“It’s the degree of risk though. If a relationship with an accountant is too risky for me, then…”
“And that’s not just an excuse…?”
“If it is, it’s a damn good one—you gotta admit.”
“You know…” Kimberly said, sitting up and adjusting her scarf. “I did some more reading up last night, about his situation.”
“Kimberly, I don’t think he wants to be psychoanalyzed.”
“If you’re gonna be in his life, it’s good to know what might be going on in his head.”
“I’m not gonna be in his life. This is a blip in both our lives. A glitch in the space-time continuum that’s shoved together two unlikely people.”
“I don’t have time for your will-they-won’t-they,” Kimberly said, sounding more like the bossy little sister Alice knew and loved. “Thing is, as we both know, even if you’ve seen a person you love die right in front of you and you have a body to mourn, there’s a strong sense of disbelief, right? There’s something about having the body there in front of you—even in a casket, even if you don’t see it—that helps you let go. It’s called a ‘definitive separation.’ There’s even a theory that it might beimpossibleto let a loved one go unless you go through some kind of farewell ritual. So if your loved one is missing, your grief can get frozen. Plus—omigod there is so much to this—saying goodbye can feel like a betrayal.”
“And somehow we’re no longer talking about you,” Alice said, shaking her head. “You’re very good at that.”
“Andyoualways say that, as soon as any conversation aboutyoustarts to get interesting. And hey, it’s my job, and you’re my only ‘client’ left. Not to mention that my life is dull, dull, dull.” Kimberly flopped back down. “That’s what no one talks about—how boring it is to die from cancer. Appointment to appointment, being too tired to do fun stuff. They don’t tell you that you’ll be too damn exhausted and nauseous to do a single thing on the damn bucket list—do you know how much pressure there is to tick all those things off, when they’re the last thing you can be bothered doing? No, the only adventure that’s in my future is the one in my next existence, whatever that is.”
“Oh, Kimmy…”
“I don’t fear it, you know, what’s coming,” Kimberly said, turning to face Alice. Her distant look had been replaced by a hyper-intense focus. “I have this conviction there will be something on the other side of this for me. I’m even a little bit excited that I’m going to find out before any of my friends. The big question about existence, and I’m about to get an answer. My journey will continue, I’m sure of that. I’m just going to miss you and Malik being there with me. Sorry, I’m blathering. It’s the drugs. They’ve changed my dosage. I’m all over the place.”
“I think I believe that too—the whole ‘death is not the end’ thing.”
“That’s where religion came from, right? A collective refusal to believe in the nothingness beyond mortal existence, to fill that terrifying void. Because no one wants to believe in ‘the end.’ I should write a book about it. Seriously. There are so many books out there for grieving loved ones. Not so many about how to die. That’s it. I’m going to write a book and call itHow To Die. It’ll be my legacy. Shit, should have thought of that six months ago. How long does it take to write a book?”
“You’ll live on forever in my head, if that makes you feel better. I hear your voice on my shoulder a lot: ‘What would Kimberly say?’”
“That does make me feel better. That’s it then—I intend to haunt you for the rest of your days.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Bring it in, sis.” Kimberly opened her arms, and Alice leaned into the hug.
“Alice?” Kimberly said, after a few seconds.
“Yeah?”
“You’re hugging megently. Don’t hug me gently. Hug me fiercely.”
Alice obeyed, fighting hard to swallow the tears.
“Better. Hey, if I’m haunting you, maybe you can literally ghostwrite myHow to DiebookafterI die?”
“That would be an excellent publicity angle.”
“Slow going on a Ouija board though.”
“Jackpot, hopefully!” Carter’s loud voice made Alice jump. She and Kimberly sprang apart. “One flash drive, built into the heel of one of the platforms,” he said, holding it up as he walked in.
Kimberly’s cell phone rang, and she fished it from her pocket. It took Alice a while to recognize the ringtone—“Let It Be” by the Beatles.
“Holy shit,” Kimberly said, looking at the screen. “It saysThe Washington Post.TheWashington Postis callingme.”
“Don’t answer it, for God’s sake. Why would they be calling? Hang up!”
Kimberly did, shakily.
