Nine Minutes in Heaven

by David Connor

  She walked to me. “It’s wonderful to see your face. I’ve missed you.”

  Once I finished hugging her, something she rushed, as far as I was concerned, I asked, “Is it possible to miss people here? I thought it was only happiness.”

  “Maybe one only realizes how much they’ve missed the person they love when the person is in front of them.”

  “I like that,” Jefferson said.

  “Hey. Do you know Jefferson and Calvin? Did you know Calvin is Daniel? Do you know why and how?”

  My grandmother smiled. “Maxi…”

  “Okay. I’m paying attention.”

  “So many questions, like always.”

  “Yeah. I like it, too. What you said, Gramma. I don’t want anyone to miss me before that, not too much.”

  “It’s okay by then, because now we get to feel the joy of not missing you anymore right after. That’s a really good thing.”

  “Why is it good?”

  She took my hand. “Because I don’t think you belong here. You have things to finish.”

  “I might like it here, though.”

  “You might like it there.”

  “I might. Sometimes I do. I was starting to. It’s so hard to decide.”

  “You haven’t changed at all. That’s why I always had you guess the pasta rather than choose it.” She smiled again. “Things happen in this place no one not a part of it can understand. Remind little Birdie I love her.”

  “Birdie?”

  “Your sister and I had secrets, just like you and I, with the pasta box. Ask her why I called her that.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “And be her superhero.”

  “Superhero?”

  Gramma started straightening my clothes, the same ones I wore to dinner at Shell’s and at Carrie’s rehearsal, except not tattered, bloodied, or cut, like they’d become because of being thrown off the back of Tom’s bike. She tended to the collar of the shirt beneath my sweatshirt, and then smoothed down the sleeve of that. Maybe she just wanted to touch me some more. “You can make a difference, Maxi, in so many lives. Someday, there might even be a child you can play ‘Guess the pasta shape’ with.”

  “A son or daughter…with Patrick?”

  “Or a niece or nephew. Have you shopped for you sister’s Christmas gift yet?”

  “Huh? It’s April,” I said. “Christmas 2018 is long gone. This year, we haven’t even had Easter, yet.”

  “You can give her a Christmas gift today.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Go back, Maxi, for Carrie, too.”

  “You know Carrie?”

  “I know what could happen if you’re not where someone needs you to be when in trouble. Just as you feel responsible for what happened to Patrick, because of your past, she might feel responsible, because she’s the reason you were at the school.”

  “That’s crazy. I don’t think it would have mattered to Tom where I was. He came all the way up from Florida, on a mission, I think. He would have found me. He did find me, and Patrick, too. He got to Patrick first. It’s not Carrie’s fault.”

  “She might not realize that without you telling her.”

  “Shit. Shoot. Darn, heck, son of a gun! I don’t want her to feel bad, Gramma. Her life is just starting.”

  “It could.”

  “What are you saying? Does she do something? Is she here? Does she come soon? I know time is all over the place around here. Future, present, past…”

  “Goose…”

  “Yes, Jefferson.”

  “I hate to be a constant thorn in your side,” he said.

  “Never. He never is, Gram…” When I turned to speak to my grandmother, my heart sank. “She’s gone.”

  “You will see her again,” Jefferson promised. “Someday or sooner.”

  “The choice is mine.”

  Patrick turned just as I said that. Our eyes locked. He smiled.

  “The choice is mine.” I pictured myself clicking my heels and saying, “There’s no place like home.” Shell and Carrie needed me, my grandmother said. I was also promised Patrick would be fine. “Damn it! Why is this so hard?”

  Chapter 8

  Well, I made a choice. I was pretty sure I had. I was awake. At least part of me was. There was no grogginess, which led me to assume I wasn’t the kind of awake that was normal in the afternoon when I got up from sleep after work. There was no pain, which I doubted would be normal after hours of surgery. I saw no Rainbow Bridge and I sensed no Patrick, though. “So, where the hell am I?” I whispered. “Yikes! Not there, I hope.”

  The feeling of being responsible for what Tom did to Patrick, a feeling gone at Jefferson’s wedding, had returned full-force. This led me to wonder if I was in hell, and also if that was the fate I deserved. Patrick loved me still in Jefferson’s Heaven and in the one we’d shared in the meadow and on the boat. On Earth, how could he or anyone who adored him ever forgive me? I knew, sure as shit, I would never forgive myself.

  “Hmm.”

  The ER waiting room came into focus. I was there—sort of—not standing in the corner or sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs, but there. I saw a bunch of people of varying ages, a big group of redheads, with some blonds and brunettes scattered among them in different ethnicities. Patrick’s family, I recognized. There were at least twenty-five of them. Across the room, sat Shelby and Rip, all by themselves.

  “Am I a ghost?” No one looked when I spoke, so I shouted. “Am I a ghost?”

  Still, no response, not even a glance.

  I made my way over to my sister and Rip, got right in his face, and yelled, “Boo!”

  Not even a flinch.

  “Boo!”

  I jumped, though, when Jefferson did it to me.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  “Where are you?”

  “You can’t see me?”

  “No.” I was trying.

  “Well, I’m here.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, wherever here is.”

  “My best guess is you’re now stuck between realms,” he said.

  “That’s not good.”

  “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Your indecisiveness most likely has led to it.”

  “Shame on me.”

  “Being stuck between what you want and what you feel, back and forth, back and forth you go. You want to be loved but don’t feel worthy. You know logically you’re not responsible for Tom’s actions, but on the other hand, you wish to be punished for them. Because of this, you’ve put yourself in some form of purgatory.”

  “Maybe it’s fitting,” I said. “I don’t deserve to be alive if Patrick’s not. On the other hand, the perfection and wonder of Heaven, being there and enjoying an eternity of love with him? I hardly deserve that, either. The worst of both worlds is definitely fitting.”

  “Goose…”

  “It’s true,” I said.

  “It’s nonsense,” he argued.

  “This according to Jefferson. Who are you, all of a sudden, Jiminy Cricket, trying to be my conscience all up in here?” I asked.

  “I’m trying to help you see common sense. If you can’t, you might never move forward.”

  “Tom wouldn’t have even known who Patrick was…is…if it wasn’t for me,” I said. “That’s indisputable. It’s fact. Therefore, I’m responsible. Isn’t that true?”

  “No. That’s stupid.”

  “Jefferson!”

  “The man—and I use the term with great pause, because anyone who would do what this Tom person did and treat people as he has is no man, as far as I’m concerned—moved several states away. He hasn’t been a part of your life for over a year. He hasn’t appeared in it at all. Is that not also true?”

  “I guess.”

  “How were you to know he suddenly would again?”

  “I should have known.”

  “And then what, you would have thrown Patrick aside for his own safety? You never would have been wi
th anyone again, for fear your past mate would be angry?”

  “Maybe. I definitely would have dumped Patrick on the spot, for his own good, if Tom had given me that option. I would have gotten back with Tom to protect Patrick.”

  “Goose Tucker, I’ve no doubt you would have. You’re that kind-hearted and that ridiculous.”

  “Jefferson! To use a phrase from my century, sticks and stone may break my bones…”

  “To use a phrase I picked up trapped in your century, you’re pissing me off.”

  “Jefferson!”

  “All you tried to do was love Tom, is that not also true?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I picked a good one, huh?”

  “And you should never be happy again because of that mistake? You deserve to be loved, Goose. Answer me this, do you hold me responsible for the beating the Thomas I once adored inflicted upon me back in my day, because I fell in love with him?”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  “And if he couldn’t stop his brothers the next time they went after someone, like they did at the farm, is that my fault? Is it even his?”

  “No.”

  “What about your grandmother? Is she at fault for her offspring’s actions?”

  “No.”

  “No. Did she make your father, her son that way?”

  “I don’t know what did, actually. My grandparents never raised a hand to anyone, that I know of,” I said quietly. “Maybe it started with him and my mother. She was pretty volatile, too.”

  “You care so deeply for Carrie, who finds herself in a not so dissimilar situation to your childhood, like your grandparents cared for you. Give yourself credit, Goose, instead of unfounded blame.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Then snap out of it.”

  “Are you going to slap me, like Cher in Moonstruck?”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Jefferson answered. “Nor do I believe in striking someone. I will, however, yell at you some more as it becomes necessary.”

  “Duly warned.”

  “You can cry for Patrick,” Jefferson said, “worry for him, and share the pain with his family, but never should you feel as if you threw the punches or wielded the weapon that put him where he is.”

  “Where is he?” I asked. “Do you know?”

  “At the moment, I cannot say.”

  “Where’s Calvin…Daniel?”

  “On a mission of his own. Focus on what’s before you.”

  “Oh. You’re the boss of me?”

  Jefferson smiled. At least, I pictured him that way. “My skills might come in handy,” he said.

  “Your ghost skills, which I already discovered I don’t possess.”

  “Boo!”

  “Right.” He had a way of making me feel better, even after yelling at me. “Your angel skills…or are you a spirit? Do you go back and forth, like how I see you now—or don’t see you—as opposed to how it was in Heaven or in my visions? Maybe it’s more about me, how I tune in or don’t.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I wonder what I am, and if I’m stuck this way forever. Do…Do you think I am?”

  “I don’t know what will happen, Goose. I only know, whenever there’s a way, I will be at your side.”

  The doctor entered then, not the female doctor from the ER, but my surgeon, I thought. Someone might have called him Warren. Might have been nice if he had told me his name, but whatever. I guess things were rather hurried.

  “This could be about me or Patrick.” I eavesdropped on what he had to say, as he invited Shelby and Rip over to join those gathered on the other side of the room.

  “So, here’s what’s happening,” the doctor said. Then, he took a deep breath. “Both men suffered brain injuries. We’ve repaired the damage we could, and now, we have to wait.”

  “For what?” Shelby asked.

  “For us to decide?”

  Jefferson shushed me.

  “To see how they respond,” the doctor answered. “The next twenty-four hours will be critical. The trauma was rather severe. Mr. O’Hanlon is on a respirator. He’s just not able to breathe on his own yet.”

  Patrick’s mother and another older redheaded female with stripes of gray began to sob. His grandmother, maybe.

  “We’ll keep monitoring the situation, and, in time, it will be necessary to decide whether or not it’s even possible for him to breathe without it.”

  One of the ginger teenagers muttered, “Fuck.”

  “Max is in better shape at the moment. We, uh, lost him again during surgery.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “I’m okay, Shelby.”

  “But…he’s breathing on his own. However, he should have awakened by now, but he hasn’t. We’re not sure why, how long his brain was without oxygen, and what long-term damage might have occurred because of it. I’m, uh, so sorry I don’t have better news.”

  Patrick’s grandfather, Seamus O’Hanlon, leapt to his feet. “What about the bastard who did this to these two wonderful boys?” he asked.

  I didn’t feel so wonderful.

  “He didn’t survive the accident,” the doctor said.

  “What will happen to Tom, now?” I asked Jefferson.

  “I cannot say that, either,” he said. “I honestly do not know.”

  Shelby reached for the doctor’s sleeve as he turned to leave. “Can I see my brother?”

  “We’re getting him settled into a room in the ICU,” he told her. “As soon as we do, someone will take you over.”

  “And Patrick?” his father asked.

  “The same. Let me know if you have any more questions.”

  As the doctor rounded a corner, Patrick’s mother rose. “I’m Maureen,” she said. “And I want you to know, if Patrick doesn’t make it…”

  I held my breath as she tried to steady hers and collect her thoughts. I held my breath the whole time, if that was possible, if I was breathing, half-expecting her to say, “It’s all your brother’s fault,” or to blame me for Patrick falling in love with a man when she very much wanted him to be with a woman. Maybe, she didn’t even believe we were in love.

  “These past few months have been the happiest my son has ever had.”

  Oh. She said something nice.

  “My brother, too.” When Shelby stood, Maureen took her hand.

  “I wish I had…I hope I do get to meet your brother, because he’s responsible for that.”

  “See,” Jefferson said.

  “We have to believe they’ll both be okay.” Shelby was tough. “And the next time we get together, the occasion will be happy, a wedding, right?”

  “We’ll get together before that,” Seamus said.

  “I look forward to that.”

  They hugged. All of them closed in and hugged my sister, and introduced themselves while doing it, Patrick’s stepparents, brothers, sisters, an aunt, a cousin…on and on it went. Then, they each got Rip.

  “That was nice,” I said. “It’s been a while since Shelby has been hugged by a mother figure. Look. She’s going back for another one.”

  Rip sat down first. He backed into an end table, actually, going for his chair, and that made me smile, especially when a small rack of pamphlets fell over.

  “Way to go, Bro-ham.”

  I watched as Rip picked up the pamphlets to put back in their slots.

  “Are You Pregnant?” I read off of one. “Wait. Is Shelby pregnant? Is that what Gramma meant?” I counted on my fingers. Okay, I counted in my head, because I wasn’t any more certain about the fingers than I was about the breathing. “Maybe. If she’s four weeks or so along, the baby would maybe come around Christmastime. But how would the baby be my gift? Wow. Jefferson, do you know?”

  “I don’t, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh. Maybe, though.”

  Rip sat back down once finished straightening the mess he’d made.

  “I bet she is. Can you shove that little rack over again?” I asked. “Like when you kn
ocked the picture off the wall in my bedroom?”

  “I can try,” Jefferson said.

  The collection of pamphlets fell over and scattered.

  “What are you doing over there, Richard?”

  “I didn’t touch it this time.” Rip turned as red as Patrick’s mother’s hair, a different shade, but just as vivid, and started picking up. “I swear, I didn’t.”

  I laughed my ghostly butt off. “Thank you, Jefferson!”

  In a matter of seconds, Rip had everything tidy and perfect. Never once did he even glance at the any of the titles, though.

  “Come on, Rip. Shell was nauseated, not just today, but other days, too. Look at the pictures, read the words.” There was a very pregnant woman silhouetted in white against a pink background, with the lettering over her head in light blue. “One more time, Jefferson. He’s kind of thick-headed.”

  Boom. Pamphlets everywhere.

  “Son of a fuck!”

  “Richard!” Shelby gasped sometimes, too, another hereditary thing.

  “Ha! Sorry, Bro-ham.” I actually felt a little bad. “I gotta do what I gotta do.” Just a little bad, though.

  “I didn’t even touch the frigging table, Shell.” Rip threw his hands in the air. “The legs must be uneven or something.”

  This time, Shelby got down on her hands and knees. Patrick’s mother helped, too.

  “Bingo!” My sister paused with the appropriate pamphlet in her hand. “There you go.”

  “The woman on the front is pretty far along to be asking,” Rip commented, trying, I knew, to make my sister smile.

  “Am I pregnant?” Shelby sat on the floor of the waiting room.

  “Huh?” Rip got down there with her. “Are you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You think?” Patrick’s mother’s smile was a lot like his.

  “We’re in the perfect place to find out,” I said.

  “We’re in the perfect place to find out,” Rip repeated.

  “Whoa. Did you do that, Jefferson?”

  “No, Goose, I did not. You two have a pretty good bond without me.”

  “Should I?” Shelby asked. “I can wait…make an appointment with my own doctor. I could even pick up a home pregnancy test first.”

  “With all the trouble we’ve had, babe, maybe at least ask. I mean, we’re here and all.”