The Fifth Stage Part 35

"No, it's not."

"I know everything, remember?" She props her arm on the edge of the tub. A smirk crosses her mouth.

"You thought you knew everything when you were alive. You were wrong sometimes then, too."

"Listen to me, Claire. All those years, you lived for the future. You lived for the days when we'd have a bigger house, or nicer cars." She stares hard at me. "Well, hotshot, this is the future. How do you like it?"

I manage to meet her eyes. "It sucks."

"Baby, all you've got is today. Don't waste it." Lora leans forward and hugs her knees to her chest. "I love you, and I know you love me.

That'll never change. But you don't owe me anything. You can't spend the rest of your life doing penance for something that wasn't your fault. I don't want that for you. This isn't about jealousy, or trust, or who's had s.e.x with whom. It's about love, real love. We'll be together again some day, but not for a long time." She pauses. I'm hanging on every word as she continues.

"Think about what you'd want for me if the situation were reversed.

Would you want me to play the long-suffering martyr, or would you want me be happy?"

Everyone's told me to try to look at it that way, but coming from Lora, it makes more sense. Crazy? Probably, but that's the way it feels.

I look at her, into her eyes. They're as vibrant as they've ever been.

"You know what I did with Rebecca?"

She nods.

"I think I might have feelings for her. Guess you know that, too."

"Yes, but I understand something that you don't. Your feelings for her don't diminish your love for me." Lora makes a buzzing sound through her teeth. She's that freaking mosquito who's been teasing me all afternoon.

"You're saying it's okay, that I can love two people at the same time?"

Lora laughs with a snort and waves a cautioning finger. "Only because I'm dead. If you'd pulled that c.r.a.p while I was still alive, I'd have kicked your a.s.s."

"I would've deserved it."

"I'm glad you met Rebecca. She's shaken you up a little, made you think about being happy again." Lora takes another peek at Jitterbug before gazing at me. Her eyes go serious, but a smile lingers on her lips.

"I have to go now, but think about what I've said."

"Please stay for a while." I try to reach for her.

228.

"I can't, but I'm never far away. Just remember what I told you. I love you. Now wake up before you drown."

My body convulses, every muscle flexing at once. My elbow bangs the side of the tub, and numbing pain torpedoes up my arm. Water sloshes onto the floor, and Jitterbug jumps up and barks. I look around.

Lora is gone.

CHAPTER 43.

There are five stages of grief. At least that's what Lora's old psychology textbooks say. There may be folks out there who'll add a stage or two, maybe give them different names, but I'll stick with the five as I understand them.

The first stage is denial. I like this one. The bad thing never happened. You're in a plastic bubble where nothing hurts. When I'm in denial, I expect Lora to walk in and tell me it was only a nightmare, a cruel trick played by my imagination to show me how much I had to lose. She holds me till it's over, till my fear evaporates like a spring frost.

The second stage is anger. This one hurts. You're mad at everyone and everything. If a hinge squeaks, it p.i.s.ses you off. You fly off the handle if your boss smiles at you, and G.o.d forbid someone should cut you off in traffic. This is where I pace around the empty house and curse myself for being fallible and her for not being immortal. But I mostly curse G.o.d for putting me in an unfair universe.

The third stage is bargaining. This one's gotten me into a lot of trouble. You'll make a deal with G.o.d, with the devil, or anyone else who might have a hand in reversing your fortune. You'll beg, you'll plead, you'll gouge your own eyes out to make things different. I promised my love, my fidelity, my total loyalty, and it didn't change a thing. But, by G.o.d, I vowed to stick to my promises, just in case.

The fourth is depression. What an ordeal. You're lost, powerless.

You don't want to live anymore, and in a way you don't. You don't get out of bed, go to work, or see your friends. Things like hunger or thirst don't affect you. This is where I spent days in bed, barely ate for weeks, and prayed the most awful prayersthe ones where you beg to die and get the suffering over with.

The fifth stage is acceptance. You realize there's nothing you can do to change things, and although you still wish for it to be different, you get on with your life. Of all the stages, this one is the most difficult.

229.

230.

A dozen times over the last three years, I thought I'd made it to the fifth stage, but I hadn't. Not even today.

All this sounds simple enough, a kind of metamorphosis where you pa.s.s through each stage in sequence and eventually emerge as a beautiful b.u.t.terfly, content and happy. It doesn't work that way. It's possible to skip stages, go through the same one several times, or get stuck in a spot indefinitely. You can spend months in depression only to revert once again to denial and start the whole process over. Or you can save up your anger till the end and walk into a crowded store with an AK-47.

And that d.a.m.n fifth stage will throw you for a loop. You'll think you're sitting pretty, accepting everything and moving on, only to end up making more bargains, las.h.i.+ng out in anger, and denying the whole mess. It can take years to get to the fifth stage, and in between, it's a game of emotional hopscotch. Today you'll toss the stone and skip depression. Tomorrow, you'll skip denial or bargaining, but any way you play, it's an uphill course.

The fifth stage dangles before me now, and it seems closer than ever. I sit at my desk and pretend to work, but if anyone's paying attention, they'll see I'm shuffling papers and watching the clock.

I cross my legs one way and then the other, but can't get comfortable. Wearing jeans and sneakers makes it hard to feel businesslike, but a skirt and pumps aren't appropriate for my mission this morning.

One more glance at the clock; it's almost time. One last glance at Lora's photograph. At last I think I understand the little smirk on her face, the knowing smile that's eluded me for so long. But I have to be positive before going on.

The clock's hands tell me it's 8:30. Time to go.

I s.n.a.t.c.h my purse and jacket from the coat tree and hurry to Reggie's office. He's busy playing computer solitaire and cursing under his breath.

"Reg, got to go. Personal stuff. See you later." He waves and grumbles something about needing a red seven before I add, "The quote for Medical Imaging Group is on Mary's desk."

I breeze past Mary and shoot her a smile. "See you. Make sure Reggie looks over that quote before he gives it to Bob."

"Under control." She looks up. "Jeans? Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Maybe the rest of my life." My reply is cut short as the door closes behind me.

231.

I don't need my jacket. The morning is a crisp blue that promises more spring weather, more red tulips and golden daffodils that bloom and sway in warm breezes, making way for summer. New beginnings, new awakenings. Is my life, frozen so long under winter's cruel grasp, about to emerge, fresh and green like the spring flowers?

I jump in the car and head off down Park Street. I pull into the parking lot of Zimmer's Florist. The blue and white cardboard sign in the window says they're open. I leave the car running, and as I push through the wooden door, I realize my radio is blaringI'm a middle-aged woman acting like a teenager. Bully for me, hope this one lasts.

A bell jingles as the door closes. It smells like a funeral home, the too-sweet smell of the dead.

A dark, heavy-set man with watery eyes emerges from the back room. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, sir. I'd like two of the most beautiful long-stemmed red roses you have." I dig out my wallet.

He smiles. "Oh, you're very lucky today. There's a new s.h.i.+pment in this morning. Wonderful product, beautiful color, aroma of the angels." He sniffs the air and waves toward Heaven as he disappears into the storage area. He returns with two lovely bloodred roses on the verge of bloom.

"Perfect," I say.

"Would you like these wrapped together?" He pulls a single sheet of green floral paper from under the counter.

"Separately, please."

"Very good." With hands seeming too delicate for his thick body, he tucks a sprig of baby's breath alongside each flower and wraps them.

"Will there be anything more for you today?"

"That's all." I give him the money and he wishes me a good day.

Back in the car, I wipe my palms on my jeans. I hope this is a good idea. Hope it doesn't backfire and send me on a one-way trip to oblivion. The next half hour will either cure me or kill me. I say a prayer as I turn onto County Line Road and see my destination looming in the distance.

I steer through the wrought iron gates, along the single-lane blacktop, toward the top of a green hill. I read the names: Adkins, Fleenor, Housewright, Wheeler. Some have been here for decades, others for days, but none will ever leave. Young and old, weak and strong. Such distinctions don't matter anymore. Those who've been left here don't care about the statue of Jesus at the top of the first rise, or the 232 Well of Redemption in the valley below. This place isn't really for them.

It's for the living, for me.

Driving slower now, I guide the car left and pull to the side. A twinge hits me. It might be fear, or maybe remorse, but I pick up one of the paper-wrapped roses and open the door. That part goes smoothly enough. One foot out, then the other. Close the door.

Squinting in the morning sun, I'm disoriented. I've only been here once before, and that time was more like a bad dream. Soon enough, the stone comes into view. Tyler, and underneath, etched in the granite, Blevins. It's weird seeing your own name on a tombstone. I recall the way Mrs. Tyler balked.

"It's blasphemy," she said. "Let my daughter be normal in death."

But Lora antic.i.p.ated her family's reaction and had her desires put in writing, set in stone, as surely as our names appear before me now.

My steps are heavy as I make my way up the slope to her grave, the place I'll one day share. Nothing will change that. I stand before the slab, and for some reason, I can't stop smiling. She's only a few feet away, and although we're separated by something more than distance, something indefinable, her heart beats in my chest. Her strength flows through my veins.

"Hey, baby." I place the rose at the base of the headstone. "Guess you've been wondering about me, where I've been, why I haven't come sooner."

I brush three brown leaves from her grave and sit on the gra.s.s beside her. The ground is damp and cold, and I shudder.

"Truth is, I haven't had the heart to come. Seems like being here would be giving up on you, giving up on us, and that's the last thing I ever wanted to do."

I hug my knees to my chest and take a deep breath. "I had a dream about you last night, at least I think it was a dream. You told me to get on with my life. Guess that's why I'm here. You see, ever since you left, I've been in this dungeon that I couldn't seem to get out of, but something's happened. I met someone I think I might be able to love.

It's hard to explain. It can't be like it was with you. h.e.l.l, we grew up together, but I'm different now. I know things I didn't know then.

"I can still have a good life, right? I've been such an a.s.s to Rebecca. She may not have me now, but that's not the point. With or without her, I have to move ahead and try to learn from the mistakes I made with you."

I reach down, pluck a blade of gra.s.s, and wrap it around my finger.

"Moving ahead is going to be hard. I need to know for sure that it's okay 233 with you. Somewhere in my heart, I believe you really came to me last night, that you were really there. Tell me for sure, Lora. Let me know it's true."

I glance down toward her grave and that's when I see it, standing there like a beacon among the scrubby gra.s.s. A four-leaf clover, as big and fresh as the one Lora found at our first apartment, the one that still sits at my bedside. My eyes fill with tears. Jesus, it is true. She was there. She came to give me her blessing.

I pluck the clover and hold it to my lips. "I knew it. I knew it." I laugh out loud and wipe the tears from my eyes. I trace the letters of her headstone with my fingers. "Thank you, honey. Thank you for choosing me, for sticking by me when I was foolish, and for loving me when I didn't deserve it. Most of all, thank you for being you."

Anyone watching would think I belong in the funny farm, but who cares? My lover reached to me from her grave, and from the depths of death, she gave me new life.

I leap to my feet. "I love you, Lora. I'll be back soon, but right now I've got another rose to deliver."

CHAPTER 44.

Okay, so maybe all this with the dream and the clover at Lora's grave is a big coincidence, but it feels real, so I'm not going to overa.n.a.lyze it. I'm going to grab for this chance while I can.

It's nearly 9:30. I tromp on the acceleratormaybe I can catch Rebecca before she goes to work.

The drive seems to take an hour, but I skid into Choppy's in less than fifteen minutes. I speed toward the back and park beside Rebecca's Mercedes, cut the engine and grab the second rose. Up the steps and to the apartment door. One down, one to go.

I knock hard, hiding the rose behind my back, and Rebecca opens the door a minute later. She's wearing a blue Adidas warm-up suit and jogging shoes, and looks surprised. "Hi. I didn't expect to see you this morning."

"What's this?" I ask, eyeing her casual dress.

"I decided to take the day off. Needed a little time to myself."

"Am I intruding? If this is a bad time, I can come back later."

"No, not at all." She stands aside and motions me in. "What's got you out this morning?"

I'm holding my head down shyly, peeking up at her, as I pull the rose from behind me. "Peace offering. Can we talk?"

"You didn't have to do that, but thank you." Rebecca takes the rose and sniffs its petals. "Like some coffee? It's fresh."

"Sure."

She pours us each a cup, and we sit down at the table. She props her chin in her hand and looks me over, a sparkle dancing in her eyes. "I'm glad to see you."

There goes that blush again. I feel like a schoolgirl. I take a sip of coffee. "Rebecca, I've been acting like an idiot ever since we met."