Death of a Kleptomaniac (13 page)

“I was connected so deeply to my body that when I was separated from it I became obsessed with being near it. That's all I did before I crossed. I didn't help people grieve. And I didn't process what I should have processed.”

Watching Louise spin around on the grass and confess her failings convinces me of one thing: I should probably spend less time with her and continue to seek out the people I actually love. She sashays toward me and then away from me, gently covering the distance of Henry's entire backyard. I don't want to do what Louise did. I can't imagine seeking out my body and staying with it like that. My body isn't me. What I am right now. What's left. That's who I am.

As she continues to dance, Louise begins talking to me. “Have you ever asked yourself why you steal? Where all that started?”

Maybe Louise is trying to win some sort of award for being the worst spirit guide ever delivered to a dead person. Thus far, she has made zero effort to try to cheer me up.

“When you dance on the grass and ask me these things, it makes me feel like you don't care about how rotten I feel,” I say. I want my spirit guide to be in touch with my misery. And maybe steer me out of it and give me useful postlife advice. Is that so wrong?

Louise stops spinning and returns to my side. “I just shared something very personal with you. Maybe you should return the gesture.”

I am not opening myself up to Louise Davis. “I feel too terrible right now to dig through those issues.”

“Dig through them now. Dig through them later. Eventually, you face them.”

“I'm done here,” I say.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

The sound of Henry's saxophone stops, and I think I can hear Melka laughing. She should be sad like me. And Henry. And everyone else who knew me. Melka shouldn't be laughing.

“Yes. I'm sure,” I say.

I still have a lot of people left to visit. If this part of death really is like pecking my way out of an egg, I feel like I've barely cracked the shell.

I can tell by the brusque way Louise ushers me toward a gray tunnel that she's disappointed in me.

“I'm not going to force you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about,” she says.

But that's a manipulative tactic that I've seen used before—by my mother. Doesn't Louise understand that I can see right through her motives? By bringing it up again, she's extending the conversation. And I have no desire to think about why I steal. Why did she have to bring it up? The world around me blurs as I fly through it.

“It's my job to help you cross. And understanding your unhealthy behavior might help you correct it.”

At the exact moment we land in her office, I have an obvious realization. I really need to quit thinking in the form of a question or Louise will never stop reading my mind. “Now that I'm dead, I'll probably never steal again. I mean, I can't even pick stuff up anymore.”

“Most people spend their whole lives wrestling with something. Crossing over gives them the chance to let those things go.”

“Thanks,” I say. My mind flashes to Sadie's ring. I should have given that back. Out of all the things I took, that's the item I feel worst about. What will happen to it now? If my mom finds it, she may not know what it is. She might give it away. And it belongs with Sadie.

As I follow Louise out of her office to the hallway, I notice that something awful has happened to the clocks on the wall. Three of them have exploded. Pieces of glass and some sort of metal lie scattered on the floor.

“You've been vandalized,” I say. I didn't realize that sort of thing could happen to a spirit adviser.

“No,” Louise says. “Don't worry about the clocks. You still have a huge majority left. You're in great shape.”

“Why should I care about the clocks?” I say. “Do they come with me?”

I think back to the names of people from my life that are printed on them. Maybe something has happened to them. Maybe three people I love have died! “Did something happen on Earth?” I ask. My mind plays through the worst tragedies. Tornados. Bombs. Nuclear war.

“Other than your death, no grand tragedy has struck your loved ones.”

I approach the pieces on the floor and find three names: Deidre Dalton, Sissy Heston, Melka Klima.

“So none of these people are dead?” I ask. Even though I don't know how I did it, I feel somehow responsible for the destruction of Melka's clock.

“They are all alive. Melka, if she stays the course, will become an anesthesiologist.”

“What do the clocks mean? Can you tell me that much?” I understand that the clocks are important. But I don't understand why.

“I can say this much. At the time of your death, these clocks represent the most meaningful connections you made while alive. They represent paths and connections still available to you. The more clocks, the more options you have when you pass. You want options. I crossed with about half of my clocks intact. And I was much older, so I had more clocks.”

“Is having half your clocks good?” I have other questions I want to ask Louise about the clocks and about her. But I'm not sure if she'll answer any more. She's vague as a counselor. Seriously. What exactly does she mean by “connections” and “paths”? And did she have a family? If so, where are they now? And how old was she when she died? And how exactly did she die?

“With half my clocks left, I was and am able to explore relationships with lots of different people. That's all I can say.”

I feel like I'm getting somewhere and nowhere at the same time. It feels good to know there is a system, even if I don't understand how it works. “So, what makes a clock break? What did I do to Deidre?”

“Sometimes it isn't about what you did. Sometimes it's about what they did. But anger often breaks a clock. So don't get angry. That's some advice I can give you.”

“Thanks,” I say. But I'm already getting a little mad that she's not giving me more information. And I'm also not sure how to make myself feel less mad.

“We need to talk about something before you get pulled away by grief again. I'm a little surprised you've gone this long without another tug.” Louise says.

“You're right,” I say. “Shouldn't more people be grieving for me?”

“Sometimes it takes longer for news of out-of-state deaths to circulate. Don't worry about that. You were loved. And those who loved you will seek you out. I'm certain.”

I like hearing that my intake counselor is certain.

“I have great news to give you. In keeping with a request you made in the preexistence, I am happy to inform you that you get to live three life moments over again.”

I wish I could remember making these requests.

“What kinds of moments?” I ask.

“Any moments you want,” she says.

As I flash through my sixteen years, I'm not sure which moments to choose. Happy ones? That makes the most sense. Then I think of something practical. “You should have told me about this before I walked down memory lane. That way I could have been looking for moments.”

Louise nods. “Good point. But memory lane is over.”

“Yeah, but in the future. Maybe the next dead girl, you could tell her before.” My mind goes back to some of the pictures. It will take me a long time to choose which moments to relive.

“Maybe this will help,” Louise says. “You don't have to recall the exact moment you want to relive. You can simply request to relive your happiest moment. And you'll be transported right to it. All memories are tied to emotions. You're very lucky. Not everybody gets to relive three.”

I do not feel lucky.

“And all physical sensation returns when you relive them. You can't change anything, but you'll inhabit your body again. You truly relive the moment.”

“Cool,” I say. Except that I'm dead. And there's really nothing cool about that.

“You have until your funeral, and it's best not to put those things off,” Louise says.

“You just told me about it two minutes ago. You shouldn't rush me. I'm going to really mull this over and choose wisely.” Before I died, I never used words like
mull
. My mother used words like
mull
. What's happening to me?

“My best counsel would be to pick moments that help you move forward.”

But I don't know if that's what I want. If it's the last time that I'm going to be inside my body, I should probably choose thrilling moments. Times in my life when I felt really powerful things. Before I can mentally sort through some of these, I'm struck by something. Grief! “Oh my god!” I say. “I'm getting pulled.” Just like before, it feels intense and awkward. “Do you think it's my parents again?”

“Don't speculate,” Louise says. “Just go with it. Somebody who loves you is grieving, and they need you.”

Everything is moving too fast. Gray tunnel. Open sky. The suburbs of Idaho Falls. A house. Too fast to tell whose. I'm drawn through a closed window. I'm standing next to a pool table. Who in my life owns a pool table?

“Joy Lowe!” I say her name as she enters the room. Just like Henry, she looks like she's been crying for hours. I wonder who told her. It's so sweet that she cares about me this much. I walk toward her. “It's okay,” I say. I want to provide as much comfort as possible.

“This is still so incredibly unbelievable! It just keeps hitting me over and over,” a voice calls from the hallway. “I think I actually need a beer. I think I'm in shock. Do you want one?”

“No,” Joy says weakly. “And you shouldn't have one either. My parents count them.”

Ruthann enters the room with a silver can in her hand. Her superficial wounds are plastered with Band-Aids and squares of gauze. Hopkins didn't attack her that badly; she's going for sympathy wearing that much bandaging. She flips the tab on her beer and a gasp of air escapes. “But we're grieving.”

I cannot believe that I'm visiting Ruthann Culpepper before my grandmother. Something is definitely wrong. Didn't my grandma love me?

“She was acting so weird right before she died,” Ruthann says. “It's almost like she knew.”

Joy sits down on a big brown couch and shakes her head. “I don't think she knew,” she says. “She seemed so happy. Really excited about Tate. Still super into Henry. Her grades weren't as good as they were last year, but she was happy.”

Ruthann takes a drink and sits down next to her. “And she had the drill team. It's actually really fortunate for her that she turned her life around in the months before she died and started doing more meaningful stuff.”

“I think she was on the brink of making lots of changes,” Joy says. “She was going through a growth spurt. I feel so bad that we were in a fight when she died. I wasn't
that
mad at her. I wasn't really mad at all. That night at the mall, everything just came out wrong.”

I never knew that Joy cared this much about me. She was a good friend. But we could have been—should have been—closer. That fight was so stupid. And while I'm glad she feels bad about it, I don't want her to feel
this
bad. I sit beside her on the couch. “It's okay. Forget about the fight,” I tell her. Joy turns toward me. She is genuinely sad that I'm gone.

“Roy has called me and left three really sweet messages,” Joy says. “He's worried about me.”

“Ekles?” Ruthann asks.

“Yes. But I don't feel like talking to guys right now. I feel fragile and sad and guilty.”

“Death is majorly complicated,” Ruthann says.

“I feel like I should call her friend Sadie and talk to her,” Joy says. “That friendship was really important to Molly. And they were on the outs. I bet Sadie needs to talk to somebody. I bet she's feeling a lot like I'm feeling.”

Ruthann leans forward and sets her beer on the edge of the pool table. Then she eases back onto the couch, nestling her head against Joy's shoulder. “We're all feeling terrible. But I don't know that we need to hunt down Sadie. She never even liked us.”

“She didn't like you because you were a jerk,” I say.

“I need to call her,” Joy says, standing up.

Ruthann shakes her head. “Not tonight. Let her pull herself together. The last thing she needs it to be blindsided by a late-night phone call she wasn't expecting.”

“I guess you're right.”

“You know who we should call?” Ruthann says, raising her eyebrows dramatically. “Tate.”

Joy sits back down. “No way!”

“I actually called him already, and I'm waiting for him to call me back,” Ruthann says. “I know some people might find it awkward to talk to somebody who recently fired them and then witnessed a fatal accident, but I don't feel that way. I feel like talking to him now could really help us reestablish a friendship.”

“I bet Tate feels like total shit,” Joy says.

I haven't thought that much about Tate. I bet he does feel terrible. I mean, he was with me in the ambulance when I died. He tried to save me. Why hasn't he pulled me to his side? Maybe Louise doesn't totally understand how the rules work. Out of everybody, Tate would be the one who would be reeling from my death with a painful intensity. Why hasn't he wanted me to comfort him? It doesn't make sense. I need more information. I was basically a good person. Shouldn't my postlife experience feel better than this? I feel myself getting angry. Really angry.

“If you could see what's happening to your clocks right now, you'd shudder,” a voice says.

I look and see Louise next to me on the couch.

“I'm dead and I'm angry,” I say.

“Move toward acceptance,” Louise says.

This is ridiculous. She must not normally work with teenagers who die tragically. Acceptance is going to take a while.

“This is very hard for me, Louise,” I explain. “Ruthann is awful. She wants to kill my cat. Plus, she's not even properly grieving for me.” It disgusts me to admit this, but witnessing Ruthann's reaction to my death hurts me. She isn't genuinely sad.

“I am aware of the emotional limitations of Ruthann Culpepper. But remember, nobody is perfect,” Louise says. “For your sake, move past this.”

She makes it sound so simple that I get even angrier. “I'm not talking about being perfect. She's really terrible! Look at her over there, decorated in bandages, drinking a beer and using me as an excuse to imbibe it.”

“You wasted time in your life with her. Don't waste time in your death. And be nice!”

I get up off the couch. “Fine. I love everybody in this room. I love everybody in the world.”

“Maybe you should visit other family members,” Louise says.

“They can pull me when they need me,” I say.

“You can go find them,” Louise says.

“Maybe,” I say.

“And there's still that matter of your three life moments,” Louise reminds me, following me out the front door of Joy's house. I know I don't need to use doors, but I like behaving the way I did when I had a body. It makes me feel normal.