Part 8 (1/2)

It didn't matter. Right at that moment, I knew my dad was right. I was totally overwhelmed by Jack Caputo. There would be no going back.

I took his arm and put it around me so I could curl into his chest and hear his heartbeat, which despite his calm demeanor, was racing. He held me close and tight, as if he were tucking a football.

He pressed his lips into my hair. ”I love you, Becks. I've never felt like this.”

I nodded against him, still unsure if I could believe him. I thought about Lacey and the way she was standing next to him. ”You've never been in love?”

He let out a quiet breath, and I felt him shake his head. ”Easy to say. Harder to feel.” He ran his fingers through my hair and tucked a few strands behind my ear. With a lighter voice, he said, ”Out of curiosity, what would you have said if I wanted to...”

”I would've said no.”

”Yeah?”

I nodded. ”I'm glad you didn't, because that would have been awkward.”

His chest shuddered with laughter.

EIGHT.

NOW.

The soup kitchen. Four months left.

My days on the Surface started to stack up and run together, so I wasn't sure how many Sat.u.r.days had pa.s.sed before I saw Mary at the soup kitchen again. I'd been looking for her as I ladled chili into soup bowls, because I wanted to ask her about that Priscilla's daughter the braid girl was telling me about.

My need to help her was stronger than I could explain. It's not like she was the first senile person I'd ever met, but ever since she told me I'd broken a heart, I felt a sort of connection to her, as if her dementia gave her a unique insight into people's souls.

I knew that wasn't possible.

When I'd served about half the tub of soup, I saw her in the line. As she reached for a tray, an old silver bracelet slid down her arm and settled on her wrist. It was the only jewelry she wore and looked heavy on her frail wrist. It must've been an heirloom or something.

”Hi, Nikki,” she said when she reached my station.

I didn't remember telling her my name. ”Hi, Mary. How are you today?”

”Can you eat with me?”

”Um...” I glanced at Christopher right next to me, and he nodded. ”Sure, I guess.”

Maybe he considered this another aspect of service, beyond ladling soup. I dished myself a bowl and followed Mary to one of the long rectangular tables in the dining hall. We took the two seats on the end, facing each other.

”I'm sorry about the other day,” she said. ”The little scene I made.”

”It's okay.”

”I just ... sometimes I get confused.” She broke her bread into tiny little pieces and placed them in her soup.

”I understand.”

She looked at me with strangely hopeful eyes. ”Do you?”

”Sure, Mary.” I considered telling her my great-aunt had Alzheimer's, but decided not to. Maybe she'd be offended if I compared them.

She waited for me to say something else, so I felt it was a good time to ask her. ”Mary, one of the girls here told me you were looking for somebody's daughter?”

Her eyes darted back and forth, as if she were nervous about being overheard. I wondered if it was a secret.

I lowered my voice. ”Is that right?”

She didn't answer, so I pushed a little. ”I could try to help you find what you're looking for. Was it Penelope's daughter?”

Mary went from looking frightened to suddenly trying to stifle a laugh.

I guess it did sound a little ridiculous. Once she'd regained composure, she said, ”I don't remember anything about that.”

”Oh.” She was quiet again. Obviously if she knew something about it, she wasn't going to offer it. I changed the subject. ”So, where are you from?”

”Here. Park City.”

”Do you have family?”

”Just my mom.”

I tried not to look skeptical. She had to be at least eighty years old. Maybe she meant her mother was still here in spirit. Or that she'd been raised by a single mom. I changed the subject again, because I didn't want to be the one to break the news that her mother was probably dead.

”That's a pretty bracelet,” I said, pointing to her wrist. ”Where did you get it?”

She deftly moved her hands under the table, a reflex action. ”It's been pa.s.sed down through my family for generations.” She took a bite of soup and roll. ”To the women,” she added. ”But you can't have it.”

”Oh. Well, it's beautiful,” I said.

The lunch line was starting to thin out. Mary swallowed, took a drink of her water, set the cup down, and leaned forward. Her hands started to shake. ”Help me, Nikki.”

The statement came out of nowhere. ”Um, okay. What can I do?”

”I'm confused. I was ready to go. And now I don't know what to do.” Was she talking about dying? ”What's waiting for me?” she asked.

I slowly shook my head. ”Honestly, I don't know.”

”But what do you believe?”

A year ago, my Christian upbringing would have told me the answer: paradise. When I used to ask my dad where he thought my mother was, he would tell me she was above, looking down on us. But now that sounded like another lie people tell themselves to feel better. I knew nothing of heaven.