amara called, “I don’t know your name.”

  He paused, turning back slightly. “Henry. And yours?”

  “Amara.” She stepped out of the car, resting against the open doorframe. “Nice to meet you, Henry.” She extended her right hand steadily.

  He shook it.

  “I really would like to thank you for returning my book,” she said, scanning her brain quickly for an idea. “My roommate and I were supposed to go listen to a friend play music at the Bellwater this evening, but she just cancelled on me. He plays the guitar, Beatles covers mostly, but he’s decent. Would you like to join me?”

  Henry pondered for a moment, glancing down at his shoes as if waiting for the answer to be written on the pavement. He met her gaze and smiled. “I’d love to, but I have a few things to take care of at home first. Could I meet you downtown later?”

  “You could. His set starts at seven.”

  “Great, I’ll meet you there.” He returned her smile warmly, made another awkward bow, and headed off toward his motorcycle parked nearby.

  *4*

  In the hour since she left the park, Amara had rushed home to get ready. She didn’t even remember the drive to her apartment. Her mind was filled with the boy’s pleasant face, his smile, his endearing awkwardness. The mere recollection of him made her pulse quicken uncontrollably.

  This is ridiculous, she thought, I don’t even know anything about him. Except that he “appreciates the classics,” and he noticed what I was reading earlier. Recalling their exchange, she smiled to herself. She was more than a little surprised by her own boldness.

  Scanning her small closet, Amara grabbed her favorite pair of dark jeans, a coral lacy top, and an oversized knit sweater. She traded the sweater for a form-fitting blazer, but decided it was too formal. It wasn’t a job interview. Besides, the sweater was warmer and the nights were still chilly, even if it had been temperate during the day. She tamed her hair as best she could with a wet comb, added another braid to the other side of her temple, and pulled both sections to meet in the back. After she brushed her teeth and applied a few swipes of mascara, she headed out the door again.

  By 6:30 p.m., Amara neared the Bellwater. It was a newer hotel, perched behind the breakwater by the marina. The restaurant and outdoor patio on the ground floor faced the water, which made a stunning backdrop for musical performances. None of the artists were very well known, and most of them were local. On Wednesday nights, the hotel featured student performers from the music program at the college. The patio was enclosed by large panels of glass during the colder months, but could be opened to the fresh air in warmer weather. A network of docks stretched into the water to the right.

  Beyond the flat, expansive inlet, dark gray islands were barely visible on the deep blue horizon, forming the mouth of the Puget Sound. Only a faint purple glow remained in the sky as the last beams of daylight marked their final farewell.

  She’d taken the bus from her apartment to the downtown station and walked the remaining blocks to the waterfront. This had brought her to her destination a few minutes earlier than scheduled. She anticipated having to wait for her date outside, but she didn’t mind. The cold air felt refreshing in her lungs.

  As she approached, however, a knot grew in her stomach. What if he doesn’t come? she worried. Kianna had already cancelled on her to hang out with Charlie, and until a few hours ago she’d been fine to come alone, she reminded herself. Worst case, she would be alone again. This thought comforted her a little.

  She rounded the corner of the building to find Henry leaning against a raised, stone wall below the stairs at the entrance of the hotel. She smiled widely and didn’t even try to hide it.

  “You’re early,” she teased.

  “I could say the same about you,” he replied with a grin. He extended his arm to her with a new confidence that she hadn’t seen earlier. “Shall we?”

  Amara took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the stairs. Together they climbed the steps, entered the lobby, and waited for a table in the dining area.

  A casual performance space was set up inside the patio doorway to the right. Amara was pleased to be seated in the corner nearest to the door, far enough away to still hear the music but not so close as to be overwhelmed by the amplifiers.

  Once seated, their conversation started guardedly.

  “So are you a student?” Henry began nervously.

  Amara noticed his confidence beginning to waver as she watched him from across the table. Trying to steady her own nerves, she replied, “Yeah, I’m a junior at the university.”

  Realizing how potentially pretentious she sounded, Amara quickly pushed past her comment. “What about you?”

  “Same.” Henry reassured her with a warm smile. “Are you from Bellingham?”

  “No, I just moved here for school. I grew up near Seattle, but my parents are from Delhi, India.” Amara paused, unsure what to ask next. Small talk had never been a strength of hers.

  “Makes sense,” Henry replied. “I’m sure I would have noticed you before if you grew up around here.” Quickly, he added, “It’s not a very big town.”

  Amara followed his lead. “You grew up around here then?”

  “Yes, sort of, but farther outside of town.”

  “Hmmm …” was all Amara managed in reply.

  Silence fell across the table. Amara was aware of Henry’s eyes upon her, watching her. It wasn’t intrusive or unpleasant, but the focused attention made her uncomfortable, nonetheless. Unable to meet his gaze, she scanned the entire room in a wide, avoidant arc. Her eyes settled on the musician.

  Following her gaze, Henry started again. “He’s pretty good isn’t he? The musician, I mean.”

  “Yeah, he’s great, really connects with the music. I’ve heard him play a couple times walking through campus, you know, just sitting on the lawn and stuff. It’s cool to see him actually get to perform.”

  Again, silence followed.

  She ventured a daring glance at Henry while his attentions were focused on the stage. His clothes were simple and functional: loose-cut jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Amara looked beyond his immediate appearance to find an expression that shined with a brimming curiosity for the world around him. It was not unlike the spark that burned inside herself, but one that she had rarely noticed in others. The recognition ignited something deep inside her. The intensity of the flame startled her.

  She decided it was time to venture further. “So, what do you do for fun?” she asked.

  He turned his attention back to her.

  “Uh, mostly hiking and other outdoor stuff when the weather is goo
d. Sometimes I read.” Looking back to the stage momentarily, he added, “And I like to draw.”

  “Wow, that’s really cool,” Amara admired. “I’d love to see what you draw sometime.”

  He smiled politely but didn’t elaborate further.

  Sensing his discomfort with the vulnerability of talking about his art, she decided on another route.

  “What do you like to read?”

  Henry’s cheeks flushed. “If I’m being honest, mostly comics, though I enjoy a good mystery novel when I find it. I can’t say I spend much of my free time reading Jane Austen though,” he added offhandedly.

  “I haven’t met very many people our age who do,” Amara admitted.

  Silence fell over the table once more as the waiter served their dinner, but this time the pause wasn’t entirely empty. As Amara settled back into her thoughts, she was acutely aware of an unspoken electricity pulsating across the table. A coy smile passed between them, timid and knowing.

  They finished the last bites of their meal as the musician concluded his set with a slow, romantic rendition of “Hey Jude.” Henry and Amara watched as the musician began bustling about, packing his fragile equipment carefully in the corner of the stage. They stayed at their table another twenty minutes after they paid the bill while Henry finished summarizing his studies of bioengineering.

  “… like using the movement of artificial kelp beds to generate power,” he explained.

  The hostess became increasingly impatient with their lingering. After her third time pointedly offering a dessert menu, Amara and Henry reluctantly collected their coats and vacated the table. They both hesitated on the stoop outside, neither wanting to go home just yet.

  “Will you walk with me for a while?” Henry asked politely, scuffing his sole against the top step.

  Amara hesitated reflexively. “I don’t know, I’m not supposed to walk with strangers at night,” she teased lightly in an attempt to hide her indecision.