Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(53)

I told Shiloh all of this. It had been years since I last said more than a few words about her to anyone other than Paul or my father, and I spoke haltingly, unsure of how to explain my loneliness. “I’m sure this sounds all kinds of stupid,” I said when I had finished.

He kissed me lightly. “It doesn’t, not to me. Johnny, a kid I grew up with in San Juan, died when we were in our late teens. It was a freak thing—he had an undetected heart problem and collapsed in the middle of a soccer game. Believe me, I know it’s not the same as losing a parent. But even now, I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I’ll never have another conversation with him. We came up together and stayed friends even after my family kept moving back and forth. He’ll never get to see the person I am as an adult. I’ll never get to find out who he would have become.”

I nodded. It’s permanence that distinguishes grief from other emotional pain. The unfixable nature of never—that’s what makes it so terrible to bear. Was Paul right? Did I owe it to him to try to delay never as long as I could, at any cost?

Shiloh adjusted the telescope dial, then motioned for me to look through the viewfinder.

“Can you see?”

Slowly, the cloudy clusters above us revealed themselves as countless individual beacons of light. “Wow. Yes.”

“Excellent.”

“You sound like such a dude sometimes,” I teased.

“I am a dude, cutie. You can’t grow up on a beach without getting sand in the cracks of your brain. So, do you recognize any constellations?”

I squinted. “Does the little dipper count?”

“Sure. But you can do better.” He took the telescope from me and redirected it. “Now look through it. Stare right in the middle, and you should be able to see Cassiopeia. Any other time of the year and you’d struggle to see her, but she burns bright all through November. Look for two Ls, connected on the diagonal. Around her are some of the youngest stars in the galaxy. Pretty amazing, right?”

“Aha!” I said. But as soon as I spotted the constellation, a reddish twinkling light to the far left caught my attention. “Are the red-looking ones planets or something?”

“No, they’re stars, too. You probably spotted a red giant. They’re older and closer to the end of their lives, so they don’t burn as hot, which changes their color.”

“So the closer a star is to death, the more beautiful it becomes.”

He laughed. “If you like red. I guess you could argue that time makes a lot of things more attractive.”

“Not Tom.”

“Maybe it doesn’t look good yet. But look at how well you’re doing. Give yourself time, Libby.”

Time was a luxury I didn’t have, I thought as I stuck my head under the telescope, watching a star flicker. It could have been combusting that very moment, or maybe it had blown up centuries before and the evidence had not yet reached the Earth. Eye still to the lens, I asked Shiloh if he thought there was an afterlife.

“Well, I’m culturally Catholic, so I should probably say yes. But mostly I think worrying about it is pointless.”

“So you don’t believe in heaven.”

“I didn’t say that. I mean, sure, it sounds cozy, but who knows? Most people don’t really care about heaven. I think they worry about being relevant to other living people, even after they’re dead. But one day there won’t be anyone left who fits that bill. One day this planet will combust, and we’ll all turn into star stuff. Cleopatra? Abe Lincoln? Adam and Eve? Relevant to no one.”

“Well, that’s optimistic.”

“It is, kind of. It takes guts to stop fretting about the unknown and concentrate on the present moment. That’s what matters, anyway.”

“And what if your present moment sucks? And you can’t even imagine what the future looks like, let alone fix your hope on that?”

His breath was hot on my neck. “But does it? You’re dealing with some ugly stuff, Libby. But does right now, this very moment, suck?”

I leaned in, my skin tight with anticipation as his lips grazed my flesh. “No,” I whispered.

“Then enjoy it,” he whispered back.





TWENTY-SEVEN


The apartment. I’d nearly forgotten all about it. With several thousand dollars’ worth of commission hanging in the balance, Raj, bless his heart, had not.

“Time to make it official, Libby. You still planning on coming back to Chicago?”

I was sitting in the side garden. Not far from my feet, a couple of inky black birds were fighting over a few crumbs that had crumbled from the baguette I was gnawing on. “That is a very good question, Raj,” I said, my mouth still full. Despite my promises to Paul, I hadn’t purchased a ticket to New York. But with just days left in Vieques, it was time to do so. I finished chewing. “For the time being, let’s go with no.”

“Can you change your plans?” he asked. “The way your mortgage agreement is worded, either you or Tom needs to show up to the closing.”

There went my New York flight. I stood up from the bench, sending the birds flying in opposite directions. “Fabulous.”

“And unless he dies between now and then, I’m going to need his signature on everything. You guys are legal co-owners. Let me know where I can find him, and I’ll send him the papers myself.”