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And obviously, I couldn’t mention the marvelous suite of rooms in their mansion, outfitted with dozens upon dozens of clothes in various sizes, and every magical potion, lipstick, and mascara that had ever been invented. Certainly, that detail was far too intimate.
Not to mention, I couldn’t describe anything that happened after. Then again… that is a story. That’s my story though. That’s the story of how I began to feel alive. And also the story of how I brought them back to the land of the living.
But I don’t know how to write about that. And I can’t do it without their permission. So I am stuck.
I see people leaving, gathering around the elevators in the reception area. It’s time for lunch. Tucking my laptop under my arm, I thumb my handbag strap over my shoulder and head out with a smile. In a loose-fitting tunic and yoga pants, my condition is completely discreet. To her credit, Nance didn’t tell anyone. And I am not telling anyone either.
As a group, we just take over the sidewalk and head out into the sunlight. It is 80 degrees and sunny, just like every other day. The warmth seeps through my top, soaking my bones. I feel healthy and good, bursting with new life.
Just about perfect. Just about.
The trick is, I pop a peppermint in my mouth just before I go inside the restaurant. That way, the smell of ginger and onions doesn’t punch me right in the face and make me throw up into my handbag or anything. Nance keeps squinting at me, and I just smile and pretend I don’t notice.
Working lunches are ninety-five percent lunch, and five percent work. But everybody has their laptop out, shouting out ideas for articles that they’ve been collecting since the last meeting. There are some good ones, but I’m not really expected to participate. After all, I have my project to work on. Nobody expects me to do anything else.
After lunch, everyone seems to be in a pretty good mood. I hang at the back of the group, happy to shuffle slowly down the street. I’m not in any great hurry to get back to my office, to stare at the looming, gaping hole at the end of my novel. I know this is a problem I have to solve, but the solution hasn’t become obvious yet.
Nance slows down, gradually walking alongside of me. She gestures toward the gallery on Oak Street.
“It’s right there,” she says, picking up the conversation right where she left it earlier.
“Oh, okay… I know which building you mean now. That’s a nice spot. Do you like her?”
“Do I like her?” she repeats, as though that is the least interesting question I could have come up with. “Yeah, she’s nice. But I’ll be glad when this assignment is over. I always feel like I’m disappointing them, you know? Haven’t really clicked with anybody just yet.”
“I know what you mean,” I say, but I don’t really mean anything by it. I’m just filling up space.
“Do you want to see it? The gallery?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What? Now? You want to show me your new girlfriend right now?”
Nance shrugs, shading her eyes with her hand. “Sure, why not? Did you have a really busy afternoon planned or something?”
“I guess not," I mumble as she guides me toward the intersection.
It really is a nice location for a gallery. The building is enormous, the remains of a grandiose hotel done in stucco and red clay tile. The original wrought-iron decorations are still evident, and as we get closer I can see the hints of a hidden courtyard in the lines of the roof.
As we enter, Nance scurries off toward the back, presumably to find Alice, wherever she is. I cross my arms, the way people do when they are in art galleries so that you don’t touch anything you shouldn’t by mistake. The space is large and well lit, w
ith small canisters of lights on tracks pointed at the walls. Several large pieces of realistic seascapes take up one wall, so lifelike I can almost feel the water about to move. They are magnificent, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They’re so large, I have to fight the urge to step into them.
“Beautiful, right?” comes a voice near to my ear.
I can’t move. I don’t want to move. I want it to happen again, to make sure it’s real.
“It looks so real, you could reach out and touch it,” comes a voice on my other side. Instantly I’m covered in goosebumps, so excited I am shaking.
Turning around slowly, I close my eyes, half certain that it’s just a fantasy. I just imagined it. It’s just my pregnant brain teasing me.
But when I open my eyes, it’s not a dream. Five nearly identical grins beam down on me, bathing me in their light. I can barely breathe, I’m so excited.
“Wait, what are you doing? Don’t cry! Please don’t cry!”
But I can’t help it. All of a sudden I’m choking, my cheeks bathed in tears, my breath caught at the back of my tongue like a small pebble. I reach out so that I don’t fall over, thrilled beyond words that Jake and Carty catch my hands, holding me up. I feel like a buoy on the seascape painting behind me, like I am just floating along, waiting for someone to catch me.
“Where did you come from?” I blabber when I can finally catch my breath. The guys guide me toward a bench and we all sit together, each facing a different way, but huddled as close as possible, like a pack of wolf puppies.
“We had to find you,” Timothy shrugs. “I don’t even have your phone number!”
