Category:

She'd sat up, feeling certain that the precipitating event to one's death would stick out in memory, right up there with weddings and births and heartbreak. Or, at the very least, there would be a clue nearby. Like the twisted metal of a car. Or a gun.

There was nothing.

She noticed she was wearing her favorite dress, the one she'd worn to her she-passed-the-bar-exam party her parents had thrown for her at the Headliners Club in Austin. It was pale blue with off-the-shoulder straps and a sparkling skirt over tulle. That night was the one time in her life she'd felt like a princess—beautiful and enchanting and proud and unreachable.

If she had to be dead, she was happy that at least she was stylish about it.

Her joy—and it was joy—felt like champagne bubbling in her veins. She glittered in the same way she had when she fell in love for the first time with dreamy Ramon Toledo in the ninth grade, but on a supernova level. She felt pure and unfiltered, free of every single burden she'd ever felt in her entire life, floating away from all the worries that had been her constant companions through thirty-one years of living. It was an extraordinary amalgam of orgasm and Christmas morning and a baby's laugh all rolled into one.

She marveled at the spectacular view around her—the field of gold, the deep green of a distant tree line. And just ahead, a lush, verdant garden where the light seemed a little brighter, beckoning her.

She began to move, but a dog's bark stopped her—and not just any bark. She turned to see a shaggy black-and-white dog racing toward her, and her heart immediately swelled. "Roxie?" The word was more of a croak because something was lodged in her throat. She tried again, but nothing would come. She was overcome with happiness—this was the dog she'd raised from a pup, her constant companion, her best friend during those periods in her life when no one else would be, who'd crossed the rainbow bridge when she was in college. Roxie leapt into her arms and began to lick her face. Nora could feel the solid weight of Roxie's body against her, could feel the wet slurp of her tongue against her cheek. She buried her face in Roxie's fur. She smelled like flowers.

Death was fantastic! Everything around her was bursting with color, the air was crisp and clean, she was beautiful, and Roxie was here. When had she ever felt such peace?

She looked toward the garden again and felt an urgent need to get there. The mechanics of movement required no effort—she glided along. Roxie led the way, trotting ahead, then circling back to make sure Nora was coming.

When they reached the garden, her dog disappeared into one of the deep rows, her snout to the ground. Nora could barely absorb all the beauty in that garden. The shrubs were kaleidoscope shades of green, the fruit trees as tall as buildings. A patch of peonies as big as dinner plates intruded onto the path, bursting with colors she'd never seen in life. She wanted to feel every velvety vine and silky petal. She wanted to drink the heady scent of floral and clover. She wanted to bathe in the petals of perfect flowers and eat the fruits that hung ripe for the plucking.

A contented hum filtered into her conscience. She glided deeper into the garden in search of the source and spotted a being standing amid tomato plants that grew like trees. Roxie trotted right up to the being, and it said, "Hello, Roxie, hello, old girl. I wondered where you'd got off to."

Nora's heart immediately climbed to her throat. "Grandpa?"

Grandpa turned and smiled. It really was him, her beloved grandfather, gone from her life too soon. "Well, hello, Nora," he said cheerfully. "I wasn't expecting you yet."

A swift and deep rush of love washed over her—she'd always loved her maternal grandfather best of all, had missed him so much it hurt. But she'd forgotten until that moment what it felt like to love him. Safe. Weightless and free to be exactly who she was. He'd always protected her, advised her, listened to her. No one had ever made her feel quite so loved as he had.

Grandpa looked good. Ageless. A perfect specimen of a grandfather. He was wearing his typical spacious denims with the cavernous pockets. He'd always kept surprises in those pockets for Nora and her younger sister, Lacey: A robin's egg. Seeds. Hard candy. He had his familiar red wagon by his side, his ratty sun hat atop his head. Once, she'd gifted him with a new sun hat. He'd hung it proudly in the mudroom, but he never wore it—he preferred his old sun hat for working in the garden.

Nora tried again to speak and croaked, "Grandpa! I'm dead!" She must be, if she was here with Grandpa. But she wasn't certain if he understood what was happening and felt it was important to explain why she was here.